#but are you ever sitting watching tv and an infomercial comes on

[kaleldobrev]

A Simple Misunderstanding

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Fem!Reader

Summary: Hughie might of overheard something he probably shouldn't have between you and Ben

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Cursing (9x), Fluff, Sexual Innuendos, Implied Drug Use, Soldier Boy (Yes, our macho man gets his own warning)

Authors Note: So, this has been sitting in my drafts for months and I've been going back and forth debating if I was going to post this or not. But once I gave the summary to @zepskies she said she was intrigued, so I said, "What the heck?" and now it's posted for your enjoyment | This is my first time writing for this universe so I hope I was able to do these characters justice | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

It was the middle of the night and Hughie couldn’t sleep. Although him and The Boys were in a safe house in the middle of nowhere with no neighbors for miles, it surprised him how noisy everything could be. He had lived in New York City all his life; he was used to the noise. The bustling sounds of traffic, the occasional gunshot or stabbing, airplanes always flying overhead, or a supe destroying some vehicles while trying to catch a culprit. But the noises he heard were much different; it was the sounds of the crickets, droplets of water hitting an unwashed plate in the sink, and random incoherent whispering. The hustle and bustle of the city had become white noise to him.

Looking over at the clock it just struck 1:59am. He hadn’t been in bed long trying to sleep, only attempting to just a little past midnight. Since joining the group, it was unusual for him to actually get to bed at a normal time or even go to bed at all. He was used to going a day or two without sleep. Frenchie tempted him with some sort of drug to keep him going or an energy drink, MM would usually offer coffee which was the preferred method for Hughie. But at this point, the caffeine wasn’t working anymore, as he had started drinking it like water. Unhealthy for sure, but so was not sleeping for one, two, or three days straight.

This was the first time in a long time where everyone was actually sleeping, even Butcher. It was strange, because as long as Hughie had known him, he never once saw the man sleep. The closest he ever got was when he would get knocked out; but even then, that was kind of a rare occurrence.

Getting up from his bed he sat on the edge of it for a moment rubbing his face. He had wanted to stay in bed and keep trying to fall asleep, but he knew that there was no use. So he decided to implement a trick that he remembered his mother using when she couldn’t fall asleep or get back to sleep. When she had trouble falling asleep or getting back to sleep, she would do various things to occupy herself until she felt tired enough to try and sleep again. Her usual go-to’s were either reading in the living room or listening to Billy Joel quietly to herself. Once, Hughie remembered waking up in the middle of the night and had found her humming quietly to herself while she read a book in the living room. The only light came from a single table lamp next to her.

Leaving the bedroom he started making his way down the hall toward the living room where he decided to watch some TV. There would probably be nothing worth watching at this time; just infomercials about grills or some kind of cleaning agent that didn’t work. He really wasn’t picky about what he watched, he just wanted something to help him fall asleep.

As he walked down the hall, he heard faint whispering coming from one of the bedrooms. He thought that he had been the only one up - guess he was wrong. The room in which he heard the whispering coming from was Soldier Boy's room - something that he didn't find surprising in the slightest, as he was someone that actively fought sleep. "I've slept enough," he would say.

He started walking away, but didn't move far as he stopped dead in his tracks. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" That was your voice. What the Hell were you doing in his bedroom? And at this hour? Hughie thought to himself. He knew that the two of you were friends of some sort, as you were the only person that SB genuinely seemed to like and get along with, but for some reason, it didn't really occur to Hughie that you would be spending time with him this late into the night.

The next thing he heard was chuckling, chuckling from SB. "Trust me." The next sounds Hughie heard actually made his eyes go wide. It was the bedside drawer opening and closing just as quickly, the sound of some kind of plastic being opened, and then bed springs squeaking. The squeaking was so loud that he could only assume that it was the two of you moving in unison, not just one of you.

“Oh wow that’s…huge.” You commented, emphasizing the word ‘huge.’ Huge? Hughie thought. Gross.

Again, SB chuckled. “Never seen one so big Princess?” Princess?! Hughie was surprised he didn’t gag right then and there. Never did he ever want to hear SB say the word Princess, nor did he ever want to hear it in the context of it being used to describe you; his best friend since kindergarten.

“No, never.” You replied back, sounding as if you were embarrassed. “I mean, I’ve heard they can be that big but…” you trailed off.

So many emotions were taking over Hughie: but disgust was the main one. There were two things that his brain automatically came up with in this scenario. The first: barge into the room and stop you and Soldier Boy from having sex, the second: move far away as possible from the door and pretend this never happened. As much as he wanted to do the first option, he valued his life too much, didn't want to see Soldier Boy in all of his naked glory (once was enough when they were in Russia), nor did he want to be a cockblock for one of the oldest and most powerful supes in history. He knew, that being a cockblock would have been the very last thing he would do in life if he barged in. Option two it is, he thought to himself. With that decision, he never moved so quickly in his life.

The morning finally came and you were greeted by Ben having his arms wrapped around you and your head tucked underneath his chin. His embrace around you was tight, but not so tight that if you needed to move, you could (not that he would let you move any way, he was too comfortable). He's getting better at not crushing me when we cuddle, you couldn't help but think. The position the two of you were in was an intimate one, and it had become a somewhat regular occurrence over the past couple of weeks. It was something that you never thought would ever happen, especially when you first met him a few months ago.

Your relationship with Ben had drastically changed in the short amount of time that you had known him and took a complete 180. When you first met him, you were initially excited to meet him because you had watched all of his movies on repeat growing up as your father was a huge Soldier Boy fan - it was something the two of you had bonded over. But when you met him, he was far from how you envisioned him to be. He wasn't this all-American hero who stood up against injustice - he was a misogynistic racist asshole.

As time went on, Ben had somehow started to grow on you. Although there were still elements of him that radiated misogynism and racism, you gave him the benefit of the doubt when it came to certain things. How it wasn't entirely his fault, as he had spent 40 years essentially in isolation being tortured by the Russians; completely unaware of the massive changes that took place in the world. Once you had "remembered" that, and started spending more and more time with him, you had started to fall for him - and it happened relatively quick.

"Good morning." He said to you, his voice lazy as he kissed your bare shoulder.

"Good morning to you too." You replied back, pressing your back and ass closer into him.

"Your heart's beatin' a little fast there Princess." He smirked.

"It's just nice waking up like this, that's all." You said. "Well, you kissing my bare shoulder doesn't hurt either."

"You know, I can kiss other parts too." He said, keeping the smirk on his lips.

"Hmm, I know you can." You said, turning to face him. He leaned in and kissed you, a little surprised that he was the one that initiated. "Can I ask you something?"

You heard an annoyed sigh from him. "You're going to ask if I say no or not Sweetheart." He responded with his usual bluntness.

"Yeah you're right." You said. Ben couldn't help but slightly roll his eyes. "So my question," you began, turning to face him completely as you propped up your elbow on the pillow. "Why didn't you try and have sex with me last night?"

Ben looked at you with a mixture of confusion and amusement. "You're disappointed that I didn't try and fuck you?" He let out a small chuckle at your question.

"Honestly...Yeah. I mean, everyone was sleeping, and I know you want to. Plus, I barely had anything on." When you came to his room last night, you had purposely wore more revealing clothes in order to tempt him - a tank top and boy shorts.

"You wouldn't've been able to stay quiet." He began. "Although, it would have been fun to hear you attempting to be quiet and failing miserably." There was that smirk again.

"You don't know that." You said, your fingertips running up and down his bare arm.

"Y/N, trust me. You wouldn't have." His confidence was almost radiating arrogance.

"Is that a promise?" You asked. Your question more bold than you had intended it to sound.

"Oh, it most definitely is." He said. "I'll tell you what. We can test it out tonight." He leaned in, inches away from your face, moving a strand of lose hair that had fallen in front of your face.

"Promise?" You asked, your voice low, a little hesitant.

"I didn't stutter did I?"

"No Sir." You said, leaning in and kissing him again.

The smell of bacon, eggs, and pancakes filled the air, glasses of orange juice on the table. MM and Frenchie making breakfast for everyone while Kimiko helped to set the table. Butcher sat on the barstool on the island in the kitchen, every once in a while taking a sip of coffee and reading the paper. Hughie walked into the kitchen and took a seat next to Butcher, his face looked like he had seen a ghost. Putting down the last plate, Kimiko looked at Hughie and walked over to him, tapping him on the shoulder. He didn’t respond to her touch, which made her slightly frown with concern. Frenchie looked over at her and she signed something to him. “Petit Hughie, she wants to know what’s wrong.” Frenchie translated.

Hughie didn’t respond, he just sat there on the stool looking off into space. Frenchie waved his hand in front of Hughie’s face. “Petit Hughie?” Frenchie and MM exchanged looks, and Butcher put down the paper.

“Oi, lad.” He waved his hand in front of his face too. He looked over at MM and Frenchie. “I know what to do.” Without hesitation, Butcher slapped Hughie in the face, causing him to almost fall off the barstool.

Hughie started rubbing his cheek where Butcher had slapped him. "What the fuck was that for?"

"For being a creepy little shite and not saying anything when we're talkin' to ya." Butcher responded.

"I had uh, a rough night." Hughie said. He pointed at his cheek. "This isn't going to bruise is it?" He asked, Butcher rolled his eyes.

"Do you want me to make it bruise?" He asked, smirking.

"Good morning everyone!" You practically sang as you walked into the kitchen. Everyone besides Ben had been there, as he was still currently pre-occupied with taking a shower. Everyone was currently sitting at the dining room table, slowly taking bites of their breakfast. Every so often, they took glances at you before looking back down at their plate of food.

Sitting down at the table, you took your usual spot next to Hughie and gave him a quick smile, before taking your fork and started digging into your pancakes. "MM, Frenchie, did you guys make this?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

"Uh, yeah." MM responded, almost too quietly. It was a little strange to you how quietly he had responded, but at the same time, you didn't really think anything of it, as the last couple of days has been a little rough for everyone. Despite being in a safe house, you knew that MM was at least up some of the night making sure that all of you were actually safe. You weren't sure if it was because of the situation you all were in, his military background, his OCD, or a combination of the three.

After a few moments of silence Hughie finally spoke to you. "So, how did you uh, sleep?"

You took a sip of your orange juice before responding. "Pretty good actually. Best I've slept in quite a while." Which was true. "How about you?"

"Rough night." Hughie said, responding very quickly to your question, as if he already had his answered prepared.

You frowned at his answer. "I'm sorry. Nightmare? Couldn't sleep?"

"A little of both." He said.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked, genuinely wanting to know.

"Ye-" Before he could finish his sentence, Ben walked into the kitchen, freshly showered and wearing a t-shirt that you had gotten him about a week ago. Without saying a single word, Ben took his usual spot next to you and started digging into the plate of food in front of him.

You cleared your throat and looked at him, which caused him to look at you. "What?" He asked, a mouth full of pancakes.

"Isn't there something you'd like to say?" You asked.

"Christ on a cross..." He mumbled, before looking up. "Morning." He said, forcing a smile before looking down at his plate again. "Happy?" He mumbled just low enough for only you to hear.

You smiled at him. "Very." You whispered back.

"The things I fucking do for you." He mumbled.

Hughie stood up very abruptly, the utensils and plates shaking a bit. This abruptness had caused everyone to look at him (except for Ben, who didn't even seemed bothered in the slightest). "You know what, I'm just going to come out and say it." His voice confident.

"We know you're gay." Ben said, very nonchalantly, still not looking up. "It's uh, good for you." He looked up now, focusing his attention on Hughie. "Be proud or...whatever." He finished, flashing him a forced smile. Ben then turned toward his attention to you, looking for some kind of approval from you regarding what he just said. Trying to adjust to the modern age was hard for him, but he was thankful that you were there to help him navigate things.

"What? I-I'm not gay. For the last time, I'm with Annie." Hughie said, trying his best to defend himself.

"I've been told that's called a beard." Ben took another bite out of his pancakes, and your hand automatically went to his thigh, giving it a small squeeze. It was your way of basically telling him to stop talking. He looked at your hand before looking at you again. "What?"

You turned your attention to your friend. "Hughie, what did you want to say?"

"Okay. I'm just going to come out and say it. Ask it. Whatever!" His voice sounding insanely flustered. "Did you guys fuck last night?"

You felt your eyes go wide, your fingernails digging into Ben's pants. You didn't know what to say, you were speechless. "What's it to you?" Ben asked, not even seeming to be remotely fazed by Hughie's question.

"Because she's my friend." Hughie responded. He knew that his response wasn't good enough.

"Okay, and?" Ben gave him a confused look, unsure of what Hughie's point even was. "I'll repeat, what's it to you? Y/N doesn't ask every time you blow Butcher."

"Again, I'm not gay." Hughie said, his voice sounding defeated.

"Whatever. Point is, she doesn't fucking ask. So why are you asking?" You couldn't help but agree with Ben, who seemed to be very reasonable in his questioning for once.

Hughie looked at Ben and you, and then looked at the rest of the group - all of them staring at him, waiting for him to say something. "Because..." he tried to find the right words. "Because you two are the reason why I couldn't sleep last night!" You and Ben exchanged looks, not understanding. The two of you focused your attention on him. Before either you or Ben could say anything, Hughie started talking again. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" He looked at you. "Never seen one so big?" He looked at Ben. "You're even wearing his fucking shirt!" Hughie pointed to the shirt you were wearing.

You looked down at your shirt before looking at Hughie again. "I always wear Ben's shirts." You stated.

"No, you don't actually!" Hughie's voice was starting to sound so frantic now.

"She looks damn good in them though." Ben commented, taking yours and his empty plate to the sink.

"Hughie, I can assure you. Me and him didn't have sex last night." You said, really trying your best to reassure your friend, even though - to Ben's point - it wasn't remotely his business anyway.

"We will tonight though." Ben said, his voice calm as it has been throughout this entire exchange.

"They didn't need to know that." You pinched the bridge of your nose. You weren't embarrassed that Ben said that, but it was something that you didn't think he needed to add to the conversation.

"Sure they did. I mean, your friend here seems interested." Ben walked over back to the table, placing two mugs of coffee before sitting back down next to you again.

"For the love of..." You mumbled. "We smoked a blunt last night! There! Happy?" Your voice was the one that sounded frantic now, with a small hint of annoyance added.

"You guys...smoked...a blunt?" Hughie felt his cheeks heating up, embarrassed by this whole exchange now. "So you guys weren't talking about the size of his -"

"Hughie you better not finish that fucking sentence I swear to God." MM said, his voice sounding as if he had lost all of his patience already for the day, and it wasn't even nine in the morning yet.

“Ben and I were talking and I had mentioned that I’ve never smoked a blunt before, or have done any kind of drugs so he offered to let me try it. That’s it.” There was much more to the conversation, but you didn't feel like adding anything else. The rest of the gang didn't need to know that you and Ben were planning on going some place far away from New York when all was said and done.

"You never smoked a blunt before? I'm shocked." Butcher stated. "Swear you have." For as long as he had known you (which was quite a while now, as you joined The Boys about a year before Lamplighter had killed Mallory's grandkids), he could have sworn up and down that you were on some kind of drugs, but he never could put his finger on it. He thought about asking you of course, but he always decided against it.

"It's shocking I know." You shrugged. "I guess it's never appealed to me."

"Well it's a good thing you're with Mister Coke Head over here." Butcher said, adding a little chuckle at the end.

"Just because we're together doesn't mean I'm gonna start doing drugs with him Butcher." You defended.

"She'll be too busy doing other things." Ben smirked, before winking at you.

Tag List: @jackles010378 @zepskies If you want to be added to a tag list, let me know!

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys #the boys imagine #the boys one shot #ben x you #ben x reader #reader insert #female reader #the boys amazon

[bloodorangesoup]

Ice Cream and Bad TV | B.B.

Request: Late night thoughts : The only porn bucky watches are the ones that come on tv at like 2 or 3 in the mornings. Imagine cuddling up with him on his living room floor, aimlessly clicking around until you stumble upon the channel & he gets flustered & shy about it & you fuck him while porn plays in the background. Like I think it’s so romantic🥺🥺 riding him while the soft glow of the tv illuminates his face. His moans & grunting blending in with the actors 😫😫

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k (this was supposed to be a drabble but I cannot for the life of me control myself)

Warnings: NSFW 18+ | cuddle fucking, unprotected sex(pretend ur on birth control for a sec)(still wrap it b4 your tap it), flustered Bucky, porn talk, the tiniest bit of sub!Bucky for like half a second, fluffy smut, you get the gist

My Masterlist

Notes: I did this in one sitting so sorry if it’s repetitive or has any mistakes. I think I have a major soft sport for flustered Bucky. I also had to think of a realistic name for a TV porn channel so bear with me. This is my first time writing smut in non-headcanon form so let me know how I did! Happy reading!

It was 2am on a Thursday night when your phone rang with your boyfriend's caller I.D. This wasn't the first time that Bucky had called you for this instance, it became a routine for you to talk him down after a nightmare and you prepared to do so when you picked up. Usually the first thing you would hear was his heavy breaths, the anxious buzz in his body making him fumble his words as he tried to focus on talking to you, so you were surprised to be met with still breathing and his typical deep, steady voice.

"Doll? You there?"

"Yeah, Buck, I'm here," you replied with a yawn, trying to sound as awake as possible. Bucky could hear the airiness of your voice and let out a sigh.

"Sorry, baby, I woke you up."

"You say that every time, I don't mind waking up for you. Besides, I don't have work tomorrow so I don't exactly need my beauty rest."

There was a pause. You could still hear static from the other side of the call but Bucky didn't say a word.

"Buck? You okay?" As if you snapped him out of a daydream, his hurried words rushed through the phone.

"Yeah yeah, sorry. I'm kind of out of it right now, I had another bad dream."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" You had expected his usual answer of yes, then you would listen to his thoughts and comfort him through the horrific reality that were his nightmares.

"You said you don't have work tomorrow? Do you think you could come over right now? Actually never mind, I don't know what I'm saying, it's 2am." You could practically see Bucky shaking his head as he took back his question.

"I'll be there in twenty, James. You better have some blankets and pillows ready for me because we're taking over your couch."

Bucky let out a breath over the line, "See you soon, y/n, love you."

"Love you more," you said quickly before hanging up, not letting him get in the last 'I love you.'

~

Forty minutes later you found yourself on Bucky's lap on his living room floor. You two had abandoned the idea of the couch and chose to make a small fort with the couch as your scaffolding. There was a surprising amount of pillows and blankets surrounding the two of you, you had no idea Bucky even owned them all.

He sat with his back against the couch, your legs laid over his and your arms were around his neck, bringing his head down to your chest. He talked about his nightmare, sparing you the gruesome details, and once he was done he closed his eyes and leaned further into your chest, breathing in your scent. You gave the crown of his head a kiss and rested your head atop his. Comfortable silence washed over the two of you before you spoke up.

“You know what always makes me feel better?” you asked, lifting your head just enough to look down at him.

“What?” he mumbled into your chest. A soft smile graced your face at his cuteness.

“Ice cream and bad TV!” you announced excitedly before wiggling out of his grasp.

You did a little jog to his kitchen and reached down into the freezer to grab a small pint of ice cream you knew Bucky always kept stashed for you whenever you came around. Picking up two spoons and turning off all the lights in the apartment on your way, you quickly made your way back into the living room, lifting Bucky’s arms to situate yourself back into your position on his lap. You popped the lid of the small tub and handed it to Bucky along with a spoon. With your hands now free, you felt around in the dark for the remote and turned on the TV.

Waiting for the TV to completely turn on, you ate a spoonful of ice cream. You hummed at the taste of the cold sweetness coating your tongue. You gasped as you opened your eyes, finding Bucky scooping out some ice cream and lowering it to your mouth.

“Oh wait, let me make this cuter!” you squealed with your eyes wide.

Copying Bucky’s actions, you took a spoonful and lifted it to his lips, the both of you opening wide and feeding each other. You giggled at the cliché moment and Bucky couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at how adorable you were.

You turned back to the TV, lifting the remote in your hands to change the channel to anything but the news that was already playing on the screen. As you flipped through sports recaps, music channels, infomercials, and movies that were already almost over, you sighed.

“Ugh, there’s nothing good on. Maybe if I start from the end of the list there’ll be better stuff,” you huffed.

Before Bucky could register what you said you had already typed in the biggest number you could enter and began flipping down through channels. Surfing through the empty screens, you landed on one called HotNet and suddenly the screen was completely taken over by a pair of boobs which then cut to a woman on her back and a man on top of her, rutting into her at a slow pace, while her moans echoed throughout the apartment. You quickly shuffled with the remote, trying to turn the volume down from it’s loud setting, spooked at the loud, obscene noise coming from the speaker.

“Oh my gosh, I wasn’t expecting that,” you laughed into Bucky’s chest, “God, I hope your neighbors didn’t hear that.”

Bucky stared at the screen with wide eyes, hoping you would change the channel before noticing that the channel was in the On Demand section. You gasped through your laugh, collecting yourself before turning back to the TV and shaking your head.

“Jeez, I didn’t even know they still had porn like this on public television.” You looked back down at the remote, clicking the Guide button. Bucky’s heart stopped as the description took over the screen, the video still playing in the top right corner. In bold letters the words On Demand titled the card. Even worse, the bottom of the screen displayed a small box containing the information,

$19.99

purchased with debit card xxxx-9758

You furrowed your brows in confusion, realization slowly softening them, before a mischievous smirk took over your face. You lifted your head to look at Bucky, his face looked down at your lap, refusing to meet your eyes. You tapped the bottom of his chin with the remote, lifting his head to meet your gaze.

“Did you order TV porn, Jamie?” He could hear the teasing tone in your voice, and you only ever used that nickname when joking around, yet Bucky still felt extremely embarrassed. He felt as if he just got walked in on while touching himself. It didn’t help that it was you that saw it, he wanted to crawl in a hole and never look back.

“Ah, you’re blushing,” you squealed as you took his cheeks in your hands, “oh come on, it’s not that embarrassing Bucky.”

“Ugh, can we please pretend you didn’t just see that,” Bucky groaned, closing his eyes to escape your stare. He set down the ice cream next to him and lifted his forearm over his eyes.

You let out a breathy laugh, grabbing his shoulders to stabilize yourself and pushing up to swing your leg under you to the other side of his lap, you straddled him.

“Hey, it’s really not that bad. I mean we’ve had sex before Buck, I think you’d rather have me find this than Sam or someone else.” He let out another groan and lowered his head to lean against your neck.

“Angel, please don’t talk about Sam while you’re on top of me and there’s porn playing on the TV.”

You laughed and ran your hands down his arms, letting one of your hands run up behind his neck and weaving your fingers into his hair. You gripped the back of his head and gently tugged him back up to face you.

“Why,” you sang, deciding to have some fun with him in his flustered state, “is this turning you on?” you whispered the last part.

Before he could respond you leaned down and kissed him. You didn’t bother to start off slow as you usually would, Bucky could taste the hunger from every parting of your lips. His hands gripped your waist, you rocked your weight forwards to rub against him. Bucky’s head clouded, his senses felt overloaded in the best way possible, your movements mixed with the sounds of the moaning coming from the TV were getting him hot. You pulled back before getting too carried away, a smile on your swollen lips.

“So, baby, tell me about it.” You said. It was Bucky’s turn to furrow his brows and he cocked his head to the side in question, mind still foggy from the feeling of you grinding on him.

“What kind of porn do you watch?” you clarified, looking at him like you just asked what his favorite color was.

“Uhm, you want to know about that stuff?” Bucky looked at you with caution, feeling out if he should listen to you or not.

“Well, yeah. I mean I don’t know how it was back then, but most people nowadays watch porn. It’s not super taboo to talk about it,” you explained. You weren’t going to force him to talk about it if he really didn’t want to, but your desire to hear what Bucky was into was strong.

He hesitated for a moment, looking in your eyes and seeing curiosity clouded with lust. He cleared his throat.

“Well, pretty much this stuff,” he gestured with his hand to the TV before putting it back on your waist, “there’s this girl on there, she kinda looks like you, so I buy the videos with her.” He closed his eyes and internally groaned at his words, he didn’t mean to come off so perverted. God, you had already found his porn, the last thing he needed was for you to be thinking he was a creep.

“Y’know that’s actually kinda sweet,” you giggled, “what do you like about those videos?”

Feeling a bit more comfortable knowing you weren’t grossed out, Bucky continued.

“I like the ones where it’s dark and slow. It’s usually quiet and there’s candles and stuff,” he explained shyly. Of all the surprises that came with dating Bucky, you had to admit finding out he was into romantic porn was one of the biggest ones.

Bucky cleared his throat again before questioning you, “Do you watch porn?” He felt almost wrong asking that. He knew that women in this age were more sexually liberated, but the words still felt sticky in his mouth.

“Oh, yeah, of course I do.” Bucky seemed surprised at how casually you answered. He raised his eyebrows, silently asking you to go on.

“Well specifically, I actually really like the videos that are like this,” you said, your head looking down at you straddling him, he followed your gaze, taking in how nice you felt on his lap. You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his chest. Your faces were so close your noses were almost touching. You could feel his rapid heart beat under your palm and the quick rise and fall of his chest. “Do you ever watch the ones that look like this, Bucky?” He looked up at you and nodded with wide eyes, his pupils were blown and his mouth was open like he was searching for the words to respond.

You grasped his jaw in your hand, your thumb on his chin, and looked him in the eyes. You wanted nothing more than to jump his bones, but with the newfound knowledge you had, you took your time with your actions. Within the last five minutes, Bucky had revealed to you not only that he liked soft, romantic porn, but that he also watched a specific actress because she looks like you. The one goal in your head was to fulfill his fantasy the best you could at the moment.

With his head still in your hand, you held your eye contact as you let your knees move out, grinding yourself against his growing erection. He let out an involuntary whimper. That was the last straw. You pulled his face to yours, joining him in a hard, yet loving kiss. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pushing your chest against his, trying to get as close as possible.

Bucky’s dick was painfully hard. He couldn’t focus on anything but the feeling of you on top of him. His body felt like it was on fire, he was insatiably horny and couldn’t control the way his hips bucked up to grind with you. He felt like a horny teenager the way his mind was filled only with images of you naked, imagining you like that on top of him like you were now.

You slipped your tongue past his lips, keeping your pace slow as you glided it across and bit at his lower lip. A moan made its way out of your mouth and into his as you felt him buck up against you.

You slid your hands down his chest, fumbling with the hem of his shirt before his arms raised, giving you access to peel it off him, throwing it up on the couch. Bucky kissed down your neck, licking over the shell of your ear, and sucking at the center of your throat. He reached down and slipped his hands under your shirt, sliding up and down your waist before gliding up and lifting your shirt over your head, discarding it with his.

Bucky wasted no time reaching around you and unclipping your bra and dragging it down your shoulders. He cupped your breasts, squeezing them with his large hands before bringing you into another tender kiss. Despite your frantic movements, there was a spark of passion cracking through the air, the both of you desperate to feel each other closer.

You broke the kiss, breathing heavily and resting your forehead against his.

“I wanna make love to you, y/n, please, let me make love to you,” he groaned with a slight whine in his voice. He sounded like he was about to crack.

“Please, Bucky.”

You leaned back on your hands and lifted your hips, giving Bucky the room to pull down your shorts and panties in a few swift tugs. He quickly got up on his knees and pulled down his sweats and boxers, sitting back down and tugging them off his legs. You reached your arms forward, Bucky grabbing a hold of your wrists and pulling you back to straddle him again. You gasped at the feeling of his cock under your bare pussy, your wetness from all the grinding and kissing making you slide over him.

You leaned forwards, capturing his lips between yours and raising yourself up on your knees. Reaching under yourself, you gripped his cock, wet with your arousal, and lined him up with your cunt. Bucky gripped your hips as you sank down on him, using every ounce of self control to stop himself from rutting up into you. You stayed like that for a second, adjusting to the way he filled you. Seeing the remote lying on the floor, you grabbed it and slightly turned up the volume, only enough so that you and Bucky could hear the actress in the video being ravished by her co-star.

Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you began to slowly move up and down over him, riding him just as you had told him you liked to watch. His hands moved up from your waist, squeezing your tits, pinching your nipples in between his fingers. You let out a hiss as he rolled them between his fore finger and his thumb, tugging on and rubbing his thumbs over them. He reached around to grab your ass, squeezing and rubbing your cheeks and you used him to pleasure yourself.

You were a moaning mess over him and he wasn’t much different. The room was filled with the sounds of the porn playing on the TV mixed with the sounds of your own cries of pleasure. If the neighbors hadn’t been woken up by the TV, they sure were by you two.

Bucky sat back on his knees, his hands slid down to your thighs, moving your legs from under them and wrapping your legs around his back. His arms worked their way back up to wrap around your waist, bringing you ever so close. The new angle pushed him even deeper up into you. He buried his head in the crook of your neck, giving you access to all the sweet, desperate sounds falling from his lips.

You were now pushing up with your feet behind him, rolling your hips over his. The new technique made your clit rub over his pelvis, the sensation making you throw your head back and let out a deep moan. He took the opportunity to continue kissing your neck, going lower with every lick and bite. He sucked at your collarbone, leaving a deep purple mark in its place.

Suddenly, he was using his arms to lift you up, not pulling out of you, and laying you down on the blanket-covered floor. You instinctively locked your ankles together, pulling him closer as he thrusted into you. Bucky had his metal arm holding himself up while his flesh one squeezed your breasts, feeling them move with his thrusts. He lowered his head to your chest and licked one of your nipples, grazing his teeth over it before taking it in between his lips and sucking. Your hands flew to the back of his head, singing praises as you wove your fingers into his hair. He continued to alternate between your breasts, leaving love bites around them and sucking on their sensitive peaks.

You could feel your body buzz with anticipation, you were so close. The moans escaping your mouth were lewd and uncontrolled. Bucky wrapped his flesh hand around your waist, lifting your chest flush against his.

You snaked your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up to kiss him. Nothing felt better than making love with Bucky felt. This was definitely not the first time you two had been intimate, but none of those previous times had ever been like this. You could feel the passion flowing through his body into yours. You looked up at his form over you, how beautiful he looked with the light of the TV screen glistening against the beads of sweat on his forehead. There was absolutely nothing in the world compared to having him, in all his beauty, to yourself like this.

Bucky’s heart was exploding in his chest. What had started out as an embarrassing, nightmare-fueled night had turned into the most intimate experience he ever had in his life. Love was already established in your relationship, but Bucky had never truly made love to you. He looked down in awe at your disheveled state, at the way your hair was sticking to your forehead, at the way the only light in the room gave you an angelic glow. He wanted nothing more than to give himself completely to you, to make you come all over him.

He leaned his forehead against yours, pushing his face forward once every few seconds to kiss you. He was close, and he wanted you to come with him. He leaned into you even more, his cheek pressed against yours, his lips next to your ear.

“I love you so much, y/n, God, you feel so good. I love you, I love you,” Bucky’s voice was deep and strained, his words being emphasized by each push into your wet pussy. You let out another loud moan.

“I love you, James,” you whined as he hit your sweet spot, “I love you so much.”

Bucky’s hand wedged itself in between the two of you, his fingers finding your clit and gently rubbing it. You were completely overwhelmed, this is what it felt like to make love to someone. Your body began to shake and your breathing became erratic. Bucky thrusted harder, working to push you over the edge.

“I want you to come in me, Bucky,” you gasped as his thrusts got faster and lost their rhythm.

Your mouth turned open in a silent scream as you came. Bucky felt your walls clench around him, squeezing the life out of him. He let out a shaky groan as he fell over the edge. His eyes shut tight and his body tensed as he spilled into you.

Wrapping his metal arm around your back and securing your body to his, he rolled on his flesh shoulder onto his back. You went limp against him, laying your head on his chest, listening to his heart beat slow down. He was still buried within you, connected to you. Letting your eyelids fall shut, you savored the feeling of being full of him and his love.

You lifted your head to kiss his jaw.

“I’m glad you called me, Bucky. I love you.”

“I am too, doll. I love you more.”

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fluffy smut #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Contact Comfort

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: ~2000

Warnings: None, really? Emotional hurt/comfort and sorta like a touch starved deal doing on, but it’s pretty thoroughly fluffy and sugary-sweet. 

A/N: For the “bed sharing” square on my @cmbingo​ card! 

Title is from the referenced psych study, because I’m a dork. 

“One sec,” you call, wincing at how thick and nasal your voice sounds.

You wipe your cheeks hastily as you sit up. It’ll be obvious anyway, though; wouldn’t take a profiler to notice your tear tracks and blotchy face. 

It’s Spencer. Of course it is — because he’s the last person you want to see you like this, when you’re all snotty and puffy and gross. 

His eyes go wide and solemn when he sees your face, genuinely distressed. There’s that empathy again, the too-big heart that everyone seems to overlook in favor of his big brain. You love him for it. 

Well, you love him for a lot of things. 

“Hi,” he says quietly. “I was going to just ask if you were okay, but… I guess I don’t actually need to ask now.” 

You let out a watery little chuckle. “Guess not.” 

“You want some company?” He looks hopeful, almost, and then seems to catch himself, dropping his gaze with a shrug. “I understand if you just want your space, though.” 

If it was anyone else, you absolutely would not want company right now. But it’s Spencer, so. You pretty much always want him around. 

“I was just about to turn on some shitty TV because it felt too quiet in here, honestly. Company would be really nice.” 

He gives you a quick twitch of a half-smile as he steps past you, and after you close the door, there’s a pause where you both stand there and look at each other, Spencer suddenly shy as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, in a thin unhappy voice. 

“Not really. Just… one of those days. One of those cases.” 

“Can I do anything to help?”  

You hesitate, because it seems like such an immature thing to say out loud, but you’re too tired to be anything other than honest.

“I could use a hug.”  

Spencer’s expression goes all soft and sweet, and your cheeks feel hot under the drying salt water as he steps closer. He wraps his arms around you, and you bury your face in his chest and try to inhale. Your exhale is a ragged little shudder, and you fist both hands in the back of Spencer’s cardigan as you cling to him, feeling raw and sensitive and so very young. 

He lets out a quiet, shaky sigh of his own, squeezing you tighter. 

How long has it been since anybody hugged you like this? It’s like the contact — the warmth of him — the pressure of his arms around your shoulders — the rise and fall of his chest under your cheek — is lifting some massive weight you never realized you were carrying. All you want in the entire world is to hold him tight, take the comfort while you can, but you know you should pull away. 

He hesitates for a second before releasing you, like maybe he doesn’t want to let go either. 

Then he’s stepping back, hands in his pockets, slightly pink-cheeked as he bounces on the balls of his feet and gives you one of his frog-faced not-quite-smiles. 

“You said something about shitty television?” he asks. “Or maybe we could watch some television that’s not actually shitty?” 

“That sounds perfect.”

Turns out Planet Earth is on, which is the rare overlap in your and Spencer’s tastes, and it’s not until you’re eagerly toeing off your shoes that you realize the bed is the only seating option. 

Spencer sits cross-legged, with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped on his fists, and he stays as close to the edge of the bed as physically possible. You lean back against the headboard and hug your knees to your chest, feeling the need to hunch over, like you could physically protect your heart. 

Then again, it’s much too late for that. You knew your heart was in trouble the moment you met Spencer. 

Today, especially, you already feel vulnerable, like all your carefully-constructed walls cracked open the second you let yourself cry, and now you’re just ripped-open and bare. You need a good night’s sleep and a long, hot shower before you’ll be able to go about your life as a professional, fully-functional, grown-up human again. Right now you’re just kind of a mess.  

“I know there’s the germ thing,” you blurt out, without looking at Spencer. “But —” 

His laugh sounds crackly and nervous, but relieved, like maybe he’d been holding his breath. “Come here.” 

You give him a grateful smile as you scoot closer to each other, and apparently you’d been so worried about your own swollen eyes earlier that you hadn’t noticed the fatigue evident in every drawn, wan line of his face. 

Not that he isn’t still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

You duck tentatively under Spencer’s arm, and it’s not like you’re cuddling, exactly, because there’s still an inch or so of space between your hips and legs… but the bony plane of his chest, between collarbone and heart, makes a surprisingly perfect pillow. You pull the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, tucking them under your chin, curling up.

The moment feels delicate, like a soap bubble that you could burst if you simply breathe too loudly, and you hold yourself stiffly, at first, not wanting to move any closer for fear of pushing a boundary. It feels like you’re glowing at the points where your bodies are touching; the warm weight of his arm feels like bright spring sunshine across your upper back. His palm on the round of your shoulder is thawing away the last chilly bits of your self-consciousness. 

When the commercial break starts, Spencer says, “Do you ever think about how little physical contact the average single adult experiences on a regular basis?” His voice is quiet and almost sheepish. 

You smile. “Yeah, I’ve considered it.” 

“Especially when we live away from our families,” Spencer says wistfully. 

You can feel the vibration of his words in his chest. You shift, making yourself more comfortable, feeling dazed and dumb with his proximity.

“The monkeys. I feel like — you know?” 

“Harlow. I know exactly what you mean.”

Trust him to get that from your ridiculously vague mumbling.  

“Except they’re babies,” you add. 

“The emotional benefits of physical touch don’t decrease just because we get older,” he says softly. “It’s just that the fear of judgement makes it difficult to be honest.”

There’s silence for a minute as the show starts again, and David Attenborough says something about sloths. Spencer’s thumb strokes your shoulder gently, back and forth, soothing. It’s hypnotic, and the tension drains from your muscles, leaving you more relaxed than you’ve felt in a long time. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

You swallow hard. “For what?” 

“Being honest.” 

There’s no reason for your eyes to be stinging like this, but they are. “I should be thanking you.”

“Nothing to thank me for. This is… really nice.” 

“Yeah. It really is.” 

He’s quiet again. 

Spencer smells like vanilla and old books — although the latter might just be your imagination, something to do with the power of mental association — Spencer could probably explain the science behind that. Your brain has them inextricably linked, though. You’ve caught hints of that smell before, but never up close like this. 

The softness of the worn knit of his cardigan makes you want to rub your cheek against it like a cat. His arm, skinny as it may be, feels like protection — like you’re safe here. 

After the brutal violence of the case and the emotional turbulence of the day, this quiet, golden moment is even more breathtakingly peaceful by contrast. It doesn’t feel real. 

It’s too good to last. This isn’t yours. It’s not going to last, no matter how right it feels, and your chest already aches with the idea of letting him go.    

You try to appreciate it while you can, to remember every sensation, but your body is leaden, exhausted down to the bone, completely drained of whatever adrenaline-stubbornness-caffeine combination was keeping you running until now. Spencer’s thumb rubs invisible circles on your shoulder, and he breathes evenly, and you feel safe. 

You’re asleep before the next commercial break. 

A distant car alarm wakes you, sometime later. In the handful of seconds before it’s turned off, you come to without opening your eyes, trying to remember where you are and who you’re with. The smell of vanilla makes you relax instinctively, before you can process why. 

Spencer has all but melted against you in his sleep, soft and boneless. He’s got both arms around you now, holding you close, his breath tickling your forehead. Then he stirs, and you can feel the moment he realizes where he is, because his muscles go tense as he freezes. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs hoarsely. He’s barely audible over the infomercial voices coming from the TV. “I didn’t mean to — sorry. I’ll go.” 

And before you can think better of it, you whisper, “Don’t.” 

He’s still frozen, and silent for a second that feels like an eternity. “You mean —”

“I don’t want you to leave. Stay.” 

Honesty seems to be your default setting tonight, and anyway, you can tell without looking at a clock that it’s long past midnight, well into the early-morning hours where boundaries and reservations and reality don’t seem to follow their usual laws. You can’t lie to him (or to yourself) right now. 

Spencer’s voice cracks as he says, “Okay. I’ll just — let me get the light.”

You don’t open your eyes as he slips away. This all seems like a dream, and the sharp bright lamp light might make it dissolve around you. You might wake up. 

The TV goes quiet, and when you tug at the hotel comforter, sliding between cool sheets fully clothed, the barely-there rasp of moving fabric sounds loud in its absence. 

Spencer turns off the lamp, and you open your eyes. You can just see his shape as he navigates the dark room, negative space on a charcoal backdrop, but as your vision adjusts, you can see a faint suggestion of his features in the blue-black. 

You feel it, though, when his weight makes the springs of the old mattress dip. You’d expected him to lie on his back again, but instead his face is just inches from yours when his cheek comes to rest on the pillow. You feel the way he’s breathing, quick and shallow and nervous. You feel your heart kick in your ribs, thudding so loud he must be able to hear it. 

He reaches out slowly, hooking an arm around your ribs, and pauses with just the very tips of his spidery fingers touching your back, between your shoulder blades: five soft points of contact that you feel so intensely they might as well be electrode pads connecting you to a defibrillator. 

This is crossing a line, and you both know it. 

It’s not a sexual touch, it’s not that sort of thrill going through you, but something about this feels profoundly intimate. That intimacy is almost more shocking than lust might’ve been, and it’s much more dangerous. It’s the sort of closeness you don’t walk away from unscathed.  

Spencer’s fingers flutter, butterfly-wing delicate, like one or the other of you might be trembling. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” he whispers. 

“Yes.”  

Maybe you’re both trembling. 

His palm comes to rest on your back, easing you closer, and you shift, settle, readjust. He pulls back and tilts his head just long enough to brush his lips over your temple, soft and sweet, before tucking you neatly under his chin, where you fit like you were meant to be there, with your nose nudging at the gap between his collar and the delicate skin of his throat.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, sounding just as awed as you feel. 

“Sweet dreams, Spencer.” 

.

.

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message! 

More Criminal Minds fic is here. 

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader

[arrowflier]

A fic prompt if you'd like: Mickey opening up to Ian about details of his childhood and the abuse he suffered. In 11x06 after Terry is brought home Mickey says he could do anything to him now like "piss on him and let him air dry" and "use his mouth as an ash tray". To me it sounds like those are examples of things that Terry has done to him.

Content warning: child abuse

the things he did

“You’re so much better than that.”

Ian’s words echoed in Mickey’s head while the cooked dinner together. They resonated as they sat side by side at the table to eat, shoulders brushing, rings glinting in the harsh lights of the kitchen. They played on loop as they retired to the living room, alone for once with everyone else out for the night who knew where, sitting close on the sofa as mindless sitcoms droned on from the television.

“What if I’m not?” Mickey asked abruptly, when it got to be too much.

Ian turned to look at him, face full of shadows in the blue light from the tv.

“What if you’re not what?” he questioned, confused, and Mickey shifted away from him, bringing a knee onto the sofa between them to face his husband.

“Not better than that,” he answered, and saw Ian realize what he was talking about. It was in the way his eyes softened in that harsh light, the way his lips turned down at the thought that Mickey might question himself.

He always took it personally when Mickey did that.

“You are, Mickey,” Ian reassured instantly, just as expected. “I know you are.”

Mickey shook his head, looking down. His fingers scratched at the label of his beer, tearing it from the condensation-wet bottle.

“You don’t,” he said quietly. “No one fucking does.” He shook his head, looked up again into Ian’s green eyes. “You don’t just come away from a life like that and turn out alright.”

Ian looked like he wanted to argue. His chin was already pushing out, his lips pressed tight and thin.

Mickey didn’t give him a chance.

“If you knew half the things he did to us, man,” Mickey laughed humorlessly, averting his gaze again. “He should be on death row right now, not sitting next door with a roof over his fuckin’ head.”

“Tell me,” Ian prompted softly, but Mickey shook his head.

“You don’t want to hear this shit, Ian.” At least, Mickey didn’t want him to hear it. Didn’t want him to think of Terry when he looked at Mickey’s face.

“I do though,” Ian countered easily. “Wanna know everything about you, Mick.”

He was always saying things like that. Always trying to challenge the barriers Mickey put up.

But Mickey always challenged his, too, so he supposed that it was a fair enough trade.

“Fuckin’ sap,” Mickey said anyway, glancing up at Ian’s face and down again. “Gonna change what you think of me,” he added more quietly, and bit his lip at how pathetic it made him sound.

“Mickey,” Ian said. That was it, just his name. But it made things better, somehow. “Nothing can change how I feel about you,” Ian went on. “Besides, I was there for some it, remember?”

Mickey snorted, and took a swig of beer.

“How could I fuckin’ forget?”

They sat in silence for a long moment, only the sound of the clock ticking behind them and the strains of an annoying jingle on the TV filling the room. Ian didn’t scoot any closer, didn’t ask Mickey again. He just sat in his presence, calming sipping his own drink, and waited Mickey out.

It was a technique that never failed him.

“It wasn’t too bad when our mom was there,” Mickey started out of nowhere. “She was strung out most of the time, but she cared, you know?” He ran a hand through his hair, scratched his neck. “At least in her own way.”

“And when she wasn’t?” Ian prompted gently. Not pushing, just providing a guiding hand.

Mickey shook his head. “When she wasn’t, things really went to hell.”

A beat. The TV had changed over to some new infomercial, an obnoxiously eager voice droning on about the ‘next best thing’, whatever that was. Mickey ignored it. They both did.

“Iggy and Colin were already used to it, I think,” Mickey expanded. “They were around more the first few times she left, when Mandy and I were still in school. They knew what was coming when she was gone for good.”

Ian made a sound, deep in his throat. He set down his glass on the coffee table, overlapping the multitude of condensation rings that already marred the surface, and grabbed up the carton of cigarettes that lay there. He lit it with a spare lighter, took a drag, and passed it over to Mickey’s waiting hand.

“What about you?” he asked casually. Too casually for the way his fingers shook when Mickey took the cigarette from him.

Mickey scoffed. “Me?” he repeated, then took a drag himself. He held it in as long as he could, breathed it out in a plume of smoke that hid the new wetness in his eyes.

“I was a naive little shit whose mamma hadn’t warned him how bad Terry could get,” Mickey said, then took another hit.

“The first time he hit me—really hit me, not just a cuff around the ears for mouthing off—he laid me out flat on the kitchen floor. I had eaten the last side of bacon, see,” he explained. “Mandy made it for me after school. And Terry’d been savin’ it for after whatever run he was out on.”

Ian stayed silent.

“Couldn’t tell him it was Mandy’s fault,” Mickey went on. “He didn’t care that she was a girl.” Mickey flicked the ashes off the end of the cigarette, watched them fall. Watched the tiny burns it made on the knee of his jeans. “Didn’t care until she was useful.”

Ian swallowed hard at the reminder of what Terry had done to his best friend. But this was about Mickey right now, not Mandy, and as much as she was entrenched in that part of his life, it wasn’t what he needed to get out.

So Ian scooted closer, brushed ashes off Mickey’s knee and rested his hand there, waiting.

Mickey stared at the point of contact, then at his cigarette again.

“You know he used to burn me with these?” Mickey asked abruptly, waving the lit stick in his hand. “Think it was an accident, the first time. Caught me suckin’ on a candy one when I was a kid, told me I needed to man up. Tried to stick a lit one in my mouth, but he was drunk. Used the wrong end.”

He tongued the corner of his lips. “Couldn’t eat for two days while it was healin’.” He chuckled, shook his head. “I was suck a fuckin’ wimp back then, man.”

“Not the worst thing he’s put in my mouth, though,” Mickey continued, on a roll now. His voice was faint, full of that absent quality it got when he wasn’t really there. When he was reliving his nightmares in real time.

“Stumbled into my room more than once looking for the toilet,” he confided. “Forgot there was a second door, I think. He usually just went in the corner, but he got me on my bed more than once.”

Mickey paused, looked up at Ian through his lashes.

“You know why I don’t breathe through my mouth anymore?”

Ian shook his head.

“Wakin’ up to the taste of piss will teach you that trick real quick.”

The cigarette was gone, now, and his beer was only dregs. Mickey stared at a space over Ian’s shoulder, breathing heavy, refusing to let his eyes spill over.

He was done crying for the kid that let his dad walk all over him. He was done crying for Terry. He was done with all of it.

And he really, really wished that were true.

“Frank locked me in the basement, once,” Ian stated suddenly, taking the empty beer bottle out of Mickey’s hand and placing it with his own glass on the table. “During one of my mom’s episodes, when she wouldn’t get out of bed.”

Mickey just looked at him. Let Ian take his hand, turn it over to hold it in his.

“He told Fiona I was at a sleepover, and she believed him—forgot I didn’t really have any friends.” Ian grinned, then, but it was empty, almost sharp.

You had friends, Mickey wanted to say. You had family. You had me.

But the first and the last were lies, and the middle wasn’t always a blessing.

“Lip found me two days later,” Ian told him. “He got suspicious when he saw Frank taking food down there; he was an asshole, but he wasn’t gonna starve a kid on purpose, at least.”

Ian laughed, and rubbed his free hand along the leg of his pants.

“He just didn’t want to look at me.”

Mickey gripped his hand tighter.

“Why are you tellin’ me this?” he asked. “It’s not a fuckin’ competition, man.”

“I’m just saying,” Ian pressed on. “We don’t have to be our dads, Mickey.”

Oh. And there it was. Ian, his husband, ever the optimist.

“What if we don’t get that choice?” Mickey questioned. He’d seen it often enough, after all. Milkoviches that tried to get out, tried to do better for themselves and their kids.

But they always ended up back where they started. They always ended up under Terry’s roof, and under his thumb, just waiting for another chance to break free.

Ian shrugged, and pulled him closer, tucking Mickey’s head into the space between his own neck and shoulder. Mickey made a grumbling sound, but went without protest, tilting his head so that his nose rested near Ian’s collarbone.

“Then I guess we have to kill each other,” Ian stated blandly.

Mickey gave a stunned, barked laugh, breath hitching and releasing in a wash of hot air over Ian’s neck.

“Ian, what the fuck?” he managed, but Ian only gripped him tighter, pressing his face into skin so that he couldn’t speak.

“It’s for the greater good, Mick,” Ian assured him. “Mutually assured destruction, and all that, right?”

He ran a hand down Mickey’s back, scratching lightly.

“I lock you in a basement, you take me out,” he declared. “You piss on me—well, without my permission at least—”

“Ew, Ian, Jesus Christ—”

“I get to murder you in your sleep.” Ian pulled back just enough to look at him, Mickey meeting his eyes without a struggle this time. For all the macabre discussions, Ian’s eyes were bright.

“Deal?” Ian asked, and Mickey finally smiled.

“Yeah, alright, tough guy,” he agreed. “It’s a fuckin’ deal.”

#thanks for the prompt! #daily speedwrite #fanfic #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #tw: child abuse #angst #but they'll be okay

[mandoalorian]

Red Carpet [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader]

Summary: you attend an awards ceremony with your fiancée, Maxwell Lord. It’s nerve-wracking, but he knows how to comfort you, and you even meet a few celebrities along the way.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: alcohol mention, allusions to sex

Word count: 2000

A/N: I wrote this while watching the BAFTAs and got inspired! Pedro looked so cute. Anyways there’s nothing better than some tooth-rotting fluff on a Sunday night. REBLOGS APPRECIATED.

Your heart was racing. You weren’t sure how he did it, or where he got the confidence from, but when you see him all suited up in his tuxedo and hair perfectly coiffed, you feel nothing but pride swell in your chest. You bite down on your lower lip and wrap your arms around him as he stands in the mirror and adjusts his black bow tie.

“You look amazing,” you coo, nuzzling your head into the crook of your neck but being extra careful not to rub your makeup on him. “Smell good too.” you hum, taking in the notes of sweet honey musk with a hint of spice.

He spins around and his hands immediately find your waist as his dark eyes rake your figure. You’re wearing a silver glittering gown that hugs your body in all the right places. “You look… breathtaking,” he murmurs, his warm breath fanning over your neck. When he pulls away from you, he sees the way you happily scrunch up your nose and his entire face lights up. “How did I ever get so lucky?” he asks.

You feel your cheeks flush with heat and you look down at the floor. You and Maxwell have been together for years now, but you still get a little shy whenever he compliments you. He finds it endearing though and his fingers tap at your chin, pushing it upwards so he can look you in the eyes again. He’s completely enamoured by you. You could do absolutely anything and it would capture him into a trance. 

Not once did he ever believe that he was someone capable of falling in love. That was, until, he met you.

“Are you nervous?” you ask, swaying your hips slightly. You’re nervous. You don’t want to say anything to worry him, but he can probably tell none-the-less.

“Not really.” he replies, checking his hair one final time. You’re glad he’s feeling okay. He’s always been good at talking to big audiences. You’re proud of him too. Knowing just how far he’s come.

“If there was a category for best infomercial, you would win.” You assure him and he lets out a laugh.

“Oh I agree,” He cheekily grins, linking his arm with yours. He’s not been nominated for an award, but he was hosting a category. Maxwell wasn’t exactly a A List Hollywood celebrity, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t famous. Everyone in the world knew his face and he was most certainly a household name. If it wasn’t from his commercials or speeches, it was from the lavish parties he held and all the reality TV guest appearances he starred in. “The limo is waiting. Are you ready?”

You grab your purse and nod your head. When you make your way downstairs to the car, his hand doesn’t leave yours once. You’re lucky enough to live in a pretty private enclosed neighbourhood with him, but the second you’re both in the city, there are flashing cameras everywhere.

The bright lights are overwhelming, and you wince as they blind you. He’s used to it though, and he makes full effort to shelter you from it. 

First thing on the checklist was to complete the red carpet. Knowing that there were so many cameras on you, and that your photographs would most likely be in the tabloids tomorrow, makes you feel uneasy. But Maxwell always knows how to calm you down. His hand rests on the small of your back and he whispers a few jokes in your ear now and again which force your lips to curl into a genuine smile.

If it was up to him, he’d spend every moment relishing the limelight and garnering attention. However, he knows you aren’t the biggest fan of it, so as you duck your head down, he makes it his goal to get you inside as fast as possible.

They’re all shouting his name and he politely waves. But once you’re inside, he makes sure you’re okay, and gives your arm a little squeeze. You can see him though, trying to take a peek outside. There are cameras and press waiting for him, you know that, and it was a big night for him. You’d hate to be the thing keeping him from enjoying himself.

“They want to see you,” you tell him. “You should go out and see them.”

“No,” he firmly states, shaking his head. “No. C’mon, I’ll take you to the bar.” He slips his hand into yours and goes to take you across the lobby. You dig your heel into the floor, refusing to move. When he looks at you, you’re smirking playfully.

“Just go. It’ll be good press for Black Gold. I’ll be fine.” you insist, flattening the palm of your hand against his chest. The material of his white shirt is soft and feels so luxurious.

He hesitates slightly, not wanting to leave your side, but he knows that there is no point in arguing. Besides, you have point. “I won’t be long.” he promises before kissing you. When he pulls away, you can’t help but grin, seeing your red gloss smudged against his own soft lips.

“Oh wait!” you laugh, licking your finger and wiping it off for him. “Okay, now you can go.”

When he heads back outside, they go wild for him. They’re asking him all these questions about what charities he’s considering donating to at his next fundraiser, or what his own personal thoughts are on the latest celebrity gossip. But, all he can think about is you.

“I always love chatting to you,” Maxwell flashes his charismatic television smile as he charms the journalist. “But my fiancée is inside waiting for me so I must be heading off.”

Maxwell realises what he’s done immediately after the words leave his mouth. Neither of you had come out and announced your engagement yet. Of course there had been rumours, when the paparazzi had caught shots of the enormous diamond rock on your finger, but nothing had ever been confirmed. The journalist looks overjoyed when he realises he’s the first to learn this information.

“Oh Mr. Lord!” he cries. “Congratulations. This is just terrific news. Do you have a wedding date yet?”

A pink blush crosses Maxwell’s cheeks at the thought of you on his wedding day. “Uh, no,” he answers. “But she wants a summer wedding.”

Maxwell finds himself gushing about you for a little longer than he intended, but he’s really not out there for too long. He’s inpatient to get back inside with you, and grab a drink. You already have a glass of whiskey waiting for him. 

You’re waiting at the high rise bar, your feet dangling from the stool you’re sat on as you sheepishly eye up all the famous guests who are waiting in the lobby. Maxwell jumps up from behind you and you almost fall off your chair, but in one swift movement, he steadies you and holds you tight.

“Maxie,” you mumble, thankful that he’s back with you. “I think I just saw Elton John.”

Maxwell gasps and looks around. “Where?”

You shyly point your finger into the corner, where a Elton John is standing, nursing a cocktail and speaking to--

“Is that Madonna?!” you practically yelp. 

Maxwell adores how excitable you get. “Why don’t we go say hello?”

You look at him as if he’s crazy.

“Max… that is Elton John and Madonna. I can’t--, we can’t… I’m--”

He shushes you and takes your hand. “But imagine how amazing it would be if we could get them to play at our wedding?” 

You feel your heart blossom at the thought but you’re still unsure. “I don’t know…” you trail off but he pouts and you take a deep breath. “Okay. Okay fine.” you sigh, giving in to his puppy dog eyes.

As it turns out, Elton John and Madonna were lovely people.

The awards ceremony is about to begin and you sit around a table which is relatively close to the stage. The seats are warm and made out of crushed velvet, and each guest is given a glass of the finest champagne. Around the table sit other celebrities.

Sure, being around Max means that you’ve met a lot of famous people in your time, but being in such close proximity to them would never not be scary. You weren’t born into wealth or success like the majority of people here were. As someone with a habit of being clumsy and easily flustered, you knew this lifestyle wasn’t for you, and you didn’t think it ever would be. But Maxwell was a natural and he fit in so well around these people. You’d always be there to support him.

You anxiously twist the engagement ring on your finger when he stands up and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“I won’t be long,” he utters under the music. “Will you be okay?”

He’s due to go on stage in fifteen minutes and the crew has requested that he goes behind the curtains to prepare. You wish you could go with him. As long as you’re with him, you’re fine. You silently nod and he brings his hand down to your cheek, gazing at you with sparkling brown eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Go,” you laugh, swatting his arm playfully and then quickly rubbing out any crinkles you might’ve put in his suit. “I’ll be fine.”

He grins and kisses you one final time before disappearing into the crowd. When he’s out of sight, you decide to take a sip of your champagne, hoping the alcohol would relax you just a little bit. But then George Michael from WHAM! taps you on the shoulder, and you feel like your heart is in your ass.

“May I sit here?” He asks, pointing at the chair next to you. It’s unoccupied, other than your purse which was sitting on it.

“Oh! Sure!” you blurt out, doing your best to stay calm. The two of you sit in silence as you wait for the lights to go down.

“Do I know you?” George asks eventually, folding his arms across his chest. He looks somewhat bemused. “I feel like I recognise you.”

“Um, no. I mean-- you probably don’t know me. But I’m here with my fiancee, Max Lord,” you explain. “He’s presenting the ‘Best Actor’ category.”

“Oh!” George grins, slapping his thigh. “Of course I know Maxwell! He’s the oil guy!” George clears his throat before pointing his finger. “Life is good, but it can be better!” He impersonates one of Max’s most famous one-liners, and you laugh, nodding your head.

“Yep, that’s him.” you confirm.

“I actually invest in his business.” George tells you and you smile politely.

“Oh, well he’d be thrilled to know that.” you tell the star.

Not long after your brief conversation with George, the event begins. You’re so nervous for Max, but you know he’s going to do great. When he comes on stage, he’s just as bold and charming as you anticipate, and you have no doubt he’s swooning audiences all around the world. He winks at you before announcing the nominees, and you feel a flurry of butterflies erupt in your stomach. He’s in his element and you love nothing more than to see him do the thing he was best at.

Max announces the winner and offers her a hug when she comes to collect the award, but all he can think about is heading back to the table so he can be with you for the rest of the night. Sure, he enjoyed all of this. But he loved being with you even more.

When he sits back down next to you, his hand travels under the hem of your dress and up your thigh. His fingers trace loving patterns into your skin. “I was thinking…” he hums quietly, the vibrations of his low voice enough to make a shiver run down your spine. “What if we just skip the after-party and go straight home?”

You’re baffled by his suggestion and shoot him a bewildered look.

“What? But you love parties.”

“But I love you even more,” he reveals, grinning at you dork-ishly. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to get that dress off you from the moment I saw you in it.”

You giggle and lean your head on his shoulder. Events like this were always nerve wracking, but as long as you were with Maxwell, you were in your happy place. Still, the thought of getting out of here and spending some one on one time with your soon to be husband was more than appealing.

“Let’s ditch.” you tell him, and you live for the smile he gives you.

You couldn’t wait to marry Max and be with him for the rest of your life.

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal  @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen  @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja200 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor @pedro-pastel @steeevienicks @rrtxcmt @saphic-susperia @ladyjenny19 @readsalot73 @softmedics @jade10077 @dodgerandevans @planetariumx​

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #max lord #maxwell lord #max lord x reader #maxwell lord x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #baftas #ww84 #the mandalorian #din djarin

[caesaryoulater]

Home

Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ since my blog is 18+, but this doesn’t have anything explicit or graphic.

Word count: 632

Summary: As a way to comfort you, Bucky tells you exactly how he feels about you.

Content: Very mild language. Mentions of anxiety and sadness. 

A/N: I was having a lot of *feelings* today, so I wrote this to help myself. And maybe made it worse. That’s life

Masterlist

You’re not quite sure why the anxiety hit. Sure, Bucky had just come home from a mission, but that was nothing new. His job was just part of your life, and while it sometimes worries you, you had grown used to it. And his actual homecoming was nothing new. He found you immediately upon walking in the door, his lips attaching to yours. Your hands and lips not leaving each other the rest of the night.

You do remember waking up and looking up at Bucky sleeping. How peaceful he looked. How comfortable he looked. And the thoughts hit you. How much he sacrifices, not just in general, but for you specifically. You thought of the times that he’d check in while he was gone. Even though he was busy with stuff way more important than checking in to see how your day was, he’d make sure to call or text when he could. Of course, it wasn’t every day, but it was often enough to make the effort obvious. Most of the time it was quick, just whatever second he could actually spare. Your mind questioned what you brought to the table. Questioned how much you really deserved him and how much he sacrificed.

You untangled yourself from Bucky, and threw on whatever clothes you could grab to lay on the couch. Not wanting to disturb him, he deserved the peaceful sleep. And that’s where you are now, the light from the TV casting a glow on you. You’re not even really sure what you’re watching. It was background noise. Possibly some infomercial. Then you hear the unmistakable foot pattern. “Babe, what are you doing up?” Bucky appears in front of you, sweatpants hanging off his hips, haphazardly thrown on. He stretches and runs his hands through his hair. You look up and shrug, pushing yourself into a seated position. “Dunno.”  The look he gives you tells you he sees right through your non-truth, but won’t push it too much. He sits next to you and motions for you to lay back with him. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head, keeping you as close as possible. Gently, he tilts your chin to look up at him. “I’m so happy to be home, I can’t tell you how much I missed you.” You give him a small smile and quietly tell him you’ve missed him too. You bury yourself in his neck and he rubs your back in an attempt to comfort you. His head rests on yours. “This makes everything worth it. I’m so lucky to have you,” his voice is low and sleepy in your ear. You feel tears well up. “I think you have that backwards.” He hums. “Not at all. You give me a home to come back to. Before I just had a cold, empty apartment. You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.” You look up at him, tears now overflowing. “Buck-“ He presses his lips to yours. “I don’t tell you enough how much I love you or how much I appreciate everything you do.” You’re starting to wonder if with the super soldier serum came the ability to read minds. His thumb wipes away some of the tears as he kisses you again. “I’m not really sure how to help you right now, but I’d do anything to make you even half as happy as you’ve made me.” “Can we just stay like this a while?” “We can stay like this forever if that’s what you need.” You felt the cool metal of his hand on your back under your shirt. Something he learned long ago you found oddly comforting. “I love you so damn much.” You kiss lazily at his jaw. “I love you too.”

@ohladymacbeth  @taylormobley​ @grumpyashhh​ @artsymaddie @wonderlandfandomkingdom @ratedrkohardychick91​ @canadian-fox @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​ @jgtfvhsg​ @lharrietg @tailsoflightning @tanyaherondale​ @maxximofff @mysticmoonbooks​ @heartbeats-wildly​ @libbie29

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #reader insert #my fics

[rataltouille]

BONFIRE, BONFIRE!: A COLLECTION OF FLASH FICTION + POETRY

so i’ve decided to compile all twenty [these will be split into two so that the post isn’t super long] of the writing pieces i’ve done for my random celebration into one post so that it’s easier to read / access share!! you can also find it here, all put into one work, on wattpad, because i feel nostalgic about that website and decided to just post it!!

NOTE: i know that this shouldn't need to be said, but these 20 pieces belong to me so please don’t copy/repurpose it for your writing!! i plan on using these somewhere in my own writing and either way they’re stuff i’ve written so don’t use them!!

1. cooking + destructive + purple from @andiwriteunderthemoon [also i kind of cheated with this prompt and asked my sis @dreamscanbenightmarestoo for ideas and so the base idea’s from her!!]

I didn’t mean to set my house on fire, alright?

Let me set the scene: I’m sitting in my room, watching the infomercials that blur together, and suddenly there’s a bright purple flash on the glitching screen: /grapes/. They’re shiny, plump, and oh? A recipe for fine wine? Don’t mind if I do. So I pop into my kitchen and cut the grapes, dice them up, finally using the knife after years of not cooking— /mother, are you proud of me now?/— and stick the soft, luminescent fluid into a glass bottle. Following each step of the recipe.

The recipe didn’t mention an explosion.

Destruction rained around my house like a meteor shower. The bubbles from the fluid, frisking up at contact with metal, swam across my shoes and into the living room. It touched the TV, which still flashed the recipe, which I was still cursing at. And then, you know, it burnt up. The couch scorched first, I think. So that was fun. I later realised that I’d used my reserve of petroleum, which I’d put in my kitchen cabinet, instead of vinegar. I think I’ve got to move back in with my mother again.

2. running + quiet + sky blue from @kryskakikomi [i have no idea what this is i drafted this in a fever dream state]

Summer crawled up his skin like a worm. He was seated at his dining table, crosswording his way through the sticky morning, when it struck him that the humidity was new. He’d been caught in summer before, of course, but this year was different. His parents had whisked away to their hometown, and he still didn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to go. He loved their home— he could have been running on beach sand and waves could have cruised over his feet, and his face would reflect sky blue under palm trees. Instead he sat doodling and scratching at cement walls in a quiet that nagged at his ears, grappling his flesh like a fishing hook, reeling him in. Boredom, him sister told him, before she also left for someone’s home. What would you know? he whispered once the door latched from the outside. Maybe /she’d/ like to sit on the same wooden chair, all the pink paint worn out, and scratch out squares of empty text until the pen poked through the other hand. He scoffed. At least he knew the number of scars on the wood; he could hold that over her when his parents returned.

3. hallucinate + hazy + violet from @chloeswords [i wanted to write something dreamy and ethereal but everytime i look at your url i’m reminded of church mud and indirectly my religious trauma so here we are 🤡]

We hold the book in our arms and chant for God. We don’t know what he looks like. They say that he’s sharp, never pixelating or blurring or showing through, like a hazy image would. No, children, our family says, he will come clothed in gold and velvet— the colour a deep and rich crimson, or chartreuse. And of course, he weaves a violet into his hair. Because he is just that humble. Just that gentle. Loving.

We’ve almost understood now. Pray, clasp our palms together into a transient equinox, and pray. Maybe he will shine down on us. Maybe we will speak so loud and chant so long that our lips will chap. Maybe we’ll simply hallucinate him to salve our bones. Our family says, he will bless you. And so he will.

4. halcyon + pluviophile + beige from anon [i was yearning for cats i am a cat person i love cats]

I remember my life before I moved to London,

Those halcyon days that I spent scooping up cat litter and brushing warm fur,

Being a mother to beige and white and black little felines.

They keep better company than humans.

Now I’m a self-proclaimed businesswoman, artist, influencer, pluviophile,

Even when I’ve barely stepped foot outside during the rain,

[But it needs to be said that when it rains in London, it pours].

I think I’d like to open a cat cafe;

I’m rich enough to pull it off.

5. sing + vulnerable + olive green from @occiidens [this was actually super fun to write because it’s a break from the typically unhinged stories i gravitate towards]

You watch from the highest hill of your town, hand wrapped around the serrated wood of a red oak tree. The bark pokes into your flesh, drawing blood that shouldn’t have been taken from you. You scowl. Just another thing that lives to cause you pain.

Three storeys down is a young man, short and smiling and lovely. He has dark skin and darker hair, walking with the stride of a deer, and he’s smiling; the joy reflects onto your face, even though you can’t hear him. He wears a cotton shirt, the olive green stark against the fire-blue sky. You call out, sing his name, three times in a row.

When he finally looks up, squinting as you silhouette under the sun, the smile widens. A wave. You’re suddenly overcome with embarrassment. Your palm digs into the bark until the wound is freshly dug again, the skin supple and vulnerable. You want to wave, but your hands would look so awkward, and the blood wouldn't help. So you turn on your heel and run— why are you so awkward?— and the grass around you is brighter. This is now a tomorrow issue, you conclude. You’re still smiling.

6. dislocate + ostentatious + blood red from @oasis-of-you [this got really unhinged really fast. TW: body horror]

If you take a turn at Finn Avenue,

Rogue your way down a blood red river,

[It’s not actual blood, do not worry. The colour’s a pigment and it’s saturated enough to give you the texture, the touch, the taste of blood, but I repeat, it isn’t true blood. You might think that it’s ostentatious of us to make you cross a river like that, but you’ll understand why.]

And if can stick your fingers inside the fluid,

You’ll find a bone.

Don’t pull it out fully! Only observe.

[This is a real bone, most likely animal. We may be ominous, but we don’t hurt humans. Not yet.]

So what do you do now? You want passage into a better world.

You came here because you saw the brochure, the flyer,

Radiant Idyll, home for love, but you also saw the jutting anatomy that leads to the city. The pictures were rather clear.

Why do you look so surprised? We’ve put this on the brochure— don’t you ever read the fine print?— to avoid this exact situation. That you would cross a body, a skeleton, pooled over in a fluid that we don’t name, but it’s probably alive.

It’s watching you right now.

So what do you do now?

Hurry up, unhinge your arm, dislocate the elbow, drop it into the blood, forgive me, false blood, and pay for your passage.

Oh! Excellent; that’s record time. We do hope you enjoy your stay!

1. @noteaboy [i’ve interpreted your url as ”note, a boy”]

There’s an orange tree. It’s spring, and there’s an orange tree, and it brims with fruit and citrus perfume. Point your lens flare downwards, and note, a boy. A young man, perhaps, because he combs his hair, uptight and firm, and he wears a tie. A long suit. He doesn’t look up, because his hand holds a book. /He/ holds the book, not the hands— tenderness doesn’t translate through anatomy, I’ve taught you this before. He’s waiting for someone. There’s only the rustle of leaves. He drops the book onto the lap of the tree, crushing the apple that had fallen down. Orange, not apple. Take note better. You only have one chance to get this right.

2. @eatingjupiter [your url is so beautiful omg]

The goddess had said this before she died: you need to watch over him. He needs your sentry to survive. The goddess’ words weren’t heeded. Little baby Jupiter tottered on lava as him parents small-talked with their kingdom. Well, it must have been small talk, because nothing seemed to happen afterwards other than his mother’s face collapsing in agony, anger, annoyance. He knew not to touch them then. He’d fly off into the sun one day, but if his hands were but and charred, he wouldn’t survive even a third of the journey.

The prophecy was simple: the firstborn to the kingdom will metamorph into a celestial, purify themselves so that only stardust remains. Live in the sky forever. The astrologers were baffled; you don’t just become a star. They should have heeded the goddess.

Jupiter was sixteen when he expanded and collapsed all at once. He still lives, they say, and the astrologers /were/ right, in a way: people just don’t become stars. They become almost empty space. Nobody knows if his hands were burnt when they left earth’s orbit forever.

3. @laughtracksonata [your name gave me slight horror vibes idk why!!]

Hahaha. The Horror Movie (don’t ask me for a name, I’m not good with those), with its cymbal crashing and plastic sounds, it’s so loud and scary that it hurts, father. Please turn it off.

Father doesn't listen. I shiver on the couch. The screen flickers like radio static and reflects off our wide eyes. What kind of a home is this anyway? I don’t want to fucking listen to a laugh track or a horror VHS tape or watch the bass crescendo as the serial killer jumpscares the watcher. I don’t think that having hour pupils glued to the same blood-splattered movie, with the same recording looping in his eardrums will help him. He laughs along, sometimes. It’s scary. Father needs a new hobby.

PART TWO COMING SOON!!

anyway this got REALLY long so i’m posting the third prompt group, the one based on songs, as a second part in some time. i hope you enjoy this, and PLEASE do boost!! i spent a lot of time writing these pieces and am pretty proud of them :’)

general taglist: @lovingyou-is @guulabjamuns @andiwriteunderthemoon @coffeeandcalligraphy @melonmilk @silentlylostwriter @charles-joseph-writes @eklavvya @eowynandfaramir @bitterwitchwrites @laughtracksonata @whatwordsdidnttouch @indeliblewrites @thenataliawrites @summersguilt @illimani-gibberish @sarahkelsiwrites @writing-in-delirium @shaelinwrites @sienna-writes @chewingthescenery @jennawritesstories @chloeswords @aelenko @keira-is-writing @cherylinanika @infinitely-empty-pages @jmtwrites @august-iswriting @freedelusionbanana @beetleblue88 @mistercaleb @iwannawritepls @hanwatchingmovies @mortallynuttyqueen @idratherliveinnarnia @maisulli @thegreyboywrites @ahowlinwolf @ravens-and-rivers @oasis-of-you @yanittawrites @chazza-writes-sometimes @skyfirewrites @lovebenders @treybriggsthewriter @themidnxghtwriter @ash-karter @queen-devasena @a-procrastination-addict @gaymityblight @beyondthebracken @madmaxst26 @adielwrites @moonpixxel @hollow-knight-dnd @keep-looking-here @overlap @ashleygarciawrites @ryns-ramblings​ @wordsbynathan @novaemlynlewis​ @sophiewritingstuff​ @howdy-writes​ @occiidens​ @nsanelyawkward​ @viawrites-andacts​

#writeblr #am writing #flash fiction #poetry #wtwcommunity #ofcolourtracking #crabappletracking #anyway part two probably in a couple days #i still have to start writing them 🤡✌️ #bonfire bonfire

[collecting-stories]

The Formal - ep. 05 - Georgia

Summary: You’re forced to endure the winter formal but you can’t resist cutting out early. 

A/N: How are we liking this rewrite so far guys?

Georgia Masterlist | The Walking Dead Masterlist

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

You had tried in vain, until almost the last possible moment, to get Glenn to take you to the winter formal instead of Aiden. With Maggie only showing up to see you in your dress and then go back home you were stuck with no one to talk to. Aiden had asked you back in September, when you had just broken up with Shane and wanted to appear totally over him, if you would consider going with him to the winter formal. 

You had jumped on the opportunity, figuring it wasn’t a big deal. You would go, hang out with Maggie and Glenn, then leave. It would be painless. Now you were stuck in a car with Aiden and his moron friends driving to the banquet hall in Woodbury while they passed around a flask of alcohol one of them stole from their parents.

“Hey,” Aiden nudged your arm with the metal flask and you shook your head. “Aw, come on. Be a good sport.”

“I don’t drink out of strange containers.” You replied.

“More for me!” He was already halfway to sloppy drunk as it was and he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you against him. You nearly cringed. Part of you was seriously considering finding Shane and asking him to bail you out of this dance.

The banquet hall was tacky in its decoration. Giant poster board snowflakes hung from the ceiling along with blue and silver garland. Balloons were everywhere and there was a sparkly silver backdrop outside for couples to get their picture taken. Aiden coaxed you over in that direction with his friends, all of them posing in some obscene way while you stood off to the side, arms crossed over your chest. You knew you looked like a spoiled brat refusing to have fun but you didn’t care. All these guys were stupid and immature and none of your friends had come to the formal and you really wished you were sitting at Daryl’s doing homework while he worked on the car.

“I’m getting punch.” You announced to no one in particular. None of them were paying you even the slightest attention.  

The music inside the banquet hall was terrible. Arguably the worst blend of hick country and radio pop that you had ever heard but no unexpected for this part of Georgia. You checked your pager once you got to your designated table. No messages.

“Hey,” Shane’s hands came down on your bare shoulders and you fought off a frown, of all the people to get stuck with while Aiden was in the lobby being a douche with his friends.

“Hey Shane,” you pulled away from him and stood up, crossing your arms. Your lavender colored dress was partially an ode to Footloose and the excitement you’d had when you first bought it was worn down to nothing now. “Where’s your date?”

“Dancing with friends.” He shrugged, “you look great.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, listen-” just as he started to talk you caught sight of Aiden coming into the hall.

“Oh, sorry Shane. I have to go.” You hurried passed him and linked your arm with Aiden’s, fake smile falling into place, “do you wanna dance?”

“Sure babe.”

You danced with Aiden on and off, trying to stay close to him to avoid Shane. You smiled through a painful hour and a half of pretending to have a good time. When Aiden finally headed for the table you used it as an out, excusing yourself to the bathroom. A few other girls were in there, whispering to each other as you entered and sequestered yourself in the handicap stall. You checked your pager again, hoping that someone might have messaged you but no one had.  

You didn’t want to go back out there with Aiden and his friends but you knew that your mom would be furious if you came home now. She had put so much time and work into the dance and the decorations and the PTA that leaving would be like telling her you hated it all. Not a rational thought but your mother was never known for rationality. There was a payphone in the vestibule of the banquet hall that you had passed on the way inside and some coins at the bottom of your purse so you called for a ride home, knowing your mom wouldn’t find out as long as Aiden didn’t see you leave.

-

The familiar black pickup pulled up in front of the banquet hall that you were standing outside of, braving the cold so you didn’t have to go back inside. He’d barely ghosted to a stop when you opened the door and climbed inside.  

“Sorry,” you immediately apologized as you pulled yourself up into Daryl’s truck. There was a forgotten sweatshirt on the floor that you pulled onto your lap and slipped your arms through in an attempt to get warm. “I didn’t meant to make you come out I just wasn’t sure who else to call.”  

You could’ve probably called Glenn or Tara but then you wouldn’t get to see Daryl looking somewhat like he had just rolled out of bed.

“It’s fine.” He shrugged, “ya weren’t having fun?”  

“No. Aiden is a douche, I can’t stand him. My. mom was happy I was going with him ya know, cause his mom is the mayor but I can’t stand him!”

“So ya said.”

“Sorry, it was just a shitty night. I was only looking forward to it because Maggie and Glenn were going to be there but-”

“Maggie’s grounded.” Daryl supplied.

“Yeah.” You nodded and smiled. “I didn’t mean to drag you out of whatever you were doing.”

“Wasn’t doing anything.” He replied, pulling the truck out of the parking lot and heading back toward King County. “Am I supposed to take ya home or ya got somewhere else to go?”

“What time is it? If I leave before the dance is all done my mom will definitely know. She has to come clean up though so if I time it right-”

“I’ll just take ya back to mine.” Daryl cut in, “got something ya can change into.”

“Thank you.”  

“Ya look nice, by the way.” He was glad that it was dark in the truck because he could feel how warm his cheeks and ears were getting. He felt stupid for saying anything but he couldn’t help himself. You looked beautiful in your formal dress and it all felt a little surreal, even at 22, that he would be driving a girl home from her prom. Daryl was not the kind of guy that had ever gone to prom or even gone on a date before.  

“Thanks,” you nestled further into his sweatshirt as he drove you back to his house.  

He pulled in behind the Jeep, covered by a tarp so no one would notice it in his driveway. His dad’s car wasn’t out front so he led you inside the house first, offering up his old room so you could change. Whatever kind of kid Daryl had been you weren’t entirely sure but there was some evidence in his old bedroom. A single bed with plaid covers, stacks of magazines about cars and hunting, old scraps of metal and tools that he had probably used or still did. A far cry from the peach walls and stacks of books and Emory college memorabilia that covered the walls.  

“Your room is nice.”

“Ya really like ta bullshit don’t ya?” Daryl called from the living room.  

“I’m not bullshitting.” You slipped out of your dress and changed into the sweatpants and King County middle school field day shirt that Daryl had found in the bottom of his dresser. He’d even given up a clean pair of socks for you to wear. You came back out with your dress folded up in your arms. Daryl was sitting on the couch, watching some infomercial on TV. “Thanks for the clothes.”

“Figured ya still owe me a jacket so I’ll just add it ta yer tab.” He replied, shrugging.

“You said ‘keep it’ when I offered to give the jacket back.” You said, trying to imitate his drawl.  

“Yeah not for two months.”

“It’s not been two months,” you dropped onto the couch beside him, “it’s like, the second week of December.”

-

The trouble with having work on Saturday was that anytime you went out on a Friday night you struggled to get yourself out of bed when the alarm went off. But, usually, the alarm went off and you rolled yourself out of bed against your will and you got to work. A routine that wasn’t your favorite but wasn’t entirely unusual. What was unusual was your pager going off instead of your alarm.  

And something moving underneath you.  

You opened your eyes as you felt your body being shifted around again and only then did you become fully aware of your surroundings. You weren’t home. You weren’t tucked in bed after the dance, waiting for a cursed alarm to remind you that you had agreed to take a shift at 7am. Instead you were on a couch. Or more accurately, on Daryl, on a couch, in his house.  

“Shit.” You cursed, sitting up and grabbing your purse off the ground. The pager flashed a call me message from Patricia and you groaned, climbing off the couch and a just waking Daryl to call her back on the phone in his kitchen.  

“Patricia’s Diner-”

“Patty, hi.”

“Oh my gosh, sweetie, there you are. I was just about to call your mom!” Patricia shrieked over the phone. “I was so worried about you! Where are you? Your shift started 30 minutes ago.”

“I’m so sorry, I spent the night at a friend’s house after the dance, I’ll be there in like ten minutes.” You promised.

“Are you alright? You aren’t in trouble?”

“No, Patty I swear I’m fine. I will see you in like ten minutes.” You rushed her through the phone call, promising to see her once more before you hung up. Daryl was still laying on the couch, arm slung over his face. You ran back into the living room and nudged him, “Daryl, wake up.”

“Shit,” Daryl grumbled and rolled away from you.  

“Daryl, please.”

“Go away,” his words were half obscured by the couch cushions.  

“Fine, I’ll walk home barefoot in December back to my house, freezing cold-”

“I’m gettting up.” Daryl rolled back over onto his back and looked up at you the slightest grin on his face as he came further out of his haze.  

“Will you drive me home to change and possibly to work?” You asked.  

“Didn’t know fixing yer jeep meant I was your chauffer too.” He said, getting up and heading into the bathroom.  

“Thank you!”  

Daryl did exactly what you asked, driving you first to your house to change out of the sweatpants and t-shirt that he had lent you and then driving you to the diner for work. Neither of you mentioned the position you had woken up in. The ride was usually quiet in fact; even when he dropped you off at the diner you had said a quick goodbye and then gotten out of the truck.  

The pager had set you off so much that you hadn’t really gotten a chance to think about the way it felt waking up on the couch with Daryl, tucked in between him the cushions. Your head had been on his chest and the more you thought about it the more your heart raced at the way he had tightened his grip on you just the slightest as you slipped out of his arms to use the phone. While you wished you could’ve stayed there longer you were almost grateful to patty for calling you. At least it gave both of you a quick out so that you didn’t have to embarrass yourself in front of him.  

The last thing you needed was to embarrass yourself in front of Daryl.  

-

Taglist: @hopesxxhigh @coffeebooksandfandom @jodiereedus22 @tehfabbooty @thecaptainsgingersnap @of-storms-and-sadness @twdeadfanfic @alwaysadreamingoptimist  @mainokutan @sabertooth-potato @qrangr @bucky-barnes-babies @ly--canthrope @daryldixonandfrogs @jaycc7983 @easnuppa @imaginecrushes @tonystarkismyboy @watchmeaspire @cbarter @onemorebeautifulnightmare @gigilame @enrapturedbythemoon @harpersmariano @cathwritestragediesnotsins @siren-queen03

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon au #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon fic #daryl dixon writing #daryl x reader #daryl x you #daryl fic #daryl imagine #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fic #the walking dead fanfiction #The Walking Dead AU #the walking imagine #twd fanfiction #twd au #twd fic #twd fanfic #twd imagine #collecting stories imagine #georgia series

[chipsfics]

Part 1 - Introduction/Invitation

Part one of my currently-unnamed Inanimate Insanity fanfiction :)! Feat. Tissues and Yinyang. Some shipping but not a whole lot ;)

Rated: PG (A few heavy themes)

Hope you enjoy and much more to come !! :D

~~~~

Unlike Tissues, Yinyang knew he was going to be eliminated. Yin did, at least. He figured after a certain amount of time, the viewers just saw him as... Annoying. He had used up his entertainment value- Inanimate Insanity had packaged and squeezed dry his "quirks" of any and all comedy until they were just problems again. He was sure his other half knew elimination was at least a possibility- He was probably too preoccupied with his own thoughts, which sometimes blended together with Yin's. A lot of... "Everyone here hates me," and "I hate everyone here." Seemed like the situation was stressing them both out.

Weeks later, After they were all freed from the closet, Yinyang watched the episode where he was eliminated. Yinyang cried, not because he lost, but something kind of got tangled in his brain watching the way he acted. He was grinding his teeth watching the playback, Yang holding back tears and Yin letting them flow freely. If only, if only, if only. Needless to say, he didn't really remember a lot about what happened cooped up in that tiny closet. He mostly hid in the corner and tried not to grind his teeth down to his gums. Tissues, on the other hand, barely knew what was going on. One place to another, off a plane, rushing from iceberg to dodgeball court, grass field to bleachers- Next thing he knew he sneezed himself through a portal and ended up cooped up in a closet. Once the dizzy feeling cleared and he ended up face down, alone, in an empty closet with a locked door- One thing was abundantly clear: He lost. As usual. When another contestant stepped through the portal, the relief he felt was overwhelming- and as the closet filled up with eliminated contestants, the sense of relief he felt was replaced by self loathing and shame- Everyone else pretty much all hated him. As usual.

When they finally got a breath of fresh air, space to move around, personal rooms and even a breakfast juice bar- After everyone who came in contact with him was thoroughly sprayed down by Soap, nobody hated him anymore. They just didn't talk to him. Although, when he walked in the hallway, Soap would follow a safe distance behind him and clean where he last stepped with disinfectant. That didn't really help his self-esteem.

One quiet afternoon, everyone was still trying to settle into their new (but much nicer) living situations, Tissues got paired with the roommate who hated him the most. One Trophy horseplay, who was the one who stomped his face in more than a couple times while stuck in the closet. Of course, due to the technological advancements of melife, Mephone brought him back immediately after he got the death notification- bzz-ding, Tissues died again, to Trophy's frustration. Living with Trophy, he tried to keep all of his stuff in one corner- And he was kind of being shoved over by Trophy's ever-growing collection of sports equipment. Apparently he had nowhere to put it except for cluttering up their shared bedroom. He didn't have much things anyway- and he spent most of his time in the front game room. Tissues, Yinyang, and a few wanderers in and out every day in that same room, that same dinky game system, the same 4 outdated platforming games. He didn't remember the names of those old things, and he wasn't great at them anyway- It'd surprise you, but he didn't have the best hand-eye-coordination. 

Yinyang was also bad at them. He'd argue and curse and throw the controller and tug at the wires, Tissues would follow slowly behind him in co-op play. It was fun to play with someone who had the same skill level as he did, and it seemed like Yinyang had mellowed out a little from his appearance on the show- Having a bit more freedom and alone time seemed to make Yang calm down and Yin become cheerier and more friendly. If Tissues could say one Inanimate Insanity contestant was his friend- It was Yinyang. They had something big and terrifying in common- They were both freaks. The unlovable tend to find a way to love each other.

~~~~

Yaaaawn. Tissues stretched and looked at the clock- 11:30, about 3 hours earlier than when he usually woke up. He wiped the drool off his face, got up and feverishly brushed his teeth. He realized the breakfast bar was still open for another 30 minutes- More like 25 now that he'd dragged himself out of bed. OJ wasn't the world's most attentive hotel owner, but the breakfast bar seemed like something he was passionate about. There were rumors that he refilled the cereal dispensers by himself and doesn't let anyone else do it. Soap always threw a fit when someone else did the chores for her, although she seemed to have a quiet respect for OJ's breakfast bar. Tissues took the elevator down- He didn't trust himself to go down the stairs because of his vertigo. Lo and behold, someone else bumped into his hand reaching for the down arrow. It was Yinyang! 

"O-oh, go ahead, you first," Tissues said bashfully. 

"No, you first!" Yin chirped. "I assume we're both going down?" 

"Yeah, I'm gonna try and catch the last wave of breakfast, guyse. I'm not usually up this... SNIFF. Early," Tissues said, and jammed his finger into the down button, which started to glow a faint yellow.

"Wait, is the free breakfast thing still open?" Yinyang said, "The one where you can make waffles with the little do-it-yourself waffle iron?" 

"Is that what that is? I thought it was just a weird smoothie dispenser. I thought the stuff that came out of it tasted like waffle batter," He sniffed.

Yinyang laughed. Tissues would have been peeved, but it didn't seem like Yinyang was laughing AT him. That, or just the fact that his laugh was crisp and clear as a ringing bell. Tissues didn't think he heard him genuinely laugh a whole ton of times. It was nice. 

As they waited for the elevator to come up, Tissues noticed one of Yinyang's eyes blinking and drooping. Yang's side seemed to be sleepier than Yin's- His body lagging to one side until he had to jerk back into a standing position. Was it possible for one half to fall asleep and the other half to stay awake? DING. Tissues' train of thoughts was interrupted by the elevator door sliding open. They stepped in, and for the entire ride down Tissues fought as hard as he could not to sneeze- In a closed place like an elevator, that could be very annoying. More annoying than usual. The elevator ride was mostly silent and awkward- It seemed that Yang almost tried to fight on what button to press, but he was too tired and hungry to cause any trouble this early. It was a Saturday after all, the slowest days in the hotel, and once they made it downstairs to the breakfast bar, there didn't seem to be many contestants looking for something to eat so late. Tissues grabbed a paper plate and put a blueberry muffin on it, and got a small paper cup of orange juice. He noticed Yin and Yang were having some sort of quiet argument about what to get for a drink. Tissues couldn't help but overhear-

"Coffee." Yang spoke in a harsh whisper. "Not today, Water." Yin replied. "Coffee." "Juice, then." "Ok, Fine." "Apple juice." "I want orange." "Not today. Apple Juice feels more..." "Pure?" "Yeah." "Bull." "Let's just get our food, I'm too tired to argue." "..." "..." "Me too." 

Tissues seemed distracted, until Yinyang moved down the line and bumped him further down. He looked away, face flushed, and moved to the couch, flicking on the TV- He felt like he had just intruded on Yinyang's privacy, but Yinyang didn't seem to care. He'd grabbed apple juice and a pastry of some kind, filled with cream cheese. Yinyang and Tissues ate together, Tissues sitting on the carpet and Yinyang on the couch close by, both staring at the gameshow program that was playing on TV- something that aired often, it was starting to get old. That and the fact that the episodes are hard to tell apart. Same host every time, same backdrop, same formula. Because of this, Tissues' mind couldn't help but wander, and so did his eyes. Yinyang was focused intently on the tv, one hand, Yin's, tapping the sides of the paper cup and the other, Yang's, lifting the pastry to his mouth and taking a bite. They seemed to have figured out a good way to eat without arguing. 

"So," Tissues said, breaking the silence.

"Yes?" Yin said politely. 

"Can i sit next to you guyse?" Tissues asked. Yinyang looked a bit puzzled.

"Sure. Why not?" Yinyang said, "Just try not to get any of your germs on me." Yang grumbled. Yin pinched his arm. "Don't be rude," Yang growled, but once Tissues got up and hopped up onto the couch cushion next to him, Yang seemed to have forgotten about it. Tissues was so short he had to put in a lot of effort to get onto the couch- It was almost comical. Because of that, he preferred to sit on the ground. People seemed to prefer him down there anyway. It was kind of nice, up there, though, and honestly the only thing he felt different was... More comfortable, and taller. It was nice. He hadn't even noticed the TV program changing from the game show to an ad break- some kind of infomercial on chairs. 

"Sooo.... Do you want to go and check out the pool today? I've heard that there's like, complimentary towels. I haven't actually been there yet," Tissues said.

"Are you... asking us to hang out with you?" Yinyang said curiously. 

"Well sure," Tissues smiled. "We're friends, right?"

"Umm..." Yinyang's face flushed a bright red. "Of course!" Yin chimed. 

"Whatever." Yang added, clenching his jaw and slightly baring his sharp teeth.

"I just didn't wanna show up alone. Can you swim?" He asked. Yinyang looked away.

"Not really," He said, embarrassed. "It takes a lot of coordination, and Yin hates listening." Yang said aggresively. Yin glared at his other half. 

"Ohhh thats cool. I can't either," Tissues replied. "I was just planning on sitting by the side. Maybe putting my feet in- Its just nice to have like... uhh. SNIFF. Change of scenery... I like the chlorine smell." 

"Well that sounds nice!" Yinyang said. "But we need to go back to our room first, Right?" Yang sounded like he was directing the question less towards Tissues and more towards Yin. 

"Oh. Well that's ok. I'm here all day," Tissues said, pulling his mouth into a goofy half-smile. Yinyang finished off his apple juice and got up, silently turned and smiled towards Tissues, and walked away. Tissues wondered what he was thinking about. 

~~~~

#inanimate insanity #fanfiction #ii #ii2 #fanfic #yinyang #tissues #tissyang #tissuyang #yissues

[vldkeith]

klancemas prompt #5: sleep

a/n: another prompt from mine and kenzie's 100-page google doc of kl fanfic/thoughts, lol. i wasn't convinced that i was the one who wrote this, but kenzie assures me i am, so here u go :)

They’re just sitting in Lance’s room, staring at different things together (a pastime that was becoming more and more frequent as they grew comfortable with the silence), when the thought crosses Lance’s mind. They’d only been dating, what, a week? Regardless, he can’t help it when his body and mind are simultaneously struck with boldness.

“Do you wanna stay the night?” he asks, words a little quiet. The nervousness was still there, making him almost shy, but not enough to shut up for just a few seconds. Keith’s eyes, previously stuck to his DS, snap to attention with his head quickly following.

“Huh?” he answers, eloquent as ever. Lance smiles softly, heart weirdly surged with affection at Keith’s expression. His eyebrows are knitted in confusion, lips slightly parted, eyes struggling slightly to focus on Lance after having been glazed over from staring at Animal Crossing for two and a half hours.

“Do...you...wanna...stay...the...night?” Lance repeats, teasing grin dancing on his lips. Keith’s eyes narrow with annoyance.

“I know what you said, I just...I don’t know! I’ve never stayed over before, I don’t really know how to react to that!” he answers, exasperated. “No offense, but like...why?”

Lance’s eyes roll lazily as he flops backwards onto his bed, narrowly missing slamming his head against the wall. Oops.

“I want to cuddle you. Is that cool?” he answers bluntly, raising a daring eyebrow in Keith’s direction. Keith’s expression drops into deadpan annoyance.

“I don’t cuddle.”

“Fine. I want to lay next to you and wrap my arm around your waist and hold you close to me as we fall asleep next to each other. Better?”

“...I guess that’s fine,” Keith agrees reluctantly, voice hesitant. Lance’s grin is now beaming as they quickly hash out arrangements for brushing teeth and Lance’s 30 minute nighttime skin routine.

Exactly 40 minutes later, Lance is laying in bed, and his mind is racing. Will Keith actually be comfortable sleeping next to him? Oh god, they’re going to be touching all night. Will Lance be able to handle this level of touch thrown at him so suddenly? His heart is beating fast as he watches Keith, now dressed only in boxers and one of Lance’s too-big pajama shirts, climb into his bed.

His bed. The bed he sleeps in every night. The bed he lays in, dreams in, wakes up in the middle of the night from dreams where thoughts of Keith leave him gasping. The bed he silently touches himself in, wishing that Keith’s hand were there instead, with thoughts that plague him of pale skin, leather gloves, and a stupid black mullet.

And Keith just crawled into it.

His skin is buzzing like ice has been poured into his veins, but he forces himself to ignore the heart-pounding feeling and just act normal. Normal, he thinks, laying down next to Keith under too-hot covers. Normal, he reminds himself as he sidles close to Keith, their skin coming into explosive contact that leaves a hot blush on Lance’s cheeks. The lights are off, but the TV blares on in the background, the infomercial for a MyPillow casting a blue light over everything. Keith doesn’t even seem phased, and Lance is infuriated by it, though unsurprised. He’s probably thought this through too far, much farther than Keith likely would have, and each moment that for Keith is average is becoming excruciating.

Finally, he’s laying flush with Keith, skin burning from the contact in a not-unpleasant way. Keith smiles just so slightly in his sleepy state as Lance reaches over to turn off the TV, letting the total darkness envelop them fully. It’s silent, suddenly, and the air is heavy with some buzzing feeling that’s hard to pinpoint.

“G’night, Lance,” Keith mumbles softly, turning onto his side gently. Some of the tension in Lance’s heart is pierced and bleeds out by the softness of it.

“Night, Keith,” he manages, turning onto the same side under the covers and ever so gently resting his hand on Keith’s hip. He feels the muscles underneath his light grip tense, and finds some odd satisfaction in knowing that Keith’s calm is likely to be an act. But the facade is quickly recovered as Keith grabs Lance’s hand and pulls it around his own waist, cutting through the space between their bodies in a single motion as they crash gently into each other.

Lance pulls himself closer, nervous and excited. He feels Keith relax against him, which feels both like a victory and panic-inducing, but Lance keeps himself calm, smiling a little against Keith’s back and tightening his circling arms.  

Man, Keith is warm. Lance just knows that, come morning, it’s going to be torturous to tear himself away from this position. He’ll just have to savor it as long as he can.

And maybe, if he’s lucky, this’ll be the start of more and more nights like this. He can only hope. But, judging by the easy breathing Keith has adopted and the relaxed tension of his body, Lance is pretty optimistic that this won’t be the last time. With that thought in mind, he allows himself to drift off to sleep, thinking of gloved hands and pale skin and the scent of pine. 

Perfect.

a/n: check the notes of this post for a link to my ko-fi if u wanna support me/my work this december! thanks :)

#klancemas #klancemas 2020 #monthly klance #klance #klance fanfiction #renfic

[beanie-beebo-writes]

Call for Action

Chapter 6

You rolled over at around 2 AM for what seemed like the millionth time. Despite having no nightmares, you were plagued with hourly panic attacks that tore you from sleep. You didn’t even know what could have caused them; you had been doing so well since your last incident weeks ago. You felt so hopeless, and wondered if it was even worth the effort to sleep. Yet every time you tried to stay awake, your eyes drifted on their own accord. Without thinking too much of the consequences, you reached over and grabbed your phone and called Jensen. You were met with a series of grumbled responses. Before you knew it, he was at your door.

“Jensen, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking and didn’t know what else to do.” You said, half crying at your possible mistake.

“(Y/N), never be sorry for needing someone. C’mon, let’s lay down.” He said, putting an arm around you.

“Could we go on the couch for a bit instead? I kind of need to get away from my bed.” You asked.

“Sure.” Jensen said.

And there the two of you sat for several hours, until the sun broke across the horizon and the birds began to sing. You had both ended up falling asleep in what had looked like not the most comfortable positions, but it couldn’t compare to the restful sleep you had gotten. Your alarm in your bedroom woke you up around 5 AM, causing you to half stumble off the couch as you were intertwined between Jensen’s limbs. The small struggle caused Jensen to come around, waking up a little more when he saw you return from your room. You rubbed at your eyes and let out a large yawn.

“I know you’re gonna protest, but I think you should take the day off. You look like you could use it.” Jensen said, still on the couch.

“I don’t think I can afford that, Jensen. I just started working here.” You said.

“Well, maybe I could pull some strings for you. I could talk to Bob for you. I think he’d understand if I explained it to him briefly.” Jensen said.

“That’s the last thing I need is him knowing what I’m going through. He’ll probably let me go when he finds out.” You said, crossing your arms.

“Alright, I can spare the details. You just need a break, that’s all.” Jensen said. 

After some thinking, you realized he was right. The past few weeks had been rough on you. You were basically running nonstop, and it had finally caught up to you. And boy did you feel it.

“You don’t have to call Bob, I’ll do it myself.” You said. “You’re right, I’ve been running myself ragged. I just know as an adult, I have a responsibility to myself and my coworkers. I can’t afford to take time off etcetera etcetera.”

“That may be true but as Jared has told me, you can’t put an oxygen mask on everyone else if you don’t put one on yourself first.” Jensen said.

You sighed. “Damn, you guys are like Buddha.”

“It comes with experience, trust me.” He said.

After you called off for the day, you and Jensen spent the day watching whatever was on daytime TV, Netflix, and napping in between. If you could do this every once in a while, you wouldn’t complain. The refresher was nice and you even got some bonus time with Jensen. The two of you fit together like puzzle pieces; always comfortable around each others’ presence. It was something you hadn’t felt in a while with someone.

Around noon, Jared stopped by with some fresh lunch. You had been snoozing at the time so Jensen took it upon himself to answer the door for you. The two of them had been talking for a little bit before you finally woke up to the steaming aroma and the sound of talking.

“Remember when this was happening with you a long while back? It’s all I can think of.” You heard Jensen say.

“Yeah. She’ll pull through though, just like I did. I haven’t known her for that long, and I can already tell she’s one to reckon with.” Jared said.

You groggily opened your eyes and looked over to Jensen and Jared standing in your kitchen. The TV had still been playing quietly in the background, playing some infomercial on jewelry. You inhaled deeply and sat up, letting out a loud and satisfying stretch. Doing so caused the guys to look over. You clicked off the TV and stood up slowly, your joints cracking as you stiffened them.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Jared asked, still holding a large paper bag.

“Honestly? Like I could still use another nap.” You said humorlessly, still chuckling lightly.

“I bet. I brought you guys some food; figured you could use a nice hot meal.” Jared said while holding up the bag slightly.

“Thank you, maybe you could join us?” You asked, walking over to where he stood.

“Well, I didn’t bring enough for three.. But that’s okay, I just had lunch not long ago. Sure, why not?” He said.

He held the bag out for you to take, and you gladly accepted it. You set it on the counter and looked inside. Inside were two fancy grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, the ones held together with a toothpick and an olive. You smiled up at Jared, grateful to have found another good friend to confide in. Or at least, you hoped.

“Well Jensen, I say we dig in before it gets cold.” You said.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Jensen said.

The three of you sat at your small kitchenette (Jared had to pull up an extra folding chair from whoever knows where you had it stashed), just happy to be in each other’s presence. You giggled as you observed Jared’s large stature cramped to the confines of the small-ish chair.

“Oh like you’ve never seen a giant man sit in a chair half his size before.” Jared snarked playfully.

“Actually no, I haven’t.” You said in between chuckles.

Jared smiled at you alongside Jensen. “It’s good to see you smile.” Jared said.

“I tend to agree.” Jensen said.

“Hard not to.” You said, mouth half-full of sandwich. “I don’t mean to intrude in any way, so let me know if I am. But earlier, I heard you guys talking about Jared going through something a while ago. So you’re telling me you both of you have gone through something similar?” 

“Yeah actually-” Jared said, sitting back into his chair. “-And you’re not overstepping at all, don’t worry. We wouldn’t have talked about it with you around if we thought it was something you didn’t need to know.”

“What he said.” Jensen said. “And yeah, Jared went through a bout of depression about five years ago. It happened when we were on set, actually. He has no shame on sharing it with others, but isn’t really ready to let everyone know about it just yet.”

“What got you through it?” You asked, intrigued.

“I know Jensen was talking about therapy before, and how it helped him. I know it’s going to sound like a broken record, but that majorly helped me get through it. That and a great support system.” Jared said.

“You two really are joined at the everything, jeez.” You said. “Jensen and I were actually just talking about therapy last week. I agreed to try it, but I’m just a little scared how it’s going to turn out.”

“It can be scary, especially since it’s new territory for you.” Jared said.

“So, what do you say it’s about time we schedule you for that therapist?” Jensen asked.

---------

One Month Later

You walked down a small hallway until you reached an ajar door that had the name "Mr. Roslin" on it, and knocked lightly. A man in his late forties was sitting at a small desk in a computer chair; he turned around and smiled.

"You must be (Y/N). Please, come in and take a seat." He said.

You walked into the decently sized room and sat on a padded chair several feet from the therapist. Mr. Roslin shuffled a few papers on his desk before turning back around with a notepad and pen in hand.

"So (Y/N), tell me more about why you're here today." He said.

"Well… My friend.. er date.. said I would benefit from seeing you." You said.

"And why would they think that?" He asked.

You sighed. "Well, lately I've been having these.. panic attacks. Quite a lot of them actually."

"Have you had them before?"

"Many times, yes. Just haven't had one out of nowhere in quite a while."

"Hm. I think I have just the thing for that."

Mr. Roslin turns around in his chair and pulls out a sticky note from his desk. On it, he scribbles a few notes before handing it to you. It read: "5 things you can see, 4 things you can feel, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, 1 thing you can taste."

"Have you heard of grounding exercises before?" He asked.

You shook your head and stayed silent so he would continue.

"Grounding techniques or exercises are coping skills that keep you in the present. Let's say for instance, your thoughts or a panic attack are keeping you from doing a task at work. These exercises help you stay in the moment instead of focusing on those pesky thoughts or feelings." He explained.

"Oh wow, those sound useful.. Thank you." You said.

"Mhm. They are only useful though if you practice. That'll be your homework after this session, until I see you next. He said.

"Sounds easy enough. Thank you Mr. Roslin." You said.

"Don't mention it. By the way, have you ever been formally diagnosed previously?" Mr. Roslin asked.

"No sir, this is actually my first ever appointment to see anyone like this. I assume I have anxiety, as my doctor long ago said I may have it. He was the one who gave me the breathing tips." You admitted.

"I see. Just for your information, I'd like to know if knowing your diagnoses would help you in any way, or would you feel they would set you back?" He inquired.

"I feel the diagnoses could help explain some things, so you can tell me." You said. 

"It's only your initial appointment but from what I can tell so far based on our phone conversation and now, you have both anxiety and possibly a smidge of depression. It isn't uncommon in the psychiatric world to have both. They tend to work together to make your life more miserable. The depression tends to be more of the negative thinking (at least in your case), while the anxiety of course is the panic/anxiety attacks." He explained.

"The anxiety I figured; the depression I never thought of though. Will it ever get better?" You asked.

"With a lot of effort and time, you will find it a lot easier to cope with what you have, so yes." He said.

"That's good to know. And for the panic attacks, do you think taking up a new career can enhance them?" You asked.

"Certainly. New environments and added stress are definitely a factor. They should fade after getting adjusted. But if they don't come talk to me and we'll hash it out together." He said.

"Thank you for that, it's very helpful to be in the know." You said.

"Always; knowledge can be very powerful. Is there anything else you would like to discuss today?" He asked.

"Yeah actually, there is. With my.. date. I'm not really sure where we stand. We're moving at quite a fast pace, and I'm scared something is going to go wrong or something. My life usually works that way, and I know our relationship so far isn't exactly normal." You said.

"Well, have you talked with them about it?" He asked.

You paused for a moment; you hadn't thought to ask Jensen about anything besides that one time. It seemed to be a logical thing to do.

"It is okay to communicate these things in a relationship. If anything, the relationship will be stronger if you communicate how you feel and what you expect." Mr. Roslin said.

"You're right. I just.. I don't know. Wouldn't it be awkward to talk about those things?" You asked.

"It's only awkward if you want it to be, remember that. You could always phrase it something like.. 'I wanted to talk about our relationship. Where are you and I right now? Are we still dating, or are we looking for something more?'. Most importantly, let them know how you feel. If you're afraid, let them know." He said.

"Okay, I'll try those things." You agreed.

"Perfect! Unless you have anything else to discuss with me I'll write you in for another two weeks from now.  Does that sound good?" He asked.

"That sounds great Mr. Roslin, thanks for everything today." You said.

"No problem, take care (Y/N)." He said.

You walked out of the office and made your way to the curb where Jensen had parked his truck. You hopped inside and exhaled in relief.

"Well? How did it go?" Jensen asked.

"Actually, it wasn't that bad. He's pretty helpful; although I didn't expect homework." You said.

"Hey, taking care of yourself is hard work." He said, cupping your face in his hands. "And you've already taken the first step; you're doing great." 

You smiled and glanced at his lips before quickly giving them a peck. 

"Hey Jensen?" You asked.

"Yeah hun?" He responded.

"There was actually something I wanted to talk to you about." You said.

"Like what?" He asked, gently pulling away from you.

"Us. I wasn't sure for a bit, but I think I'm scared. Something always goes wrong in my life, and I would hate for it to be us. I'm not breaking up with you or anything, I'm just unsure. I mean, I can tell you like me, but in what way? Where are we taking this? Is  it even going to go anywhere?" You asked.

Jensen was taken aback at all this information at once; he raised his eyebrows.

"Wow, uh. I guess we do need to talk." He said. "To repeat what you said: yes, I do like you. Hell, I like you a lot. That part, is never going to change, as far as I can tell. We can go wherever you want with this. If you want it to be a fling, let it be a fling. Although, I would really prefer something more than that." Jensen explained.

"Wait.. you would?" You asked, eyes lighting up.

"Yeah! I mean, if that's okay with you of course." Jensen said.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.” You said.

You grabbed Jensen’s face gently and gave him a passionate kiss, pouring all of your emotions into him. He responded gently, meeting the same level of passion without being too rough. In that moment, everything felt good. You knew it wasn’t perfect, but you had faith in both the man in front of you and where he was guiding you.

End

#jensen x reader #Jensen Ackles #Jared Padalecki #spn reader insert #call for action series #call for action

[the-fiction-witch]

Goo

REAL LIFE: SCANDAL COUPLE: TBS X READER RATING: FUNNY + FLIRTY AF

"What are we doing today?" Thomas asks sat on his sofa sipping tea out of a mug shaped like the death star

"We are going to be nice to you" y/n smiled as she came from behind the camera with tea and a small packet of biscuits

"Are we?" he asks glaring at her a little confused and taking a biscuit from her

"Yes we are Thomas" she smiled fixing her hair

".... I am suspicious" he says trying to dip his biscuit in his mug however it was far to big to go into the mug "Ooh." He sighed sadness flooding his face apron discovering he couldn't dunk his biscuit before snapping it in half and dunking it

"Why?"

"Because why are you being nice to me?"

"I can't be nice?"

"Yes But it worry's me" he sighed

"we are going to make you lovely and relaxed" she smiled

"... You're not even going to comment on me being gross?" He asks eating his now tea soaked biscuit

"..... No I won't" she sighed sipping her tea "with your crunchy tea"

"I knew that wouldn't last long" He says

"I am not good at being nice"

"You are not" He sighed "What are we doing anyway?"

"Do You remember being a child?"

"Vaguely yes"

"Do you remember a advert that plaid on Tv when we where kids?"

"... I remember alot of ad's that plaid when we where kids"

"well we weren't really kids we would have been... teens"

"Teens? like pre teens or older teens?"

"Mid Teens"

".... ish, I remember little from that time. I spend most of it locked in my room"

"I remember you bassicly went in your bedroom as a pre teen who looked really fucking young and then came out when you where like nineteen where yeah you still looked young but you've voice had broke, you grew a bit, like you actually looked more like a teen" "I did, I didn't want anyone to see me at that time, especially you"

"why not me?"

"Because I had a crush on you at that point" "Did you?"

"Yeah? you didn't know that?"

"No"

"Yeah, I had a massive fucking crush on you at that age"

"I did Not know that" she giggles

"You knew, I've told you that before" he says "To be fair you where like a little poodle skirt girl who worked for your dad in a vintage car garage, that I also worked at. I was going to end up with a crush on you at some point"

"was the me being bi helping a bit with that?" "Yes! I watched you make out with Jake and then immediately go make out with linsey. that was amazing"

"Did you ever wanna see me  naked?"

"I was seventeen? So.... yes" "The tits?" "Tits where making a very compelling argument at that age" "do they still?"

"Ehh" He shrugs "Kinda, it's less fun because I now know you don't give a shit"

"I really don't, there just breasts, I have boobs, you have boobs."

"You've very much okay with it"

"My logic is, you can lift your shirt up show your boobs and nips, I do It I get arrested and that's fucking mental"

"It is" he says "I would not complain about you taking your shirt off" "The face" she smiled rubbing his chin "shut it"

"Didn't you make out with my girlfriend at that point?"

"I did, your eighteenth birthday party"

"That was werid.... But very arousing" "What me and your then girlfriend making out in front of you?"

"Yeah, pretty sure I'd had a sex dream about that" He says sipping his tea

"Then or yesterday?" "Both" "Hey issy, how you doing, wanna come over and make out in front of thomas again" she waves

"We don't even date anymore"

"Still, just have like a party of all your old girlfreinds"

"Ohh god!"

"and I'll snog all of them"

"Even Gzi?"

"Especially Gzi, she's fucking hot"

"Yeah..."

"You fucked up"

"That I did" "I'm very off topic, anyway! The product that was on constantly like every other ad break, I will point out it was... On the verge of an infomercial, like if it had been a minuet longer it would be an infomercial not an ad" she explained

".... I remember two of them" "The one you where never allowed to have"

"........... Jelli bath!" He gasped

"Hold up! say that again"

"Jelli bath"

".... Thomas brodie Sangster you are from fucking south London don't you dare said bath in that way"

"what? it's what the product is called"

"The product?"

"Is Jelli BAth

"But on Sundays you have a ?"

"Bubble Bath"

"Thank you" she smiled "what was the other ad you remember?"

"The weird moulding gunk"

"Ohh yeah, what was that called?"

"No idea, I do not remember I just remember the kid in the ad putting the orange goo on the dinosaur skeleton and making it into a big dinosaur" he explained

"Yeah I remember that, But Jelli bath? you remember this?"

"I do"

"good"

"We are going to go bathe in it" he asks sipping his tea

"Yep"

".... are we bathing together?" He asks

"Yep"

"On camera?"

"Yep"

"We're gonna be naked?"

"Do you wanna be naked?"

".... Well of course I wanna be naked sweetie darling"

"Thomas! stop fueling the fire!"

"I'm sorry, are we gonna be naked in this stuff though?"

"No, we will have swimsuits on, becuase.... internet" she says "we as always will do a version where we are naked that will be on my porn hub channel as usual" " as usual? when have you filmed us naked?"

"When aren't I filming you naked?"

"that video's not on there is it?" he whispered

"what video?"

"Are you filming?"

"Uhh, No I pasued" she says touching the remote for her camera but it still filmed "what video?"

"THE Video"

"What video?"

"........ The Video" He says "You know the one I mean y/n"

"No I don't be more specific?"

"The sexy video we did the other month?"

"The sex toy one?"

"No"

"The linqure one?"

"No, you know the one I mean, sugar"

"we make a lot of sexy videos"

"The... one in my bedroom" he whispered

"Oh no, thats' saved on my hard drive"

"Ahhh good," he says

"Ohh I didn't pause the camera, it's fine sally will cut it" she says  "Lets go make the bath up"

"Ooooohh.... bath time together"

"Oh shut up thomas"

"wait who's bathroom are we using?"

"yours"

"Oh no" he says "should I have cleaned it?"

"when did you clean it last?" she asks he simply sips his tea sheepishly "Thomas?"

It then cut to the bathroom with the bath already run the two in swimwear

"why did I agree to this?" He sighs

"Because I'm not ordering Pizza unless you do" "I'm an adult. I can buy my own Pizza"

"But do you wanna ring the man to order it?"

"..... Lets do this" He sighed

"throw in this bag of stuff" she says "Then wait for goo"

"Who's going in first" "You"

"why me?"

"You're bathroom"

"You're Idea"

"You're more naked then I am"

"You're video" "Get in the tub Thomas"

"You get in the tub"

"Fine! How clean is this bathtub?" she asks going to climb in

"Uuuuuuuuuhhhhh...."

"A day?"

"Uhhhh"

"A week?"

"Uuhhh"

"Have you jizzed in this tub recently enough It will be an issue for me Thomas!"

".... Maybe" he says "How long does it live?"

"Four days"

"No your good"

"are you sure?"

"Yes I'm sure,"

"Okay" she says climbing in

"Just don't touch the bottle on the side" he says from off camera

"whoa whoa whoa what why!" she yelped

"No reason"

"No fucking tell me why can't I touch the bottle" "You'll be fine"

"Thomas.... answer the question"

".... just don't mess with it"

"Okay, Okay... I'm really freaked out now" she says as she sat in the water

"If you are that worried about getting into my bath because I might have done something, then why do you let me have sex with you?"

"Ughhh thomas!" she gasps

"You literally let me cum inside you like twenty minuets ago"

"Stop fuelling the shipping fire" she yelled throwing water at him "Shut the fuck up and get in the tub"

he sighed and climbed in the bath the other side of her "Hi"

"Hi"

"we're having a bath together" "yes we are" "This is a weird Thursday"

"It is... is this what you thought you would be doing when you woke up this morning thomas?"

".... No. But I've known you long enough to know better then to expect Normal days"

"Right lets throw in some goo" she says opening the packet and letting the powder drop into the bath

"Ooooh it's already getting thick"

"The water or your dick Thomas?"

".... both"

"Blue Gooo! It's called Blasting Bloo"

"I remember it being called bloo lagoon or something once"

"I think it was, but they must have changed it to be more friendly" "I think Blasting bloo is way more suggestive"

"that's just because we are sat in a bath together Thomas"

"Maybe"

"Ohhh I don't like this, It feels weird, I don't like want it on my butt and such"

"Nnnnnoooooooo" He complained as he felt the goo the water had now turned into "I hate this, I don't wanna be in this"

"I also don't like this but you know the deal"

"what deal!"

"We stay in this for ten minuets"

"or what?" "Or I'm filming sexy Halloween costumes with you"

"I will sit" he sighed bundling himself in the corner  "do you wanna get out and go eat ice cream?"

"Yes, this shits gross"

[missperfectlyfine13]

A Bandaid For Your Bullet Hole - (Chp. 2/?)

Read Below or on AO3/FF

TW: Mentions of overdose

August 2009

“Mom, I’ve got all my stuff in the ca….” Chloe’s sentence is swallowed back up into the atmosphere when she walks back into the living room, “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Chloe’s mom is sitting in the middle of the sofa, her arms wrapped tightly around a scruffy looking man in a mechanics uniform. There’s a few half empty bottles of booze on the coffee table and a lit joint between her mother’s fingers. She laughs airily at some dumb remark the stranger practically underneath her makes. She’s as high as a kite and probably drunk to boot.

“Chloe!” her mom’s eyes light up at the sight of her only daughter, “come have a drink baby.”

The only good thing about her mom getting high instead of drunk is that she is much happier. Her mom is an angry drunk, she turns into someone that Chloe scarcely recognizes. At least when she’s high she somewhat resembles someone Chloe used to know.

“What happened to taking me to college today?” she snaps, completely ignoring her mother’s request.

“That was today?” she asks dumbly, bringing her glass tumbler to her lips, taking a long sip of dark amber liquid.

Chloe groans frustratedly, “We’ve been talking about it for weeks.”

“Calm down princess, we can still do it,” she’s got to be kidding, she’s not going to let her mom drive anywhere like this.

Chloe shakes her head vigorously, “No. It’s fine, I’ll just stuff everything into my car and do it myself. You clearly have more important things to do.”

Her words must permeated through her mom’s hazy brain because she’s jumping up from the sofa, some of her drink sloshing out of her glass and onto the cream colored carpet, “No, Chloe let me do this. I want to do this.”

“I’m not taking you anywhere like this,” Chloe motions up and down her mother’s body, “you would just be an embarrassment.”

Her expression almost looks hurt before it turns bitter, “If that’s how you feel about me, then fine do it all on your own. See if I care.”

Chloe turns around without another word. She mindlessly shoves all her belongings into her little chevy impala, barely getting in everything she needs. She doesn’t even bother to go inside to say goodbye before driving down the road. It’s time for a new beginning, a new life, one she doesn’t have to hate. She has a good feeling about Barden, hopefully her gut is right.

************

December 2012

The winter air is crisp, sending a shiver down Chloe’s spine as her and Beca walk towards her dorm. They just left Bellas rehearsal and the air almost feels good after all the exercise.

“So, what are you doing for winter break?” Beca breaks the comfortable silence, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her coat.

Chloe shrugs, “I’ll probably stay on campus, I might go visit my brother, if he’s going to be around.”

Beca looks at her dumbly for a moment before composing herself again, “You aren’t going home for Christmas?”

Her and Beca have gotten really close this semester, Chloe might even dare to say she’s her best friend…if she didn’t have a heart stopping crush on the younger girl that is. Even so, she’s not sure if she wants to unpack her reasoning for never going home yet.

“Nope,” she answers the question simply, hoping Beca will just take the answer and let the topic drop.

She knew she wasn’t going to be that lucky, because Beca doesn’t care about anyone…anyone but her it seems. Chloe is the only person Beca goes the extra mile for, at least from Chloe’s point of view, that’s how it seems.

“Why?” the question barely surprises her as it come out of Beca’s mouth, her breath leaving a puff of white in the air.

“It’s a long story,” Chloe tries her best to deflect, but she knows Beca won’t give it up.

Maybe opening up to someone else would feel good. Maybe to weight of her problems would feel a little lighter.

“I’ve got time, we can go get coffee?” Beca looks at her hopefully, “My treat?”

“I thought you were having a movie night with Jesse,” Beca had been talking about it all week, the excitement of a new relationship and all.

That’s another thing that has been making Chloe feel even worse than she does at this time of the year. She had a bad feeling Beca would end up with him…she had a bad feeling she was straight. Chloe loves their friendship, but it just makes everything that much more painful.

“You were literally coming to my dorm to hang anyways, that’s not until later,” Beca laughs.

Chloe’s cheeks burn red, “Oh yea, sorry, blonde moment I guess?”

“You’re not even blonde, you don’t get to use that one.”

Chloe gives Beca a playful shove, “Shut up.”

After another five minutes of walking, they finally end up at the coffee shop. Before Chloe knows it, there’s a steaming hot cup in her hands and Beca looking across the table at her expectantly.

“So now, why don’t you go home for Christmas?” Beca parrots the question from earlier, making Chloe squirm uncomfortably in her seat.

“So, I guess it all really started when my dad died,” Chloe twirls the paper cup in her hands, attempting to channel her nerves into something else.

Beca nods, encouraging her on.

“My mom kind of self-imploded after his death…it started with drinking. It just spiraled from there, drugs, lots of sex with random men. It made all four years of high school miserable for me,” Chloe can feel tears threating to spill, she never talks about this, “after my first Christmas back home in college I vowed to never go back until she got her shit together.”

A hand reaches across the table to settle over her own. Chloe looks up into Beca’s eyes, which are sad and empathetic. It makes her feel comfortable, grounded, Beca’s hand against her own. Her fingers twitch underneath the touch, she never wants to break the contact.

“I’m so sorry Chloe,” Beca says softly, “that must be really hard…so I take it she’s still pretty bad?”

Chloe nods slowly, “Uh yea, I’ve tried to get her to go to rehab but she won’t listen, I’m worried she never will.”

“I know this is nothing compared to what you dealt with,” Beca looks vulnerable as she speaks, “but high school was really rough for me too. My parents got a divorce and my dad married my now step monster. I felt so betrayed, I felt like nothing would ever be right again. I felt like my dad was giving up on me.”

“I’m glad you shared that,” Chloe turns her hand so it’s holding Beca’s instead of lying limply below hers, “I’m glad I’m not the only one with a shitty story.”

“I mean you definitely win if we’re comparing, but yea, it was nothing to write home about,” Beca smirks.

Beca finally pulls her hand away and Chloe instantly misses her touch. She quickly moves her hand back to her cup, lifting it to her mouth, not wanting Beca to know how much the little contact affected her.

“Do you want to come home with me for Christmas?” Beca asks after a few moments of silence.

The question practically makes Chloe choke on her latte, “I couldn’t do that Bec. Your family doesn’t even know me.”

“They know of you,” Beca replies nonchalantly, “plus they would love you.”

“So, you’ve talked about me to your family?” Chloe quirks an eyebrow.

It’s Beca’s turn for her cheeks to fade into a light shade of red, “They were asking if I made any friends…so I told them about you.”

“Don’t be embarrassed Beca, I love that you’ve told them about me. If I talked to my mom, she would know about you, because you’re one of the best things about this semester,” Chloe says honestly, hoping the blunt truth doesn’t weird the other girl out.

A smile the size of Texas spreads across Beca’s face. She doesn’t seem sure how to respond, but Chloe knows she probably feels similarly if her expression is to judge.

“Shouldn’t you be asking Jesse to go home with you for Christmas instead of me?” Chloe suddenly remembers Beca’s boyfriend.

Beca shakes her head no, “He has his own family to go home to, plus I’ve only been dating him for a month. I’d much rather have you come with me…especially because I want to save you from having to be here for three weeks.”

“I’ll think about it,” Chloe finally answers Beca’s offer.

She’s going to have to think hard about it, the last time she went home with someone for Christmas…well let’s just say it’s not a fond memory. It was an almost eerily similar situation. She had known Aubrey for one semester and after the blonde found out about her mom, she had invited her home for Christmas. She also needs to remind herself that it was a very different situation all together.

************

December 2009

There’s no hiding the fact that Chloe is scared to go home for Christmas. She’s scared about what she’s going to find. It’s the first time her mom has been alone for that long. Chloe watched out for her more than a teenage daughter should.

She also left on bad terms in the fall.

She could walk into anything really, which is terrifying. Which is why the whole drive back to South Carolina, Chloe is practically shaking with nerves. She probably shouldn’t have loaded up on coffee like she did, the caffeine isn’t helping. Aubrey has called her on and off, offering her support…and the reminder that she can go to Aubrey’s house if it’s too bad. Chloe was determined to make this work though; she didn’t want to run away on her mom completely. Chloe is not a quitter.

About an hour later she finally pulls into the driveway of her mom’s house, the windows are dark even thought the sun set hours ago. That’s already not a good sign. Chloe puts the car into park and takes a deep shaky breath. She gets out of the car after a few moments of composing herself.

She slings her bag over her shoulder and walks up the path to the front door, her hand shakes as she lifts the key to the lock. Chloe pushes the door open slowly, she can hear the TV blaring some infomercial for air tight containers. It’s the only light illuminating the living room. As Choe steps further in the door, she can see her mom’s identical mop of red hair flowing over the arm of the sofa, her hand hanging limply down onto the floor. She can’t make out much else with how dark the room is, the blue-ish light of the TV making everything look a little eerie.

An ice-cold feeling courses through her, her heart rate picking up. Something isn’t right, she can just feel it. Chloe throws her bag down onto the floor and rushes over to the sofa. It barely looks like her chest is moving up and down, her lips look a little blue. Out of the corner of her eye she sees a baggy of pills on the coffee table. Shit. This can’t be happening.

“Mom,” Chloe says firmly, “Mom!”

Nothing.

Chloe kneels down next to her and shakes her vigorously, “MOM.”

Her hands shake as she pulls her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. Her fingers can barely hold still as she dials 911.

The operator is calm and comforting. She walks Chloe through checking to see if her mom’s heart is still beating. She feels like she’s floating through some nightmare as she rips her mom’s shirt open and starts chest compressions. She has no clue how long she hammers into her mom’s chest before the door busts open and the paramedics are pushing her out of the way. Her vision blurs as she finally lets herself cry.

She’s not quite sure how she gets to the hospital. The world finally comes back into focus when a nurse carefully approaches her and asks if there’s anyone that she can call for her.

“Um, my best friend, Aubrey,” her voice sounds foreign to her.

************

When Chloe’s mom finally is stable and back at home, Chloe leaves to go back home with Aubrey. Before she leaves, it isn’t pretty, her and her mom scream and fight, but there is no way she’s ever going to come back home to that again. Chloe gives her a final ultimatum: Go and get some help or I’m done here.

Christmas is miserable, even though Aubrey’s family is warm, inviting and sympathetic. They make her feel like she’s family. Even so, Chloe has never felt more alone. She feels like she has nowhere to go. She has no one to bake her cookies to take back to her dorm or give her a hug that feels like home when she needs it or give her boy (or girl?) advice. She’s all alone and it’s something she’s going to have to get used to.

************

December 2012

“I’ll go home with you,” Chloe offhandedly mentions to Beca as they sit on the bed in Chloe’s room at the Bella house.

Beca’s eyes light up and the chips she was munching on practically fall out of her mouth, “Really?”

Chloe nods, after thinking about it, the idea of having people to spend Christmas with would be really nice. It’s something she hasn’t experienced since Christmas her freshman year.

“I would love to,” Chloe smiles happily at the younger girl next to her.

“That’s awesome!” Beca exclaims, “Oh shit, I’ve got to book the flight like now then.”

“You haven’t done that already?” Chloe looks at her quizzically.

Beca shrugs, “I was waiting to see if you would want to come first.”

“You could have missed out on getting tickets Bec, you shouldn’t have.”

“I know, it’s ok though, I wanted to,” Beca looks down at her phone, which has flight listings to Seattle already displayed, “get your snow boots ready Beale, it’s been chilly out there this year.”

“You know, I’ve only seen snow a couple times in my whole life,” Chloe already feels excited thinking about seeing the fluffy, white precipitation.

Beca’s eyes bug out, “Dude, we are so going sledding.”

For the first time in years, Chloe is starting to feel excited about this time of year. This might be the best Christmas she’s had in a long time…

#bechloe fanfic #pp fanfic #bechloe #my stuff