#lovell can fucking choke
Text
claire biggs and gerard gibson quotes in keeping 13
“Gerard," Claire coaxed. "It's okay. You can have dinner with me."
"Can I eat you?" he asked, sounding playful once more.
"If you're good," she replied, patting his shoulder.
"What?" Gibsie's voice rose so high, it was almost girlish. "I mean –" he roughly cleared his throat several times before adding, "What?"
Feely chuckled quietly. "Lost for words, Gibs? That's a first."
"I know, right?" Claire giggled, using her finger to close Gibsie's mouth. "I think I broke him.”
“Sinking down on the grass beside Claire, he huffed out a breath. "Now, I'm fucking depressed."
"Oh, come on. He'll come back to you, too." Hooking her arm through his, Claire leaned her cheek against Gibsie's shoulder. "And you can't be too sad, Gerard – we're having babies together this summer, remember?"
"Yeah, I know," he sighed heavily as he rested his chin on her head. "But I'm still not sure we're ready for that kind of responsibility, babe. I mean, I'm only seventeen."
"Well, ready or not, the babies are coming," Claire replied, patting his knee. "And it's your fault for letting him in.”
“Brian," Gibsie explained in a glum tone. "Turns out he had an undescended testicle and wasn't shooting blanks like we thought."
"And that explains why you're having babies this summer how exactly?" Katie choked out, eyes-wide.
"He had sex with Cherub," Gibsie wailed. "We caught them at it in Claire's room back during Easter break. And now she's pregnant."
"Our cat Cherub?" Hughie demanded. "Brian got her pregnant?"
"We've had our suspicions for a while, but the vet confirmed it last Wednesday," Gibsie groaned. "We saw them and everything, didn't we, babe?"
"Uh-huh – on an ultrasound monitor," Claire agreed. "She's having six kittens.”
“That's it. I'll father them. I'll do the night feeds with you, Claire. I'll be there at the birth. But that's it. Yours are the only babies I'm claiming. I know nothing whatsoever about Mrs. Lovell's tabby or any other woman's pregnant pussy. That's my story and I'm sticking to it."
"You two are made for each other," Katie chuckled. "It's so adorable.”
“Well, I don't know what I'm doing yet," Claire announced. "I haven't even thought about it."
"You should skip," Gibsie encouraged, waggling his brows at her. "Then you're one year closer to me."
"And what good would that do me?" Claire teased.
"It'll put us ahead of schedule," he replied, not missing a beat. "It's a good omen. I can feel it in my balls."
Claire rolled her eyes. "You and your weirdness.”
“At least your sister had the imagination to think this whole trip up. We'd be sitting in Biddies, downing pints and warding off clingers if it wasn't for her." Turning to Claire, he said, "Don't you mind him, babe. You did a great job." With his free hand, he tugged on her ponytail, forcing her to look up at him. "You keep that head up," he ordered, tipping her chin with his thumb. "Don't you dare hide that angel face from the world."
Claire's already pink cheeks turned as red as the balloons she was clutching in her hands. "Thanks, Gerard.”
“Say it one more time and I'll burn your tent with you in it," Gibsie snarled, glaring at Hughie. "You think I'm messing? Keep upsetting her and see what fucking happens –”
“Claire's eyes filled with tears and she hurried off through the woods in the direction of the camping site, mumbling something about a fly being in her eye.
"Oh my fucking god!" Gibsie roared, clearly livid. "If any of you have a problem with being here, then get back in your cars and leave!" Gesturing behind him to where Claire had hurried off, he added, "Think very carefully about your next move, because if you're coming, then you're going to be happy. You're going to smile, and you're going to have a good bastard time. You're going to eat the cake, you're going to sing all the happy fucking birthdays, and you're going to thank that girl for spending the last bloody month organizing this trip for your unworthy asses!”
“We left our heavily pregnant cat at home for this, and Claire's anxious enough about Cherub without all of you breathing down her neck, so if you upset her, again, I will legit take leave of my senses and lose the fucking plot." Eyes bulging, he added, "Don't push me, because I'm already half-way there!”
“It's okay, Gerard," Claire soothed as she knelt in front of him with a towel in her hand. "Shh…" With aching tenderness, she gently dabbed at his face and hair. "I'm right here with you." Moving onto his shoulders, she gently dried him off with the towel before wrapping it around his shoulders and cupping his pale face in her hands. "Deep breaths." Pressing her forehead to his, she stroked his cheeks and whispered, "I'll keep you safe.”
“Can Gerard and I have your keys?" Claire's voice filled my ears seconds before her head popped through the opening of our tent. Without a word, Johnny grabbed his keys off the tent floor and handed them to her. "Thanks," she replied before disappearing once more.
"Do you think he should be driving after what happened?" I asked, worried.
Johnny shrugged. "Probably not, but he needs space," he told me, brows set in a deep frown as he focused on plucking wet strands of grass off his shin and then tossing them away. "He'll go for a drive with her, she'll do whatever she does that brings him back down, and then he'll bounce back again."
"Claire?"
"Claire," he confirmed with a nod.
"I think they have secrets," I admitted, shifting closer to him.
"I think you're right," Johnny agreed. "But whatever he needs right now, he'll get that from her.”
“Everyone screamed with laughter as Gibsie cleared his throat and started to sing his own drunken rendition of Richie Kavanagh's My Girlfriends Pussy Cat at the top of his lungs. Smirking, he locked eyes on Claire, and I knew right there and then that he was directing every word to her. He was singing these words at her and he wanted her to know he meant the opposite of the lyrics.”
40 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Dove
❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader
❛ word count | 1218
❛ genre | oneshot
❛ request | can you do a Hvitserk imagine where he and the reader have been dating for a while and before one of their big wars (maybe when they avenged Ragnar) Hvitserk thinks refer is cheating on him because she’s always sneaking away but really she’s been making him a bracelet with a dove on it (his nickname for her) because she knows he always misses her when he leaves and this way he’ll always have his little dove with him. I just need a bunch of fluffy Hvitserk
❛ warnings | wet chihuahua reader, suggestion of cheating, anxiety, worry, some fluffers, angst
The pier is full. Mothers and fathers, lovers and would be lovers fill the pier welcoming home their warriors and shieldmaidens from a successful raid abroad. Hvitserk shoulders by groups of people with Ubbe beside him, his arms wound underneath Ivar’s knees to support him on his back.
“My dove… she isn’t here.” He looks around a man shouldering a large tapestry ripped from the walls of a church. Ivar tightens his arms around Ubbe’s shoulders, a playful shrug ripping across his own when Hvitserk stops, looking around as if to question where she could be.
“You've been gone months. She’s been seeing the blacksmith.” Ivar says, depressing his mandible and looking around dully. “Maybe she doesn’t want a real Viking.”
Ubbe nearly drops him off his back at that. Ivar holds onto his throat for life, choking his older brother in the process. He tightens his hold back on Ivar’s legs. The color drains from Hvitserk’s face, turning away from his older brother and setting into the town.
“What was that?” Ubbe hisses, starting into the gates. Ivar looks down to the shaved ruddy side of his brother’s head before giving him a playful pat.
“Don’t worry about it brother.”
Hvitserk’s footsteps stomp through Kattegat and with them, those going on about their business stand aside. Never once had he broken up with. He knows Ivar to be the Loki of his brothers, always the one to stir up trouble where trouble did not need to be had. He turns into the dusty cabin where the blacksmith was, confident that this… this is just Ivar being ivar.
“Oh, harder?” He recognizes your voice straight away. That can’t be… he grips his sword around the grip, trying to calm himself down. This wasn’t the Hvitserk you wanted to see. He had to be truly Viking-- check his anger where it needed to be checked.
“It is better if you thrust harder.” The blacksmith says. But… did it need to be checked now? Something, he suspects, is happening. His feet carry on heavily through the cabin back toward the area where the voices were coming from.
“But it kind of hurts!”
“You won’t be sore for it later.” He hears the old blacksmith say. But why him! He was old! He didn’t have the history with you, the moments of kissing your knuckles on the pier and bringing home new flowers that Kattegat did not have.
His heart thumps in his chest like a spear tight against his chest as he steps past the leather strip curtains, looking to the blacksmith standing just to the side of you. He assists you in thrashing a hammer down upon a chunk of metal.
“Prince Hvitserk.” The blacksmith pulls aside. “You are home.”
By his side you squeal, turning up to almost jump upon him. Your arms fling over your neck, squeaking like the bird that he named you for. His sweet, innocent little dove.
“Oh Hvitserk!” You sing.
Hvitserk brings his hands up to your hands around his neck and bring them down his chest. He loses the grip on your dusky fingertips, bringing his hands to cup your jawline.
“What are you doing here?” He rumbles skeptically. There was no proof that you had betrayed him. Your dress was carefully cropped around your ankles but clean as he had ever seen it. The apron that came over your ashen dress was the filthy one. You promptly remove it and set it aside.
“What?” You blink softly.
The blacksmith senses his suspect before Hvitserk does, shifting to take the round piece that you were working upon to the side. The blacksmith’s coal dark eyes lift to look past his stringy hair that hands in his face.
“With the blacksmith?” He suggests.
You quickly understand, “You think I was cheating on you?”
Your voice, hurt. It aches to see the film of your eyes moistening with drops of tears. They bubble over the rim of your eyes. Tears drip over your cheeks, moistening down your jaw. The next words die dry on his tongue when you pull away, going to grab a chunk of metal. The blacksmith stops you from burning yourself by supplying you with the heavy tongs.
“I was just making you a stupid bracelet! So you could remember me when you’re away in whatever country you choose sleeping with women I don’t even know!”
He takes a good look at the metal braided bracelet. Almost like his armband jingling on his wrist but clearly different. A dove takes the place of a raven or dragon, whimsical in its nature.
Oh.
“My dove, you should have told me. Ivar...”
The blacksmith seems to know how this goes already. He takes the tongs from you and makes himself quickly scarce, handling the bracelet and slipping out the leather strip curtains with nothing else but a word of luck against Hvitserk’s ear.
“You listened to Ivar? Why would you listen to him! He is insane!” You say, turning around in a circle. “And I am your wife!”
His face drops when there is a little giggle from outside. The girls, he thinks. The ones that always waited outside the door to see when the other ‘shoe’ would drop so to speak. The timing couldn’t be worse.
She thinks she’s his wife.
It’s so cute!
Fuck those little-- Hvitserk stalks over to the door to shoo the girls on their way. He wears the cringe on his face when he turns back away from the door. You sit on a creaky oak old chair, digging the meaty part of your palm into your eye.
“Or at least I would be if you weren’t so ashamed of me!”
“Dove, stop.” Hvitserk kneels before you on the dusty floor. He leans forward to pull your hands free of your face and replaces them back within your lap. “What is this about?”
“Ubbe is married.” You say. “But we have been together much longer.”
“Yes, he is.” Hvitserk leads you on. “You don’t mean… that you want to, too?”
At your silence, Hvitserk figures that what he suspected might be true. It had been on his mind on a constant basis since the wedding. After all, he noticed your silence at the wedding-- gazing at Margrethe in envy.
“I just want you to want me like Ubbe wants Margrethe.”
Hvitserk glances off to the side for the moment, reliving that wedding night where you allowed him to go and play with his brother. Perhaps that was another trigger for this explosion.
“Oh you want me to want you more than that.” He courses his tongue across the side of his mouth, bringing your fingers to his chest. “You don’t need a ring to tell you that like I don’t need a bracelet to tell me that either. You are always with me.”
“You think so?” You say.
He looks down as if thinking intently. It’s a farce by the way his smile perks, shifting the honey fibers of his moustache up. “Yes, I think so, little dove. Isn’t it the same for you?”
“Then I want you to wear my bracelet.”
“If you’ll wear my ring.” Hvitserk suggests, standing up with your hands in his. You sneak your hand around his arm, dropping your head on the his shoulder as he speaks, adorably bursting into the giggles and peaceful smiles he named you for. “I think your father is sick of courting. He sicked his dog on me last time you know.”
“At least it wasn’t the bear.”
“He has a bear?”
@igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok,@romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @cbouvier23, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur,@funmadnessandbadassvikings, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou,@rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @end-of-night, @gruffle1, @lol-haha-joke @arses21434, @smileyparrots, @Moosemittens13, @miss-artemis-wild, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @wonderwoman292, @wish-i-was-a-mermaid, @fangirls94, @mcuimxgine, @killerb00sdeath, @heartbeats-wildly, @boo20017, @acacheofstrange, @shaelyn102, @astoryoffireandlight, @smokealone, @shaelyn102 @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly--canthrope
@two-unbeatable-beaters, @igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @titty-teetee, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @piebytheocean, @strangunddurm, @atequilahead, @rekdreams247, @justacrush, @ivarswonderlust, @peachesnpisces, @elenawrit, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @dylanowhyyien, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @huntingbears, @my-little-wolfe, @seize-the-droid, @moondustmemories, @colourmeinblue, @ilvebeenabad, @queenmissfit, @hallowed-heathen, @neeadinghugs, @mblaqgi, , @triumphantreturnofpies, @dmv49, @attorneyl, @iconicvaleria-blog, @lovelynerdytraveler, @tierneygonzalez, @zabee113, @meganjudee, @sdcyumyum, @ms-allenbrown, @pancake-blonde, @ivarswickedqueen, @starkiddreamer, @austenkingmylady, @thisisparadisemylove, @pinkrockstar19, @jeowjungkook, @end-of-night, @yaminax-kuss-a , @gruffle1, @arses21434@natalie-rdr, @tempt-ress, @thevikingsheaux, @poisonedjoinery, @smokealone, @chewythecatus, @laughinglikenialler, @lefrenchfrye, @mybarnesmyhero, @vengefulflange, @imcreepininyourheartbabe, @therealmrshale, @that-goodgirl, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @athroatfullofglass
#hvitserk x reader#Hvitserk/reader#hvitserk ragnarsson x reader#Vikings x Reader#vikings/reader#vikings imagines#vikings imagine#hvitserk's heathen feast#hvitserk imagine#hvitserk ragnarsson imagine
722 notes
·
View notes
Text
stars that do not give a damn
prompt fill for this anon!
pairing : seth rollins/dean ambrose (ish)
genre : angst, unrequited love
words : 2k
summary : something went wrong on that monday night. seth needs to know it won’t happen again.
a/n : this is the first ambrollins fic i’ve ever written, so bear with me if there’s any inconsistencies with their characters.
out of respect for Joseph’s real-life diagnosis, i won’t be incorporating any mentions of his leukemia here. i wish him only health and happiness, and hope he takes all the time he needs to recover.
for narrative purposes, in my version of events, roman was attacked backstage by an incensed brick lesnob and was kayfabe hospitalized, leaving seth and dean to capture the titles later that night. the original plan was simply for dean to perform one dirty deeds on seth and then leave the ring. but as we all know, that isn’t what happened.
gravity’s a heartless bitch, and she’s trying her damnedest to bring seth to his knees. if it wasn’t for the aides and medics pulling him onto the gurney, he’d most definitely have passed out by now. the ringing in his ears paired with the screams from the audience are only making his aches worse, but at least he has something to concentrate on other than the enormous, dean-shaped elephant that’s sat itself right on top of his chest.
fuck, his head hurts. it takes a ridiculous amount of focus for him to center himself once on his back, and his head feels like it weighs 50 pounds. he’s strapped in, shutting his eyes for a moment before he’s being hit on the face, muffled orders from lovell prying them open again. the gurney’s moving quickly, the crowd’s noise gradually melding into one loud roar, and it’s all seth can do to keep his chest moving up and back down again, keep his eyes open, and do everything in his power to keep from screaming his own confusion into the raucous chorus.
***
dean lost the script somewhere between that first kick and driving seth’s head into the concrete ground. as bad as seth wants to think it was a lapse in memory, or even an attempt to really sell their chaotic emotions, he knows it’s something deeper, darker stirring in dean’s head--
***
“keep me updated,” lovell hands seth his backpack, his gear having been sent to the hotel already.
“will do.” seth finishes tying up his hair and sits up on his cot, watching techs scrambling to break everything down for transport. “please tell me i can sleep.”
“sleep’s the best thing i can prescribe for you right now,” lovell assures him. “and i’ve already got you dropped from tomorrow’s card, so take advantage.”
seth nods, fiddling with one of the bag’s straps and watching a tech hustle in for a cart of first aid kits and run it in the direction of the loading docks. he swings his feet back and forth, trying to be casual and failing if the doctor’s raised brow is anything to go by.
“nothing better to prescribe?”
“by better you mean stronger,” lovell corrects, already shaking his head. “keep you up for 18 hours and make you fall over every two minutes stronger. i’ve got nothing for you.”
failing miserably, seth notes with a purse of his lips. he slides off the cot and puts his pack on, grabbing his cap and phone and leaving the doctor with a pat on the shoulder. “thanks again.”
“i don’t have to send anyone after you, do i?” lovell keeps his back turned, though the intent in his voice is serious.
“no sir,” seth responds, not without a bit of bite. “those days are behind me.”
no response. seth mutters expletives under his breath, blood beginning to boil. he zips his jacket up and pulls the hood on, tucking his chin towards his chest and keeping his face blank as he makes his way to the garage.
***
“why do you keep doing this to yourself?” dean’s voice is sharp, though he pitches his concern deep enough so only seth can hear. he keeps his body language hostile to prevent anyone from approaching them and readjusts his hold on seth, hoping it looks more like they’re deep in conversation as opposed to dean being the only thing between seth’s face and the garage’s concrete floor.
“i’m try—“ seth’s head lolls forward, his legs stiffening up so the weight of his entire body is driven onto dean, who catches him with a hissed curse.
there are eyes on them now, and dean glances around hastily, spotting mike talking with his driver by his bus and waving them over.
“what’d he take?” mike’s instantly sliding down to catch seth, helping dean lower seth to the ground and propping seth’s head up on his thigh. he motions for his driver to find a doctor and begins batting at seth’s face until seth comes to and shoves his hands away.
“hydro,” dean huffs, settling beside seth’s legs and feeling for the stiffness so he can start massaging it away.
“call it what it is, dean,” seth slurs, panting and bringing his hands to his face. “vicodin, right? mike, you know, you were there.”
mike grits his teeth, “i helped you. you came to me, remember?”
“i don’t remember you stopping me when i kept coming back.” seth groans and lifts one hand. “lower.”
dean obeys, finding the taut muscles and digging his palms in.
“is he responsive?” lovell’s voice breaks through the tension around them, and he kneels at seth’s side.
“i don’t know, is he?” seth throws his hands up, barely missing mike’s face. “go ahead and assess me, good doctor. 20 bucks says you can’t figure out what it is this time.”
“pay up,” lovell waves a small vial in seth’s face, bright yellow pills rattling around.
“you went on my bus.” seth is staring at the pills, an unreadable look in his eyes. dean tightens his ministrations, pulling seth’s focus onto him briefly. “what the fuck?”
“policy,” lovell supplies, rooting around in his bag for a bottle of water and his radio. “drink this.” he gets to his feet, muttering something into the radio.
seth snatches the bottle, angrily beginning to chug but choking with his haste. mike shoves him to a sitting position, smacking his back a little harder than necessary.
“stop fucking hitting me!” seth lurches away, trying to get to his feet. dean pulls on his leg, keeping him down and holding him still as more medics arrive with a gurney.
“i’ve gotta go,” mike grabs lovell’s arm. “make sure this disappears before it reaches the top.”
“already on it.”
seth’s placed on the gurney. everyone in the garage is accounted for and paid off for their silence. dean eventually texts roman to let him know what’s happened, though his only reaction is to ask if seth’s okay and whether or not they’re still going on the next week.
dean wishes he could be so flippant, just leave seth to his demons and only associate with him in the arenas and forget about him once he heads out.
god, if only it were that easy to forget about seth rollins.
***
“feeling blue, boss?” hugh greets seth the second he swings the bus door open. “heavy stuff.” he motions to his phone screen, where he’s watching a recap of the night.
“yeah,” seth nods, unable to ignore his faithfully jolly driver. “pretty heavy.”
“ambrose is riding with us,” hugh thumbs over his shoulder. “something about his tires being out.”
“he’s here?” seth throws his pack onto the front table, shutting the door.
hugh nods. “he looked pretty ko’d. haven’t heard a peep from him since he got on. he’s probably asleep.”
seth mulls this over, not registering his phone buzzing in his hand until hugh points to it.
“hey, rome.”
“i’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that wasn’t all part of the script.”
“good guess.” seth rubs at his neck, the muscles still smarting. “think he’s just giving the fans the heel they’ve been wanting.”
roman pauses, some indistinct noises coming from his end, then an audible click and it’s silent apart from his breaths.
“you see his face after he did it?”
“yeah.”
seth considers telling roman about his blood running cold when dean stayed on his knees after his first dirty deeds instead of leaving the ring, and the desperation he felt as he repeated assurances and pleas for dean to remember what they’d planned.
“how are you feeling?” he asks instead.
roman’s surprised inhale is enough to reveal his own confusion, but he goes with it. “sore. but i’ll be okay. how soon till you’re cleared?”
“i’ll be good by next week.”
“good.”
neither of them speak. it’s that way between the two of them pretty often now. seth can’t remember exactly when they started drifting this way, but aches as he realizes this space between them isn’t going anywhere soon. with dean switching over, it’ll only make the divide deeper, the silences heavier and all the more noticeable.
“i should go. gotta rest up.”
“yeah,” roman sighs heavily and it turns into a yawn. “me too. talk to you tomorrow?”
“sure. bye.”
“bye, bro.”
***
seth knows he’s being a coward. this is his bus, yet he hasn’t made it past the couch directly behind hugh and they’ve been driving for two hours. by now, he’s figured out that dean’s tucked away in one of the bunks between the communal and private half of the bus because of the occasional shuffling he’ll hear behind the curtain.
seth’s tired, and he wants nothing more than to rush past those bunks, dive into the shower and fall into his bed to pretend that none of this has happened. he sighs, readjusting his cap for the hundredth time before tossing it aside with a huff.
“you need some sleep, boss. you took some real damage tonight.”
“yeah, hugh, i know.”
“not trying to step on your toes—“
“i know.” seth reaches over, patting hugh’s shoulder to take the sting from his words. “i just need a minute.”
hugh nods, lowering his voice. “was i right to let him on?”
seth scratches his thumbnail across the bottom of his chin in thought for a moment. “i wouldn’t want him stranded there.”
he watches the road over hugh’s shoulder for a few moments, taking in the city lights until they blur together, his eyes fluttering open and shut a few times before he pushes himself to his feet with finality.
there’s no reason they can’t talk this out like the grown men they are. dean’s emotions got the best of him, and that’s okay. it happens. seth just needs to hear from him that that’s all it was.
hands in his jacket pockets, he lifts his chin and strides over to the bunks, switching on the light and parking himself in the middle of them before turning to the curtain he’s pretty sure dean’s tucked behind.
“i’m not too good with the long, drawn-out silences. that’s more your thing. so, if you don’t want to talk about it now, that’s okay. i just want to make sure you’re okay.”
there’s no response, and seth’s nodding to himself. “i get it. i’ll see you in the morning.” he squares his shoulders and takes a few steps into his bedroom.
“can’t hear you with your back turned to me.” dean’s voice is gravelly, tired, and coming from the bunk exactly opposite from where seth had been speaking.
the curtain opens with a swish, and seth puts his arm on the door frame, pulling himself back into the bunk space with a small smile that falls when he sees the look on dean’s face. his face is red, eyes irritated and puffy and just sad. he shifts so he’s on his side and seth immediately moves closer, raising a hand to place in that familiar spot just behind dean’s ear, but stopping himself at the last second.
“i know i said i could handle this, and i really thought i could.” dean sniffs, running a quick thumb under the tip of his nose. “but i’ve told you before, it’s just.” he gestures vaguely to his head. “sometimes the pressure just keeps building and i can’t think—“
“—i know.” seth assures him. and i hate seeing you like that. but you need to give yourself credit because you did what you were supposed to do. you did the job, and it’s what the fans wanted. did you hear the pop?”
dean scoffs dryly, keeping his eyes averted from seth. “yeah it was great. you’re not gonna say anything about what i did to you?”
it’s definitely a fair question. throughout their entire run, seth’s been the one focused on the big picture and calling the shots necessary to steer their story in the right direction. but his frustration with tonight’s plan being derailed pales in comparison to his concern for the erratic, pained way dean unloaded on him.
“do you want me to say something about it?”
“just tell me if this changes things between us.” dean mumbles. “if you want to go method and make this real, cut the cord, i don’t blame you.”
seth is already shaking his head and follows his urge this time, cupping dean’s face in his hand and bending so they’re level. dean’s eyes stay cast down, but his mouth trembles a bit, betraying how distraught the thought makes him.
“can you look at me?” seth rubs one of his thumbs over dean’s cheek, hoping to encourage him.
dean sniffs again, exhaling shakily at the touch and slowly bringing his eyes up to finally meet seth’s. seth feels his brows knit together immediately and he crowds himself closer, pressing his forehead to dean’s.
“eight years.” he asserts. “we’ve had each other for eight years and i’ve given you plenty of opportunity to leave me behind. i need you to believe me when i say that there’s no chance in hell i’m turning on you now. we’ve got a job to do and i have no idea what’s coming next, but i can’t — i won’t — go forward without you at 100%.” seth can feel his hands beginning to shake and pulls back, praying his feelings are visible.
dean’s mouth is hanging open in ponderous uncertainty, eyes shining. “i’m usually the one doing the worrying around here.”
seth raises a brow and purses his lips in acknowledgment, recalling each time he’d stumbled back from a blow to find dean there to catch him, how many times he’d been a second too slow to stop an oncoming kick or punch that dean would take to give him time to recover.
dean’s always been the punching bag of the group, branded as a lunatic to make up for his penchant for taking the brunt of the shield’s opposition. it’s broken seth’s heart more than once to see him busted up — that fateful backstage attack that left dean’s arm pinned beneath a road case came to mind — but the thought of those wounds going deeper is enough to harden his resolve and strengthen his voice as he leans in once more.
“promise me you won’t let a script make you think i don’t need you.”
“i—“ dean stops as he takes those words in, pulling his bottom lip into his mouth pensively before fixing seth with a steady azure gaze. “can you promise you’ll let me know if i go too far? no matter what it is.”
“no matter what,” seth nods. “you’ve got me and my word.”
“and you’ve got mine.” dean lurches forward, awkwardly wrapping his arms around seth, who instinctively tucks his head into the warm crook of dean’s neck.
if things were different, if the company they represented were a bit more open-minded and a lot more progressive, perhaps this storyline could end with a joyous reunion culminating in the romantic angle execs have been scoffing at since fans first got a whiff of the chemistry between the two of them. and perhaps it could’ve extended beyond the ring, placed an actual ring on seth’s finger that matched the one that felt like a hot brand being pressed into the back of his neck.
it’s wishful thinking, but not at all unwelcome or even unusual in seth’s mind. in fact, it’s been there in the back since that first meeting eight years ago, when they shook hands and seth felt as if every step he’d taken in his life had brought him to that exact spot in a humid Florida parking garage.
it pulls at his head and heart, aching in a way only the worst kinds of torture can and so he smothers it down with a light few slaps to dean’s back. the answering wobbly grunts that come from the other man reveal that he isn’t ready to let go just yet, and seth’s once again in an all-too-familiar predicament.
he won’t let dean go. not now, not ever. but that doesn’t mean he’ll enjoy the pain that comes with holding onto someone destined for another path.
for not the first time tonight, this week, or this year, he shuts his eyes and silently prays for a reprieve from the addictive anguish that is loving dean ambrose.
***
end
#ambrollins#my fic#my writing#prompt fill#this is the sappiest thing on the planet but i'm honestly just happy that i finished this
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Connor x Mell Reader (BMC / DEH crossover)
concept: (y/n) is Michaels younger sibling. Connor comes over to smoke, but found another interest instead
word count: 1.6K
warnings: weed, swearing
A/N: Hi, i take request!
“Oh, uh- hey connor.” Michael said at the unexpected visitor at the door. He and connor had been neutral acquaintances for awhile. They seen each other around sometimes and the only real thing that connected the two was weed.
Connor was michael’s weed buddy. Even Though connor wanted to be more than just sone guy who shared a dealer, he always felt out of place with how close michael and jeremy were together. He didn’t want to come in between that .
“Uh- Is everything ok?” Michael asked confused on why the boy came.
“Well there’s some shit going on at my place, do you mind if i chill? Just for a bit? I um brought some ‘stuff’ to smoke if you want.”
Michael let the boy inside the house. “Yeah sure! We can play some mario kart.” Michael said leading the boy into the basement.
Connor really was having a hard time at home. His parents were in the middle of a fight and he couldn’t stand listening to it anymore. Him and michael had hung out a few times before so connor was scared he was going to make everything awkward.
“You can just plop down right there.” michael said pointing to a beanbag. Connor took a seat and took out the contents of his pockets to start rolling a joint.
Michael began booting up the nintendo 64’ and getting two controllers.
They passed the joint back and forth while arguing over who was cheating and who wasn’t.
“Mell are you sure you’re not using some sort of cheat code?” connor said passing the joint to michael. Michael just chuckled.
“No no. this is just pure skill.” he said.
The basement door opened slowly. Connor looked up the side of the stairwell in curiosity while trying to pay attention to the game.
Connor tapped michael to get his attention at the open door, concerned it was michael’s parents of something.
“(y/n)?” Michael called out become aware of the open door.
Slowly, some footsteps were heard coming down the staircase.
“Mickey, do you have two AA+ batteries? I need them for my radio.” said the person at the edge of the staircase.
Michael paused the game and gave the joint to connor. He stood up from his beanbag and began walking over to some corner of the room and searching for the batteries. Connor couldn’t help but stare at you. He couldn’t help but notice every small detail about you.
Connor began to notice his staring had been going on for too long when you looked away in embarrassment. Red coated your cheeks.
The basements cold and dark atmosphere contrasted so much from the warm light hitting your face. You looked so angelic to him. You brought a warmth out in him that he hadn’t felt for a really long time.
“Here you go.” Michael said tossing you a pack of batteries. You thanked him and smiled at connor before you left back from the way you came.
Michael took a seat back down where he was and gripped the controller again.
“Ready?” michael said as connor was still in a trance. “Connor!” Michael said louder to get the boys attention.
“Huh? Uh- yeah. Ready.” he said picking up the controller again.
“You ok?” Michael asked. Raising an eyebrow.
“Uh.. yeah. Can I use your bathroom, Mell?” Connor asked becoming a bit flustered. Michael nodded and pointed up. “Walk straight till you hit the hallway, and it’s the first door on the left” said Michael.
Connor nodded and started walking up. He clenched his chest slightly. “Fuck.. what is going on..” he whispered to himself. He had never felt this way. He never had the image of anyone stuck in his head like that. He repeated your name over and over again. He couldn’t get you out his head.
He found the bathroom but became destracted with the sound of the radio coming from the kitchen. Connors little ears heard the sweet sound of you singing along to the radio. The brief sound of pot and pans rustling in the kitchen shortly followed by a loud ‘BANG’
His heart stopped. He couldn’t just stand there and wonder what happened. He NEEDED to see if you were ok.
He prepared himself for a mess. Some sort of horror movie scene. Walking into the kitchen, he found a sight that scared him more then some sort of final destination scene where the victim was killed by falling pot and pans. Instead he found you sliding cookies off a baking tray onto a plate. The sight was so pure. So wholesome, and so wonderful to his eyes. Just this simple act of you making cookies made him feel all warm again.
“Fuck..” he said to himself. You looked behind to find an out of breath connor panting.
“Cookie?” you said holding one up with a smile. This made connor start to blush again.
“Yeah, sure.” he said hesitantly accepting the cookie, walking closer to the counter.
You smiled, waiting on the some sort of feedback. “Well~” you said egging him on to say something.
“Beautiful- fuck. I mean good? No i mean- shit. Better than ‘good.’ amazing.” the boy stammered over his words as his blush grew a shade darker. he looked away. You smiled wide at the kind words, feeling a new feeling of accomplishment.
“Thank you!” you said with a wide smile. “Yeah.. welcome..” he said looking away. Connor stood there awkwardly. All this time he was worried about being awkward with Michael and here he was being awkward with some person in his house.
“You a friend of michaels? The only person who ever comes around is Jeremy. I’m pretty sure those two are dating…” You said with a giggle.
Connor nodded and explained how they never really hung out.
“So you and michael like related or something?” he said. Maybe it was the munchies, maybe he really liked your baking or maybe it was the way he liked the conversation with you, but he grabbed. another cookie.
“Yeah he’s my older brother.”
Connor nearly choked. “You’re his sibling?!” He said with wide eyes as you giggled nodding.
He couldn’t believe how somebody so cute could be related to Michael. He just looked at Michael as some stoner in a PT cruiser, but he looked at you and saw a sunset. He saw warm colors and he felt all fuzzy.
As soon as he knew it, he had been sitting on the counter talking with you for almost an hour. He didn’t even notice. You two were having a good time talking and laughing and just enjoying one another.
Michael didn’t even notice until the weed was all gone. He decided to go and investigate up stairs. He heard Connor laughing. He never seen connor smile, let alone laugh. He followed the sound.
He saw Connor sitting on the counter giggling with you. Your face all red and blushing.
“Hmm. Trying to flirt with my sibling!?” He said with his arms waving in the air. You jumped at the sudden surprise. “No Michael it’s not like that-” connor said seeing your face drop in disappointment. He felt his heart drop and his heart skip a beat. He was flirting with you. He couldn’t deny that. He couldn’t say yes, he couldn’t have a pissed off michael on his hands.
Connor shrugged. “I was just leaving” he said coldly jumping off the counter.
“Connor-” you called out but he was already walking away.
You looked down at your hands as the front door closed softly.
Connor felt so stupid. Why did he walk out that way? Why did he just drop everything like that? He liked you. He was positive. He knew he liked you. But he knew he never felt that way about anyone before, let alone anyone who made him all warm.
The following days, you never left his mind. The image of you smiling burned into his head. The sound of your laughter replaying like music to his ears.
He couldn’t stop beating himself up for leaving that way. He couldn’t stand himself for it. He formulated a plan. He knew the perfect way to make it up to you. His plan was sure to work.
He began work right away.
It was 11 at night. Everyone was already going to sleep. Michael laid in his bed, and so did your parents. As soon was your face hit the pillow, a knock at the door threw you off. You didn’t hear anyone walking to get it. You took into your own hands.
You walked to the front door and opened it slightly.
“Connor..?” You said confused.
He held a baking tray out to you. There was black round disks on the tray.
“I was a dick the other day. I wanted to stay and talk to you, but Michael- and i’m a bad person- fuck.” You giggled at his stammering.
“I made you cookies.” He pushed the tray out a little to you. You excepted and smiled. “Thank you. They look lovely” you said smiling wide.
“You didn’t have to do this Connor” you said looking at the blushing boy.
He tapped his feet nervously.
“Umm if you aren’t too busy, maybe we can like hang out again.” he said running his hands threw his hair. You just simply smiled. “Fuck.. is that lame? I’ll just go-”
You placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I’d love to.” you say. Connor smiled. Genuinely smiled. Your heart melted at the sight.
Connor waved as he got into his car and started to drive off. You waited until he was out of sight. You were certain the ‘cookies’ he made was toxic. You placed them loveling in a box where they never perished. (Kinda gross TBH)
#connor murphy#connor murphy x reader#deh headcanons#deh connor#deh x reader#imagine dear evan hansen#dear evan hansen x reader#deh#fanfic#fanfiction#x reader#reader incert#michael mell#jeremy heere#be more chill#bmc#musical x reader#reader insert
254 notes
·
View notes
Text
My thoughts on the Crazy Ex-Girlfriend season finale.
Okay, I am going to try to string two sentences together, but... wow. Holy shit.
Will a wedding be involved in every season finale?
Robert. Oh my God.
ReJoshecca ChaBunch
Okay, bookmarks are probably not the best sources of advice, but Silas is still a dick. Naomi’s reaction to him is perfect. “The garbage father” and “The Westchester Sperm Machine” are the perfect reactions to him. Like... WHO DOES THAT??? And good for Rebecca, finally telling the bastard to get fucked.
That medley reprise, though. I got a bit choked up when she started in with “My daddy will love me...”
We finally meet Hector’s mom.
What if Hector and Heather become a thing? That’d be interesting.
Heather looks stunning as usual. Vella Lovell is probably the most beautiful woman on the planet.
White Josh and Madison are adorable.
Heather emoted, and she was... all of us, I think.
Poor Rebecca. I mean, she’s off her rocker in a way that makes me feel completely sane, but I also feel so bad for her.
I never thought I’d say this, but I fell a little in love with Nathaniel.
Let’s just say it’s a good thing Josh has devoted himself to God because only God can help him now.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but... not this.
Next season cannot come soon enough.
3 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
unleash-your-inner-artist
Δ ή μ η τ ρ α
imnamei
lu
itzmna-blog
Pensamientos
automaticinternetpuppy
Tanpa judul
abhiisa
abhiisa