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userlando · 3 years

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my secret (tom holland x fem!reader nsfw)

(gif credit) summary: during an impromptu sleepover with your friends, you can’t help but sneak into tom’s room for a late night rendezvous. pairing: tom holland / female reader. wordcount: 2,942 words warnings: penetrative sex and fingering, unprotected sex, biting, kissing, swearing. a/n: figures that my inspiration disappears for almost two years only to come back while I’m messing around on my phones notes app. sorry for any mistakes, this was written and rewritten on my phone and it’s the first thing i’ve written in a long while. all feedback is appreciated!! also, this is as usual dedicated to @babylevines i love love love you x

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

You cracked the door open, squinting your eyes in the dark while praying silently that the door wouldn’t creak like it usually did as you pushed it open enough to slip through. After the telltale click of it closing sounded, you took a second to adjust to the darkness with bated breath; Trying to find the sleeping body of Tom in bed.

It didn’t take you long to spot him, tangled up in the crisp white sheets as he snoozed on his back with his arms spread wide over the king sized bed. You almost felt bad for even having the thought of waking him up, but you hadn’t had your hands on him for five days and it was torture to sit through the entire evening among your friends, hanging out while he was giving you subtle stares across the room that made your heart race ridiculously fast. There was only so much playful sexting you could take before you combusted.

With that thought in your mind, you quickly slipped your basketball shorts off your legs and threw them somewhere on the floor.

You snuck up to the bed, finding a spot on the mattress where you could place your knee as you heaved yourself up with a huff. Tom let out a small sleepy hum at the feel of the mattress dipping and you had just enough time to straddle him gently before his eyes cracked open, sleepy and disoriented.

“Y/n? What-?” He cut himself off, voice hoarse and dripping in confusion. “You okay? What’s goin’ on?”

It was dark in the room, but you could see as he lifted his head to glance around the room, eyes settling on you in pure confusion and a little worry. It made you smile. His eyebrows furrowed but you didn’t miss the way his hands immediately found your hips, gripping them in a way that had you grinding down on his crotch just to get some sort of friction.

“Fuck.” He swore loudly, disturbing the quiet in the room and you dipped down to catch his lips with yours; To silence him and to silence the voice in your head, screaming at you to kiss him.

He replied in gusto, opening his mouth as soon as your tongue touched his lip. The taste of sleep, of him, made your thighs clench around his hips and you couldn’t stop the small whimper from slipping out.

It wasn’t hard to coax him into a short make out session, but you could still feel the confusion in his movements so you pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. He was breathing hard, tilting his chin up to steal another kiss from your mouth and the gesture made you smile, teeth biting down on your lower lip.

“Everyone’s asleep.” You said, watching as his eyes flickered from yours to momentarily look at the clock on the nightstand.

He’d only been asleep for three hours, having gone to bed before the movie had ended in the living area. You’d stayed up with your other friends to finish it, slipping in some deep, late night talk before you all called it a night. You’d shared the guest bed with Zendaya, but sleep hadn’t come to you as easily as it had come to her.

You’d been too on edge, trying to plan out how you could sneak off to Tom’s room without everyone else hearing. But you’d succeeded, and it was all worth it.

“They’ll hear us, won’t they?” Tom whispered, and you almost laughed at the way his eyebrows furrowed as his hips seemed to automatically grind up against yours. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

The unexpected compliment made your face heat up and you were quick to bury it in his neck, pulling a deep breath before closing your mouth around a patch of skin right between the juncture of his neck and shoulder, sucking hard. He squirmed, clearly ticklish but it still made him let out a small moan that vibrated against your cheek.

“They won’t hear us if we’re quiet.” You mumbled.

Tom tightened his grip on your hip before twisting you so you were laying side by side instead and you peered up at him as he heaved himself up so he could support his weight on his elbow.

“Alright, miss noisy.” He gave you a grin, along with a quick bop of his finger against your nose and you narrowed your eyes at him.

Before you could protest, say that you weren’t the only noisy one, he’d let the same hand wander up your naked thigh; Like he was taking in the softness of your skin. You glanced at it at the same time he did, and you held your breath when it traveled up your stomach and beneath your loose t-shirt. Your heart picked up its pace as he circled your belly button, lightly tickling you just to hear your small intake of breath. He let out a crude curse when he cupped your breast, pinching a nipple between his thumb and forefinger before twisting it in a way that had you squirming, back arching.

“Please.” You whispered, bucking your hips toward him but he only watched you with an amused tilt of his lips. The bastard was enjoying this a little too much.

He gave your other nipple the same amount of attention before dipping his head down to kiss you, licking hotly into your mouth.

“Bloody hell, darling,” He huffed out a small laugh, spanning his fingers across the side of your torso before slipping around you and into the flimsy material of your cotton panties. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? Every time you sit across from me, looking so innocent and absolutely delicious? Drives me nuts.”

He tightens his grip on your ass cheek in a bruising way and you can’t help but slip your hands into his hair to bring his lips toward yours in a sloppy kiss. You let him fall on his back and move to straddle him once again, refusing to back down when he tried to break your kiss to protest.

He gave up easily when you bit his lip, reaching your hands down to clumsily push your underwear down and throwing them somewhere behind you before resettling on his lap. There was no doubt that he could feel your heat against his covered crotch, and that alone made you clench.

“Remember last night?” You whispered and any other day you’d be embarrassed by how breathless you sounded.

He let out a small hum when you put your palms against his naked pectorals, raking your nails down with a pressure you knew would get him going. It took him a while to gather his thoughts, but then he looked up at you, eyes eager and heated.

“Gonna have to be a little more specific, darling.” He laughed, voice hushed.

You shot him a grin and leaned down so you could kiss his throat, right above his Adam’s apple that bobbed when he swallowed heavily.

“Last night when we texted, I said that I needed you inside me,” Your voice was low as you kissed up his sharp jawline. “And you said-“

“- I’d fuck you so hard you’d forget your own name.” He finished for you, hands coming up to surround your face in a firm grip.

Your mouth dropped open right as he went in for the kiss, rendering you speechless for a full minute before the need became too much to ignore.

“Are you going to carry out your promise, sweetheart?” You asked, earning a nip of teeth to your lip.

Tom didn’t reply, one hand leaving your hip to touch your pussy, testing out how wet you were and if he needed to prep you. His face contorted in concentration as he pulled out his finger, working quickly with the same hand to pull himself out of his sweatpants without jostling you too much.

“You know I always keep my promises.” He gave you a chaste kiss, sounding all too cocky and you couldn’t stop the moan ripping from your throat as you felt him breach you a moment later. “Quiet, my love.”

You braced your hands on either side of his head, fingers gripping the sheets in a tight grip as you pushed back onto his cock. He was clearly trying to hold back as to not hurt you, but you were way past the point of caring or waiting.

Your eyes screwed shut as he finally sunk into you and Tom moaned into your ear when you ground down on him, raising your hips the best you could before taking him in again in a rhythm that made his breath stutter against your lips.

It wasn’t lost on you how absolutely gorgeous Tom was, thinking back to the first time when Zendaya had brought you along a pub night and you’d met him. There had been an instant attraction that was undeniable and from then on it had been constant texting and late night phone calls in the quiet of your room, disturbing your roommates without a question.

Within those six months, you’d seen him when he was lounging at home with sweatpants, in a suit for whatever red carpet event he attended, naked in all his glory and even dressed up when there was any kind of event that required it. But this, this was your favourite view of them all.

He stretched his head back on the pillow, making an indent on it as he let out something akin to a moaning hum when you sat up straight to ride him at a better angle. His eyes were scrunched shut, teeth buried into his bottom lip and his hands scrambled to grab a hold of your hips - urging you to move faster.

He looked downright obscene with his throat on display, breathing harshly through his nose as he tried to control his urge to hammer into you like a deprived man.

“I - oh, I needed this.” You whispered out, a sharp gasp evading you when he thrust up so suddenly that you had to lean forward to steady yourself on his heaving chest. “Tommy!”

You knew you were being too loud. You knew that you were on the brink of exposing your relationship that you’d worked hard to keep a secret from your friends. And Tom still had enough sanity to realise it because he was quick to slide his hands up your back, bringing you flush against his chest before rolling the two of you over. It wasn’t smooth and the awkwardness made you snicker as he slipped out of you. He snorted unattractively and it set your uncontrollable giggling off.

“Don’t laugh at me,” He tried to pout but the smile on his face said otherwise as he leaned forward to kiss you, burying his face in your shoulder after. “I’m trying to be sexy and smooth.”

You gasped momentarily as he guided himself into you again, arms and legs wrapping around him and mouth finding his shoulder to nip on when he started thrusting slowly, deeply.

“The smoothest.” You teased, smile evident in your voice.

Tom brought one of his free hands back up your thigh and the shock of the smack he landed on your left ass cheek made you jump with a yelp.

“Brat.” He murmured huskily against your ear, kissing right beneath it to soften the reprimand.

He thrusted forward and hit a particularly good spot that had you whimpering pathetically.

“Mmm, you love it.” You had to have the last word, and Tom seemed to secretly enjoy it because he steadied himself on one arm and grabbed your thigh with the other, picking up pace as he started fucking you in a toe curling fashion.

The perfect angle that he knew would make you inch closer to climax, with the help of his crotch rubbing right against your clit with every thrust of his hips.

A creaking sound made you perk your ears up and you quickly realised that it wasn’t coming from inside of the room. Rather, outside in the hallway. You instantly put your hand on Tom’s shoulder and the other one on his mouth he’d opened as he panted. His eyes opened and searched yours, eyebrows scrunching together.

“Someone’s outside.” You whispered, trying to get your breathing under control as you heard the telltale creak of the bathroom door down the hall.

Tom licked against the palm of your hand and the wetness had you snatching it away with a startled gasp, a giggle escaping the both of you as you looked at each other.

“It’s probably Harrison and his microscopic bladder.” He rolled his eyes with a grin, pushing himself up carefully as to not rustle the sheets too loudly.

Your eyes fluttered shut for a second when you felt him move inside you and you couldn’t help but clench down on his cock, a breathy moan tumbling from your lips.

“Do you want to get caught, naughty girl?” He raised his eyebrows in a teasing manner, placing both of his hands on either side of your hips.

You hummed, but the both of you knew that the reason you’d kept your relationship a secret for so long was partly because of the thrill. There was nothing better than sneaking around whenever you saw an opportunity, keeping your hands to yourself in public or among your friends like you were nothing but acquaintances. It had been all for fun at first before the both of you realised that you wanted more, so you decided that it’d be best to explore it in secret and see where that took you.

It wouldn’t be the end of the world if you were caught by any of your friends, but there was a mutual agreement that you’d sneak around until that day came.

“Wish I could take a picture of you like this,” Tom said lowly, hands sliding up your skin and pulling your shirt up with them until your entire chest was exposed to his eyes only. “Lying on my bed, half naked with your tits out and your hair a mess. Aching for my cock. I can feel it. You want to come, don’t you, sweetheart?”

He pushed your shirt up so it laid comfortably rolled up beneath your chin, fingers pinching your nipples as he started thrusting again.

“Just like that.” Was all you managed to whisper, bringing a hand down to rub at your clit to speed things along.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

He fucked into you, pushing you up the bed as he leaned forward to bury his head in your chest. His arms wrapped around your body, fingers digging into your back to pull you into him as he drove forward.

Your orgasm took you by surprise, a guttural moan tearing its way out of your mouth as every nerve came alive in your body; Toes curling and stomach spasming.

Tom whispered out your name and that was the only warning you got before he pulled out, balancing his weight on one elbow as he jerked himself off and came right over your pussy. You weakly buried your hands in his hair, feeling him shake as he rode out the last of his orgasm before collapsing on top of you, mess be damned.

His face was as warm as his puffs of breaths on your neck and you turned your head to press small kisses against his hair.

“I needed that.” He murmured, sounding sleepy and content. Much like a cat.

“Me too.”

The both of you laid there until the mess on your lower half of your body started feeling tacky and uncomfortable. Tom heaved himself up with great difficulty but you stopped him when he swung his legs over the edge to get off the bed; Clearly intending to get a towel so he could clean you off.

“It’s alright, Tommy. I need to go to the bathroom on my way back anyway.” You assured him and he nodded, a grateful and sleepy smile gracing his flushed face.

You got up from the bed, having to support yourself with a hand on his shoulder for a second to avoid falling because of your wobbly legs. A huffed laugh sounded from behind you and you rolled your eyes, refusing to turn around to see his smug smile, opting to find your panties and shorts instead.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” You whispered after you’d sorted yourself out long enough to make a trip to the bathroom without risking any awkward encounters.

Tom nodded, beckoning you forward with his arms and you didn’t hesitate to walk into them. He wrapped his arms around you, laying his head against your chest.

“Can’t you just sleep here?” He sounded whiny, and you pulled back with a laugh to look at him.

“I can,” You brushed a lock of damp hair away from his forehead and bent down to kiss him. “But where’s the fun in that?”

His laughter was the last thing you heard as you shut his door behind you, taking a moment to calm your heart before making your way to the bathroom.

The clock was 3:56am by the time you crawled under the bedsheets, feeling exhaustion crawling over your body after the nights event. Zendaya was silent, sleeping with her back turned to you and you let your eyes close shut; Fully intending on having a good dream when your friend sighed.

“You guys aren’t as discreet as you think you are.”

#tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland smut #my fic #smut #fluff #actor rpf #rpf fanfic #this is so random lol hi

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trials-by-blood · 4 years

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Umm...I always see Yautja being paired up with someone strong and skilled and stuff. I was wondering if you could write something with any Yautja being with someone who is shy, meek, and a little chubby. And when they're alone or think they are they sing along to music and dance even though they can't.XD Sorry if I'm asking too much or anything...

Fegris, the dump world where the unwanted are left to rot and crumble.

This was once a world where the yautja would crash their obsolete vessels so that they could not fall into use by the other space faring races. Ships were not the only things they left behind. Exiles, heretics, or anyone who upset the balance of their society were also left to wither, but not all did.

In the following ages, other peoples would use Fegris as a place to forget their burdens. The Faceless Ones unloaded their collected specimens here when science deemed that their time of usefulness had ended.

Now generations of humans, yautja, clade, mind eaters and all manner of invasive species build their cities here, clinging to half remembered mockeries of their mother cultures. Here, all Forgotten busy themselves mining ore, seeking pleasurable escape, stripping precious metals from ancient wrecks, gambling, farming, extorting, building, destroying, breeding, killing.

One of the few honest livings to be made anywhere, the food service industry, prospers here. Organic people must eat, so this work will never die.

Heather, an old name from an old world no one can recall, worked for her room and board at what would best resemble a mall food court. It wasn't a particularly hazardous occupation, so long as you don't taste-test the food or stay long after the coalition of retail outlets close.

(OOC: Okay this ran WAY longer than I anticipated and I had to make the choice to cap it off at 2,500ish words. I’m sorry if this TOTALLY misses the vibe you were hoping for, I kinda got carried away. Oops)

Once, she'd made that mistake. Even her cold hearted rock-sucker of a boss told her not to bother finishing the cleaning if it meant staying after hours, but she hadn't listened. Heather hadn't wanted to leave her work half done and risk losing her job and newly acquired living space on her first day. So she'd stayed to wipe down the counters and load the trolly cart with the leftovers for the cooler. The reward for a job well finished was stepping out into the market spaces abandoned by customers and workers but repopulated by the local Yautja Bad-bloods and their rivals, The Cranium Skaggers. They were working through a territorial dispute.

The Skaggers were human, but barely. They injected enhancement serums, most barely tested, directly into their brain tissues via an implanted port installed at the top of their shaved heads.

Heather had stepped out of her safe enclosed little work area into a street brawl, and was pinned between the doors she'd only just locked and the carnal violence of the city. One of the yautja, who's vision was... not like hers, must have mistaken her bright heat signature and rapid heart rhythm for a Cranium Skagger.

Oh, she tried to run when she saw him move on her with his unhuman, talon tipped hand outstretched to seize her. Heather had dropped her bag, the keys, the silly hat which matched with her uniform, and she ran but he was fast, so horridly fast for something so big, heavy, and grieved with bulky armor.

It only took him three strides, thud thud thud, to reach her and tangle his terrible claws into the back of her long tunic. She was thrown, landing hard, disoriented and crying out as deep, raw pain shot up her left hip and into her pelvis. Something was broken.

She saw him, her attacker, and the blades attached to his dominant arm glistening with the blood of Cranium Skagger's, but she didn't even think to cover her face. All she could do was scream for help.

Her plea was answered. A great clawed fist smashed across the Yautja's mask with such force that his yowling face was revealed as his helm was torn from him. Next, skulls collided with a clapping of flesh so sharp, Heather thought someone had cracked a whip above her.

One Yautja had begun to fight another. That was when she did the sensible thing, curling her arms over her head and making herself as small as she could.

She survived that night. That battle resolved itself as she lied on the ground trembling and weeping in terror, but her savior stuck around after all the others had left. He put her things next to her, and waited until her boss came to collect her and get her help. The yautja must have gone through her communicator for her contacts.

The fractured hip was easily and painlessly repaired but the procedure had completely drained her savings. To her shock and mild horror, someone had wired to her account credits in the exact amount to replace what she'd spent at the Urgent Intervention Facility to fix her leg.

When she returned to work, who was there at the food court? The yautja who'd stayed that night. He stood out like a broken finger, the cleaned hand bones and torn out skull ports of Skaggers littered about what he wore like grim badges of honor. The sight of him watching her enter her workplace sent a chill up Heather's spine.

This kept up for weeks, until The Indecent was months behind her. She'd go to work, and he'd be there, just watching. Heather's co-workers weren't fans of her admirer. Yagon, the young clade boy who took the morning shift before her was the least fond of the yautja lingering around.

Today, as Heather stepped past her bad-blood observer who had decided to lean against the wall next to the employee entrance, Yagon was peeking out from the door to keep a watchful eye on her as she came in for her shift.

Yagon chittered irritably, antennae vibrating as he took off his smock and hat so he could scratch his double claws at the translator hanging on a lanyard around his the joining of his head and thorax.

The voice emanating from the little box was monotone and purposefully slow so that it could be heard clearly as he continued chirping and tweeting.

"You know what that creep does all day waiting for you to come in? He listens to recordings of you singing on your shifts."

Heather cringed. That was creepy. She'd had a feeling that he'd been able to hear her sing to herself from where he usually hung around, but she never thought he'd record her. It felt incredibly invasive. She briefly imagined confronting him about it, but thought better of it. He could crush her skull between his hands as if it were a brittle little Skitterling egg. She hunched her shoulders and hugged herself a bit.

Yagon then turned and dropped the claws of his primary arms on her shoulders.

"I can file an anonymous report for you. Please? I don't want to come in to work one day and find out something happened to you."

Heather sighed, trying not to vividly imagine how an exiled yautja might retaliate to that.

"N- no, I think that would just make things worse, Yagon," Heather tried not to whimper.

Yagon finished folding his smock and hat into his bag and left, but not before offering twice more to file that report.

A few hours passed and Heather caught herself singing a handful of times as she fell into her work routine but always stopped when she remembered who was listening. It felt awful, being observed so closely and denied the personal freedom do anything without fear of having it recorded for some stranger's entertainment.

Again, she thought about confronting the yautja watcher, but couldn't help the violent catastrophes imagined with the idea.

She felt like she couldn't make a noise or do a thing for herself to make this crappy job the least bit bearable without putting on some bizarre show for Captain Cranium Crusher out there! Heather's frustration built and built until she couldn't take it anymore.

The walk-in cooler. It was sound proof, right? The moment she finished the lunch-rush line of customers holding out their trays for their greasy food, Heather tore off her gloves, tossed them in the general direction of the trash chute and turned on her heel to stomp her way to that cooler door.

Heather glanced over the counter to confirm the Skull Collecting Jerk was still out there haunting the seating area. There he was, arms crossed against his chiseled chest, ass planted on a chair that could barely hold his weight with his big ugly sandled feet propped up on one of the tables. Bastard.

She pulled open the thick insulated door and slammed it behind her. First she simply bellowed angrily, stomped her foot, slapped a bag of single serve condiments as hard as she could manage, doing anything to break the severe edge from her frustration.

"UGH! WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" She tore off her work smock and threw her hat on the floor to stomp on it, "I'M JUST A SHORT, ROUND, NOBODY WHO SHOVELS SLOP ONTO PLATES SIX HOURS A DAY. I'VE NEVER EVEN BEEN IN A REAL FIGHT! I'M NOTHING! WHY ARE YOU WATCHING ME? WHAT THE FUCK COULD BE SO INTERESTING ABOUT ME?! STOP WATCHING ME, YOU ASSHOLE!"

Then, spitefully, she sang her favorite song, watching the misty puffs of her breath dissipate as her heart pounded.

Now, she felt cold and her throat hurt from belting out her very favorite lyrics so harshly. It wasn't fair, she shouldn't have to be reminded of that night every afternoon on her shift. It sucked, and somehow she felt guilty for being angry even though none of this was her fault and she knew she had every right to be angry. So Heather curled up and cried in the cooler for a half-hour at the helplessness she felt. It felt gross, and she knew by now there had to be a never-ending line of pissed off customers outside. She was afraid of confrontation and couldn't ever imagine herself actually standing up to anyone. She could already tell that she'd be crying in her apartment after work too. Whob wouldn't after the verbal abuse she'd no doubt suffer at the service counter from customers tired of waiting.

Miserably, Heather stood and steeled her resolve to go back out there. With a deep, shaky breath, put her smock back on and fixed her hat.

"I'll get through it because I'm good at getting through it," she told herself to make it easier to reach for that door.

Chur-clunk. Chur-clunk. It was jammed. Oh no the cooler door was stuck. Heather put her weight into her next push, then her entire being into the push after that.

"Oh GODS I'm going to freeze to death!" she wailed, pushing at the door again with everything she had.

Frustration, anger, helplessness, now panic. She didn't want to die alone of hypothermia at work.

There was a bang and a great dent had appeared in the thick door. Before she could figure what was happening, the door was torn completely from the reinforced hinges. Heather shrieked and fell squarely on her bottom.

There he was again, who else would it be coming to her rescue and staring coldly down at her through the dead lenses of that helmet.

In one swift motion he lifted his left arm and clicked away at the keys of his gauntlet computer with those claws. The hologram display showed Heather a collection of files marked with icons she recognized. They were just cropped, slightly fuzzy pictures of her name tag for work. With a few more taps of his claw, all of the icons dissolved. He deleted them. He'd deleted all of his recordings which pertained to her.

"Oh, shit, you heard all of that," Heather whimpered, clutching her head with both hands in mortification. He must have heard what Yagon said earlier too.

He said nothing, made no noise. He just stood there like an imposing statue for a few tense seconds before turning to stride away.

She wasn't fired for the broken door and spoiled food. Before she could even collect herself from the floor in the cooler, her boss was wired a credit transfer for "damages".

Later as she heard of his generosity, it also explained the mysterious funds appearing in her account after the hip procedure. That had been Him too.

Her "admirer" didn't come back after that, which was a relief for the first week or two. After a while she found herself over thinking the whole thing. Yautja were notorious for being socially incomprehensible. Heather wondered if he just pitied her so much after one of his own kind damn-near destroyed her that he felt responsible for her continued safety. Or, maybe he was just a stalking sleeze-ball. She tended to flounder between the two conclusions, but one thing was certain, he was respecting her boundaries now and she appreciated that.

After nearly a month, she decided that the best closure she'd get was accepting that the entire ordeal was some bizarre misunderstanding, totally on his part, and he did a few nice things but that didn't make up for the weeks and weeks of discomfort he'd inflicted.

More time passed, Heather became more comfortable with her new job, and she very nearly forgot about that Yautja. The only time she remembered him were on cold days when her hip would ache, but it was pleasantly warm out on the afternoon she came in for her shift and found Yagon agitated with his antennae twitching so fast one might expect them to fly off his head. Heather looked around, hoping that the cleaning she couldn't finish the night before hadn't upset him. What she found was... Unusual, and she certainly hadn't left the thing there last night.

It was a skull, from what she wasn't sure, sitting there on the counter by the check out scanner.

"The Creep is back. This time he left a name with that." Yagon's translator couldn't read the inflections in his speech, but Heather could tell where the translator omitted expletives.

"W-hat was it? His name?"

"Stone Fist was the direct translation. I can't get the translator to say the correct pronunciation in his language and he made a scene about it until I threatened to call security. You know what that thing means, don't you?"

Heather nodded, she knew what it meant. Everyone did. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the empty sockets of the skull. It was as if it were staring through her being.

"I can still file that report, Heather," Yagon offered again.

"Don't, I mean... As long as I don't take it, then nothing happens. Right?"

"As far as I'm aware? I think that's how it works."

If Heather didn't touch it, he wouldn't come back. If she took it home, he'd follow her home because accepting an offering like that was an act of giving permission to pursue courtship.

Working with that lifeless skull watching her was eerie to say the least. She covered it with her hat midway through her shift so she didn't have to look at it. At the end of her shift as she fiddled with the patterned key to lock up before she left, she considered the skull one last time. No, She wasn't taking it, but she'd leave a note. Two notes actually, one to ask Stone Fist if he would consider an actual conversation before anything else, and a second note to apologize to Yagon for asking him to speak with Stone Fist again.

To Be Continued?

#yautja #predator #human/predator #alien vs predator #ask

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niksixx · 4 years

Text

Patience

~Part 4. This will most likely be your favorite part. I know it was mine!~

Pairing: Axl Rose/Vince Neil x Female Reader

Warning: Vince holds a knife to Axl’s throat dear Jesus Vinnie

A/N: Reblog and comment! Spread the word about Patience!

*Picture is not mine. Found on Google. Credit to the owner.*

Tag list: @littlemisscare-all @curly-hudson @julessworldd @madamsixx @headlight-queen @metalheartofgold @ginny-baker-sixx @mickmarstookmyheart @gunsngunners @bex-tothe-rescue

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You arrive home the next morning to an empty house. Thank God. The boys had another day at the studio you were assuming, which gave you plenty of time and space to turn the kitchen into a full blown bakery.

After a quick shower, you begin to assemble the kitchen into your work space. Cartons of eggs and milk, bags of flour and sugar, tubes and cartons of icing, and multicolor sprinkles litter the kitchen counters. Bowls, pans, and cupcake liners accompany the baking products.

With an apron tied around your waist, you turn on the radio, singing and dancing as you mix up the batter with a smile. This is where you were most happy. In the kitchen, surrounded by loads of treats that would make others happy, too.

“Up next...Guns N’ Roses.”

You freeze, licking the sweet vanilla batter from your fingers, turning your attention to the radio to make sure you’d heard it correctly. A song begins to play, the guitar in the beginning extremely impressive, and you increase the volume, bobbing your head and jumping around to the beat. Holy fuck. Axl can sing.

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him. He has a raw, raspiness to his voice that’s unlike any voice you’ve ever heard. It’s pleasantly scratchy. It’s unusually rugged. It’s sexy. And not that you would admit it out loud, but Axl’s voice? Ten times better than Vince’s.

There's a knock at your door but you don’t hear it, too focused on the song as you sway your body, feeling the rhythm in your bones. Axl lets himself in, surprised that you’d left the door unlocked, stopping dead in his tracks as he watches you with amusement in his eyes. When he recognizes the song as his own, he quietly shuts the door, leaning against the wall, observing your every motion.

It’s a total contrast from what he saw last night. You’re lively now, freshly showered and clean, grinning from ear to ear, no care in the world. He loves this look on you.

The song comes to an end and you pout, but then your eyes focus on the man standing in your home. He wears a proud smirk, and his lips are inviting.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Axl says, coming into the kitchen. He wraps you in a hug, kissing the top of your head. You notice the kiss lingers a bit longer than usual.

“Axl, you’re amazing,” you say, and his heart soars. Your eyes, your voice, hold nothing but sheer adoration. “What was that song?”

“Sweet Child O’ Mine,” he replies proudly, taking in the sight of your messy kitchen. Oh shit, what was he about to get himself into? “Jeez, did something blow up in here?”

Chuckling, you throw him an extra apron. He raises an eyebrow at first in protest, but then wraps it around his waist after you mentioned that cupcake batter doesn’t come out of jeans. It does, though. But seeing Axl in a bright yellow apron will provide you with comedic relief, so you force him to put it on.

“Well I loved it. I don’t know why Vince won’t let me listen to you guys, but you’re incredible. I hope it comes on again,” you answer. “Now, how much experience do you have with baking cupcakes?”

And as Axl stares back at you blankly, all you can do is laugh. The next three hours were going to be fun. You could just tell.

~~~

“Who in the hell needs fifty fucking cupcakes?” Axl asks as you both scan all the flavors spread out on your counters. Chocolate. Vanilla. Red velvet. Funfetti. And that’s not including the surplus of icing flavors you have yet to douse the cupcakes in.

“My friend Lei, the owner of the restaurant we met in, she’s throwing her son this huge ninth birthday party. The boy has like twenty friends alone, and that doesn’t include all her family members that will be there,” Wiping your hands on the apron, you fish two butter knives from a drawer, handing one to Axl. “She was my first friend when I came to LA. I love her family. I never charge her the full price, but she always tips generously so I don’t mind.”

“So how am I supposed to do this?” Axl asks, picking up a small carton of icing, ripping off the lid. “I don’t wanna screw this up.” While he was there to help, Axl also wanted to impress you, though he barely knew his way around a kitchen. The best he could do, on a good night, was pasta.

“It’s easy. Watch me.” You dig the knife into the chocolate icing, swirling the metal utensil a few times before pulling out a bountiful amount. “So you take this much and then slap it on the top of the cupcake. And then you spread it around. Make sure to get the sides.”

Axl catches on quick. Soon, he’s icing the cupcakes like a pro while the two of you dance along to the radio music. A few songs you’re familiar with, some by Freddie Mercury, Poison, and even Mötley Crüe.

You smile. Axl rolls his eyes as he listens to your boyfriend's screeching voice, but it doesn’t keep him from dancing with you.

He loves this. He loves seeing you so happy, and he loves knowing that he contributes to part of your happiness.

His enthusiasm in the kitchen doesn’t last long, though. After icing fifteen cupcakes, he’s fallen bored. Beside him, you sway your body, eyes focused on the cupcake in front of you, when Axl gets an idea.

He checks to see if you’re watching him before he scoops a dollop of strawberry icing onto his finger. “You have icing on your face,” he says calmly, holding back his laugh.

Glancing toward him, your eyebrows pull together. “Where?”

And your eyes go wide as he spreads the sweet cream across your lips. “Right there.”

For a second, he’s worried you’re upset. You don’t move, you don’t flinch. But then you startle him as you swipe a line of vanilla icing across his cheek. He’s taken aback, and you smile innocently. “Oops.”

Game on.

He dips another finger in the chocolate icing, drawing a horizontal line across your forehead, and you counter with more strawberry icing, two fingers skimming across his nose.

A full on icing war erupts in the kitchen as you and Axl grab the butter knives, flinging the cream at each other. It goes everywhere: Your faces, your aprons, the fridge, the counters, the floor, and somehow gets on the ceiling. The kitchen looks as if a bomb was set off, the poor cupcakes rest on the table, half un-iced. Icing is everywhere it shouldn’t be, but you’re having the time of your life with your best friend. Your heart is full.

“Okay, okay, I surrender!” You beam at Axl who cocks his head curiously, but he stalks toward you when you put your hands up in defeat. He returns to his position beside you, giving you a look before grabbing another cupcake to decorate.

You’re too quick for him as you sneakily dig your finger into the vanilla icing. By the time he sees you and tries to protest, your fingers are brushing the icing across his mouth, a look of triumph on your face. “Gotcha. I win.”

He sets the knife down with a grin, turning back toward you. Grabbing your wrist, his brings your hand to his mouth, eyes dark.

“What are you doing?”

Slowly, his lips wrap around your fingers, tongue swirling around to collect the sweetness. Lips parted, your breath is shaky, just like your legs, as you feel his warm tongue lick the cream from your fingers. He knows what he’s doing. He’s driving you wild while also testing you. To see how far you’re willing to let him go.

You almost whimper when his lips unwrap from your digits. He smirks, dropping your hand, and steps forward. His breath fans over your face, and he’s so close to you, but not close enough. “You still have cream on your lips.”

“Yeah, I…” You swallow slowly, nodding your head. “I know. So uh...do you.”

Another step forward from Axl has your head spinning. There’s a darkness to his eyes, one of pure lust as they flicker to your cream coated mouth. His hand, soft and gentle, grazes the skin of your collarbone before it wraps around the back of your neck. Leaning into his touch, you lick your lips once, hands pressed against the fabric of his cutoff t-shirt. He’s going to kiss you. Fuck, he’s going to kiss you.

“Axl--.”

“Tell me you don’t want this,” his voice is tender and smooth, quiet, almost as if he’s just as nervous as you are. Only on the outside, he’s calm, unflinching.. And he’s ready, but not unless you are too. “Tell me this isn’t what you want.”

But you can’t.

You can’t say anything like that.

Because it’s not true.

Because you do want it.

Because you want him.

And when he dips down to your face, noses touching, lips dusting against lips, you melt. You fall apart under his touch as his lips mold with yours in the sweetest kiss, and not because of the lingering taste of vanilla and strawberry icing.

You shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but you kiss him back, hard, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him against you. He backs you against the counter and you don’t have a chance to draw in a breath, lips working together in passion, in fiery need.

The air around you is buzzing, your head is spinning with thoughts of him, of Axl, of the boy he was and the man he is now. In a kitchen, in a home that you share with your boyfriend, is where you're kissing your best friend and loving every minute of it.

But as you kiss him, you realize that he’s no longer a friend to you. He’s something more. He's always been something more. Something as simple as a kiss has opened your eyes, your heart.

The more you kiss, the more intense it gets. You’re lost within it, and you don’t want to be found. It feels right. Axl feels right.

With each swipe of his tongue against your own, he steals your breath. The kiss feels like lightning as it cracks against the sky, and your heart is just as loud as thunder.

You kiss long, you kiss hard, until the faint sound of an opening door pries your bodies apart. Staring at Axl, you’re breathless. He’s breathing heavy, and his eyes are focused on the man behind you.

You don’t want to turn around. You already know who is standing in the doorway, watching the scene in front of him unfold.

And when you turn around, your fears are confirmed. Vince stands, one hand on the doorknob, the other slack at his side. His eyes are sharp, cutting through you, as he steps inside and slams the door.

It’s eerily silent at first. Axl’s eyes are on Vince, your eyes are on Vince, and Vince’s eyes are somewhere looking between the both of you.

And you whisper, “Vin--.”

But he holds up a hand, silencing you. He stalks into the kitchen, eyes only focusing on Axl as he says in a menacingly low voice, “I don’t want to know why you’re in my goddamn house, but you have three seconds to take yourself outside before I crush your skull with my bare hands.”

“Vince!”

He pins you with a glare, daring you to challenge him.

All you do as a response is release a sigh of relief. He hadn’t seen the kiss.

Axl gives you one last look. Your eyes plead with him not to go, not to leave you alone with Vince. He was sober, luckily, but sometimes, he was scarier that way.

~~~

Not even the second Axl steps foot outside is when he feels himself being slammed, back first, against the side wall of the house. Vince grips the collar of his shirt, lips curled back in a snarl, eyes crazed.

“What do I need to do to get you to stay away from my girl, huh? Do I have to kill you? Huh?”

“You won’t do shit,” Axl replies nonchalantly, rolling his neck. He refuses to let Vince intimidate him. “Me and Y/N are friends. Get the fuck over it.”

The bricks of the wall press harder into Axl’s back, and he bites down on his tongue to keep from making a sound.

“Then you don’t know me.”

Something cool presses against the base of Axl’s throat, and he swallows, breathing through his nose to calm his racing heart. He feels the rough ridges of the blade against his skin, and he shuts his eyes briefly, trying to remain calm.

“You know what that is,” Vince taunts. “One wrong move and you’re done.”

Vince backs away, and Axl can finally breathe.

They stare at each other, eyes calculated, fists clenched, jaw set. There’s no way they’ll ever be able to settle the hatred between them. The animosity they feel, it’s too strong. They’re both fighting for the same girl, but only one of them will win.

“Get off my property,” Vince says gruffly, poking a finger in Axl��s chest. “And stay the hell away from my girl.”

~~~

Axl arrives home in a fury, slamming the door behind him, smashing an open palm against the wall.

He’s never felt so enraged before.

So threatened.

Scared that maybe Vince was actually crazy enough to hurt him.

He mutters a string of curses under his breath, forehead pressed against the wall. He should’ve done something, fought back, but instead he let Vince have the upper hand.

Axl’s heart raced at the thought of you at home with Vince. God, he shouldn’t have fucking left. Vince...the damn bastard had already laid his hands on you once. What if you were fighting right now? What if he hurt you again?

“Fuck!”

He slams his palm against the wall again, ignoring the sting. When he turns around, breathing heavily, he pauses, eyes flickering from one bandmate to another.

“Uh…” Steven trails off, glancing at Izzy, who shrugs his shoulders.

“Are you good?” Slash asks, feet raised on the coffee table.

Duff squints, coming forward, poking Axl’s cheek. “What the hell is on your face? Paint?”

“It’s icing,” Axl says, grabbing a napkin to wipe the residue from his face. He can’t wait to shower, wash off all the icing, the anger.

“Do we want to know?” Izzy asks, shutting off the TV.

Oh, boy, where to start.

“I went to Y/N’s to help her bake cupcakes and then it turned into this big icing war and before either one of us knows what the fuck is going on I kissed her and it was the best kiss I’ve ever had in my life and then the door opens not even a minute later and fucking Vince walks in but I’m positive he didn’t see anything becasue if he did I wouldn’t be standing here right now and--.”

“Wait, stop,” Steven says, brows raised, finger pointed. “You made cupcakes and didn’t even bring any home?”

“Steven!” Izzy shrieks, startling the rest of the band. “How is that the only thing you picked up from the fucking story?”

“And that’s not even the worst fucking part,” Axl groans, hand tugging at his hair. As he swallows he can still feel the pressure of the blade on his jugular. “Vince held me at knifepoint.”

“He what?” Slash stands, eyes blazing.

“And you let him live?” Duff emphasizes, arms crossed.

“Well I wasn’t going to fight the dick,” Axl says, hands thrown in the air. “He had a switchblade on my throat, Duff. The only thing I was thinking about was getting out of there alive.”

“This is war,” Steven says, retrieving his own switchblade from his back pocket, finger gently sliding up the blade.

“Is Y/N okay?” Izzy asks, already have taken a liking to you.

Axl can only hope. “I have no idea. I don’t think he’d be stupid enough to hurt her again.”

“Wait,” Slash pauses. “What do you mean again?”

Fuck.

Pulling up a chair, Axl sits himself down, hands scrubbing over his face. “She came over last night because they got into an argument and he uh...he hit her.”

The atmosphere shifts. It’s more tense now as no one speaks. Jaws are clenched, teeth are bared, mouths are dry.

“I love her, man,” Axl says quietly, breaking the silence. The other four turn to him, faces softening. “I just want to be with her, you know? I want to hold her hand and kiss her cheeks, everything that Vince doesn’t. I want to protect her and love her the way she deserves. I know I can,” Axl sighs dejectedly, palms rubbing his knees. “I just don’t know what to do anymore. She won’t willingly leave him, and at first I didn't understand but now I do.”

“I don’t,” Duff mutters, voice low.

“I don’t want to give up but I'm out of options,” Axl says, head hanging. He’s defeated. “I mean, I’ve thought about her everyday for the last seven years. She’s been in my heart all this time.”

“Maybe you just have to take it slow,” Izzy suggests, lips in a thin line. “Be patient.”

A slow smile creeps onto Duff’s lips as he grabs the notepad and pencil from the coffee table. He begins to scribble a few words, erasing and rewriting, tuning out the conversation as he concentrates on making the words on the paper flow.

“What are you doing?” Steven directs to Duff, glancing over his shoulder.

Duff throws the pad to Axl before looking at Izzy and Slash. “Grab your acoustics. Hurry.”

They oblige and come back to the sofa quickly, sitting in a circle. Axl silently reads the words to himself, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Patience?”

Duff nods, tapping the guitar with his pick. “You used to write songs about her, man. If you can’t tell her directly how you feel, then sing it. Start slow, soft.” The blonde glances back to the two remaining guitarists. “Follow my lead.”

“Wait, what can I do?” Steven pouts.

“Be quiet and observe,” Izzy commands.

“Ready?” Duff asks, and Axl nods. “One, two, three, four…”

With music, Axl likes to get creative. He’s used to belting his songs, adding in a few wild screams for good measure, but this song in front of him? It’s special. It’s unlike anything he’s sung before.

To add his own twist to the song, he starts by whistling gently, and slowly but surely, the words, the emotions, come together, and with his bandmates, he creates a masterpiece.

~~~

They play it over and over until their fingers are sore, voices tired.

But each time sounds better than the last.

As Axl tosses the pad back on the table, he glances to his bandmates, a new sense of peace washing over him.

“If this doesn't make her fall in love with you, man,” Steven says. “I don’t know what will. It’s perfect.”

It is perfect.

Every lyric, every feeling poured into the song.

You would love it.

You just had to.

Because if not, he wouldn’t know what else to do.

“So, when do you want to perform it for her?” Slash asks excitedly, setting his guitar between his legs.

Axl smirks, leaning forward on his knees. “How fast can we get booked on MTV?”

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varibean · 5 years

Text

figuring out how to fit

chapter 2! read chapter one here or here

Guy hadn’t realized that Sam’s shirt was, well, a shirt until two weeks of living with him.

They had fallen into a rhythm of sorts after a short time. Guy would wake up first, get the morning chores done, then Sam would be quick to follow to make breakfast. Sometimes he fixed two helpings of green eggs and ham and other times he would make Guy and oatmush drizzled with honey and topped with a strawberry because, while it was true that Guy did like the green dish, sometimes it was just a bit too much of a good thing for him. After eating he’d go off to work, leaving Sam to fill his day with whatever he pleased.

When he came home it was the same checklist as the morning but in reverse. Dinner would be fixed, dishes would be put away, depending on Sam’s earlier activities the apartment would be cleaned as they saw fit, they’d sit down and watch a show, and then the two of them would go to bed with Sam curled up against Guy’s side in a peaceful sleep.

That rhythm was disrupted slightly one night when the temperature rose so high that even the most air conditioned complexes were slightly damp with heat. It was an unexpected heat spike, with no one in town prepared for the weather and what it would bring. All day at work there had been nothing but air conditioner and ice maker repair for Guy, making him rightfully tired and a good bit sweaty when he returned home.

The heat was so bad that even Sam, ball of energy that he was, was lethargically laying on the couch as Guy stepped through the threshold.

“Oh I’m sorry, didn’t realize you were so busy. Should I come back later?” Guy said, sarcasm and humor dripping from his voice.

To his credit, Sam actually managed a drowsy, half hearted raspberry in Guy’s direction before flopping back against the couch once again.

The night moved slowly as ever. The two lazily made dinner and ate without much of their normal chit chat. Both were too hot and too worn to even bother with the dishes and after an icy shower for Guy followed by a cool bath for Sam, they decided to head off to bed without much of their usual nightly fanfare of cleaning and watching tv. It was fine by Guy, who wanted nothing more than a long night of sleep.

As he was getting himself tucked in however, Sam did something he’d never seen the slight Who do before. Sam reached down to the hem of his shirt, which Guy had always just assumed was part of the pattern of his fur, and lifted it above his head.

“It is definitely waaaaay too hot to sleep in that thing. I’m gonna have to wash it tomorrow just to today’s funky flow off of it.”

Guy only half paid attention to the words Sam was saying. His eyes were fixed on the other’s form, more accurately, his stomach. The fur on Sam’s chest faded in color as it got closer to his center. The bright and vibrant yellow fading to a calm and mellow shade of itself. It looked softer as well compared to the rest of himself. But the real attention grabber was the star, a light white color that almost faded in with the rest of the yellow, but was just bright enough to be seen, that was placed on his belly.

Without thinking about the words, Guy opened his mouth to state his observation.

“You’re part Sneetch.”

The words were blunt, with a hint of awe at this new fact that he had just learned about his best friend.

For a second he worried that he had said the wrong thing as he noticed Sam’s face blush a light pink in the fading light of their moonlit room.

“Uh, yeah I guess I am. I mean, I never really bothered to check with one of those Who-N-A test thingies but I sure do have the star!” Sam puffed up his form slightly and positioned his hands in a display like form for his star.

There was something stiff about his movements though that had nothing to do with the heat.

“Come on over here.” Guy said.

Even with the boiling heat Sam still gladly flopped onto Guy as if the Knox was a bed, his back pressed against the chubby comfort of his friend’s body.

In turn, Guy wrapped his arms around Sam. His fingers went to the soft pattern now on display and was pleased to find that the downy feather like texter was as fluffy as it had seemed from afar.

“Sam, your mom, was she also a-?”

“No. I mean, not that I could remember. Maybe she was half Sneetch or something but if she was I don’t remember it. I think I must’ve got it from my dad, whoever he might’ve been.”

Talking about Sam’s parents was always a hard subject. It had gotten easier with time, Sam always making plans to find her and recounting the few and far between stories of what he actually remembered about her to Guy.

The room was silent for so long that Guy thought for a moment that Sam had managed to drift off to sleep without his knowledge but he could feel the conscious breathing of his friend’s body against his own as they sat there; the kind of breathing that was too precise and even to be accidental.

“Back at the orphanage,” Sam started again suddenly, “the Sneetch kids would pick on me. The ones without stars said that I wasn’t good enough to play with them. And the ones with stars said that since my star wasn’t green I didn’t belong with them either. After that nobody wanted to play with me because if the Sneetch kids thought you were weird, everyone thought you were weird. So I started wearing a shirt to hide it. Seems pretty stupid to still do it now, I mean, I guess I just got used to it. Hiding it.”

Every fact Guy learned about Sam’s life before him hurt. How anyone could be so needlessly cruel to him seemed so absurd. But that thought just led to him thinking about his own behavior to Sam before he let him in and that hurt even more.

“They were nothing but a bunch of yipping stuck up snobs. They wouldn’t know a perfect star if it hit ‘em right in their beaks.”

With the moon fading behind wisps of clouds Guy couldn’t see Sam’s face, but he could just tell that the other was smiling.

The heat didn’t seem as unbearable anymore as Sam cuddled further against Guy’s fur. And when Guy finally fell asleep, it was with his hands tightly clasping Sam’s as they rested against the soft fluff of the star on his belly.

_________

The morning proved to be much more bearable than the night, with the previous temperatures cooling off drastically. It was still slightly unpleasant, but with the right attitude almost unnoticeable.

When Guy got up and ready that morning he elected to again forgo chores in favor of making breakfast. He wasn’t as good at cooking as Sam was but after a while he found himself becoming halfway decent in the kitchen.

He cracked the eggs, cooked up the ham, and buttered himself oat toast to go right as Sam woke up. He was sad to see that he had his shirt on once again, the golden white star covered up by the sunshine yellow fabric that faded in nicely with the rest of his fur.

“Well good morning and a rise and shine to you Mister Master Chef! I thought I smelled something utterly delectable cooking.”

Guy rolled his eyes at Sam’s cheery compliments. He didn’t doubt that Sam meant them with all of his heart but he always layered the flattery on thick.

“It’s just frying up eggs Sam. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out how to do it.”

“No but being a Master Inventor must help the process. You’ve got the nimble, inventive hands just ready to...do whatever it is that inventors do to make a good breakfast!.”

A plate was placed in front of Sam as Guy held himself back from rolling his eyes again. Twice in one minute couldn’t be healthy for his eyesight, he mused.

“Enjoy it because that’s the last of it we have. Gonna have to go grocery shopping here soon. I’ll pick something up for dinner tonight so don’t worry about it.”

“I never do.” Although the words coming out of Sam’s egg loaded mouth sounded more like ‘ah nempher dphf.’

It was odd how endeared Guy could be with other while egg yolk and ham gravy was dripping down the side of his face. One of Sam’s many charms was that he was the most charming when he wasn’t even trying.

So, with that thought lingering in his mind, Guy gathered up his toast and his work tools and before heading out the door, leaned down to kiss the corner of Sam’s mouth.

And with that he left, grinning like a cat who caught the canary.

#green eggs and ham #geah #briefcase buddies #briefcase boyfriends #guy am i #sam i am #zk fic #heyo!!!! smooch time!!!!

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writing-soldiers · 7 years

Note

Hiiii 😁 I have a request for the drabbles (CONGRATULATIONS BTW 🎉). Bucky with #11-"When was the last time you got a decent amount of sleep?" Thank you!! 😊 💖

A/N: HEEEY!! Thank you doll! You have to excuse that this is really crappy but it’s long and A BALL OF FLUFFNESS! xo

Prompt: You struggle with opening up to your new family but a special someone might help you with that in an unexpected way..

11. "When was the last time you got a decent amount of sleep?”

Pairing: BuckyXreader

Warning: None I think

You made your way down the hallway, your feet brushing against the cold wooden floor and a yawn escaped your lips. You quietly made your way to the kitchen, immediately heading for the fridge as you find something to eat before opting for some cereal. Looking at the clock on the oven, you noticed it was only 3am and once again, you were awake. You let out a sigh, slowly playing with the cereal in your bowl before bringing it to your lips as you sat in the dead silence and tried to recover from the haunting images.

From distance, you could hear a door creak open and you only had to guess once to know who it could be. Your guessing was confirmed when the dark haired man entered the kitchen, his hair messy as he ran his hand through it and headed for the fridge. He acknowledged your presence by giving you a small smile before sitting down to the kitchen table in front of you with a bowl of cereal. That was the first time you remembered being alone with him, just a few nights after you had first arrived at the compound.

These meetings became frequent but there was little dialogue exchanged between the two of you, simply just shy smiles and subtle looks of sympathy for each other. It had sort of fallen into a routine after awhile, either of you preparing a late night snack for the other when you heard the other coming down, knowing exactly what each of you needed. Occasionally you would share a few sentences, mostly just testing the water to see if the other needed a distraction from a particularly bad nightmare but neither of you acknowledged the problem you both suffered from.

A part from your nights spent together, there was little contact on daily basis. You were part reason of it, since it was taking it’s toll on you to adjust and therefor you just kept to yourself, not that Bucky was the most social either. The other Avengers would try to get you to spend more time with them, constantly trying to figure out ways to get to know you but Bucky was the one who always kept his distance with you, both of you could only handle a certain amount of time with the others before becoming uncomfortable and needing the privacy that your bedrooms provided. You stayed quiet unless spoken to, only giving a short answer when needed, much to the others annoyance as the try to get through to you. This was most apparent with movie nights, neither of you would ever stay the throughout the whole movie. There was just something about spending dinner and a whole movie with the gang that tired you out, even if you wanted to open up to them at some point you had to do it at your own pace so always, as if on queue, you would leave the room through the midst of the movie and soon Bucky would give up as well, you had noticed.

‘’When was the last time you got a decent amount of sleep?’’ You tensed up at his words that cut through what had been a comfortable silence during one of your sleepless nights. Why would he ask this? You never discussed this. You glanced to the side, trying to avoid his gaze and you were met with your reflection in the glass and you frowned. Your condition had gotten a lot worse over the last few nights, the dark circles under your eyes looking worse than ever before. ‘’I’m sorry, I-I just worried because you’re always here when I come down and I wonder if you’re here every night?’’ You could feel his eyes on you as he hesitated. ‘’You just- you don’t look so good and I’m just worried about you.’’

Shocked at his confession, you glanced over at him to see that he had dropped his head in embarrassment, his teeth biting into the corners of his mouth as he held back any other words from escaping his mouth. The thin line your mouth was formed in turned into a shy smile as a blush crept on your cheeks, he had cared enough to notice these little things about you.

‘’Thank you, Bucky.’’ His ears perked up as his name fell from your lips, liking the way it sounded, having never heard you mention his name before. His eyes met yours and a shy smile tugged at his lips, mirroring yours.

‘’You should try to get some sleep though, Y/N.’’ He reached his right hand over to land on top of yours in a comforting matter and you felt your stomach flutter. Not only had you now reached name-to-name basis in your relationship with him, but he had shown you affection by reaching out to you and touch you, and with what you had gathered about him, it wasn’t something he did without reason.

You smiled at his action, reassuring him that you weren’t bothered by his motion when you noticed the hesitation behind his eyes and you noticed him relax at your confirmation. ‘’You can try to get some sleep on the couch, that way I can wake you up if you start to stir. If you want that is.’’ You smiled at how the rhythm in his voice sped up throughout the sentence, seeing him get nervous as he let out the words.

‘’Only if you try to get some sleep as well.’’ You gave him a bright genuine smile, the first one since you had met and you could see his eyes light up as he held back his own. You stood up, shaking your hand free from underneath his before gesturing him to follow you to the living room.

There were no words exchanged after that, you just quietly laid down on the couch and Bucky followed, laying down on the other side as far away to give you your space. You grabbed a few blankets, tossing one over to him with a smile on your face before spreading one over your body and letting your eyes fall shut. You couldn’t help but glance a few times back at him with a smile on your lips before drifting to sleep, unaware that he had been doing the same.

You woke up to the sun rays lighting up the room, a smile tugging at your lips as you had finally got some sleep. You stretched your limbs, feeling a sense of relief as you had recovered some energy. Glancing over to the other side of the sofa you noticed Bucky sound asleep, a smile spread over your lips and the feeling brewing in your stomach took you by a surprise. You stood up, folding the blanket in your hands and placed it on the sofa before deciding to head for the gym.

You didn’t see Bucky again until dinner, giving him a small smile before giving into your cravings and ate your dinner. Steve suggested a movie night after everyone had finished and you joined them on the sofa just as the movie began playing. At the beginning you shared a few glances with Bucky, your smiles growing wider each time. The half point of the movie had long passed and you were still sat in the sofa, a few confused and curious glances being exchanged around you as your eyes glued to the screen. As the credit list started rolling, your eyes met Bucky’s again and you both broke into a bright smile before you stood up from your seat, receiving the attention from everyone as you walked away. ‘’Thanks for the movie guys, I’m just going to head up to my bedroom for some sleep. Night.’’ You broke the silence and let them properly hear your voice for the first time since you arrived before you left them stunned.

‘’Did she just-?’’ Sam turned to the others as he recovered from the shock. The others processed your break through, not only had you stayed with them throughout the whole movie but you had also bid them goodnight, letting them see a whole other side to your usually quiet one.

‘’I believe so.’’ Bucky stood up with a smile on his face that surprised them all before bidding goodbye and heading out of the room. A tingling feeling in his stomach from the affect he had on your behaviour and the way you affected his own.

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leonardchang · 7 years

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Harvardwood Interview

By Nicole Torres

Born in New York City and raised in Long Island, Leonard Chang largely credits his love of literature to his mother. Growing up, Chang read a majority of her English and American novel collections which she had brought with her from Seoul to America.

While his amateur writing career began at the age of seven writing long letters to camp friends, his ‘aha’ moment, the moment he knew he wanted to be a writer, came in high school during a memorable interaction with his best friend Joe. Perhaps during a conversation about their futures, Joe remarked that he wanted to be a writer and a lightbulb went off in Leonard’s head. He thought, “You can do that?” and from that point on the seed of desire to become a writer was planted in his brain. During high school, the two of them embarked on a mission to co-write a novel together, and while Leonard remembers it as “youthful, ambitious, and terrible,” he also remembers it as “damn fun to write.”

After studying at Dartmouth and interning with the Peace Corps, the next stop on his professional journey was Harvard. Leonard notes that the best thing about Harvard for his writing career was the time and space it provided him to work on his writing. He lived off-campus, recalls spending more of his time in cafes and bookstores than in classes, and impressively completed his first novel while he was still an undergraduate. This freshman effort he also remembers as “youthful, ambitious, and terrible, but damn fun to write.”

After Harvard, Leonard received a scholarship to attend the MFA program at University of California Irvine. Although the program was incredibly competitive, Leonard remembers his time there fondly as a great growing and learning experience that provided him with access to and the ability to learn from world-renowned writers. Not quite ready to leave at the program’s end, Leonard elected to remain an extra year and worked as a teacher while completing what would become his novel The Fruit ‘N Food, which won the Black Heron Press Award for Social Fiction and is taught at universities around the globe. Not too shabby for a first novel.

The Fruit ‘N Food was just the beginning of an impressive array of award-winning novels that would follow, including Dispatches from the Cold, a popular and critically-acclaimed noir trilogy, Crossings, and Triplines. Many of his books have been translated into several languages and are taught in courses throughout the world.

In addition to his accomplishments in literature, Leonard has also made a name for himself in television. His initial foray into television was largely inspired by the television revolution brought about by shows like The Sopranos, The Wire, and The Shield— just a sampling of the many shows he watched while he was living and writing in Oakland. Inspired by the great content and writing on these shows, his decision to break into Hollywood was almost impulsive.

He recalls, “I made the decision very quickly, literally giving away everything in my apartment, loading my trusty Honda Civic with my computer and rock-climbing gear, and driving down to Los Angeles to housesit for a friend while I began writing TV pilots.”

Soon after arriving in Hollywood, Leonard searched for communities of like-minded individuals. He quickly came across Harvardwood and the Harvardwood Writers Program. At the time, the program had just begun and he jumped on board immediately, participating in its second workshop. It was certainly time well spent, as one of the pilots he wrote during the workshop ended up becoming his main writing sample and was eventually optioned by Fox. As Leonard puts it, that was the beginning of his career in television.

Since breaking into Hollywood, Leonard has worked on shows such as Awake and Justified, and has written several screenplays. The latest show for which he is both writing and producing is Snowfall, which centers around the birth of the crack cocaine epidemic in Los Angeles. The show takes the perspective of a varied assortment of Los Angeles characters and Leonard explains, “It’s our attempt to personalize and reveal stories about Los Angeles that haven’t been fully explored before, and despite the content, we tried very hard to focus on the characters and their real or constructed families—we looked for authentic people beyond some of the hackneyed stories about this world.”

But despite all his success in the television arena, Leonard has not left his novel writing days behind him. He also has a new novel coming out, The Lockpicker, which is a crime thriller that centers around two brothers. He spent a great deal of time researching the criminal elements of the novel, speaking to a number of professional criminals, and learning the ins and outs of burglaries and lockpicking. It was an effort that paid off, as early reviews of the novel are heralding its attention to detail and realistic criminal elements.

Asked about whether he has a preference for television or novels, Leonard maintains that he does not. To him, they are very different experiences and he explains, “Novels are very much a singular and personal experience, whereas TV is more collaborat[ive] and almost familial; some of the friends I’ve made in TV will be life-long. When you spend 8 to 10 hours a day with writers working on a show, a natural camaraderie develops, and I’m grateful for some of the friends I’ve made. This is what a lot of new writers don’t necessarily understand about TV—it’s not just the writing; there’s a communal aspect to making TV that requires more than just being a great writer: you need to be a part of a family.”

At least for the immediate future, Leonard seems to be focusing on television and film, and he is working on a multitude of different projects. When asked what is up next for him he replies, “I’m still a part of Snowfall(we’re done shooting the first season but are still editing), and I’m working on a few different TV projects in various stages. Some projects I’ll pitch; others I’ll write on spec; others I’ll work with directors or producers. At this very moment (literally today): I prepped a pitch based on a memoir about a stripper and sex worker; I met with comic book creators about adapting their comic book for TV; I read a draft of a feature screenplay which I was hired to do a revision for and which the first writer did another great draft; I worked on a spec pilot; and I’m prepping for a meeting with a director who wants to direct a TV version of a feature, which I hope to adapt. So I move from project to project, which is fun.” Just a simple day in the office.

The number of projects on his plate might seem overwhelming to some, but hearing him describe his work ethic it comes as no surprise. Aspiring writers often hear the advice, ‘write every day’, and he certainly takes that adage to heart. Leonard writes every day, and he has been doing so since high school. These days, a typical day for him starts very early, around 4:00 or 5:00 a.m. If he’s on a show he heads straight to the office, and if he’s not on a show it’s gym first and then off to write. And he keeps at it all day, with the occasional meetings and calls interspersed between. As Leonard acknowledges, such discipline might seem “punishing” to some, but not if one enjoys the process of writing as much as he does.

That does not mean that everything he writes is publisher or screen-ready. Rather, Leonard emphasizes how often much of what he writes he ends up throwing away immediately afterward. He explains, “Then I look at what I’ve written and usually throw it out. But each draft gets honed and crafted, and the more I write and throw out, the closer I get to finding the jewel amidst the choss.”

He recommends the same process to aspiring writers, “If you want to write, you should be writing—and writing every day. No excuses. I know everyone has busy and full lives, but if you really want to write and have a creative life, then you must prioritize it. Forget about the Muse and being inspired to write—it’s a skill, a craft, a muscle, a way to see the world, and the more you do it the better you get. Here’s where you start: give yourself a daily goal. Write one page a day. It doesn’t have to be good. In fact it will probably suck, but that’s okay. Because if you write one page a day, then in 30 days you have a half-hour script; 60 days you have a hour pilot; four months you have a feature; nine months you have a novel. Then you throw it out and start over. And guess what, in another few months you have a better version. But more importantly you find your rhythm, your routine, and you begin to understand how important writing is to your life, and then the product becomes less vital than the process, and everything from there is gravy.”

This final statement gets at the core of Leonard’s motivation and writing philosophy. His own personal motivation for writing is that he enjoys the process so much, and he does not place as much emphasis on the finished product. Of course he wants his work to be genuine and authentic and resonate with the reader, but at the end of the day he writes for himself. His test? The following question: “Will I work on something even if no one but me will read it? If the answer is yes, then I do it. Writing is not just a job or a profession—it is very much a way of life for me; it helps me assimilate and process the world around me.”

This philosophy is something he shares with some of his favorite writers. In reading their biographies Leonard noticed a theme: “What struck me about many of my favorite writers is that even if they suspected they would never be successful or famous or rich, they couldn’t not write.”

He continues on to recall a particularly memorable anecdote. “When Faulkner was in his 30s he was getting rejected by everyone. He thought his career was over. He literally thought he would never be published again. His previous novels [had] failed, either commercially or creatively. But rather than demoralizing him, it liberated him. He wrote: ‘One day I seemed to shut a door between me and all publishers’ addresses and book lists. I said to myself, Now I can write. Now I can make myself a vase like that which the old Roman kept at his bedside and wore the rim slowly away with kissing it.’ And he then went on to write one of his greatest novels, The Sound and the Fury. That always struck me as the key. Now I can write. That’s the feeling you should always aspire to. F— everyone else. Now I can write.”

http://www.harvardwood.org/mp201705

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