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repulsiveliquidation · 3 months

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Darlin’ I’d Wait For You.

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Very loosely based on the song j’s lullaby (darlin’ i’d wait for you) by Delaney Bailey and this poem!

It’s the night of your wedding, you’re dancing in the middle of the room with your friends. Lucy and Ona have you between them, the country song that half the guests didn’t understand still managed to give them a little pep in their step. Alexia sips on her drink, sitting around with her Barça teammates as they all watch the girls on the dance floor lose their inhibitions with the free-flow alcohol the longer the night goes on.

Frido taps her on her shoulder, seeing the lovestruck look on the Spanish captain’s face as she watches you let loose on the dancefloor.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” the Swede starts, the rest of the girls listening in, “how did you know she was your person?”

Alexia looks up at Frido and takes a long swig of her gin. She slams the glass down on the table, looking back at you. You’re being spun around by Mapi, a huge grin on your face when you catch Alexia’s eye. You bite your lip and grin at her, giving her a little wave. She gives you one back, leaning back into her chair. She takes a deep breath, looking at the girls.

“When I did my ACL, there was no one else who could get me out of bed.”

“Alexia, for fuck sake, if I come up there and see you still in bed, I’ll do your other ACL myself!”

You walk up the stairs, steam about to erupt from your ears when you enter the room and see Alexia sitting up in bed with her head in her hands. All your anger dissipates and you rush to her, kneeling in front of her holding her wrists.

“What’s wrong, Ale?” you ask softly, thumbs rubbing the back of her hands.

“I can’t do it,” she says quietly, eyes filling with hot tears.

“What can’t you do, darling?”

“This, I can’t do this. This isn’t me,” she cries, bottom lip wobbling as she leans into you. You cradle her head as she rests her forehead on your shoulder and sobs.

“You’re right baby, this isn’t you. This isn’t my Alexia. My Alexia is strong and stubborn. My Alexia refuses to quit. She fights, no matter what it takes,” you tell her sternly, wiping away her tears as your hands cradle her face.

“I just want to be the old me,” she begs, grabbing the front of your shirt. You stand and hold her head to your stomach, rubbing the back of her neck.

“But, what if the new you comes back stronger than ever? What if the new you is better than the old you?”

“Will you still love me?” she asks wearily, watery eyes looking hopefully up at you.

“I will always love you, Alexia, nothing can ever change that.” “When there were setbacks, she was the only one who could get me to keep trying.”

“It feels funny, amor,” Alexia whispered to you on the pitch, hobbling over to the side of the pitch for a quick swig of water. You follow her and rub her back, taking a drink of water too.

“What does bebita?”

“My knee,” she says, pointing to her ACL one. You look up at her and bite your bottom lip, a habit you had when you were concerned.

“Do you want to come off, I think we can cover for you till someone’s warm.”

“Bebé, what if it’s happened again?” she starts, dropping her bottle and head spiraling to all the worse possibilities.

You take her hands and grip them tight, bringing her out of her thoughts. She looks scared, eyes and expression unreadable to everyone except you.

“It’s probably nothing, but I don’t want you taking risks. Sit out, we’ll be fine,” you give her a quick peck on the cheek, turning to see Jonatan already having someone to replace Alexia. She walks off slowly, nodding at you when you give her a thumbs up. “When my start was delayed, she was the only one who would listen.”

“How did they not find anything?!” Alexia yells at you, throwing her book towards the window.

“Ale, it was exploratory. It’s good!” you rationalize with her, trying to calm her down.

“There’s supposed to be nothing, then why was there discomfort?” she screams, tears filling her eyes. Your heart breaks in two, her head hitting her pillow as she begins to break down. She had been holding it in for weeks since that day when she benched herself.

She refused to talk to you, engage with you, and look you in the eye. Your mind thought the worst until you heard her sobbing in the bathroom at 3 in the morning the night before she was due to be at the hospital.

“Ale?” you called, walking into the bathroom and finding her slumped in the shower. You quietly sit beside her, taking her hand away from her face. She gasps, looking at you with red eyes. You see fear in your girlfriends eyes, a look that she rarely had. You didn’t like it one bit.

“What’s bothering you, my love?”

“I’m scared again, bebé,” she admits simply, voice shaky.

“Why’s that, my love?”

“What if something is wrong?”

“Does it feel like when you did it?” you ask, rubbing the back of her hand in soothing circles.

She shakes her head, sniffling softly.

“Does it hurt like when you did it?”

“No.”

“It’s just not feeling like your knee?”

“Sí,” she says, leaning her head on your shoulder.

“Well, they had to reconstruct the ligament amor, it’s not your knee. You’ve got to give it a bit more time.”

“But, the fans, they want me out there playing I-”

“They also don’t want you playing if you’re not 100%, the Alexia they want is the one scoring magnificent goals, not standing by the sidelines scared of hurting her knee again. Take your time and give them the new and improved Alexia when you’re ready.”

“They’ll wait?”

“No matter how long it takes, darling.”

“When I was ready to get out there, she held me like a child taking her first bike ride without training wheels. Promising to never let go.”

You promised to be by her side the entire process of recovering again. You took her to PT, made her eat well, and comforted her when things didn’t go to plan. What she didn’t tell you was that she was cleared for training and games again, Jonatan promised to put her back on the bench to be subbed in for a bit later in the game this weekend.

“I’m on the sheet,” Alexia whispered, looking at the team bulletin. “I’m on the sheet!” she yelled, jumping for joy as the rest of the team celebrated with her. She hugged Mapi, then Ingrid, high-fiving the rest of the girls. You waited patiently in your cubby for her, back turned as you ruffled in your bag.

Alexia got down on one knee (the ACL one of course), and the ring held out for you to see. The whole room was dead silent, and you turned to see what made the normally rowdy bunch all quiet.

“You better not be up to something, you guys are never quie-”

You look down and see Alexia grinning at you, tapping her knee.

“Ale, your leg! You’re not supposed to do that!” you say, completely ignoring the beautiful diamond ring in her hands. You begin to get her to stand when she slaps your hand away and Patri yells “Look at her hand, idiota!”

After showing her the middle finger, you look down at Alexia’s hands and see the open velvet box.

“There is no one else I’d want to have by my side the rest of my life, will you marry me?”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

She looks at Frido, smiling when she hears you yelling at the DJ to play your favorite. She leans forward, tears in her eyes.

“I knew because when I want to run away, she is who I’m running toward.”

Alexia looks at you again, you’re standing on a table dancing to the song the DJ just put on. She leaves the girls and walks towards you, helping you down.

“Amor,” she says, pulling you into her arms.

“Sí, Mi esposa?” you grin, wrapping your arms around her neck.

“Te amo,” Alexia whispers, forehead pressed to yours as the dancefloor clears for the two of you.

“Yo también te quiero,” you say to her, lips leaning forward to press a deep kiss on her lips. She kisses back as the room erupts in cheers, their favorite couple displaying what true love looks like.

I’m in a bad place with my head right now so I wrote this out hoping it helps :) I don’t know if it makes any sense since I haven’t proofread but oh well.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso x reader #woso soccer #woso imagine #woso fanfics #fc barca femeni

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wileys-russo · 8 months

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Look just bare with me sit in my brain for a second imagine Stina is trying to flirt with reader and failing miserably and Katie is just sick of watching the awful flirting. Katie is trying to help Stina flirt with Reader and Stina is still failing. Katie tells her to take the physical approach and Stina like does that girly slap readers arm like “omg you’re so funny”. Katie is just absolutely astonished at how one can be so bad at flirting and she’s annoyed that Stina isn’t getting it. So Katie does what Katie does best and tackles Stina and that is how we get to the picture and she’s just like politely, quietly, yelling that this position is what she meant by flirting. And then we have Stina who is just like “that’s so aggressive. Why are you like this?” Like idk I just feel this would be funny.

tongue tied II s.blackstenius

"i like your boots today y/n/n, they look very...very clean today." katie winced at the poor attempt at flirting which dropped from the blonde swedes mouth. "thanks stin." you chuckled with an amused smile before jogging off after viv for some shooting practice.

"what the hell was that!" katie shoved the blonde who watched you go with a pained look on her face. "i don't know! she makes me nervous." stina huffed, pulling her hair out and scraping it into a messy bun as katie shook her head.

the poor woman had been tongue tied around you ever since you were signed and joined the club this season, and stina's painstaking crush seemed obvious to absolutely everyone but you.

which was probably due to the fact stina couldn't flirt to save her life, and as much as she wanted to ask you out she just couldn't find the words.

katie determined to wingwoman the blonde had already established early on in the most unsubtle of ways that you were single and interested in woman, bluntly cornering you after training and firing a few questions your way until leah noticed the interrogation and dragged you away to safety.

it had been almost three weeks of stina tripping and stumbling over herself trying to let you know how she felt, too worried of rejection to directly ask you, but her poor attempts to feel out if you'd be interested by 'flirting' were just...painful.

"thats not how ya flirt with someone. you wanna make sure they know you like them, compliment her not her boots!" katie explained with a roll of her eyes as the tall blonde beside her nodded slowly. "try again, go on." katie pushed stina toward you, following just behind where she was still within earshot.

"wow that was a good kick! very uh strong and powerful." stina smiled after you knocked a goal into the top right corner, cheering as viv clapped you on the back. "oh my god." katie mumbled to herself, smacking her hand against her forehead, this was harder than she'd thought.

"was that better?" stina asked hopefully as katie caught up with her and you ran off again, this time chasing after gio who'd poured her water bottle down your back. "no, it was somehow worse." katie affirmed making the taller woman groan.

"when i said compliment her i meant like her eyes or how she looks good in the training kit or her laugh! something about her not about football." katie sighed, spotting lia walking toward them.

"like this, watch."

"oi wally, your biceps look good in that vest today. wanna bench press me?" katie grinned cheekily at her friend who playfully rolled her eyes but blew her a sarcastic kiss before continuing on past them.

"see! like that. now you try to flirt with me." katie ordered as stina nodded along. "uh the way that you have your shorts rolled up makes your thighs look big." stina tried, katie simply face palming again with a deep sigh.

"katie this is hard! i could do better in swedish but she will not understand." stina groaned, grumbling to herself in annoyance in her native language as she folded her arms over her chest, watching you kick the ball around with noelle and lotte on the other side of the pitch.

"okay, flirtin 101. new tactic!" katie clapped as stina nodded, eagerly listening. "when she says somethin funny, you smack her arm and laugh. like this!" katie smacked stina lightly on the shoulder and forced a laugh.

"okay. but what if what she says is not funny?" stina frowned as katie sighed. "you wait until she says somethin funny stina!"

"okay girls we're down by two. we need to isolate lessi and beth, that's whose causing us the most trouble." leah commanded in the huddle, the team split into four smaller teams for a wind down game.

"you're telling me. beth's flying today she's practically dancing around me!" you sighed tiredly, having been going one on one with the speedy blonde all game. "that was funny!" stina laughed as the huddle broke apart, punching you in the arm a lot harder than katie had demonstrated.

"ow! stina what was that for." you scowled at the taller blonde, rubbing your throbbing arm and shoving her lightly, katie pinching the bridge of her nose. stina apologizing hastily as you ran off to resume the game, looking to katie with wide eyes who held her hands up and jogged off after you onto the pitch.

once the game had finished, your team unfortunately losing by one singular goal the training staff called for free time before everyone was expected in the gym in an hour.

"what did i do wrong!" stina yanked her bib off and rushed right over to katie who was stretching. "ya punched her!" the irishwoman laughed with a shake of her head. "this is never going to work!" stina groaned, dropping to the floor with a groan.

"because ya don't listen stin! look, you do it like this." katie jumped on top of the blonde who screamed as she did, repeatedly demonstrating a light playful smack and laugh as stina struggled to throw her off.

"okay okay i understand! get off of me." stina grunted, finally shoving off the rambunctious brunette who fell to the floor as the swedish woman pulled herself to her feet with a determined huff.

"good. go get her!" katie ordered from the ground, pointing toward you where you were practicing your juggling, seemingly lost in your own world. but you were rudely snapped back into reality as a body slammed into you, a mess of blonde hair tackling you to the ground as you gave out a yell.

"you are very funny. go on a date with me!" stina sat on top of you as your eyes widened, both in shock from her words and the way your body had just been smacked into the ground.

"oh my fucking-" katie watched on in disbelief, flopping onto her back and burying her face in her hands with a defeated sigh.

"okay. but you could have just asked me stin!" you threw your head back, clutching at your stomach as you laughed at the abrupt unexpected situation, stina eventually joining you.

"then its a date, when we get back to london. i will organise it!" stina grinned happily, jumping up off of you and offering you a hand up. "sounds good. but next time just come talk to me, no more tackling or punching me!" you teased, kissing her cheek with a wink before you ran off with a beaming smile toward lotte to fill her in.

"katie! i did it! did you see?" stina bounded over to the irish woman who peeked out from her hands, frowning at the elated look on the blondes face. "that worked? she said yes?" katie scoffed, jumping to her feet as stina nodded eagerly.

"jesus, well. now i guess we have to work on your flirting for the date." "wait you have to flirt on the date!?"

#woso #woso x reader #stina blackstenius #stina blackstenius x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs #arsenal women #arsenal wfc #awfc #awfc x reader

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newtonsheffield · 2 years

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Anthony in Good girls picking Neddy from school? Can we see it?? Pleasee?

Hmmmm I'm just in a good girls kind of mood

Kate Bridgerton wasn't an idiot. Despite what Edwina would have you believe. She knew that her husband... even before he was her husband had always been a little... hot. He was absolutely drop dead gorgeous. His arms were tight bands of muscle, his chest broad, long hair, the scruff of his beard, an air of self confidence that tied everything together in an absolutely... delicious package that honestly had Kate very glad she'd scooped him up when they'd been eighteen and so unsure of themselves. She wasn't actually sure she'd have been able to do it now.

Everything about him made her spiral out of control until she found herself dragging him from the room until her hips locked around his waist and his teeth nipped at her throat and his name was on her lips and it was... insane. And it had only gotten worse since they'd had Edmund. She'd thought she'd found Anthony attractive before, she knew she had, but jesus. fucking. christ. Seeing Anthony with their child made her burn for him.

From the second he'd been born Anthony had fallen so deeply in love with their child, with her all over again that it caught in her throat. She saw him go to work twice a week with Neddy strapped to his chest, saw him gently holding his hand, crowing delightedly as Edmund ate his swede and carrot mash Neddy you are going to be such a big strong boy! Princess! Neddy's the best eater there is I'm sure of it! She couldn't take it. Everything about him standing in his leather jacket, the floral shirt open nearly to his navel, his dark sunglasses covering his eyes, ripped jeans was so absolutely fucking... daddy. And she wasn't the only person who noticed it.

Wasn't the only person who noticed that Anthony loved his son, and it seemed to have a certain... effect on women, well, honestly, anyone interested in men. And obviously she noticed the slight sigh that her son's daycare teachers gave when they noticed her walking through the front door with a wistful Say hi to Anthony for us. And of course, Anthony had no idea.

Smiling happily as he brought Edmund home, "Everyone's so friendly!"

And it wasn't even that Kate was jealous, truly it made something ridiculously smug settle in her chest that Anthony truly didn't notice anyone else's attention. As far as he was concerned, Kate was the only woman who found him attractive at all, and she was perfectly happy to keep it that way. But it was awfully funny.

"Hi Kate." Debbie sighed a little sadly as Kate knelt beside Edmund, kissing the top of his head as he let out a shrill Mummy!

"Did you have a good day sweetheart?"

Neddy nodded, his hair falling in his eyes as he settled on her hip, so much like Anthony as he settled his chin on her shoulder.

"Hey, Debbie, hope he wasn't too much trouble today."

And whatever Debbie had been about to say was cut off by Gerard in the background Oh My god! Daddy Bridgerton's here!

"Neddy! There's my boy!" Anthony's voice boomed through the daycare, rushing forwards, completely oblivious to the eyes that followed him across the room, to the sighs several of the mum's standing around let out as he perched his sunglasses on top of his braided hair, grinning brightly as he wrapped both Kate and Edmund in his arms for a long moment.

"Papa!" Edmund crowed, giving his father a high five sending Kate's heart hammering.

"Bud, did you have fun today?"

"Yep! Are we gonna get ice cream on the way home?"

Anthony pretended to think about it, kissing the top of his head before whispering, "Of course we are, don't we always on Fridays?"

"Yes!"

And as they walked out smiling at Edmund's teachers as Jessica sighed God she is such a lucky bitch.

Kate couldn't really help herself from winking over Edmund's head at them, "I know, hot as fuck right?"

and truly the fact that Anthony looked a little bewildered and said "It's november." Made it all the better.

#good girls au #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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bibliphale · 7 months

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fingers gently curl 'round the curve of crowley's elbow , guiding him a bit further into jackie's bar , away from where the swede had been bussing tables. just a brief , stolen moment , that was all i wanted. it had been ages since i'd seen crowley , ever since we'd reconnected with stede. he seemed so desperate to find blackbeard , he hadn't even thought about joining crowley's crew to do it. i figured i'd take it upon myself to ask ; not that working in jackie's bar wasn't enjoyable , of course , though part of me wondered vaguely if i was getting better treatment than the rest of the former revenge crew , because of who crowley was. ❛ hello , you - oh , you look lovely , is this a new jacket ? ❜

snapped briefly out of my mission oriented conversation , i gently stretched my hands out to smooth my fingers curiously along the fabric of crowley's sleeves , moving my arms forward to absently adjust one of the buttons along his front. oh , he did look rather dashing , didn't he ? my pirate captain. i'd changed a bit since i'd seen him last ; just the makings of the faintest of white beards forming along my jaws , & a gold pearl earring that hung from my left earlobe. a very familiar pearl , admittedly. the edges of my lips twitched , before i quietly cleared my throat , blinking as i lowered my hands from his clothing , moving to clasp them behind my back. as i arched my brows expectantly toward my ivory hairline , i gestured a little with my chin toward stede , who greeted guests at the entrance of the tavern.

❛ right , sorry. um .. stede & the gang are a little worse for wear , i'm afraid. hunting down the revenge , saving their wages to get a new ship .. i figured it might be easier for them if we joined up with your crew ; are you .. i don't know .. hiring ? ❜ lord above , how scandalous ! ah , if i joined with his crew , would i have to take orders from him ? that would be a strange sight. tipping my head hopefully to the side , i studied the demon across from me eagerly , dimples faintly crooning 'pon either side of my lips as i waited. this was all for stede , of course , i had no immediate interest in joining crowley's crew .. in seeing him every day , in curling up with him in his bed again , in drinking rum with him & fooling around on his ship when everyone else was in bed , no .. no , absolutely not. purely selfless.

@n1atruc / closed o.fmd starter !

#closed .#n1atruc #starter .#q .#ofmd verse /#I FUCKING HAD TO IM NOT SORRY #ofmd spoilers /

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munsonmuses · 1 year

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Razors and Tongues (Prince Paul x Reader)

Synopsis: Paul, much to the detest of his mother, has still been struggling to find a spouse, much less one that could carry an heir. And Catherine was desperate to end the war with the Swede’s. Why not kill two birds with one stone? That’s where the reader comes in. You, being in Catherine’s good graces, at least, enough that she won’t harm you, and treats you with a gentle hand, she decides to use you to push the narrative she holds. Unfortunately, you’re a bit vicious and viper-like in tongue, towards anyone but her. And although horrendous, absolutely detestable, and manipulative to the core, Paul can’t detach himself from the idea of you. Pursuing you like a pathetic puppy

Warnings: Cursing, mild gore, lots of references to breasts, reader is a female/has female anatomy, smut (incredibly rough, bratty, a prince gets what he wants smut)

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The sound of the gun firing echoed, cracking through the quiet autumn air. Paul muttering bitterly to himself as he reloaded carefully. Aiming at the helpless buck and firing, watching it go down with a desperate cry.

“No, no I don’t want to marry some Danish Dunce of a woman, I have no clue who she might be, and I know she’s some air headed idiot-“ he told Andrey, aiming once more as he searched the wood for another helpless animal to suffer the consequence of his rage. “Or worse, she falls in line, within my mothers gaggle of vicious, barb tongued geese…” he muttered bitterly as he pulled back to look at Andrey.

Andrey shrugged lightly, looking him over carefully as he hummed to himself. “Well, nobody said you had to love her, or even like her. You merely have to fuck her.” He said as Paul scoffed, fixing his coat.

“If she’s that desperate for an heir I could fuck a common whore, we don’t have to go through all this work-“ he muttered bitterly as he stood, carefully packing away the firearm and beginning the trek back to the palace. Bitterly swallowing his detest in favor of his country, and the duty he was required to uphold.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You stared up at a portrait of the young prince, carefully swallowing the sweet peach wine within your glass. Eyes tracing every feature on his painted face. Catherine scoffing lightly.

“My son is…detestable, in appearance, to say the least duckling, but, he’s not awful. If you can overlook the weak chin, short neck, and pathetically flat cheekbones…he’s got my eyes. He’s cunning, vicious in wit, he’s gunning for the throne-“ she took a heavy sip, that would be better described as a gulp.

“-and he’s a bit of…a character. He falls relatively easy if he sees you as palatable. I know, that you don’t necessarily match that description, but he needs a strong woman to keep him in line.” Catherine mused, earning a curt nod from you.

“Don’t worry, I promise you I can provide an heir, and a placated prince…” you assured, before taking a peer at yourself in a mirror. The heavy and deep green of the dress you wore contrasting with the white lace that decorated your throat. The waxy red pigment on your lips, still in tact after your nursing of your glass.

“I can give you exactly what you-“

The doors flew open, cutting through your statement as his muddied shoes traipsed along the tile of the room. Stopping harshly and turning to look at you with a soft sneer.

Catherine, ever the diplomat, carefully approached you and took your hands, leading you over to Paul who looked you over with eyes filled with venom and malice. He expected a calm and docile sheep, desperate to please to look back at him. Instead, met with the eyes of a viper. Desperate to strike but searching for the optimal point. And for once, he felt mildly challenged.

“Paul, dear…I’d like to introduce you to the crowned princess of Sweden. Before you get smart with me, consider the opportunities it would create for our nation…” she insisted as he scoffed lightly. “There’s a month, between you both, to see how things go.”

His portrait didn’t do him justice, his face was much softer, sweeter. A soft jawline, and plush pink lips. His eyes soft, a forced hardness behind them.

“A suitable whore, a detestable wife-“ he said calmly as he looked you over.

“And you’re a pathetic excuse for a husband-“you retorted sharply.

And his breath caught in his throat, his face felt hot. But he wasn’t feverish in the slightest. He was being challenged by you, and it was ridiculously alluring. Oh good god…was he falling?

As you sauntered off, following Catherine and her close circle, looking back over your shoulder at him.

His body rigid, eyes frozen on you as you winked lightly and left. He had to have you…

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The following three weeks had been filled with stolen glances, teasing, patronizing the poor man. And he was coming undone at the seems, because good god, you were ravishing. He couldn’t keep it together.

Watching you socialize, how you would make ever so sure you were tilted far too forward, were eating precious pastries and allowing the creams inside to rest on your lips for seconds too long, and subsequently licking them off your plush lips. All while maintaining stiff and unrelenting eyecontact.

Teasing him...

Calling him...

Challenging him...

As you dismissed yourself from the table, unable to handle another second of cruel gossiping disguised under the notion of "keeping each other politically updated", you felt a pair of eyes trained on you. Looking up, the prince scowling down at you from one of the many windows and shoving the curtains shut.

Despite the disdain on his face, you knew you'd won. Carefully snatching a pastry off the tray and heading inside. Meandering what appeared to be aimlessly, up to his study, and allowing yourself inside. His back to you, but the grunt he let out signified him acknowledging your presence.

"I brought you something to eat, lord knows you need it. You lock yourself away up here..." you unceremoniously sat yourself upon his desk, and held the pastry out to him.

Though he was looking right past it.

at how your breasts spilled ever so slightly over the lace that lined the square collar of your peacock blue dress, one that matched the hue of his suit perfectly (especially since he'd had it made and sent, due to personal preference). How the whalebone of your corset cinched and pulled everything just the right way. How the gorgeous pendant that hung from your neck had made its home beautifully between your breasts.

At his refusal to take the pastry, you shoved it unceremoniously into your mouth as he scoffed loudly to himself.

"You disgust me, how you stuff your mouth, a-and you guffaw like a goose! You tease and poke a-and you pull my mind as-astray and I just-" he looked up to see if you were listening, and you weren't, unsurprisingly.

That was IT.

He yanked you towards him, his lips practically shoved onto yours as you dropped the final half of the pastry gracelessly onto the papers that had still lied upon his desk.

His kisses were feverish and rough, biting and sucking at your lower lip till it was practically puffy and raw. Pulling back, you went to look away, yet one of his hands roughly cupped your jaw.

"Aside from all those things I want you, you're to be my wife..." he said, eyes dark pools of want and unabashed need.

"Now, let's stuff that pretty mouth with something else-" before you could even get a thought out, he shoved you to your knees, his hands moving quick to rid himself of his trousers. His cock already desperately hard as he took your jaw in his hand once more, tugging gently. He was desperate, but he wasn't a monster. He'd allow you to put in your two cents, even if he couldn't outright ask.

His prayers were answered as he felt his breath catch in his throat, watching as your pretty lips left hot and warm kisses along his shaft, lightly cradling his balls as the kisses stopped at the head, taking him into your mouth.

His eyes fluttered as he slowly placed a hand on the back of your head, his fingers grasping desperately onto the ringlets upon your head, your jaw slackening as he pushed in, deeper and deeper till your nose was nestled against him, soft gags leaving you. The beautiful peach of your lipstick staining his cock as he groaned to himself, the warmth around him addictive.

"This..." he shuddered as he pulled back, "is going to be an incredible marriage..." he pushed all the way back in.

He set his steady pace, it apparent that he was somewhat unpracticed as he fucked into your throat. If this was how the stretch felt in your throat, how delicious would it feel in your sopping cunt. Moaning around him as you managed to work your hand under your mass of skirts and undergarments, cupping yourself and slowly working two fingers over your clit.

A harsh gag left you as he shoved deep, gently pinching your nose between his fingers as he looked at you. "No, you are an educated woman, not some common whore, although you look otherwise...you will wait, patiently." He ordered as you subserviently moved your hands up to his hips instead.

Allowing him to fuck your throat like a depraved animal, because lord knows he needs it...and he just looks oh so cute with his lip tugged between his teeth and lazily whimpering your name.

It wasn't much longer before he had you panting desperately as he came down your throat, pulling back slowly as it coated your lips between coughs.

"Good lord Paul, you have ridiculous stamina..." you commented, earning nothing more in reply than two strong hands lifting you, and throwing you upon the desk. Papers scattering beneath you.

"Paul what on earth are you-" He ripped a thick strip of your underskirt, shoving it into your mouth, scowling lightly. "You talk too much..." he chastised, making quick work of the rest of your skirts.

Eyes widening, he carefully pushed two fingers into your cunt. Already soaking wet at his previous ministrations. Carefully prodding, his own eyes as wide as yours.

Sure, he'd had sex before...but he'd never loved anyone he'd had sex with.

Oh shit he was in love

He looked up at you, slowly removing his fingers before disappearing into the crashing sea of cerulean and royal blue fabrics of your dress, slowly sitting yourself up...what on earth was he do-OH!

The feeling of soft kisses being placed along your slit, the warmth of his lips addictive as he stopped his kisses at your clit, taking it between his lips and suckling lazily while easing his fingers back in, slowly pumping them while working your bundle of nerves.

You gently squeezed his head between your plush thighs, your arousal soaking his hand and rolling onto his sleeves. Slowly pulling them back only to replace them with his tongue as you whined loudly. Immediately moving your gloved hand over his head through the fabric, holding his head in place.

Paul on the other hand, was eating like a man starved, sloppily sucking and lapping at your cunt, it running down his chin and pooling in a small puddle upon his desk as he laughed, sending vibrations through you. Earning a desperate moan from you, he only laughed harder.

And that was you undoing, crying out as you caught him like a vice between your thighs and came viciously hard. Panting as stars were the only thing you could see, vision clearing to reveal a both smug and wildly amused Paul.

"You talk too much, and moan not nearly enough..."

He roughly yanked you towards him once he was stood, grunting lightly as he carefully positioned himself and pushed in.

The both of you moaned in sync, the feeling of his cock sinking into you was heavenly. It was apparent he felt the same, by the twitching felt inside you. Neither of you were going to last long. with how well you'd been handling one another.

His hands took hold of your plush thighs, pressing your legs up beside your head, thrusts growing feverish and desperate as he panted and groaned loudly. The sounds of skin slapping, desperate moans, and panting for air, as Paul desperately rutted into your cunt.

Pulling the rag from your mouth, you tugged him to look at you.

"You are a bratty, brutish, villainous man...who has no use o his words...But you are also sweet, kind...a-and passionate! Y-You'll make a good husband!" You cried, pulling him down to kiss him.

That undid him, groaning into your mouth as hot ropes of cum filled you, earning a mewl from you as he let out a breathless chuckle.

"What a wonderful wife you'll be..."

--------------

Taglist: @punk-in-docs @mypoisonedvine

#prince paul #joseph quinn #prince paul x reader #shameless smut #joseph quinn x reader

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harlowhockeystick · 2 years

Note

hello love!!!!! okay could i request prompt 6 from the ‘random’ section with our beloved swede <3

ily, kisses and hugs for you bestie 💗😚 hope you’re having an amazing day

contains: alcohol, cuss words, descriptions of a breakup, sad and angsty

"i saw you dancing last night"

j's summer bash

William wrote a note in his phone quoting: tell the guys to never bring me here again. They had good intentions, of course. Nothing sucked more than seeing their best friend go through a horrible breakup. Sure, yeah, the breakup was his fault, but it sucked nonetheless.

He was now five shots deep, maybe six, and all the guys around him were laughing and having a good time. But he was too focused on the girl on the dance floor. she looked exactly like you, and for a moment he thought it was you. He thought it was you in those sparkly tasseled shorts, tight white tank top, curled hair and rhinestone leggings dancing with friends.

But then he remembered you don't like anything sparkly.

You don't like anything with sparkles- shoes, bags, clothes, notebooks- if it shines you don't want it. Because inevitably the sparkles will get onto everything and make an even bigger mess. But damn if he didn't think it was you for just a moment.

Because the song that was playing, he's seen you dance to a thousand times at other clubs just like this. He loves watching you dance too, because you look so free. So careless, like you're having the most fun in your life. It doesn't matter if there's a hundred people in the room or if it's just yourself, you're gonna dance. To take your mind off things, to take your worries off your shoulders for at least two taylor swift songs.

The thought breaks his heart, too. Because he can probably picture yourself dancing in your room, tears rolling down your cheeks as you dance to shake it off once more to take your mind off the heartbreak that he caused you. To get your mind off of him. it sounds selfish, but it breaks his fucking heart.

After shot number eight Mitch took William home. He was in no condition to take himself home, the liquor combined with the somber look on his face he was a seriously messed up guy.

He didn’t say much on the drive to his own apartment complex. Though he was thankful he had such good friends who took him out with intentions for will to feel better, he was feeling worse than before. he thinks that maybe if he hadn’t seen the girl who looked so much like you, he wouldn’t feel as bad as he does now.

The next day will asked Mitch if he would drive him to your house. Mitch, asking no questions, did exactly that. Mitch didn't think it was the best idea, he thinks Will should give it some more time. But Will is a grown man who can make his own decisions.

"Need me to go up there with you?" Mitch asked, pulling underneath the awning of the front drive to your apartment building. William shook his head.

"No, you can go. I'll just get an uber or something to go get my car. Thanks for taking me here," William shook his friends hand and listened to his friend wish him luck.

The elevator ride up was too long for his liking; it was too long, the elevator itself was too small, the jacket he was wearing was too tight. It's funny, though, the trek he had made a hundred times before now makes him feel queazy.

The moment he steps off the elevator, to the moment she answers the door is a blur. All he remembers is stepping into her apartment and smelling the familiar scent of the bonfire candle she always buys herself, the smell of the breakfast she had just made and the laundry that was being done. He's smelled it all a thousand times before, but this now feels different.

"I saw you dancing last night," was his response to when you asked why he was in your apartment. "But it wasn't you, but for a second i swore it was. I felt like i was in a movie."

"What?" You asked, sitting on the opposite side of the couch from William.

"Take me back. Please, that's why i'm here. I saw you - or who i thought was you - and I felt sick. Sick to my stomach because of how bad I fucked up, fucked us up, fucked you up. Take me back, i'm a sick man without you." William pleaded with you, he moved to get onto his knees in front of you with his hands on your thighs. He rested his forehead against your thigh, sighing out a heavy breath.

"Will you leave for worlds in like four days. Why are you doing this now?" Your voice sounded defeated, tired, and weak. There had been days and nights were you cried, stared at the heart he ripped out of your chest and threw at you on the floor, weeping over the man who was now on his knees begging you to take him back.

Half of you wanted to. Because you were so good together, so good. You loved him, he was a good man who always looked out for you. He protected, provided, and loved you. But damn, if he hadn't messed it all up, maybe this conversation wouldn't be happening. No, you're confident this wouldn't be happening.

"Come to worlds with me. Come to Finland, i'll pay for the ticket and everything and-"

"That's not the point, Will! Why are you here now? Now and not three weeks ago when it happened? What if i've already gotten over you?" William knew it wasn't true. He saw how puffy your eyes were and how droopy the ivy's were on the window seal, he knew you hadn't gotten over him. And he didn't get over her.

"Because I love you, and I will never stop loving you. Even if you never take me back, if I hurt you too bad, I'll always love you."

William was still on his knees in front of you, his eyes were watery and his cheeks were starting to get red. You knew he was telling the truth. You didn't respond to him for a while, you continued to stare at the wall in front of you while Williams eyes never left your face.

"I won't go to worlds with you. But, that doesn't mean I won't consider taking you back." A tremendous weight was lifted off of his shoulders after she spoke, "I still love you, Will. You fucked me up bad, but I still love you."

William reached for your hand and he then laced his fingers with yours. He brought your hand up to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your palm.

"I'll see you after worlds."

#j's writing #j's summer bash #william nylander #william nylander imagine #william nylander x reader #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #nhl x reader #my mutuals #scheduled

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auroracalisto · 2 years

Text

don't let them see you cry chapter one, puppeteer of peace — the handler—the very reason for your personal slice of hell. haunting your every move... in your sleep, during the slow hours of the day. the swedish brothers—should have been strangers who show up and show you that you are more than what she told you. you are more than your mind allows you to believe. and you—the very person who will end the misery that plagues your mind. word count: 2.1k words tw: bad mothers, anxious!reader, fem!reader, self-doubt, reader has a job as a babysitter for a minute a/n: i love the swedes so much. and i absolutely adore the fanfiction that's already out there, so i wanted to make one of my own. i hope it's as enjoyable to read as it has been to write it!! also, the swedes don't really make an appearance in this part, but i promise they will. i've just needed to set up the reader's background a little!

An eerie quiet blanketed your childhood living room. Anxiety prickled at the back of your neck, discomfort electric through the air, threatening to suffocate you where you stood. You hadn’t felt this way in ages. Your childhood home, the one before your mother found you, was long gone—what was this? A macabre recreation of it—things were out of place, creating a sense of distress, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on what exactly was wrong with it.

She stood there, glowering down at you beneath her mascara-clad eyelashes. Her makeup was as perfect as ever—not a hair out of place on her head.

She was everything you would never be.

And she made sure you remembered that even though time has separated you plenty.

Her hands were soft as they caressed your cheek, her thumb gently brushing against your cheekbone. As she began to smile at you, her grip on your face became tighter by the minute.

You winced but said nothing, knowing that it would only prove futile. Nothing else mattered than what she did at that very moment. She cared little for what you had to say—what you truly felt.

If you said something against her actions, it would only be worse for you. It was better left alone.

Even in this moment of uncertainty, you knew she only cared for herself.

You couldn’t help but wish it wasn’t like that. You wished you still had your mother—you wished she had never changed. Sweet nothings, gentle hugs—the grip on your face would be a gentle kiss or a pat on the cheek as she told you how well you had done. But time was fleeting, and the niceties she gave you only lasted so long.

For Lila, however, it was different. She loved her more than she could ever love you—and who wouldn’t? Lila was everything you weren’t. Powerful, beautiful, the spitting image of her mother’s endeavors.

Your mother didn’t even need to ask to know what you were thinking about. She smirked, her grip lessening but only enough to give her aching hand a break.

“You’ll never be her, you hear me?”

You gave a small nod, wincing.

She smirked softly, tilting her head as she watched you. “Lila’s so much better than you ever will be. I am so much better than you ever will be. You’ll be nothing. You are nothing.”

A part of you wished your mother would have died long ago. You knew how time worked—how many twists and turns it took to get where you needed to go. You knew how your mother could manipulate time at the touch of a button—at the snap of a suitcase. Why couldn’t something long ago have taken her away from the world? Was that too much to ask for?

Apparently, it was. But there was another half that wanted your mother’s love. And a part of you wished Lila was gone, so you could have your mother’s full, undivided attention.

But you received what Lila didn’t get. All the hatred. The abuse. And maybe that would be worth it, one day, knowing that you protected Lila from your mother’s wrath. Maybe one day, Lila would come to you, telling you how much she appreciated your efforts, even though you never outright chose to do so.

Your mother spent most of your life picking and choosing what she wanted out of you—what she wanted out of your sister. Neither of you had any say in anything. You didn’t ask for praise or for abuse. Your mother chose that for you.

You knew your mother hated you. And she made sure that was drilled into the depths of your soul, eating you alive at any given moment.

She gently slapped your cheek, your face red with nail marks from where she had held onto you.

Her smile bared her white teeth, sharp and glinting in the light that came from overhead.

“You will do well to listen to me.” She spoke with an authority that was hard to miss.

“Yes, mother,” you said, averting your gaze.

She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, before grabbing a fistful of it, forcing your head back so you would look at her.

“What was that?”

You swallowed thickly, squeezing your eyes shut. “Yes, Handler.”

“Very good.”

You didn’t need to open your eyes to hear that smirk dripping from her words. To see that cruelly mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Now go to your room. You’ve done enough damage for the night. And don’t come out until I tell you,” she said, turning away from you. She picked up her glass of red wine, sighing softly. “Lila,” she called after her eldest daughter. “I need to speak with you as well. Nothing is wrong, though, you’re not in trouble, dear.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you took a step back, pulling away from your mother. You passed by Lila, who stood in the hallway with a solemn expression. It wasn’t her fault. Hell, as long as she was treated with some kind of dignity by your shared mother, maybe it would someday be all worth it. That’s what you were trying to tell yourself, anyway.

But until then, you escaped to your room, the same place you so often found refuge in. This wasn’t your childhood bedroom—no, this was your bedroom now. The one in Dallas, fit with mismatched furniture and a quilt that had to have been as old as you.

But you no longer felt safe—this room sent you into a downward spiral as you fell to your knees by your bed, tears beading in your eyes.

No longer did you feel as though your heart was in it—in this room that you loved. In this room that you were made to reside in.

Your heart had shattered into a million pieces, and although it had been some time since it had broke, it still hurt just as badly.

Your mother, the culprit, the Handler of the Commission, was the reason.

And it seemed as if she’d never stop until she had your life in her hands.

Fortunately for her, she already did.

You were her marionette—strings attached to your limbs, barely hanging on, as she swung you around like a rag doll. If you looked just beyond the edge of the stage, one missed step would send you spiraling into a big black hole of nothingness.

Your mother cared little for your chipping paint or the strings that were slowly fraying. She’d find another way to control you, without the strings—she’d find another way to keep you under her finger.

And when she finally decided she was done with you, she’d kick your legs out from under you, sending you tumbling over the edge of the stage—and that would be the end of you. Of everything you were, and everything she had made you out to be.

You woke with a start, sheets tangled between your legs. Heart pounding, sweat seeping through your nightclothes.

She was there, even in your dreams. You thought you had gotten past that.

You slowly sat up, a groan escaping you. Discomfort riddled your body. Running a hand through your tangled hair, you frowned to yourself.

You couldn’t escape her, even in the very place she sent you away to.

Exhaustion settled deep within your bones. If you weren’t careful, dark circles would show eventually. You didn’t need to give the gossiping housewives something else to talk about. You slowly forced yourself out of your bed, struggling to untangle yourself. The quilt on your bed felt heavier than it usually did, arms trembling as you pushed it off of yourself.

A soft meow came from just beneath the bed, an orange ball of fur darting out from under and through your bedroom door.

You softly sighed, grabbing a dress to start your day. Maybe you’d take a shower first—you’d decide once you went to the bathroom.

The clock just above your dresser read 7 AM. Your nightmares (memories?) had been waking you earlier and earlier, each a reminder of your mother—haunting you to your very core.

It was unfortunately about to be a very long day—one you weren’t looking forward to, either.

Instead of showering as you had told yourself you would do, you pulled on your dress and tossed up your hair. You couldn't care less. If you needed to go out later, you'd change or fix your hair. Not like you needed to, though. No one ever really paid you half a mind.

The bathroom was cold like it always was during the early mornings. Autumn would be here soon, and it signified that you have spent your third year in the middle of Dallas, Texas, far away from everything you knew. Far away from time, from the backrooms of the Commission.

You looked up at yourself in your mirror, a deep frown set against your features. You couldn't remember a time when you had genuinely smiled—you'd end up with frown lines if you weren't careful (something your mother often warned scolded you about).

You scoffed at yourself in the mirror, leaving the bathroom after taking only a second more to look at yourself, making sure you did actually look decent. You never knew what could happen. You grabbed your favorite cardigan from your dresser and slipped it on, a yawn escaping you.

With a huff, you began to trudge to your kitchen. You knew exactly what you needed—a giant mug of coffee.

You had prepared your coffee the night before—all you needed to do now was press the on button and wait for the coffee pot to fill up. You pulled open a cabinet and grabbed your mug, quietly looking out the window.

Breakfast was the last thing on your mind. After that fiasco as you slept, you weren't sure if you'd feel like eating any time soon.

You’d eat later, you assured yourself, sitting down with a cup of coffee at your dining room table. You rubbed the back of your neck, fading scars just underneath your fingertips.

The same orange ball of fur that darted out from under your bed rubbed against your leg.

You looked down, reaching down to pick your baby up. “Hey, pretty girl,” you said. The kitten meowed. Her brother, Peanut, was nowhere to be seen. “How’s my Ginger?”

She gently nudged against your hand, meowing out. She was hungry—you knew your other cats would be, too. Peanut, who would come running out at the sound of food clinking against glass bowls, would most likely be hiding in the living room, away from your three adult cats who had still yet to get used to the two little ones.

The little girl you babysat during the week, Darla, would be coming by in the afternoon, begging you to see the kitties—she had lovingly named them after all, her mother apologizing profusely at her daughter’s provocation. But, in a way, the child was endearing. And in a way, she reminded you of yourself, but with a loving mother and a doting father in the mix as well. A child not set up for failure, but for potential success—one that wouldn’t find the commission deep within their back pocket. A child who would live a normal, healthy life with love and happiness.

You could offer that to your cats. But for yourself? That life was out of the picture. You’d only ever have something like that if the sky fell before your feet, shooting stars littering the ground around you. But maybe then people would just call you crazy like they did in that children’s movie. Your mother hated that movie—said it would put bad ideas into your brain.

Maybe she was right.

Your dream—your memories proved her to be right.

You sighed softly and sat your cat back down, picking up your hot mug. Your coffee was made just the way you liked it. Your mother often made things for you, keeping it the way she liked it and no other way. Black, no sugar. Your food was always something she wanted—if you didn’t like it? Too bad. You were eating it regardless.

You sipped at your coffee, looking out your kitchen window that led out to the garden.

Your thoughts ran a mile a minute, fueled by the caffeine and your anxiety. Your mind was prepared to badger you the rest of the morning, never once giving you a moment of peace. You didn't deserve that. Why would you deserve peace?

Your fingers tapped against the dining table, your mind losing itself yet again to the senseless commotion that always seemed to stick around.

next chapter

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kharti · 2 years

Text

[ In Over His Head #70 ]

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As soon as they stepped foot on deck, someone screamed.

All eyes turned on Pete, who returned the stares with a wide-eyed, baffled expression.

( Continue reading on AO3 or... )

As soon as they stepped foot on deck, someone screamed.

All eyes turned on Pete, who returned the stares with a wide-eyed, baffled expression.

“Why are you looking at me?” he said, his voice high-pitched and a little squeaky. “Look at him! His beard’s gone! Blackbeard has no beard!”

“Well, I suppose we’ll start there, then,” Stede said with a laugh. “Yes. Blackbeard is, well, no more, so to speak. Say hello to Ed.”

Ed stood beside him, an open smile on his face, fully exposed and visible and bright. “Hullo, lads.”

There was an awkward pause, and then most of the crew offered greetings of varying enthusiasm, some of them even waving.

“Do we have a funeral planned?” Buttons asked. “Fer Cap’n Blackbeard.”

Ed pursed his lips—his lips that Stede couldn’t stop looking at now that they were on display, begging to be kissed, and oh, how different it felt to kiss without the beard, not better but definitely not worse—

Stede blinked, realizing that Ed had asked him a question, and that everyone was staring at him.

“Yes,” he said, mostly certain that whatever it was he would have agreed to, probably, he hoped.

Everyone cheered, and he wondered if he was about to regret that one word.

Ed threw a fist into the air, chanting with the crew, “Viking funeral! Viking funeral!”

Oh. Fire. Well, Stede supposed there were worse things than setting…

“What, exactly, are we giving a Viking funeral?” Stede whispered.

Ed grinned at him, and Stede still couldn’t help losing his breath at how much losing the beard revealed of the man's expressions.

“M’beard, of course,” he said with a laugh.

Stede smiled and waited for the excitement to calm down before the clapped his hands to get their attention again. “Yes, well, all of that aside, there is one more matter to address. Something important we must talk through—”

“—as a crew,” they finished in unison, and some of them even grinned as they did.

He hesitated, emotion swelling up into a lump in his throat. He was so fond of all of them, and truly couldn’t imagine the ship without them.

But they were their own people, and just as he wanted Ed to be true to himself, he had to allow them the same courtesy.

“We will be doing a bit of rebranding here on the Revenge. Ed and I will be retiring as pirate captains to pursue a new career as bounty hunters. I think it suits us rather nicely, and while I would welcome any of you with open arms, I will also understand if you would rather continue this line of work on another ship.”

He breathed in, and tried to smile. “And, of course, I will write glowing recommendation letters for all of you.”

There was a long moment, one filled with murmurs and whispers and exchanged looks. He couldn’t make out any of the words, couldn’t read lips well enough to guess at what they were saying.

Pete cleared his throat and spoke up first. “I think it goes without saying that all of you are terrible pirates. No offense.”

Stede managed a chuckle. “Some taken.”

“So it’s probably best, the career change,” Pete continued, lifting his nose into the air. “I’ll stay, to help, because you guys need me.”

Lucius jabbed his lover in the side with one elbow. “Darling.”

Pete glanced at him, down at his feet, and mumbled, “I’ll stay because I’m a terrible pirate, too.”

“Honestly, I’m not even sure if I ever was a real pirate,” the Swede said, scratching the back of his head. “I was hoping to get on a ship that would run into sirens and spend my life with them.”

One by one, each member of the crew committed to stay, each for their own reasons.

It felt like what Stede had always imagined a wedding would be, in a way—earnest vows, spoken from the heart, a promise to stay together through it all.

Then Ed squeezed his hand and looked at him with too-knowing eyes, and he felt warmth creep along his neck and cheeks.

“To a new beginning,” Ed said in a quiet voice meant only for the two of them.

Stede couldn’t help the beaming smile that took over his blushing face. “To a new beginning.”

( next )

📚 view a list of all my current stories!

#our flag means death #ofmd #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ed x stede #in over his head - blackbonnet ficlets

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alchemistbee · 4 years

Text

Back in your Arms

「Five Hargreeves x reader」

Ask: Could you write a Five reader fic where y/n gets kidnapped by the Swedes and Five saves them. Thx

Words: 2556

Warnings: mentions of blood and torture. Kidnapping. Season two spoilers.

A/N: this is the first fic I’ve ever got requested. I hope I did it justice. I hope you enjoy! I know I took long to publish it, I apologize, school is kicking my ass. Sorry for grammatical errors. Enjoy!

[gif from @thisgameissonintendo ]

After having attended the horrific light brunch with the Hargreeves family, they were all feeling far more worse than when they had arrived. Five had explained to Sir Hargreaves each of their powers, Vanya had exploded a bowl of fruits, Allison rumored Diego, Diego got a very non-friendly slap of reality, Klaus seemed to have a seizure mid-dinner and Lurther confronted their father by ripping his shirt off in front of everyone.

In your opinion, it could have gone a lot better, but it could have also gone a lot worse.

Unlike the other siblings, Five had stayed behind and you had figured that it would be better to wait for him in the lobby. He was having a conversation with his father, whom he hadn't seen for over fifty years, he bet his ass you were going to wait for him. Especially after the horrible way he had spoken to the rest, you would be there for Five if he needed to. What you didn't know by then was that Five was trying to see if his father could tell him how to go back to 2019, one that didn't evolve making a deal with The Handler. Which, may I add, he hadn’t told anyone about, not even to you.

You waited patiently for Five, your back leaned against the wall while your arms intertwined in front of your chest. You counted the minutes that passed, not that you were in a hurry, but to hopefully make it seem like the time was passing faster. After almost twenty-seven minutes, the elevator emitted that one ‘bing’ it did whenever the doors were about to slide open. As you expected, it was Five, who now had his hands shoved inside his pockets and seemed quite puzzled. You asked him if he was okay, but Five only dismissed your question to tell you to go ahead of him to Elliott’s place. Apparently, there was something he needed to take care of, something he wasn't willing to explain to you just yet.

He knew that if he did tell you, you would either try to stop him or not let him do it on his own. Five didn’t want to drag you into Commission business. He found that not telling you of the plan all together was the easiest way to keep you from being in Commission's eyes, more than currently at least.

You nodded suspiciously towards Five, but did not push the subject any further. Maybe he just needed some time to let everything sink in, and it's not like you nor him considered the walk back to Morty’s dangerous. You could take care of yourself pretty well. You parted ways with Five, and walked back to Morty’s where you saw Elliott himself was just arriving too. He smiled kindly upon seeing you, to which you returned with a smile of your own. You had to be honest, you had grown to like Elliott more than expected. He was like that one cousin in the family, and you enjoyed hearing his rambles about any conspiracy he could think of. He truly was a sweetheart.

You followed Elliott up the stairs to his place, he carried a paper bag in hand, calmly telling you the things he brought back from the supermarket. You listened thoughtfully. Once inside. Elliott flickered the lights on and to both of your surprise, a cat sat in the middle in the kitchen. Elliott looked confused, but figured the cat must have somehow climbed in “Hey buddy, how did you get up here?”

He approached the kitchen casually, where he sat the bag down and looked at the cat as it meowed to him. You couldn’t help to feel your skin crawl. The nagging feeling of people watching you being present “Elliot?-” You turned your head to look behind you, swearing you had seen something lurking in the shadows. You averted your gaze back to him, now watching as he pulled out a tiny can of food for the cat and asked if it was hungry. You walked to the kitchen window, the one that let you view outside in case anyone was suspiciously close to the building. You saw nothing, but that was because you didn't know that they were already inside.

Your head snapped back to Elliot the moment a loud sound came from the living room, there you saw that one of the tall assassins had punched Elliott right on the side of his face. You felt your heart accelerate, and moved quickly to help him until you felt someone pull you up, stopping your tracks to help the man. The other assassin got a hold of you, if it hadn't been for your small body, you could have stopped the leader from hurting Elliott any further.

You saw the man try to scramble from his gun, but the other man was quicker to lift him up by the throat, asking the whereabouts of Diego. Upon receiving no answer, the man punched Elliott twice, this time letting his body fall harshly on the floor while blood dripped down his nose.

“Elliott!” You struggled under the second man’s hold. You couldn't move, you couldn't fight. The siblings were not even back and there was no way for you to contact them when the phone was this far “We don't know where Diego is! Leave him alone! He has nothing to do with this!” you pleaded loudly. The leader only shifted his gaze at you, studying the way your eyes flushed with fear. He was trying to figure out whether you were the one the woman had referred to not killing, you were merely a teen after all. Yet, not killing you didn't mean they could not use you for information.

After that little stare down happened, making you hope that maybe the men would not use Elliot as their little puppet..You were gravely mistaking. The man dragged Elliott through the living room, knocking over a lamp and breaking it before pinning him into the dentist chair violently. He kept asking for Diego, and Elliott is only able to answer with a “I d-dont know” while you keep battling for the second man to let go of you. At this point, you felt the tears welling in your eyes as you noticed him take the forceps, priding Elliott's mouth open and sticking them into his mouth.

“NO!” you cried out “ELLIOTT!”

Elliott’s screams filled the building alongside your pleas and cries, but as much as you told the men that none of you knew where Diego was, that didn't seem to make them stop. Not until Elliott’s body was drained from life entirely, the blood from his body splattered all across the floor and body. You couldn’t help the soft cries leaving your lips, calling his name out ever so softly in hopes of him still being alive but that’s when you felt a sharp pain come from the back of your head. The world turned black and your body fell not too far from Elliott’s chair after the second man got tired of holding you.

The brothers could use you. They could use you to lure Diego, the man they believed responsible for the murder of their younger brother.

The next day, after Diego and Lurther find Elliott’s body, they try to figure out who did this to Elliott. Diego believes it's the feds, but Lurther claims that was no work of feds but of a psychopath. Believing the words written below are a name, they search through the phone book until discovering the phone number linked to whom they believe is responsible for Elliott’s death; They phone the number up.

Five jumped into the building, quickly noticing the blood painted words on the floor, making him hurry up the stairs to meet Elliot’s body. He can feel a lump forming in his throat as he approaches it. There were clear signs of torture, there was something stuck into his left eye. Five couldn’t help to feel guilty. He liked Elliot, he was a good man, he had helped them and welcomed his siblings in without the slightest complaint. He had become one of them, and for that, his life paid the price.

Five followed the voices of Lurther and Diego through the kitchen, taking off his blue and blood dripped jacked as he heard the brothers threaten someone over the phone for killing one of them “Hey! It's Öga för Öga, idiots. Swedish for ‘an for en eye’. It means The swedes killed Elliott '' He didn't want to think how the missions went after his run; It was clear Diego and Lurther shared one brain cell.

“Wrong number, have a lovely day” Diego hanged the call, looking at Five and easily spotting the blood on his clothes “Uh, you got some blood on your clothes”

“A lot actually”, Diego added as Five pushed by them, entered the bathroom and turned the sink handle to let the water flow down. He grabbed a white towel, carefully washing the blood off of him as best as he could “I found a way home”

“What? How?”

“All the details are irrelevant but i made a deal to get back to our timeline”

“What about doomsday? And the 2019 apocalypse”

“won't happen. Everything will be back to normal” Five remarked exasperated “All right? No more questions. We gotta go. We have to find the other and get back in 77 minutes. Luther, you get Allison, Diego go get Klaus, I'll get Vanya, Y/N-“ he stopped his pacing all suddenly, eyes roaming the room and back to his younger siblings “Wait—Where’s Y/N?”

Five’s eyes widened as realization suddenly hit him and his siblings. He saw you last night, you were supposed to be here, why weren’t you here?

“They stayed after the brunch, we thought they were with you…” Diego, Five and Lurther shared a look, all of them now realizing that you had been taken by the men who killed Elliott.

“Dammit!” Five exclaimed angrily. He had just gotten a way back home, and you...You had been taken. How was he supposed to find you in such little time? He didn’t even know where to start.

“Calm down. Okay—We’ll find them—“ Diego started while Five started to pace around, muttering words under his breath “This was so simple. So simple!” He turned his head to look at them “I am going to go find Y/N, and get Vanya. We meet here as planned, this is our only chance to go back” Five raised his finger at them both before started to walk to the stairs, but stopped abruptly when he Diego spoke up once more

“You expect us to not help you—“ before Diego could finish his sentence, Five jumped from the small distance to right in front of his brother, raising his fingers with a threatening look “If you don’t do this, I swear I’ll kill you myself” he said more sternly “there's not enough time for all of us to go in a search, I’ll tell Vanya to meet up here. If i don't make it in time just go back home, I’ll manage a way back”

“How are you planning on finding them?” Was what Diego last said before Five teleported out of the building.

You woke up with a sharp breath. Your head was pounding and when you opened your eyes, you were welcomed with nothing but a blindfold on your eyes. You tried moving your arms. But soon found out they were tied down to your back while your ankles were tied against the legs of a chair “Shit” you muttered hoarsely, your throat was still dry from the crying. What the hell happened? Where were you?—

That’s when it hit you

“HELP! SOMEONE!” You tried to scream as loudly as you could, but considering the silence in wherever you were, you knew no one was coming to your aid. Strangely, the smell was like cat fur, and that was confirmed when you heard the several meows and the cat passing it’s tail over your leg.

How in the world were you going to get out of here now?

Five jumped all over town trying to find any clues, even the smallest, of your whereabouts. Even though he didn’t show it, he was extremely anxious and worried for your self being. He feared what the Swedes could be doing to you, or worst, what they had already done. The images of Elliott kept flashing back to him, and something in his stomach made him believe that if he didn’t hurry up, he would find you the same way.

He didn’t know whether it was luck or simple fate, but as he walked through the town he spotted the familiar milk truck that had followed them around for some instances. It was parked in front of an apartment, a quite small one, and Five knew that you should have been there. He kept looking down at his watch, counting the minutes they had left before having to go back to 2019.

They still had twenty minutes. He still had time, it was enough to save you and go back. At least he hoped so.

He watched The Swedes get in the truck, and without thinking it twice, teleported himself inside the cat filled apartment. His blue eyes roamed the place all over, scanning it for any trace of you until he heard a few knocks coming from a nearby closet. He didn’t waste time on pulling the door open.

Five’s eyes fell on you, and instinctively, you started to try and kick thinking that The Swedes were back again “Y/N!-Its me!-Y/N” he crouched down to your level, scanning your body for any signs of torture or harm. He sighed sharply, relieved to see that The Swedes hasn’t gotten their way with you. Gently, he reached out to pull your blindfold off. It broke him to see you like this.

Your eyes weren’t shining like they used to. They were completely flushed by pain, regret and fear “F-Five” you muttered softly, finding it hard to believe he had actually found you. You felt the ropes become loose on your legs and wrists, and the moment you had the chance, your body fell against Five’s. He held you firmly, worried that maybe you weren’t as okay as he thought you were. He was only relieved to have you back on his arms again, the place where he could make sure of your safety.

“F-Five—Elliott—I couldn’t s-save him” You started, tears stinging your eyes as you remembered what The Swedes did to the man “I c-couldn’t—“your shoulders shook alongside your small sobs.

“I know...It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have left you” Five said softly, his arms slowly wrapping around you, hoping that would comfort you in the slightest “We have to go...I found a way back, but we need to go now or we’ll be stuck here forever” He pulled you up the ground, his thump caressing your tear stained cheeks while his free hand took a gentle hold of yours.

“You w-what? How?” You blinked twice, sniffing softly “Five, what did you do?”

“I’ll explain on the way...Let’s go home”

#five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #number five #number five x reader #number five imagine #umbrella academy #tua five #tua fanfic #aidan gallagher #fanfics #my work #tua

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clatterbane · 3 years

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Went for that first endocrinology appointment this morning.

We were in there for about an hour and a half--not much of it spent waiting!--and I am still feeling pretty overloaded this afternoon. Overall pretty positive impressions, though, not least that the doctor I got treated me like an actual person who might have reasons to be obviously nervous? (More than I wanted to let on. 😬)

They also didn't do a great job of hiding some shocked/dismayed reactions to what we were saying about the diabetes-related (and other necessary) treatment I'd been receiving through the NHS. With the Household Swede there backing it up, with some choice additional commentary of his own--which was honestly a relief on multiple levels.

At least I feel like there's reason to be more hopeful now that (a) the standards of care really are better here, and (b) SOMEBODY MIGHT LISTEN TO ME if things do go wrong.

Anyway, I am supposed to go back in a couple of weeks, for another appointment to get some of the nuts and bolts sorted out with the specialist nurse who handles that. (Who I met today too, and she also seemed decent.) Including getting my insulin swapped around a little, and finally getting set up with a shiny new CGM! 🍾🥳🎉

Well, from what they were saying today, most likely starting out with a Freestyle Libre flash monitor--where you do wear a sensor instead of relying on finger sticks, but that requires occasional scanning to get the data off it. (Unless you add a separate aftermarket transmitter, which I totally intend to do if the Libre is indeed what they end up giving me.)

I had planned to bring up the possibility of getting set up with a CGM, if we had to buy the hardware ourselves and hopefully the health authority would then cover the ongoing supplies. After dealing with the NHS, I was honestly expecting a fight over the very suggestion.

But, before I could even get to that? The doctor brought it up herself! 😁 And acted surprised that I had never used any sort of CGM technology already, especially since I had already experienced some serious complications from longer term shitty treatment.

That is, indeed, apparently the standard for T1 here. And particularly if there's even more reason to keep fairly tight control to avoid further complications.

(OTOH, I was not so pleased with a couple of other things that came up under the heading of "ye gods we need to try really hard to avoid more complications, and existing ones getting worse!" 😒 But, after today's discussion as a whole? I am at least slightly less concerned now about getting bulldozed into one-size-fits-none prescribed flowchart options.)

I am also supposed to be getting more referrals though them to the connected foot care people and opthalmology. She actually summoned a podiatrist in there to look at/rebandage Horrible Heel today, and everybody acted appalled that I had been fending for myself with it for a good while now. Thankfully, Podiatry Guy confirmed that the damned thing does indeed look mostly healed up (finally!), but yeah they still want to keep an eye on that besides any continuing diabetic foot care BS. Only the one foot left after all, and I am pretty attached to it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Laser treatment for the retinopathy will also most likely (finally!) be happening in my near future. Pretty mixed feelings about that, but better to go ahead and bite the bullet since I do really prefer to keep as much vision as possible, thank you very much!

They were already saying several years ago that I was right on the verge of needing treatment by NHS standards so you know shit was getting real. Then, Plague Time. With intervening Haunted Eyeball episodes, which are new since opthalmology was last threatening me with lasers if I didn't get my act together ASAP. (!)

Plus, that one eye's situation has obviously perversely deteriorated from the rapidly lowered glucose levels from the sudden insulin treatment. Along with the treatment-induced neuropathy bullshit, yeah. I'm waiting for the latest bleed to clear up right now, and really hoping to ward off more before it has more permanent effects! I also saw in the Plague Island referral paperwork that Haunted Eyeball was additionally showing signs of maculopathy at the last eye check, which nobody bothered to mention. 🙃

Anyway, I'm feeling pretty overwhelmed by Assorted Medical Shit, with multiple upcoming appointments in the works. I kinda knew I needed them, and kinda hoped that it would be easier/more possible to actually get some overdue treatment through the system here. It's still A Lot to deal with all at once. Especially with the collection of medical trauma baggage.

But, I am also feeling more hopeful about maybe getting what I need? And in at least a semi-respectful manner?! So far I have been shown more reason to think that this might be the case. Which is honestly a tad unsettling, in itself, mentally still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

(With no pun initially intended, though it certainly is ripe for them under the circumstances! 👟🤪)

#personal #long post #medical stuff #t1 diabetes #type 1 diabetes #diabetic complications #diabetic retinopathy #diabetic neuropathy #medical fuckery #medical trauma #medical ptsd #diabetes #welcome to sweden

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lihikainanea · 3 years

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What are Tiger and Bill’s plans for Midsommer today ? I imagine they would be with the whole skarsgard fam on the glorious day. Also love it when you write stuff with the whole fam. I’d get small af if I was around not just Bill but all of them , obviously since they’re all giants , but also because I feel like they’d all have some protective nature over Tiger. Just since she’s the smallest out of all of them haha

Not gonna lie sweet nani, Misommar yesterday really bummed me out. I was so emotional all day, because this is the second year in a row that I'm missing it. And last year, when I spoke to my friends, we were all just like "ha well at least next year is a guarantee!" and then like...here we are.

My friends all went out to Väddö and rented these small cottages side by side, right on the sea. They sent me pictures all day, they FaceTimed me--and man, they did it so that I'd feel included, but it almost made it worse. It tore my heart in two, and just gave me serious FOMO. Midsommar in Sweden is by far my most favourite holiday and missing it again this year just kind of pushed me into the dark depths of why bother and nothing is worth it.

I think it's also exacerbated by the fact that I'm still a little mad at Sweden. I live in one of the areas that underwent the strictest lockdown and for the longest time. I didn't see my parents or my sister in person for about 9 months, and even then, after 9 months WE got fed up and nothing made sense so we started gathering illegally, for the sake of our mental sanity. Everything was closed. We weren't allowed to do anything. Going through that while seeing Sweden basically carry on life as usual is still the cause of a lot of my ire.

Wow, this got dark.

ANYWAY.

I want to say that Midsommar for tiger and Bill isn't even in the archipelago--no no, the whole family has a better idea. They rent a whole bunch of chalets way the fuck in Northern Sweden, where the night stays REAL bright. Maybe in Suorva or something.

And it's just so swedish. Small red cottages, evergreens, deep blue lakes. The cottages are minimalist and just so fucking beautiful, with white walls and white furniture. The bed creaks a little, but it's also covered in warm blankets and furs for the cool nights, and the fresh air knocks both of them out each night anyway.

And then Midsommar comes and it's just...god, it's magical. All of them seem very intent on making sure that tiger has a perfectly Swedish Midsommar, but also just a perfect Midsommar. She's taken out into the fields to pluck flowers. She's shown how to make a flower crown, and when she excitedly shows Bill he just smiles so big at her, then places it gently on her head for her. She wears a pretty dress with flowers on it, too. A huge table is set in the garden while the brothers put up the Maypole, and tiger admires how well it all comes together--floral centrepieces, chairs lined up perfectly, big baskets of fruits, the most delicious looking strawberry cream cakes that tiger has ever seen. One brother is suspiciously missing from helping to put the Maypole up and when tiger goes looking for some table linens she spots Gustaf in the back of the pantry, hidden from view, eating the pickled herring right from the jar. He gives her a mischievous smirk, waves her over, fixes her a crisp bread just right.

There's a slight uproar when the family notices that suddenly they are 3 jars short of pickled herring. Gustaf just winks at tiger.

There's akvavit--too much of it. Tiger shyly asks one of the smaller kiddie cousins to teach her the frog dance around the Maypole, and Bill is just delighted when he sees her do it. Midsommar fort he Skarsgards is not about huge, loud parties--it's about family, good food, endless food, and staying up all night to relish in the beauty of the motherland. When dusk takes over for a brief while the chairs are set up on the dock, surrounding a bonfire. More food is brought out, and tiger thinks she may just explode--until Bill hands her a tiny glass, pours a splash of akvavit into it.

"Just sip it," he says, "Helps with the digestion."

She quirks a brow as he pours some for himself, but he shoots his back.

"Just sip it?" she says.

"Swedes don't sip."

And it's just magical in every way. They only get back to their small cottage around 7AM, and they both just fall into bed. Bill wraps them up tight in blankets, his big hand rubbing her stomach, and it's the best sleep tiger has had in years--until she’s jolted awake when Bill jumps up.

“I forgot,” he mumbles, stumbling out of bed and getting her flower crown. He undoes a few flowers.

“Hey--” she objects sleepily--”I want to keep that.”

“Seven flowers,” he says, carefully picking out 7 different kinds from the crown and handing her the small bouquet, “You have to sleep with seven flowers under your pillow, and you’ll dream about your soulmate.”

“Don’t have to pal,” she says like the big sap she is, “But if you insist.”

They wake up hours later and both are a little hungover (from food AND liquor), both have that residual sleepy fog that is just so lovely after a great night. They're also the first ones up even though it's well into the afternoon--so Bill gets the fire going again, pulls some chairs around it. He wraps tiger up in another blanket and sits her right on his lap, hands her some coffee--and they just stay like that, drifting in and out of sleep, until slowly but surely the chairs fill up and it's somehow time to eat again.

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill

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northernmariette · 3 years

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Part 2: A seventh go at the 5 Marshals game

The question again is #19, Get caught in a questionable position with...

I will repeat here some of the preliminary comments I wrote in Part 1:

This situation begs to be much more specific. Are we talking about sexual, financial, political, military matters? Am I embroiled in this questionable position because I was rash and foolhardy, or because I naïvely did not realize I was heading for trouble?

I will choose the hypothesis of naïveté on my part, as I don’t like to put myself into any kind of questionable position. Too prissy, too timorous, and, well, too naïve in spite of being old enough to have learned better by now.

For Part 2, I have chosen the political aspect of #19. But “political”, I will mean “up Napoleon’s nose because he fears rivals and disloyalty”. The rivalry and disloyalty need not have been real other than in Napoleon’s mind. For this situation I have chosen, on alphabetical order, Bernadotte, Gouvion Saint-Cyr, Grouchy, Macdonald, Murat.

5. Grouchy. As cited by Jean Tulard (see my “Happy birthday, Maréchal Grouchy��), Grouchy defended Moreau, whose participation in a plot against Napoleon is far from certain, but whom Napoleon considered a rival. Grouchy also served under Hoche, about which see the next ranked Marshal, Gouvion Saint-Cyr.

4. Gouvion Saint-Cyr. This seems to have been someone possessed of a fierce independent streak. He doesn’t appear to me to have ever taken more than little tiny sips of the Napoleon Kool-Aid, so right there this would have been enough to make him suspect in Nap’s eyes. Even worse, according to Jean Tulard, Gouvion served under or was associated with Kléber, with Hoche, with Joubert in Italy, and with Moreau in Germany, “all rivals if not opponents of Napoleon. This makes him suspect in the eyes of the Emperor.” Hoche, dying of tuberculosis, had even designated Gouvion to succeed him, but this did not happen. (As an aside here, all conveniently died early in Napoleon’s career, except Moreau, exiled to the USA: Hoche died of disease, Joubert - the initial candidate for the coup that overthrew the Directoire - in battle, and Kléber by being assassinated in Egypt). Gouvion, a brilliant but odd and difficult military man, had to wait until 1812 to acquire his well-deserved Marshal’s baton, and Napoleon paid him a pittance compared to the other Marshals.

3. Macdonald. According to Tulard, Napoleon was leery of Macdonald from the start. He probably knew or served under or with the same people as Gouvion (I no longer can access search engines to double-check because my computer is too ancient, aargh!), but he definitely came to Moreau’s defense. This put Napoleon’s knickers into a circulation-impeding twist, apparently, as Macdonald was put on ice for five entire years, from 1804 to 1809. Then Napoleon recalled him and gave him his Marshal’s baton for his performance at Wagram.

2. Murat. JoachimNapoleon has documented Murat’s struggles with Napoleon at length. Reading her pages about Murat is highly recommended. Suffice it to say that a) Fouché and Talleyrand had designated Murat to replace Napoleon if the latter died; Murat possibly knew nothing about it, but Napoleon found out and blamed Murat; and b) Murat was given a kingdom and intended to rule it independently, which Napoleon refused to let him do. So politically, one would be in a compromising position in Murat’s company, yes.

1a. Bernadotte. Now here Napoleon was right to suspect Bernadotte’s political stance. Just to be clear, I do not for a minute believe Bernadotte was a traitor to France once he accepted the Swedish throne. For one thing, and this is important, it was not Napoleon who offered that throne to Bernadotte, it was the Swedes. Once Bernadotte accepted, his loyalty was due to Sweden, and only to Sweden; Bernadotte was absolutely right to ally himself with Russia if he believed that such an alliance was more advantageous to Sweden than an alliance with France, or rather with the Napoleonic Empire. No, what I mean is that Napoleon was right to be suspicious of Bernadotte in the early days, when Bernadotte was a much more likely political rival than when Napoleon became Emperor.

1b. Bernadotte. Bernadotte, in my opinion, is a fascinating character. Of all the Marshals, he is probably the one I would most like to meet. He had joined the army many years before the Revolution, but the Revolutionary wars led to his lightning-quick rise and a brilliant military career. He also had much political ambition. Everything was going swimmingly until he met Napoleon, who was kryptonite to him. My suspicion is that if Napoleon had never existed, it is Bernadotte who would have ended up leading France very ably - a republican France, mind you. He was Minister for war before the Consulate, but the Directors became leery of his popularity and influence (again, I need to check this but can’t access search engines, so this is to be confirmed). He did not support Napoleon’s coup in Brumaire; he could only be persuaded not to oppose it. He covertly tried to destabilize the Consulate, but Fouché saved his bacon. My intuition is that Bernadotte saw Napoleon as the impediment to what he was destined to be, and I sort of agree with him. As a thwarted military and political rival, Bernadotte is the one I would most be most compromising to associate with, in Napoleon’s eyes.

#5 marshals ask game #jean-baptiste bernadotte #joachim murat #jacques-etienne macdonald #laurent gouvion saint-cyr #emmanuel grouchy #napoleon's marshals

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broadstbroskis · 4 years

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four times you wore matthew tkachuk’s name on accident + one time on purpose | matthew tkachuk

the first

It’s a Friday night and you’re at Matty Tkachuk’s apartment solely at the request of your best friend, Sasha, who’s a little more than friends with Noah Hanifin (and refusing to believe that she’s actually more than a little more than friends but that’s neither here nor there). The party’s raging and you’re killing some bro’s on the pong table with some pretty Swedish boy who you’re almost certain plays on the Flames with Noah. And then, suddenly, there’s a ruckus behind you, like more than the general party-ruckus, and you’re covered in beer.

And when you say soaked, you mean like, absolutely drenched.

The dudes who are the entire reason you’re now the winner of the impromptu wet t-shirt contest can’t even make it through the apology they start before their eyes go to your chest and they actually stop speaking, so you very quickly ditch the pretty Swede in favor of looking for Sasha.

Unsurprisingly, she’s making out with Noah in the corner and neither of them look amused when you interrupt. “Well sorry.” You snap, glaring at yet another guy who stops to stare at you.

“Get moving, buddy!” Noah waves him away.

“Now do you see why I want to leave?” You look at them flatly.

Sasha giggles. “Just go topless for the rest of the night!”

You give her a look “You’ve seen me topless before. That’s certainly not going to help the staring.”

Sasha is still giggling as a group of guys in the corner start to point and Noah gives his best glare (which is frankly, like 0% terrifying, but the gesture is much appreciated). “Come on,” He pulls the two of you away.

“Oh yeah,” You snark at him, as he leads you down the hall. “This is helping my case. Heading down the hall with the two of you in my wet t-shirt. This is just the thing I need!”

“Well?” Noah grins not even five minutes later, from where he’s lounging on Matty’s bed, watching as you attempt to tuck the Tkachuk Flames shirt into your short, bodycon skirt. The endeavor is useless, which from her laughter, Sasha figured out ages ago, and has been waiting for you to do the same.

“There’s nothing smaller?” You ask desperately. The shirt is genuinely huge. It fits you like a dress.

“I mean, Chucky’s just a tad bigger than you so…” Noah trails off, fighting his own laughter.

“That is a lewk!” Sasha is still giggling from the ground as she adds, “I’m sure we could look around and find something smaller that’s been left behind.”

That thought brings an immediate look of disgust to your face. At least Matty’s shirt is clean. “Fuck no, I don’t want anything that belongs to any girl that he might have brought back here!”

They’re both laughing, as you awkwardly tuck one edge of the t-shirt into your skirt and let the rest of it fall. “Alright.” You say. “Noah, let me pound your beer and I might not hate myself enough to be able to go back out there.”

Noah’s beer is not quite enough, but it’s enough to get you back out to the party, where you can all three get fresh drinks to go along with the shots you insist on (needed if you’ll be wearing this shirt for the rest of the evening).

And then, they quickly ditch you for their corner again, so you make your way back to the pong game, only to find out the you and the pretty Swede have been chased off the table.

The Swede is in the kitchen, holding court with a few other teammates, and you start to make your way over to them, hoping to convince him to take back your rightful spot at the table (or if not, just to join their circle), when the host of the party steps up to you.

“Babe!” Matt grins, and you stop to wait for what’s to come, because you’ve seen a lot of him recently since Noah and Sasha have been spending more and more time together, so you’re sure he’s not finished. “Never would have thought I’d be happy to see you change out of that wet t-shirt, but I guess that’s when happens when you look so hot in my clothes!”

“Babe!” You mimic, grinning, ready to dish it back. “Never would have thought I’d actually consider changing into the clothes that last week’s rando left behind, but I guess that’s what happens when you’re a dick!”

Matty just laughs, accepting the chirp as you move past him to the kitchen, and that’s that. The shirt comes home with you that night, gets shoved into the back of your closet, and forgotten about entirely.

the second

“Thank god you’re here!” The woman grabbing your arm on the way out of the bathroom at Saddledome looks extremely familiar, but you couldn’t put a name to her face if your life depended on it.

“Sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong person.” You try to keep your voice as polite as possible as you attempt to shake her off.

She shakes her head. “Sasha said she tracked you here on your phone.”

That traitor. And also, still, who the fuck is this lady? “Umm.”

“Britt and Morgan are both stuck at home with sick kids, and Jess was supposed to be able to fly in in time for the game tonight but her flight got delayed so she’s stuck in Ottawa or something, so we are super shorthanded and Sasha said you were here with some friends tonight and wouldn’t mind filling in.”

Say what now? “Sorry, filling in for what?”

“Toy collection!” She’s actively leading you away from your other friends and from your seat towards an employee only area. “Come on; let’s get you a jersey and get you set up!”

And well, you’re not so heartless that you’re not going to help them collect toys for kids for the holidays! Even when she shoves a Tkachuk jersey at you, practically yanks it over your head, and then fluffs your hair before leading you out to the first floor concourse and over to a toy collection station with Johnny Gaudreau’s girlfriend, you paste a smile on your face, vowing to get back at Sasha for this later.

It isn’t long before the smile is real, laughing along with Ali as the two of you collect toys and donations. You’re actually having such a good time you don’t even notice that lady taking your picture until the next morning, when you’re scrolling through Instagram and it pops up on your feed via the Flames official account, on a post thanking their fans for making the toy drive such a success.

And right below it, a comment from Matt: 👀👀

the third

It’s too fucking light out, there’s a very loud banging, and your head will not stop pounding.

And somehow, none of these things are going away? Like they’re actually all getting worse and that’s when you realize your hangover isn’t going to go away on its own. So with one last groan into the pillow, you open your eyes, hoping to take care of all of these things.

And that’s when you realize this isn’t your bed. Or your room. And you aren’t wearing any clothes?

What the fuck happened last night?

Once that moment of immediate panic fades, you realize that even though this isn’t your room, it is a familiar one. It’s not the first time you’ve spent the night in Matty’s guest room after a party, but it is the first time you’ve woken up in it without clothes.

Further inspection of the room leads to open blinds and no clothing, which is not entirely helpful in solving the problems of your nakedness or the knocking at the door...which you can only assume means Matt has left for practice or something because god, if he was somehow managing to sleep through this, you were going to kill him.

The knocking at the door will not fucking stop and so you angrily stand, searching for some clothing item in the room to cover yourself up with to go take care of it. You’re just contemplating wrapping yourself in the blanket before you stumble upon an old Knights t-shirt. It’s still huge on you, but it’s clean and probably better than going out to answer the door wrapped in just a blanket.

No, definitely better than going out in just a blanket.

The shirt is soft and worn as you pull it over your head, like a favorite old t-shirt should be, and you really contemplate stealing it as you bitterly make your way to the door, throwing it open with a scowl on your face. “What?”

“Uh.” There’s a delivery man outside the door, holding a package. “Sign for delivery?”

Is he fucking serious? This is the ruckus? If looks could kill, he’d be a puddle on the floor, but you sign for the package and turn back into the apartment.

And apparently, Matt is home, and furthermore, alive, since when you do turn, he’s standing in the living room. For once, he’s not even running his fucking mouth, standing there with his jaw slightly dropped as he stares at you.

“Here!” You throw the package to him as you start to walk closer.

Matt doesn’t even react and the box falls to the ground in front of him. “Where’d you find that shirt?”

Your fingers drop to the hem of the tee, starting to recognize the look in his eyes for what it is. “Your guest room.”

He swallows. Visibly. Audibly. “Why’d you put that on?”

You grin, beginning to lift the hem up. “Why don’t you come find out?”

the fourth

Stuck in an endless loop of last times, it’s becoming less and less shocking to find yourself in Matt’s bed at various hours of the day. Sneaking out of his place in the morning. Popping over in the afternoon between classes. Sending your uber at the end of the night to his place instead of your own.

So it’s not really alarming anymore to find yourself waking up on a Sunday morning in Matt’s bed, to roll over and see only the ends of his curly hair poking out from under the covers or maybe a bare chest from where he’s pushed off all the blankets, consistently a later riser than you unless he absolutely has to be up.

Someone might think it’s alarming from the way you jump out of bed this particular Sunday, but that actually has more to with the time on the clock than the man’s bed you're in.

There’s no way you’ll make it back to your apartment to change and to brunch with your parents in time. Panic mode induced.

But the ruckus of trying to gather your shit and get dressed at the same time does wake Matt up (you suppose, in hindsight, that attempting to yank jeans up with one hand and buckle your bra with the other was not your best idea, but only because you hit your hip into the side of the dresser) and you fondly watch him rub his eyes sleepily before remembering that you need to go and resume working on fixing your jeans and bra.

“Where are you going?” Matt still sounds tired, but he’s sitting up, watching you rush around the room.

“Brunch with my parents have you seen my shirt?” The whole thing’s said as one sentence, one word maybe. Who’s got time to breathe right now?

“I just woke up.” He frowns. “Come back to bed.”

“I can’t!” It was white, you were pretty sure. Or maybe black?

“This is not how I planned to send my Sunday.” Matt frowns.

Success, there’s something black in the corner. You go to grab it as you address that comment. “You should know by now that you win some, you lose some.”

“Hey, if I’m not allowed to use sports cliches in bed, then you’re not allowed to use them out of it!”

“Matthew!” You cry, turning toward him, shirt in hand.

“That seems like a very reasonable compromise to me!”

You are ten thoughts ahead of sports cliches by now and hold last night’s sweater up for him to see. Or, what used to be your sweater. There’s a rip down the center; it was a v-neck to begin with and was now only being held together by threads. “This isn’t!”

He hesitates, but doesn’t look sorry at all. “It was a thin sweater?”

You level him with a look. “Let me tell that to my dad today at brunch.”

“You know what, I’ll just give you something.” Matt stands, and walks toward his closet. A second later, there’s a shirt flying at you and once again, you find yourself pulling a huge Flames t-shirt over your head, this time with Matt’s number on the top left and both sleeves, and trying to make it work as an outfit.

Matt’s got a huge grin on his face as you continue to just tug at the shirt, but finally you just give him a look. “Nothing else?”

“A dress shirt?” He offers, still grinning, unable to take his eyes off of you.

You actually contemplate it for a second-if you would be able to make it work as a dress, certain that he’s got a belt you could also snag to cinch the waist- before deciding against it. “I really have to go.”

Matt loops his arms around your waist, pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck. “Do you?”

It is...so easy to tilt your head to the side and just let Matt work, his hand travelling up his shirt. You can feel him smirk against your neck and you can’t even be mad about how smug he is about winning because it feels so good.

And then your phone buzzes and the moment is broken.

The clock says it’s already past time for you to meet your parents and when you look at the text, it’s from your mom, letting you know they have a table. You let her know you’re on your way, but running late, and then slip the phone in your pocket.

“Fine.” Matt says, kissing you softly; a real, proper one, on the lips that sort of takes your breath away. “I’ll let you go.”

“Thanks.” You laugh, a little surprised about the kiss, which just...wasn’t something you guys did outside of bed.

And with one last brush down your arms, a tiny little pause over his number on your shoulders, he steps away, letting you go. But it’s just enough that you think you know what’s going on.

plus one

The long road trip out east gives you enough time to put your plan in action.

Unfortunately, you’re such a terrible liar, that you’re sure Matt knows something is up when he returns.

He sounds definitely hurt when you tell him that you can’t come over the night he comes home, but you’re sure that he’ll get over it pretty quickly when he sees what you’ve got planned for tomorrow’s game.

Your plan formed quickly, coming together in your mind easily. Meeting up with Sasha for lunch one day, you’d told her exactly what you wanted to do, requesting her help in getting you what you need.

She’d laughed hysterically, paused for a moment, and then laughed again. “I feel like I should be saying I told you so here. Somehow, someway, this feels like the moment for that.”

“People who lived in glass houses for over a year shouldn’t throw stones like that.”

That sobers her up, but only enough to stop laughing uncontrollably. She’s still giggling when she speaks. “Fair enough.”

“So can you get it for me?”

“What, he won’t give it to you?” She asks.

“I’m trying to do a thing here.” You tell her.

“Ah.” She says. “Alright, let me see what I can do.”

And so the day after their two week road trip, you found yourself standing in the hallway outside the locker room with Sasha and Ali, waiting for Matt to come out, the Tkachuk jersey feeling heavier than any other time you’ve worn his name before, and knowing that it has everything to do with the gesture you’re hoping it to be.

It seems like the entire organization comes out of the locker room before Matt does, so you endure knowing grins from both Johnny and Noah, as well as multiple other teammates you’re starting to recognize more and more, before Matt finally steps out.

He’s texting as he walks toward you, looking fine as hell in his suit and a little soft from his shower. You can feel the smile grow on your face as your phone buzzes in your back pocket, but you don’t have to pull it out to know who the text is from.

“Hey.”

Matt stops walking and looks up, shock clear in his face. His eyes flutter to his phone quickly and then back to you, like he’s wondering how you got there so quickly, but it only takes a minute before his eyes find the “A” on the corner of your jersey and the “19” on the sleeves. “Hi.”

You’re a little surprised he doesn’t have more to say than that, considering he never stops talking, but he seems content to let his eyes wander over his jersey on you. “Sorry I couldn’t come over last night.” You say, filling the quiet between you and tugging on the hem of the jersey to illustrate your point. “But I really did have some errands to run.”

Matt starts to grin. “You could have come over and saved yourself a few bucks.”

“You think I paid for this garbage?” You scoff and he’s crossing the hall to you in three steps to pull you into his arms.

“I hope you didn’t.” He says, holding you close to him and it takes everything in you not to just press up onto your tippy toes and kiss him, but you shake your head to clear it so you can finish your bit, making a mental note to thank Sasha for coming in clutch and managing to get the jersey for you without Matt knowing. “Would sure be a waste for my girlfriend to spend money on something I’d just give her anyway.”

“Awfully presumptuous.”

“So tell me I’m wrong.” He grins cockily.

“You know what a shitty liar I am.” You start to return the smile but Matt’s kissing the grin off your face the second you finish speaking.

#matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfic #matthew tkachuk fanction #hockey imagines #hockey fanfiction #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #my hockey fics

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failedintsave · 3 years

Text

@little-murmaider recently introduced me to her big-brain concept of Stevie Wonder as skwistok listenin', and since then I've been personally attacked by several songs. SO! Here's another one-off because my brain is full of holes now.

(For extra fun, the song mentioned is All I Do. Listen to it on loop for 259036648 repeats like I did when writing this)

Hotter than July

Toki woke to the squeal of sirens driving past the apartment building, a lance of pain shooting through his skull. Peeling his clammy cheek away from the cracked porcelain of the bathtub he slowly, deliberately worked himself up to sitting, groaning as a wave of dizziness sent the world spinning. His teeth felt fuzzy, a bitter taste lingering on his tongue. Lank strands of hair were plastered to his sweaty face; the apartment's air conditioning was broken and the Florida heat was merciless, but since they were so behind on rent, the landlord was dragging his feet on the repairs.

Racking his brain, Toki couldn't quite recall getting home after the party they'd gone to following their gig last night, only a vague image of watching his arms dangle towards the ground, the backs of Nathan's boots flashing beyond his fingers. The sense of vertigo that followed sent him lurching for the toilet.

He wandered into the kitchen on wobbly legs, still nauseous but out of fluids to expel or sweat out. Searching the cabinets yielded nothing so he fished a plastic cup from the dirty dish pile in the sink and rinsed it as thoroughly as he could be bothered, gulping tepid tap water until he had to surface for air.

A tinny sound from the other side of the pass-through penetrated the throbbing haze inside his skull. He stuck his hand under the faucet and scrubbed the stale sweat from his face, drying it on the hem of his shirt as he turned the corner into the filthy living room.

Sprawled on the couch like a swooning Victorian damsel was their beanstalk of a lead guitarist. He'd cuffed his jeans halfway up his calves, socked feet propped on the coffee table next to a box fan aimed directly where he lounged. His eyes were closed and one arm was propped over the top of his head, fingertips twitching out a rhythm to whatever was playing on the cheap headphones covering his ears. Sweat had soaked through the neck of his shirt, the material flattened over his clavicle like a second skin, his face and neck flushed with the heat. Toki's stomach gave a little flop, but not enough to send him running back to the bathroom.

He took a seat on the floor nearby, hoping to get at least partially in the path of the fan for some relief against the cloying humidity. At this range he could make out a little better the song Skwisgaar was listening to, or at least hear the cadence of the singer's voice. Melodic and boppy, definitely not metal, but not something he recognized either. Toki closed his eyes against the breeze from the fan, music reeling him in without him realizing he was leaning in the direction of the couch until his shoulder bumped the cushion. He started and turned to look at the Swede, jumping again when he was met with a single blue eye cracked open to observe him.

"Oh! Sorries, I…" he trailed off as his mouth went dry. He wasn't sure what he was apologizing for, it was just reflexive.

The eye looked him up and down, scrutiny making him wriggle, before it closed again. This close he could see the perspiration glistening at the other man's temple, a thin sheen on his upper lip as well. He had pretty lips when they weren't twisted into a judgemental sneer, Toki thought, blanching and looking away as soon as the notion crossed his mind. His pulse hammered in his aching, dehydrated joints.

"You smells like throw ups."

The drawl brought his attention back to the couch again, coming face to face with the very sneer he'd just been remembering. He felt his shoulders rising towards his ears in an embarrassed shrug.

"Dat probably cuz I dids a lot of frow ups…"

Skwisgaar's disdainful expression transformed into one of amused pity. "Ja well. Dat why you shouldsn't do shots wif Pickle."

Nodding, Toki pushed away the remembered smell of dark, spiced liquor before it could make him ill. He'd only just started drinking when he joined the band a few months ago and his tolerance was measley in comparison to their drummer's, but he'd jumped at the opportunity to pal around with them. Now he was learning the price.

Scattered memories of last night stirred his brain like a dirty spoon, and he cast his eyes around for something to distract him from the spins. His gaze landed on the walkman balanced on Skwisgaar's ribcage.

"What ams you listenings to?"

Skwisgaar followed his eyes, considering the cassette player for a moment before passing the headset over with a wordless shrug. Their fingers grazed and Toki felt another strange flutter behind his sternum. Had those drinks been spiked?

He placed the headphones over his ears, head immediately filled with the soulful vocals and groovy bassline. An irrepressible grin took over the bottom half of his face as he bobbed his head to the beat. Toki returned his focus to Skwisgaar's face and immediately all the breath left his lungs.

The blonde mirrored his smile, nodding as if they shared a secret. "Right? It's good stuffs."

He groped for anything to say, mind fuzzed under the ice blue spotlight of the Swede's gaze. "Ja...nots what I expecteds but...ja. Good. G-good...it good sounds." He winced.

A straw-colored eyebrow rose towards Skwisgaar's hairline and the smile turned to a crooked smirk. He shook his head, then picked up the tapdeck and passed it over to Toki as well.

"Here. You cans listens for a while, just don'ts kill deh batteries. I'm fuckin' hungovers as shit, I'm gonna takes a nap. Wakes me up for prackstice, okej?"

He swung his feet from the table to the couch and scooted down into a more comfortable position, white shirt riding up as he shifted and exposing a torso almost as pale as the material. Toki stared at the creamy patch of skin, the last bony ribs prominent above the hip poking over the top of white denim. He checked to make sure the fan hadn't died, face burning worse than ever.

In typical fashion, Skwisgaar was snoring quietly within minutes, leaving Toki alone with his suddenly jumbled thoughts, music still pulsing in his ears. His eyes travelled the long line of the other man's body to his face, tranquil in slumber. Skwisgaar's pale eyelashes glowed bronze against high cheekbones, catching the afternoon sun streaming through the open window. Toki's hand moved of its own volition towards the hollow of Skwisgaar's cheek before he snatched it away, forcing it and his gaze down to his lap where the walkman lay. He had to still be drunk.

Holding the tape deck reverently, he noticed the spindly S.S. marked on the corner in black sharpie. He traced the letters with the pad of his thumb, grin returning as the song continued in his ears, saxophone solo accompanying the flock of butterflies blooming in his belly. As the track faded out and the next began, Toki leaned back to lay on the grungy carpet, clutching the walkman to his chest. A blonde curl cascaded over the cushion as Skwisgaar rolled onto his side, and Toki held up a hand, letting the lock pool in his palm for a moment before slapping the heels of both hands against his eyes.

"Oh noes…" he giggled ruefully.

His life had changed drastically in the last few months; he had a home, he had friends, he had a band. And now? He had a complication of a different sort.

But the heat and his hangover were suddenly much less distracting.

#toki wartooth #skwisgaar skwigelf #skwistok #dethklok #metalocalypse #brainrot #and now back to my regular writing playlists #...maybe

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