#he falls asleep on the couch at the function and the kids are like drawing on him and painting his nails in his sleep

[harumscarumcos]

I think a lot about this panel of Gerry Drew calling Kaine “Candy Cane”

#I just feel like all the spider-offspring like kaine and he is not sure why #just ends up with a bunch of kids crawling over and under him #he falls asleep on the couch at the function and the kids are like drawing on him and painting his nails in his sleep #kaine parker #kaine #gerry drew #Jessica drew #spider-force

[georgiapeach30513]

Keys in Your Ignition, Part 15

Summary:  it’s time to talk to Steve

Pairings:  Hayden X Reader, Steve X Reader

Rating:  mild

Warnings:  mentions of a miscarriage, Doll’s upbringing, language, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  2.3K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*Dividers created by @firefly-graphics​

The ride with Hayden to Steve’s was mostly silent. Thankfully, Hayden allowed that silence. His hand constantly holds onto yours, while he draws shapes on it with his thumb. He didn’t ask to know the details of yours and Steve’s relationship, just wanted to make sure you were comfortable.

You had run every scenario in your head about what you needed to say, or how you were going to react. You were mad at Steve, it was a hurt that lingered deep inside of you. A hurt that was also keeping you from your future niece or nephew. That, you couldn’t have happen.  You wanted today to be a day of amends, and the starting point of healing.

“So,” Hayden draws out, and you finally look at him with a pained smile. “You seemed really interested in her pregnancy.”

“It’s beautiful,” shrugging as you look out the windshield. Howard told you, to let your feelings be known. Don’t waste time on men who may not have your idea of life. Everyone gets to carve out their life. “I can’t wait to have kids. With the right person. What about you?”

“Yeah, mom always told me I would be the first of her kids to have babies. Even at family functions if there was a baby, I wanted to hold it.  If kids were around, I was always playing with them,” you can’t help but to smile up at him. He was new, but at least this was something you didn’t have to worry about. “I want to give them grandkids. She loved having Steve and Tulip there. You could tell she wanted to touch her belly, but she was scared.”

“I would have grabbed her hands and put them on my belly. She wouldn’t have to worry.”

“Um,” Hayden clears his throat, looking a little nervous. You adjust yourself in the seat, so you can fully look at him. “Should things get intense, I have a guest room. I mean, I know that things between you and him aren’t the best, I could see it. It’s just if you need an out or a break. There’s the couch, too, or my…”

“I’ll sleep in your bed if you’re sleeping on the couch,” you giggle at him. Knowing he’s mostly playing, but there was also that underlying hope that you would want him in that capacity.

“Fair enough. In all seriousness, I hope this goes the way you want it to. Because, I would like to order some pizza and watch a movie just me and you.”

“You’re just hoping I fall asleep in your arms, aren’t you?”

“And the ability to kiss you without interruption. Kissing is nice,” responding with giving him a sweet kiss to his cheek, you smile at him. Everything with Hayden was comfortable. Like you had known him for years. Reminding you just enough of Curtis, but also completely different.

“Does your brother know I’m going to be knocking on his door with roses and taking you out on a date?”

“I don’t think my brother knows a lot of things concerning me,” his hand gives you a tight little squeeze, and you relax with his reassuring touch. “I think he was too inside his own head. I want to understand him. We grew up together, but were raised completely different. He had attention, and I sought it out. He had a pathway of leadership, and I had the submissive housewife. I was taught to give everything that the man wanted. My worth came from who I was with in the club. And I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you’re fine. I want you to trust me with this. Whatever you want to tell me, I want to be there for you.”

“You’re not analyzing me?” you ask him playfully, and he shakes his head no. Stopping at a stop sign, he leans over to give you a chaste kiss.

“This is how things work. You talk to me, I listen. I talk to you, you listen. There’s no ulterior motives,” you nod your head quickly, pulling him back in for a deeper kiss, whispering out a thank you. He was becoming an extended version of your safe space, and you were welcoming it with open arms.

Steve sits across from you at the table. A tea in front of you, while an ice cold beer sat in front of him. You stare at the beads of condensation on the bottle, unsure of how to start, and he offers nothing in return.

“You left me,” your voice meek, and you finally look up at him, but he can’t meet your eyes. “You left me in that hell.”

“You seemed to like it. I didn’t know.”

“Like it? I thought I didn’t have a choice, and then you left me. You never even realized what I was going through.”

“What? You were fucking my best friend behind my back. You were pregnant. And I never even knew. I could have…you were a kid, but I could have been there for you.”

Licking your lips, you look at the ceiling, shaking your head, “Your best friend that was spending more time with me, and you were too self absorbed to realize it. I wasn’t the problem here, Steve. You were. If you spent half the time on me and Bucky as you did your pussy for the week, you would have seen it unfolding. Curtis did. Ari did, Bruce, everyone but you and dad.”

“Don’t bring up Ari.”

“Why? Because I was fucking him, too. And still you didn’t realize?” your hand slams on the table, and you have to take a drink of your tea. Taking deep slow, calming breaths. “You see a pattern? Bucky and then Ari. Yours and dad’s best friends, and neither of you gave a damn about any of us. Both of you were chasing your own pussy not even realizing they were, too. Except they didn’t have to leave the fucking clubhouse. I wanted you and dad to notice me for more than a fucking barmaid and someone to make sure the bar was profiting. I never so much as got a thank you for that extra work. Not even more money. I didn’t want this life.”

“Just Bucky?”

“I wanted a home. I wanted that baby, hoping that JB would leave the club and be with me. And maybe then when he was gone, you’d notice me. He gave me attention and love I was lacking from home. And…and I don’t even know if I loved him or I loved how he made me feel. Like I created this picture perfect life with me and JB, and you and dad would come and visit us. He’s never going to leave is he?”

“Doubtful, you only know half the shit he’s done. Why him?” Steve’s gaze looks up at you, and you can see the fact that it was Bucky, instead of everyone else bothers him.

“He noticed me,” you whisper. “He always saw me. I know you think it was shitty for it to have been your best friend, but maybe we found each other because of your lack of involvement. I didn’t want to get pregnant then, until it happened. God, she was beautiful. And I couldn’t wait to meet her, and then it’s like we named her and she was stripped out of our life. It took me over four years to talk about that, and it was with complete strangers. I pushed JB away. And dealt with that pain alone. And…never mind. It doesn’t matter. You never saw me. Do you realize what I was being raised as? An old lady. One that lays there and takes whatever her man gives her. It didn’t matter if he was fucking some tramp on a run. I had to smile and bear it. I was twelve when I got those hard lessons. I didn’t ask for that life. Those old ladies did. I want loyalty, love, and honor. I don’t want to have to worry about where my husband is. Or that he can drag me into a room and spank me in front of everyone without realizing if I actually did anything.”

“What?”

“It happened when you left. Bruce accused me of stealing, and Ari was taking it out on my ass. That’s the life I was raised in. Like dad was any better, how many times did you see him backhand my mom because she spoke out of term? Don’t act innocent Steve. You were being raised in the same way. But you couldn’t do it, could you? They would have had you treat Tulip the same way. And when you were horny, but she wasn’t cleared for sex, you’d sleep with some biker bunny, and then go get in the bed with her pretending to be a perfect boyfriend. Deny it. It was toxic. We are like our mothers. I never met Sarah, but there’s a reason she ran away from this life.”

Steve swallows bile, knowing exactly the life both of you were being raised in. Never wanting to admit just how volatile that lifestyle was. How it had stripped away your very being and made you think you deserved everything that was dealt to you.

“The only thing I did wrong was fall for a biker, and think I could change things. I played JB and Ari, and that’s on me. I needed attention, and I knew how easily I could get it. I won’t be going back.”

“I don’t want you to,” he takes a deep breath, and his hand reaches over to lay on top of yours. “You deserve that life you’re wanting.”

“Just like you.”

“I don’t deserve this life. I don’t deserve any of it. You’re right. I am self absorbed, and I knew about you and Bucky. I just didn’t want to admit it because it meant that Bucky was going to be that biker for you. It’s encouraged, you know? Loyalty is for your brotherhood. The only thing we can’t do is sleep with someone else’s old lady. She is to be loyal to us and us alone. I’m sorry.”

A fresh flood of tears fall from your eyes, not realizing how much you had craved those two words from Steve. There was no going back. Nothing could change the life you and Steve were brought into. The only change was happening right now. The two of you breaking that cursed cycle.

“I didn’t know because I didn’t want to see. If I saw what was happening to you, I would have to admit how fucked up the MC is. Doll, I can’t erase the years of turmoil for you. I can’t pretend I was a good brother to you, the only thing I can do is be there for you now. And hope that you want to be in ours and Sailor’s life.”

“Sailor?” you smile at him through your tears. “Who is Sailor?”

“Our daughter.”

“Steven! I can’t with you,” walking over to his side of the table, you give him a big hug. “Sailor what?”

“Sailor Juliette.”

“You know I’m babysitting right?”

“You and that boy from upstairs?” Steve cocks up an eyebrow at you, and you give him a hard shove. “Oh, come on. You two were inseparable at Thanksgiving. You arrived with him, and you said you weren’t staying. I’m just guessing, you’re going upstairs.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Maybe, he can have dinner with us. I like him. He’s smart. He’s not trying to hide his affections for you,” you knock him again but this time it was much softer. “I’m serious. He should have dinner with all of us.”

“It’s not serious.”

“Yet.”

“No, I’ve got some air to clean up with JB,” he whispers your name, grabbing a hold of your hand. “I have to Steve.”

“Do you love him?”

“I don’t know. I know that Hayden is new, but…it’s different with him than it was with JB. And I love JB, but I feel I was using him as an out. Like, out of all the bikers, he felt like the best fit for me. He’s not bad to look at either. But I just know I can’t move forward with Hayden if I’m always wondering about JB, ya know?”

“I think you’ve already come to a conclusion though.”

You smile at him, giving him a quick hug, before heading towards his door, “Hey, where are you going? Tulip hasn’t even got back.”

“I’m going upstairs for a bit. I need to…I don’t want to make an excuse,” giggling because there was only one explanation, “I just want to be around Hayden right now. He’s got this cozy feeling, like wearing a good worn in sweater. And, I like it a lot,” Steve clears his throat, and you laugh at him, “I’m not discussing any of that with you. It’s not your business. I’m enjoying getting to know Hayden, and that is all. I’ll see you later? Oh!” you get excited, because you finally trusted yourself with a phone.

“I got a new number. I just…I want to choose the people I give this number to. But here,” you scribble your number down on the whiteboard on the fridge. “Invite us for supper sometime. I’d love for you to get to know him a bit more.”

You nearly skip up to Hayden’s apartment, giving the door a tiny knock, and he opens the door, pulling you in quickly.  His lips slotting against your own, before peering down at you, “What are we watching today?”

“How about…hmm…The Sandlot?”

“That’s not a sexy movie.”

“I guess that means no kissing for you,” you giggle, pushing him back to the couch. “But lots and lots of cozy snuggles, okay?”

“I can deal with that,” lifting your chin, he gives you the softest kiss, before letting the two of you fall onto the couch. Settling his weight on top of you, resting his head on your belly, while he gets the movie ready. “I’ll let you play with my hair, too, okay?”

“Such a needy little thing.”

“Doll face, please? I might fall asleep on you this time,” you give him a few head scratchies and his body fully melts onto yours with a sigh. You could get used to this. Complete comfort.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist:  @tis-thedamn-season​ @marveloustaylortot​ @pono-pura-vida​ @sstan-hoe​ @peaches1958​ @kaybaby2494 @flannellover67​ @infatuatedjanes​ @redbloodedgurl​ @thedarknessilove​ @whimsyplaty92​ @tryingtosurvivestuff​ @superforgottensoul​  

#keys in your ignition #harvard hottie #harvard hottie x reader #harvard hottie x fem!reader #harvard hottie x y/n #harvard hottie x you #harvard hottie fics #hayden everett #hayden everett x reader #hayden everett x fem!reader #hayden everett x y/n #hayden everett x you #steve rogers #steve rogers x sister!reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you

[ozimagines]

Any thoughts on Chico being a parent?

I have a couple, thanks for asking😂 I love the idea of Chico as a dad, and have played around with it in fanfiction. He loves hard. That’s gotta mean something, right?

Chico Guerra as a Parent would include…

He’s not exactly the classic “fatherly” type

He never really saw himself with kids and a family

Mostly because he never thought he could

(I write Chico with an older brother, Roberto (Bobby), who joined El Norte before him on the outside and when his older brother was killed in a gang war, he just stayed because that’s all he’s ever known. This is important for how I view him)

He’s reckless and wild

But he’s kind to kids, always

Even before he has ones of his own

He was always the “cool cousin” at family functions

There are lines even criminals don’t cross

His stomach turns when he heard about Beecher’s son

He’s up every night for a week wondering how terrified that little boy must have been up until the end

Breaks his heart💔

When he gets a chance for kids, adopted or biological, he surprises everyone at how he is with them

He’s not necessarily a perfect dad, but he’s a loving dad

Supportive

Chico likes to get on his knees to talk to his kids

His friends think it’s “fruity” but the kids really like someone meeting them at their level

He always makes it seem like they’re getting away with something

“Here’s three dollars, don’t tell mom/dad.”

“Can you keep a secret? I always wanted to be an astronaut. Shhhhh…”

*making chocolate chip pancakes* “and now we add extra chocolate and don’t tell anyone about it.”

The kids love it, they feel like he really sees them

He loves kids; they say the weirdest stuff

“You think spinach tastes like horse feet? Ok. Explain.” 😂

Big fan of putting his kids on his shoulders or neck

They always get the best views at all shows and parades

Fuck the people behind him tho

Only the best for his kids

Sees them as an extension of Bobby; giving them the life his brother never had

He is SHIT in the kitchen… but literally anytime his kids are hungry, he’s on his feet asking what they want…

even though he knows fuck all about kid tastes

“Ok… an afterschool snack…” *rifles past the beer and cornflakes* “umm…”

His significant other comes home to find the kitchen a mess but some very happy children eating what Chico calls “sugar seizure bagels”

(Bagels with jelly, marshmallows, chocolate chips, chocolate syrup, and sprinkles)

Likes to toy with his kids

“Ok… we have spicy lobster and squishy peas or… cosmic brownie?”

“BROWNIE!”🥰

“Hmmmm okay, if you’re sure…”😂

Chico’s in charge of the pantry

Comic brownies, devil dogs, roll ups and gushers… looks like a fallout shelter for a five year old millionaire.

Makes breakfast every Sunday; egg bagel sandwiches he personalizes for each kid.

Keeps trying to add stuff to show off for his kids

Doesn’t realize they think it’s perfect with just a little cheese lol

Kids watch cartoons while dad cooks

Dad making comments from the kitchen

“Y’think he’s ever gonna get that mouse?”

“Wish my car worked just sticking my feet out of it…”

“No. You cannot call me papa Smurf. Please.”

Likes it when the kids take naps on his chest afterwards

That’s something he’d miss terribly as they grew up

Until one day after a fight his teenager, seeing him reclining on the couch, just goes and sits next to them, watching tv until they both fall asleep, Chico pulling his kid close.

Chico lets his kids paint his nails but he draws the line at wearing it out.

Though he quite liked the black polish…👀

If you’ve ever watched Liar Liar with “the claw”, Chico has something similar with his kids; the Tickle Police

“Scuse me, ma’am/sir, you know how cute you were going just then? That’s a write up.”🥹

Insists on tucking them in

Will tell stories that may or may not be kid appropriate…

“Then Prince Carlos threw his… drink… at the officer.”

Is INCREDIBLY supportive

Tolerant and Chico Guerra don’t automatically go together… but he wants his kids to have what Bobby didn’t.

“You want to be an engineer? No one’s got a better head than you, kid.”

“A surgeon? I’d go to you if you were my doc. Wouldn’t trust anyone else.”

“You want to be an interpretive dancer… that’s… pretty cool.”😂

No one ever told Chico Guerra that he could do anything

So he wants his kids to know the world is theirs.

When they’re sick, he treats them like royalty

He’ll take off work and stay home with the them, watching movies and refilling their Gatorade.

He never hesitates to cuddle them when they’re sick, often resulting in him getting sick himself.

Chico used to be a huge baby when he got sick

With kids, he wants them to see him as Superman, so he always makes it seem less bad than it is

“Nah kid *blows nose* I’m fine, Daddy’s fine.”

If anyone bullies his kids, he genuinely will not know how to cope

He doesn’t want his kids fighting everyone like he did

But damn does it boil his blood when they get home crying.

He sits with them and talks, listens to what the other kids said or did

“You’re not gonna take this. Next time they fuck with you… *gets look from S/O* *sigh* go tell a grown up.”

He’s trying really hard to be a positive influence

He doesn’t want his kids to had the life he did

When his kids are old enough to learn about gangs in the neighborhood, Chico tries to explain.

“They’re gonna pretend they’re your friends and they’re not. I’m saving twenty years of your life here, kid.”

When some of his old “friends” talk about recruiting his boy, Chico almost breaks parole.

“Let me make this painfully clear…”

Every day he tries to protect his kids from men like him, and it changes his view of life.

If his kids are happy, he decides, then his life won’t have been a waste

And when you ask family friends and onlookers, Chico Guerra has some happy fucking kids.

Bonus: the movie Inside Out made him cry. He watches a lot of movies with his kids but that movie just quirked something inside of him. He loves that fucking movie.

#hbo oz #oz meme #chico guerra

[dabiboy]

As I said yesterday, here's some dad material. Hawks and Dabi, fluff this time👀.

Author's note: I really liked the lyrics of the second song, it fit wells 😅

Hawks:

The clock stroke two am, and the silence of the room was filled with Haru's scream. Was it pain? Was it fear? Was it hungry? You couldn't now, he was just a bit more than one month, so all you could do was guessing. You squirmed a bit, ready to get up and go check on the baby, but a warm hand on your arm stopped you.

"I got this" Hawks said in a raspy and sleepy voice.

"You sure? You worked a lot today"

"And because of it I couldn't be with him that much. If my son needs me, I'll go to him even if I was missing my two legs" you couldn't help but feel your heart warm, but at the same time you let out a lazy laugh.

"Maybe he needs me" you teased.

"Nah, listen, he's clearly saying dad" Hawks laughed "Go back to sleep, honey. You need to rest. I'll let you know if he's hungry"

After leaving a short kiss on your shoulder, Keigo got up and made his way to Haru's room. The little creature in the crib was crying his lungs out, and even though it was worrying Hawks allowed himself to smile, he was still amazed. How could he love someone that much?

He leaned closer the crib so he could hold the kid and look at him. For a second, his crying stopped, and Haru locked eyes with Keigo, doubt, curiosity, but then? The crying started again, making Keigo laugh a bit.

"C'mon, I'm not that ugly, aren't I?" He said.

Once the baby in his arms, he held him against his chest, letting him feel his warm and heartbeats. Keigo started humming softly as he walked around the room, getting closer to the window.

"You have made my life complete, and I love you so," Keigo sang lowly, resting his cheek on the baby's temple. "Love me tender, love me true. All my dreams fullfill. For my darling, I love you" He sang "And I always will"

It seemed it was working, because there was no more crying, instead, some soft like cooing sounds as the baby held onto his father's neck as he looked at the bright lights of the city.

"I'm never letting you go, kid" Keigo whispered, softly caressing his back "I swear I'll try me best to be good at this" low chuckle "But one thing's for sure. You will always have your dad, k'? One day we'll fly together. And I'll be there to catch you if you fall, always. That's a promise"

He smiled, pressing a kiss on Haru's forehead. Keigo kept humming, swinging from side to side slowly. After some minutes, he layed on a small couch next to the crib, holding the baby against his chest. His soft breathing and warm little body seemed to calm Keigo too, and without even knowing his wings were wrapped around the little human securely, together with his arms.

"My precious chicken nugget"

Those were Keigo's last words before falling asleep with his baby on his chest. Wishing that moment was forever.

Dabi:

"I'm busy right now, princess. Can't go" Dabi said simply on the other side of the line.

"Dabi please, I'm travelling in five minutes and no one is available, I can't leave Kaji alone. Less at night. I arrive in them morning, please."

"Shit, fine. I'll try to make it fast"

After hung up, he cursed to himself and finish his work. Just villain things.

Dabi didn't even bother in telling Shigaraki to fuck off before he went back to your apartment, it was just one night, right? He was going to be fine. It was just a kid, not an alien. And it was his kid. A kid that was always excited to see his dad, and actually, that was what scared him.

Once he make it home, he used the spare key to get inside, and in less than five seconds some tiny arms were wrapped around his legs.

"You came!" Kaji said, holding him tenderly, making Dabi stiffed.

"Yeah, I did" He replied simply, and notice the mess he had on the table "watcha' doing?"

"I was drawing, but astronauts are hard to do" Kaji whined and ran back to the table, climbing to the chair to show Dabi his drawing "See?"

"Looks like crap" Dabi said simply "Should try again, maybe improve the proportions" That's all he said before moving to the couch and let himself fall there, covering his face with his forearm. Kaji looked at his drawing, considering his dad's advice, not worying about his attitude because he knew he was... Harsh.

"Wanna draw with me?" Kaji asked, excited again.

"Nah, keep doing your things. Act like I'm not here" Dabi replied, he was not going to sit a draw cute things. No way in hell.

Kaji just hummed back, and kept fixing his drawing. But still, his attention was on Dabi. He wasn't there often, and when he was he was... Boring and distant, but he was like that. The times that he had shown more affection were when Kaji was feeling bad, and now he was being a functional five year old.

After some minutes, he stood up. Making Dabi look with just one eye when he heard the running steps going away, and then coming back. The kid showed up with a blanket covered with stars around his shoulders, catching Dabi's attention. Kaji opened the big windows that led to the balcony, and sat on a couch.

"Mom says I can't be alone out here" Yes, he was persuasive.

"And now you're doing what your mom says?" Dabi asked, lifting an eyebrow "Go to bed, Kaji. Is fucking late" honestly, it was Dabi the one that wanted to sleep.

"But I'm not tired. And I wanna be here! The sky is clear and stars look very pretty" Kaji lifted his eyes to the sky, shinning just like the stars above.

"Shit, fine" Dabi stood up, and walked to the couch Kaji was sitting on "Move your ass"

The kid moved faster than ever, happy because his dad finally agreed to something. Dabi sighed, eyes up to the sky as well. He had always watched the stars, something he liked doing yet no one knew. And apparentely, his son liked that too.

"Wanna play rock, paper, scissors?"

"No"

"What about a guessing game?"

"I sat here already, I'm not playing too, Kaji"

After a moment of silence, Dabi did feel a bit bad. Kaji's mood changed, because he was now much quieter, looking down and not at the stars. Dabi knew his time with him was not going to be much, and now? He was just wasting it. Ah shit.

"You're so boring" Kaji mumbled, playing with his fingers "My classmates... They all do fun things with their dads, I... I can't even tell them about you" He sounded sad, and he was. He didn't even look at him.

"You think I'm boring?" Dabi said, "Am I really, brat?"

Dabi grabbed his body so he could tumble him on the couch, the kid looked scared at the sudden action, but then, Dabi started tickling his stomach, armpits, neck, everywhere "So you do think I'm boring, but look at ya' " Dabi kept tickling him, Kaji's laughing loudly and happier than ever, trying to keep the glasses on his face as he tried to get free from his dad's attack "Laughing like a crazy kid huh"

"Dad stop! You're not boring anymore" He said among bursts of laughter.

"Said that again" Dabi teased, his hands never stopping.

"You're not boring! You're the best dad ever" He said and Dabi stopped at those words, looking at him with sad yet surprised eyes.

"That's better" He went back to his mind, and ruffled Kaji's hair, eyes on the sky again

"Look! A shooting star!" Kaji pointed to the sky, a huge smile on his face "Quick, make a wish dad!"

Was he allowed to wish something? He didn't know, the only thing that he asked was his son not to be like him. Night moved on, and the warm summer breeze calmed down the two blue eyed boys on the balcony, and from one minute to a another Kaji's head was on Dabi's lap, sleeping peacefully. He covered him with the blanket, and left a soft pat on his shoulder before closing his eyes.

He wished things were different.

#bnha dabi #dabi #dabi x reader #bnha+dabi #dabi headcanons #mha dabi #boku no hero academia #dabi imagine #aj here #my hero academia hawks #mha hawks #hawks headcanons #hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x you #boku no hero academia hawks #pro hero hawks #keigo x y/n #keigo takami imagine #bnha keigo #keigo takami #mha takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #Spotify

[team-gabriel]

ask game… light or lament pls? i am nothing if not predictable XD

sorry I’m just seeing this now!

Light or Lament…. Light and Lament

2-4 songs that are probably on their iPod

Light went through a little bit of an “emo phase”. A haunting MySpace account which she’s lost the password to many years ago and a few of the early Fall Out Boy and Panic! at the Disco albums still saved on her iPod are all that remains of that.

Lament was totally a Theater Kid. I can’t explain it, he just simply has the Vibes of someone who knows every line to at least 6 Broadway musicals

the one place they sometimes end up falling asleep – where they’re not supposed to

I feel like their “date nights” probably end with both of them just passing out on the couch together like 5 minutes into whatever movie they decided to watch after arguing about it for the past 30 minutes.

the game they'd destroy everyone else at

You want Sophia and Troy on your team for any game involving trivia. The amount of obscure knowledge for obscure topics that they have between the two of them. Unstoppable. (Unless it’s about sports. Then god help them…)

the emoticon they’d use most often

I feel like Light would use the animal emojis a lot. Like, with no purpose other than the fact she likes using them. She’ll send messages like “hey, do you want to order pizza after work? 🦇” and Troy’s just like “sure……what’s with the bat though?” “Cute 🦇🦇🦇”

Troy sticks mainly to the “classic” text emoticons — :) :( :P stuff like that.

what they act like when they haven’t had enough sleep

Light can function surprisingly well with very little sleep. You can hardly tell she’s sleep deprived until she falls asleep in the shower.

Lament can also go for a while on barely any sleep, but he does get kinda grumpy after a while.

their preferred hot beverage on really cold nights. or mornings. or whenever.

Sophia likes tea. Probably has a lot of different floral and herbal teas. Despite not being able to cook pasta without overcooking it to mush, she can somehow perfectly brew tea every single time.

Lament just seems like the type of guy to drink black coffee.

how they like to comfort/care for themselves when they’re in a slump

Once again, only one answer for this since they are each other’s source of comfort, and they’re both very in-tune with what works best for the other. Lament knows that Sophia mainly just wants someone to listen and talk to her when she’s upset. Troy on the other hand just wants to curl up into a ball and cuddle, and Light will happily be the big-spoon.

what they wanted to be when they grew up

Light was always one of those Weird Little Girls (/affectionate). She loved bugs, and fish, and frogs and her parents probably stopped trying to buy her nice dress-clothes because she’d always get them filthy with mud. She basically lived off of nature documentaries and National Geographic magazines. She wanted to be a marine biologist.

Lament definitely went through a phase where he wanted some “glamorous” job — like an actor, or a musician, or a renowned chef.

their favorite kind of weather

Light enjoys those “gloomy” fall days. Halloween is her favorite holiday.

Lament loves spring, when leaves finally start coming back on the trees.

thoughts on their singing voice

Sophia is an alright singer — she can’t sing very high, though.

Going back to that “Theater-Kid Troy Lament” thing, he’s an amazing singer. Always got the leads in musicals back in high school.

how/what they like to draw or doodle

Light draws a lot of diagrams of different bugs and animals. She’s very good at drawing realistically and from memory.

Lament just kinda doodles randomly. No purpose to it. Just absentmindedly scribbling when he’s bored.

#bandtrees #HC ask game #sarah answers stuff #agent lament #dr sophia light #light/lament

[mizunetzu]

hey mark uhhh suck my dick that’s the request

no HAHAHA but I’m sure Iida will do it innnn *drum roll*

——————

Iida x reader - Iida Tenya’s Imaginary Boyfriend (pt.2)

⚠️warnings - none

Pronouns - male, he/him

Part one can be found here! 

The true ending can be found here! (Pt.3)

——————

“Alright,” Kaitekina flipped open her sketchbook, setting it back down on the easel. “Who’s going to describe something to me?”

Everyone gestured at Iida.

“I apologize once more,” Iida scrunched up his fists in his lap. “I do not wish to-“

“C’mon, Iida!” Uraraka grasped onto the sleeve of Iida’s school blazer. “You’ve been sulking for a month about this ‘(L/n)-kun’ guy! You need some sort of comfort! Or better yet-closure!”

“I am completely fine! In fact, I see him every night, and that is enough for me! Now, I do not wish to be here, and I have nothing to describe!”

Everyone fell silent. Uraraka voice was barely above a whisper. “Every night..?”

Iida sat back down, bowing slightly in apology for yelling. He said nothing. Todoroki looked down, before looking at Iida.

“If you do this one thing, we’ll let you go and we’ll never speak about it again. Just this once and we’ll leave it at that.”

Iida thought for a moment. He absentmindedly picked at the metal frame of his watch with his thumb and forefinger. Just this once couldn’t hurt. How accurate can a drawing be?

“Fine.” Iida visibly relaxed. “Just this once.”

———

“So, are you describing a boy or a girl today?”

Kaitekina’s voice was smooth like butter. Her eyes, once a chocolate brown, delved pink, bright and demanding. It was probably a side effect to her quirk activating.

Iida’s lips turned up into the faintest of smiles. A sheepish one. “I’m describing my boyfriend...”

Uraraka and Midoryia choked back a shocked gasp, while Todoroki simply raised his eyebrows. Nonetheless, they gawked at Iida like he was crazy.

Kaitekina cooed. “D’aww...how long have you two been dating?”

“Almost 5 months now.” Iida seemed more calm than before. You could almost say he was happy finally talking about his baggage. He rubbed his thumb across the glass of his watch discreetly. Kaitekina looked away from her sketch to eye the dull red watch contained under Iida’s blazer.

“What’s that red thing you keep touching under your jacket? Is that a watch?”

Iida sat quiet for a moment, before pulling up his sleeve and raising his arm. There revealed a dirty, cheap red watch, cloudy but functional. He tugged at the strap, watching as it unraveled and tumbled down onto his lap.

“It was something my boyfriend wore everyday. He wore it everyday since the start of the school year. He said he’d always cherish it, so I’m...cherishing it for him.”

“This isn’t the original one he owned though, that one...disappeared. I bought this one to keep with me where ever I go.”

The woman hummed, taking note of something on a sticky note stuck to the edge of her easel. It was most likely details to add or emphasize in the portrait.

“Can you tell me like-the shape of his face?”

“Angelic.”

Iida didn’t say anything else after that. Kaitekina waited for him to go on.

“Oh-forgive me. Round face, and his hair was a (h/c)-ish shade. It was always kept rather short/long.”

“You keep saying ‘was’. Is he no longer with us?”

Iida narrowed his eyes. Uraraka, Midoryia, and Todoroki eagerly awaited his answer, not-so-subtly staring him down. “It’s...it’s difficult to explain. But in simpler terms, he isn’t here with me anymore. Or he never was. I cannot seem to tell anymore.”

Those last parts came out as a whisper. More like he was saying it to himself, rather than to the sketch artist infront of him.

“I’m...sorry.” Kaitekina stopped drawing for a second to offer her condolences. Iida shrugged.

“...I am too.”

“Um-can you describe his eyes for me?”

“It was a bright (e/c)-color.” Iida limply held up his arm, before letting it drop back down on his lap. “They were always kind of squinted, like he was always so carefree. It was one of the things I never understood about him. Beautiful, (e/c) eyes that would stare up at me like I was the world.”

She made a noise of acknowledgement, grabbing (h/c) and (e/c) pastels scattered across her desk. Scribbling down details with her hazey glowing eyes scanning the paper, she looked up again at Iida. “What about his smile-what did it look like when he was smiling?”

“I believe it was his default expression. His lips were on the thinner/thicker side, though he kept telling me he wanted them to be a bit thicker/thinner. And-they were always chapped. I always told him to put on chapstick.” Iida chuckled.

“If you had to choose one thing-and I know it’s hard, but what would you say you miss the most about him?”

Iida fell silent. He stared down at his fingers, halting temporarily. He opened his mouth numerous times to speak, but each time, no words came out.

“His ability to make me smile.”

He said nothing else. Kaitekina inhaled to speak, but let her mouth fall closed, focusing on her drawing once more.

“Can you tell me about him while I finish up?”

Iida nodded. Midoryia, Todoroki, and Uraraka turned towards him, waiting patiently. This was what they were waiting for.

Iida pushed his glasses up with his forefinger. “His name was (L/n)-kun. He went to our school, and actually sat next to me in class-but apparently no one...seemed to remember him. It’s like he disappeared. That, or my delusions delved to the point where I hallucinated a whole five-month relationship with a boy I see every night in my dreams. It’s made me look forward to going to bed. It’s the only thing I want to do these days.”

Iida thought for a moment, before continuing. “He was good friends with these 3 next to me. But they don’t seem to remember him either.”

“It’s alright, though. I’ve grown used to it. I’ll see him again tonight and I can live on with these memories alone.”

A heavy silence filled the small studio. Midoryia contemplated setting a hand on Iidas shoulder, but as he was about to, Kaitekina clasped her hands together.

“So, I believe I’m done. I hope I was able to capture at least a small part of this person you had such an amazing relationship with.” She picked up her sketchbook, walking around her desk towards the 4 kids seated on the couch. “Are you ready to see it?”

Part of Iida didn’t want to look at it. All of his logical beliefs told him people were giving this woman and her quirk too much credit. Besides, how could she possibly know what mountain of complexity (Y/n) held, and capture it into an unworthy piece of fine-tooth paper?

He nodded anyways. She flipped her book around, holding up the displayed page in the sunlight streaming through the window.

“This is what you described to me.”

There stood a charcoal sketch of a beautiful boy, smiling so gently and earnestly. His hand was resting again set his neck and shoulder, a dull red watch strapped tightly to his wrist. There were features Iida swore he never mentioned, like the crease near his left eye, or the dimple that lay just under his cheekbone.

What captured his attention most, was his eyes. It was only pastel, but it shone and demanded attention, even if his eyes were in his usual half-lidded stance. Bright, (e/c), gemstone eyes that Iida fell in love with. Honestly, he could gaze at this picture forever.

This was him. This was his (Y/n).

Uraraka gasped. “Ahhhh! Wow! It looks really good! Ne, is this accura...Iida? You alright..?” Midoryia and Todoroki tore their eyes off the illustration to check out what Uraraka was talking about.

Iida was staring, eyes slightly wide, at the drawing. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it; he didn’t want to. The drawing was more accurate than he’d like to admit. It was as if he was staring at (Y/n) himself.

He didn’t know tears were steaming down his face, until he felt small drops of water pelt down onto his lap. He removed his glasses shakily and wiped his eyes, doing his best not to take his eyes off the sketchbook.

“It’s-“ Iida’s voice cracked along with the seam of his heart. “It’s very accurate, you should be proud of the business you own, Miss.”

———

The stagnant air followed the UA students out of the building. Iida was stiffly walking straight ahead, doing his best not to look at the paper of (Y/n) folded in his pocket.

“Ne, Iida,” Iida hadn’t realized he was walking so far ahead until Uraraka had to jog up to him, followed by Midoryia and Todoroki. He hummed in acknowledgment.

“Do you feel better?”

There were two answers to this question. Yes and slowly but surely, yes. He was feeling better in the sense that he no longer had the urge to cry into his bedsheets, holding the piece of sketchbook paper firmly to his chest. He lost his dignity, and he found it again.

He was also feeling better in the sense that he finally got some sort of closure. Maybe this person isn’t real. And it’s ok. He has some sort of proof of his imaginary ‘friend’ that he can gaze at forever, instead of pitifully checking his wristwatch every 5 minutes, wishing it would go faster just so he wouldn’t accidentally forget how his face looked like.

It wasn’t healthy living day by day, waiting to fall asleep just so he could feel something again. A self imagined kiss on the cheek or just plain rest. He was willing to move on from that. It was time to start the ‘healing’ process. The drip finally stopped.

And he knew that if he got tired, if he was sad, or just needing some assistance, (Y/n) would be there waiting for him with open arms, welcoming him into his imaginary world again.

Though, he wasn’t sure if he really needed that right now.

He loosened the cheap red watch from his wrist, his head suddenly feeling empty and light.

“I’m feeling better. Thank you.”

——————

This is how this story really ends. Though, even I didn’t like it HAHAHA so I made a “true ending”. A sweeter ending without the bitter if u must LMAOO

#iida x male reader #mha iida #bnha iida #tenya Iida #Iida x reader #Iida imagine #tenya imagine #boku no hero academia tenya #bnha tenya #bnha fic #bnha x male reader #boku no hero academia #mha x male reader #mha fic #mha fanfiction #iida x y/n #iida x you #tenya iida x reader #tenya iida x y/n #Iida tenya x y/n #iida tenya x reader #Iida tenya x you

[angst-fairygodmother]

Tinsel: All Aglow (A Light Fingers Christmas Special 2/2)

Read Chapter 1 here: First Christmas A/N: We go from happy Christmas fluff to angsty sort of plot relevant stuff. But still kind of soft? Word Count: 2314 Content Warnings: discussion of childhood poverty, social workers, implied/referenced child abuse and neglect (past), references to drugs Cross-posted to AO3: here

“Hey, Y/N,” Klaus asked after the others had left, having stuck around to help with clean up the party and have the chance to get to know you better. “You look really familiar. Have we met before?”

“What?” you asked, frowning in confusion, at the same time Diego did with a seemingly affronted tone, one you knew was a cover for his insecurity at being reminded of your colorful acquaintances.

“Yeah. Yeah, I definitely do. I’d recognize that adorable face anywhere. It’s the eyes I think…I just can’t figure out where from…”

You grimaced. You could think of a lot of places a junkie might know you from: pawn shops, back alleys, sketchy clubs, your fence’s house, to name just a few. Luckily Eudora was long gone, so reference to your illegal activities wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if it came up, but honestly you didn’t want to be reminded of them tonight of all nights, not after the evening had gone so well up until now. 

“The mausoleum!” he suddenly shouted with a snap of his fingers.

“What?” Diego asked with real confusion now. 

Klaus turned excitedly to Diego. “Remember, I swore you and Ben to secrecy because Dad would have been so pissed? The girl, the one that glowed and kept me company when Dad locked me up, and helped hold the ghosts at bay?”

“I always thought you were making that up. Or that it was a friendly ghost that made the others back off somehow. I never…You’re telling me it was Y/N?”

He turned back to you for confirmation. You studied Klaus, the pinch of your eyebrows as you concentrated creating that cute little furrow that was of Diego’s favorite quirks of yours. 

“Oh!” you cried suddenly, remembering. 

You had snuck into one of the creepy old buildings in the graveyard near your family’s home to hide from the woman discussing “removal.” You were just making yourself comfortable in one of the cubbies, meant for coffins and just tall enough to sit in, when the doors were thrown wide and a boy about your age had stumbled in. 

“Three hours,” a voice which later haunted your nightmares had barked. “Maybe by then you will have learned that death is to be controlled, not feared.”

The boy was crying. You felt terrible. So you made yourself glow, though it was hard without much to draw from, and poked your head out of your hiding spot. He screamed and started crying more. It took quite a bit to calm him down and explain that you weren’t a ghost or a monster, and then he’d explained that he could see ghosts but they terrified him and his father was unhappy with him because of it. 

“Your dad is a bully, and when he comes back, I’ll kick him,” you offered your new friend. 

While he hadn’t accepted that offer, he had the one to come back again in case he was ever thrown in there again, and to shed a little light while he was there (even though it made you feel sleepy and sick to keep it up for so long. It wasn’t like your new friend needed to know that, and he needed your power more than enough to make it worthwhile). 

It was no surprise, really, that you hadn’t recognized Klaus. He looked extremely different from his childhood self. It wasn’t a bad look by any means, but it certainly wasn’t the round-cheeked, freckle-faced and crying boy you had known. And it had been so long ago, a friendship that had ended when you were about seven, after one incident where you'd nearly been caught and he had been more scared of what his father might do to you than he was of the dark and the ghosts. He had insisted that he never wanted to see you again, and not knowing yet how to fight for the things that mattered, you had let him push you away.  

“Huh,” you finally said, acknowledging the accusation. “Small world.”

“You knew Klaus? Why didn’t you say anything?” Diego asked, unable to keep the hurt from his voice. 

“To be honest, I didn’t realize...I sort of forgot,” you said, hoping to brush the whole thing aside. “I try not to think about...roughly ages four to nine. It wasn’t a good time to be me.”

Diego raised an eyebrow and you knew he wouldn’t let it go, so you sighed.

“Look. It was after Dad died. Mom wasn’t doing well emotionally, and money was tight. Apparently when your kids constantly show up to school with no breakfast in them and no lunch, and their jeans are held together with strips of duct tape because a roll of that is cheaper than trying to get new clothes, it raises questions about parental fitness. There were a lot of social workers in and out of my life, and I spent a lot of time running away. Can we not talk about this on Christmas?” you asked quickly, your voice tight, before turning to Diego’s brother. “Where are you staying tonight Klaus? Our couch is available if you don’t already have a place.”

“I’d love to crash at yours, if my brother doesn’t mind,” Klaus said, offering you a hesitant smile. 

“He doesn’t,” you replied determinedly, and both brothers glanced at each other over your head, a silent conversation about your sudden terseness and the ways they might be able to help. 

~

Later that night, the three of you sat around the apartment, earlier tension forgotten. Your back rested against Diego's shins from your seat on the floor, head falling on his knees as you threw it back in laughter from some story Klaus was telling about when they were children and he and Diego had started some sort of prank war with Ben (secretly supported by Five or Vanya or maybe both, Diego had said he suspected). It made you happy to hear about the good times, that they had still found ways to be children despite their harsh upbringing. 

“The way he stuck to the honey in his mattress was so worth having mine taken away for a month,” Klaus concluded, laughing and oblivious to the horror widening your eyes. 

Diego’s fingers combed unconsciously through your hair, massaging your scalp. You started to feel calmer with each pass, matching your breathing to his movements. The physical contact grounded you, reminding you that, despite everything, you had both made it through and made it here. 

“It couldn’t have all been like that though...right?” you asked hesitantly. “There must have been just average days where you got to be normal kids?”

“We were allowed to have fun on Saturdays,” Diego was quick to assure you.

“For a whole half hour!” Klaus chimed in, still laughing, false cheerfulness radiating a sharp sting of bitterness. “And on special occasions, Mom made chocolate chip pancakes.” He paused, seeming to listen to something. “Yeah. I think Ben’s funeral was the last time we had any.”

“Oh.” 

You sighed, leaning as far into Diego as possible, as if he could give you strength, or you could give him back the peace he had been robbed of pretty much from birth.

“I used to envy you, growing up,” you admitted. “I thought if I had been adopted things would have been better. But really I just wouldn’t have known how bad they were. There really wasn’t a not shitty end of the deal, was there?”

Silence fell over the three of you, uncomfortable and awkward. 

“It’s okay though,” Klaus said eventually, shifting nervously and picking at his nails. “We survived it, figured out to be functioning - semi-functioning - adults. And never have to go back.”

“Right,” Diego said and you felt his body shift as he nodded at his brother. “It’s just a thing in our pasts. Everyone’s got...stuff.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “I guess.”

“Hey is there any of that roast left? I’m starving,” Klaus said, standing to climb over the back of the couch and wander toward the kitchen. 

You stared after him, unsure if he was serious or just trying to lighten the mood. When you shifted your gaze to Diego questioningly, he just shrugged.

“It should be in the container with the blue lid,” he told Klaus, waving vaguely at the fridge.

~

The three of you talked (one might even have dared to call it bonded) long into the night. It was past midnight when Diego finally bowed out, practically asleep on the couch already before he stumbled off to bed. You took his spot, sitting cross-legged and facing Klaus at the other end of the couch, and the pair of you continued to talk for at least another hour.

“Y/N, you should sleep,” Klaus eventually suggested. “You look exhausted, and it’s no surprise, with everything you did today, and putting up with my brother all the time to boot.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” you sighed. “I’ll go grab you some stuff to sleep and be right back.”

Quietly you slipped past the screen into the darkened bedroom area and frowned, scolding yourself internally for not doing this before Diego was in bed. He was a light sleeper and got so little of it on a regular basis, and though you could adjust the light to not wake him, it was an imperfect solution. Trying not to disturb your sleeping husband (the word still felt weird and wonderful to wrap your head around and you couldn’t help but smile), you lit your hand with a faint glow and dug through the bins beneath your bed to find your spare bedding. 

“You really don't have to worry about it, Y/N,” Klaus whispered, having followed you to the doorway, trying to wave off your efforts. “The couch alone is better than I've had lately. I can just use my coat as a blanket.”

“Absolutely not,” you hissed back determinedly. “You are a guest in my home. I want you to be comfortable, not just 'good enough.'”

He opened his mouth to protest and you held up a finger warningly. 

“Klaus, be smarter than Diego, and know that you can’t argue with me and win. Especially not over something as simple as me finding the spare bedding.”

His mouth shut with a dramatic popping sound that made you tense as Diego stirred in the bed.

“Go wait in the living room before you wake him up,” you asked, “please? He’s tired enough as it is most days.”

You felt more than saw Klaus’s eyes as he studied you for a moment before nodding and, shockingly, doing as he was told. A few minutes later, you emerged once more, handing Klaus a pile of bedding. 

“Blanket, light sheet, pillow,” you said, patting the pile. “I can grab another blanket if you need, if this won’t be warm enough. I have like a hundred of them.”

“No, this will be fine,” he said sincerely. “I sleep warm anyway. I think it’s the nightmares. Or the drugs.”

“Riiight. Are you sure you’re good? You don’t need anything else? Glass of water? More food? Cup of tea?”

He laughed, reaching out to rest his hands on your shoulders. “Relax, Y/N. I appreciate it, but I’m fine. If I need a drink, I’ll raid the kitchen later. I have everything I need. More than I deserve.”

“That’s not--” he put a finger to your lips dramatically, stopping you short as you squinted in confusion at him, going cross-eyed to try and look at the offending digit.

“Don’t try to argue it. It’s a lifetime of a feeling. But I appreciate you trying. And everything you’ve done, then and now.”

You cocked your head softly. “You know, that offer to kick your father remains on the table.”

He grinned.

“But maybe we should table that discussion for tomorrow, it’s getting late. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Actually, I’ll be gone then,” Klaus said in a tone clearly meant to be reassuring. “Before you wake up, if my brother’s smart enough to take a day off or learn that there’s no reason in general to get up with the crack of dawn. Especially with a beautiful woman in his bed.” He shot you an exaggerated wink.

You rolled your eyes fondly. “You don’t have to, Klaus. You can stay for a while. Days, weeks, whatever.”

“You’re sweet. But you don’t really want me around.”

“Of course I do,” you insisted, frowning at how casually he said such a thing. “We do. You’re family.”

“I don’t think anyone with the last name of Hargreeves really knows what that means.”

“Actually, I took your brother’s name when we got married so…” you shrugged.

Klaus laughed and you smiled. 

“I’m serious though,” you pushed. “Diego will never admit it because he’s stubborn and dumb, but he cares about you, and worries. And I think he misses you.”

Suddenly, Klaus’s long arms were wrapped around you, hugging you fiercely. There were tears in his voice when he next spoke. 

“Thank you, Y/N. That means...a lot. And hey, take care of him, will you? He’s gonna get himself killed otherwise.”

“Of course I will, Klaus,” you said, hugging him back. “I do kinda love him.”

The pair of you pulled away to share a smile, and somewhere deep inside, you felt the stirrings of your ancient friendship awakening from hibernation. After a moment, you shook yourself.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get some sleep. And if you happen to stick around, I’ll make pancakes in the morning. See if I can’t scrounge up some chocolate chips?”

“You drive a hard bargain, Y/N. I’ll think about it.”

You chuckled, before flicking off most (leaving the one above the sink to help ease his fear of the dark) of the lights. “Goodnight, Klaus.”

#Light Fingers #canonical Christmas special #sibling and sibling in law bonding #twas the night after Christmas and all through the apartment...these idiots were having just as bad sleep habits as me #Diego Hargreeves x Reader #The Umbrella Academy fic #I have been trying to figure out how to incorporate the idea that the reader and Klaus were old friends for ages #and since I decided to make the special canon #I took the presented opportunity to shoehorn it in

[gingernastyy]

Arthur:

Arthur hasn’t really taken too much thought about the idea of being a father. He has this constant residual fear that no matter what he did he would end up just like his dad.

His dad was an outlaw and Arthur got roped into the life because of him and Arthur is sure that if he had a kid they’d be dragged into the life too.

Being with Mary changes his mind. He felt like maybe he could do the father thing. The way she talks about running away together gives him the hope of having a better life. He could see them having a nice place with a fence, with a dog that lazily lays on the porch and a couple of kids running around.

He swears if it can become true he would be a better dad than his was and would do anything, and he means anything, to protect his kids and Mary.

When they broke up he was devastated. It led him into a life feeling like no one would ever have him, no one would want him to father their kids.

It’s a sad and lonely night of him drinking when he meets Eliza. They start talking before hooking up; a few times from time to time. As harsh as it is she’s a bit of a rebound after Mary. They were friends but he never felt strong enough to marry her. It makes her getting pregnant feel even worse.

When Eliza had Isaac he felt lost and scared for the kid. He knew that his life would endanger the both of them sooner or later. But swore he would do best by Eliza and helped out anyway he could. Then when they were both killed he didn’t know how to cope with it. He repressed everything that happened to them, only a few journal entries talking about what happened. But those entries and the sketches of Eliza and Isaac where in the journal that he lost in a fire.

It’s after Isaac had lived and died that Abigail has Jack. Being around for the time that Abi is pregnant makes him reflect on when Eliza was. God, he wishes he could have been there for Isaac’s birth. He feels guilty for being around when his brother’s kid is born but not there for his own.

As much as he hates John for leaving Jack and Abigail for that whole damn year, he enjoyed stepping back into that fatherly role to help Abi. There was something that felt so natural about taking care of the kid, guess he did picked up some traits from the short time he had with Isaac.

Abigail had questioned him a few times on about how he’s so good with Jack. She swears she’s had to tell almost everyone who’s held him to support his neck but not Arthur. He bounces and sways while holding Jack that calms him down that she believes that there is no way that it’s the first time that Arthur has held a baby.

A part of him thinks he should propose to Abigail to make up for not marrying Eliza but he knows that it won’t make amends for what had happened. Besides he’s too caught up on Mary and Abigail is to in love with Marston that he knows he will be turned down.

When/if he gets out of the life he considers adopting. Even if he can’t find someone to marry, he’s okay with being a single dad. He’s also happy to adopt if it’s the only way he and his partner couldn’t physically have kids. He feels like Hosea would be proud of him for helping out a kid like Hosea and Dutch did for Arthur (though he would want to avoid the outlaw part). He knows going through the legal system would be challenging with the price on his head but if he found a kid like Hosea found John and himself, he’d gladly take them in as he own.

He finds himself to be a tough and not really an emotional guy but having his newborn baby and the first time his thumb is grabbed by that itty bitty hand he damn near cries.

Years of being an outlaw has been beneficial for one thing... when the baby cries Arthur is able to get up right away. Late at night he’s the one who wakes to change diapers or calm nightmares. He’ll put himself to exhaustion to let his partner sleep.

Usually he falls asleep on the couch or a chair after rocking his baby back to sleep, baby on his chest and his hand on the little ones back.

He’s very supportive of creativity- especially as an artist himself.“Pa and me” or the full family sketches are tucked in the front cover of his journal. He wants those drawings to be the closest thing to him. He always makes sure to tell his kiddo that they’re doing a real good job and are already better at drawing than he is.

Play wrestling and piggy back rides are what he’s great at. He’s always asked to do or straight up just climbed on until one or the other happens.

Luckily he’s taught a kid how to ride a horse before so he feels pretty confident in teaching his own. If he could teach Jamie to ride his horse, with his thousands of questions, he feels he can teach his own kid(s).

Teaching his kid(s) to read and write is much harder than Hosea ever made it seem when he was teaching John and Jack.

He wishes that grandpa Hosea could meet his family. There are nights he looks to the sky and wonders if he’d be proud of him, getting out of the life and having a couple of kids of his own. He knows that Hosea had wanted that for Arthur for so many years.

As bad as he thinks he is at hunting and fishing he’d want to teach his kid(s) how to do both. It’s always good to know how to handle a gun and also know basic survival technics. He’ll mumble a side comment about wishing that Kieran could be there; he was always better at fishing but say it was nothing if he was asked about it.

He would go a little into the overprotective category. If someone was threatening his kid(s) he would get real quiet with the person, put his hand on their shoulder and get close. He would explain how he has killed before, has enjoyed doing so in most cases, and if they don’t leave his baby alone, he will find plenty of enjoyment killing this person.

Hosea:

Bessie and Hosea had always talked about having kids. They just were never sure when would be the right time, if there ever really is a right time when you’re a couple of outlaws.

Hosea jokes that maybe raising John and Arthur could be in a way, a test run before they have some of their own. They’re already almost fully grown so they could skip past the diaper phase and “terrible twos” and if anything could blame Dutch for the way they turn out.

Teaching John how to read really told Hosea that he does have the patience to have kids. He loves that boy dearly but it took a lot of work to get him to even focus to be able to educate him.

When Hosea and Bessie left the gang for awhile they set up in the Grizzlies East. During this time they tried to start their own family. If they were going to have kids it would be the time to do so. But either there was something with him or with her, or just unfortunate luck, they could never seem to get pregnant.  

When Hosea drifts back into the outlaw life they have moment of agreeing that maybe it was the best that they weren’t able to have a kid, as much as it devastates them both.

Hosea wishes that Bessie was still around by the time that Abigail has Jack. He knows she would have loved that kid like her own. She surely would have spoiled the hell out of that kid not that Hosea is any better.

He’s definitely had a moment when looking at the photograph of him and Bessie that he thinks that even though they weren’t fortunate to raise their own kids, but they skipped right to being grandparents.

As a father, Hosea is kind, patient and always there for his kid(s). He saw his father about three times in his life and would want to be there for his kids to make up the time he feels he didn’t have with his own dad.

As the comedian he is, or thinks he is, Hosea would be the dad who can’t pass up a good dad joke. He’d tell one about “you know the best way to catch a fish? Put your line in the water.” He would have to bring up the time that Arthur was suppose to go fishing and brought back a fish from the market, claiming he’d caught it and then next time that Hosea and Dutch when in town the store clerk asked Arthur how that fish that he bought was. Hosea we’ll find any opportunity to laugh at Arthur about it.

Hosea is the best at storytelling. He would tell his kid(s) stories every night. He’s able to work those years of stage acting into the voices he uses during his storytelling.

He and Bessie were always fans of playing dominos so he would want to show his kid(s) how to play. He’d often bring up how he always accused her of cheating during playing because she was that good. Arthur, though taught by her, didn’t seem to have her luck with the tiles.

On sick days he’s getting medicine, soup, crackers, pulling out blankets and whatever will help his kid.

He wants what is best for his kid(s) but also encourages them to write their own path. They can be whatever they like if they set their minds to it. No matter what, his love is unconditional and he wants to see them do their own thing.

Dutch:

Dutch is a hard one when it comes to being a father. He wants a kid to enlighten them with his wisdom, to show them everything he knows. At the same time having a newborn with all that crying and loosing sleep, especially being the leader of a gang, doesn’t sound ideal. Toddlers tend to be very... sticky, which he wouldn’t be a fan of either.

He would want to have a kid, much like John and Arthur were already functioning on their own that he can already start having conversations with, being able to teach them how to fish, shoot, and talk about the injustices in the world around them.

If he had a kid, like about a toddler in age, he would read them Evelyn Miller and explain, even though it would be going over this kid’s head, that “what Mr. Miller is saying is... “

Dutch values an education but has little patience when trying to teach. Even with John and Arthur, Hosea did more when it came to helping them learn how to read and write.

He’d be less of dad that says “I love you’s” and more often be the one that says “I’m proud of you”

He would be able to playful tease his kid and his competitive side would be great when they get old enough to race and play poker.

His relationship with Annabelle was really the only time he considered having a kid of his own. He loved that women and if she wanted a child he would figure out a plan for way for them to have a kid.

He thinks that maybe once they are able to get one good robbery that when they leave to New York or Tahiti, where ever they may land that he considers the idea of starting a family.

#rdr2 headcanons #rdr2 #Arthur Morgan #Hosea Matthews #Dutch van der linde #fatherly headcanons #sorry this is so long & took me forever! #I could cry thinking about Arthur being a dad! TY for sending this headcanon request in! #the keep reading didn't work the way I wanted it to in the ask so I made it a text post!

[bubbyleh]

lightning storms

Coomer was already well-acquainted with strange sources of energy by the time he met Bubby, so hearing that they needed to be regularly struck by lightning in order to keep going? Not entirely a surprise. It had been harder back then to wait for a storm to pass through, but nowadays, all they had to do was keep an eye on the weather channel and let Bubby stick a fork in an outlet whenever they needed a quick pick-me-up.

There’s been a bit of a drought lately, though. And no rain means no lightning for Bubby, which is kind of their main source of electricity. Yeah, human advancement has made an electrical shock much more widely available, but the energy it provides is more comparable to a snack than a meal.

Coomer’s settled down on the couch, ready to enjoy his nice, locally-sourced blood bag (which means he stole it from the blood bank), when a pair of arms wrap around him. He turns to see Bubby, wearing their comforter around their shoulders, burying their face into his shoulder.

“Good evening, darling.” Coomer reaches to wrap his arm around Bubby. “I thought it’d be a good idea to let you sleep in, today. How are you feeling?”

Bubby groans, leaning into Coomer further. “Tired,” they finally manage to say.

“Did you already get a shock today?”

Bubby nods.

“Well I have good news!” Coomer reveals. “I was watching the Television earlier, and there’s supposed to be a thunderstorm in the morning, if you’re willing to stay up late.”

“Yes!” Bubby perks up slightly, before collapsing into Coomer’s lap. “Fuck, I feel so drained.”

Coomer taps at his chin. He really hates when Bubby gets this way, and it only gets worse the longer it’s been since a lightning storm. They draw their knees to their chest, sighing as Coomer moves to run a hand through their hair, even if they don’t have a lot.

“Oh! How about this?” Coomer has an idea. “We can watch one of those movie things on the Television to pass the time!”

“A moving picture, huh?” Bubby grins slightly. “That could be good.”

And so, with Bubby curled up in his lap, Coomer attempts to figure out the more advanced functions of the TV remote.

†††

By the time it starts raining, many of the others have already woken up. Since Bubby often tries to get a recharge on their own schedule, their cryptmates are usually asleep and therefore unable to view it. That is to say, given Bubby's dire need for a shock, the whole affair becomes a bit of a show for the diurnal folk.

So far, all it's been is eight of them (Gman wasn't interested) gathered outside the crypt, watching as Bubby stands ten feet away with their arms crossed and foot tapping. Luckily for them, Bubby's creator had the bright idea to make them sort of a lightning rod, so the audience isn't at risk for a strike of their own.

That doesn't mean they don't deserve one, though.

"Boo!" Benrey goads, sitting at the front of the gathered crowd. "This is boring!"

"Benrey, be polite," Gordon reminds him. "We've only been waiting for five minutes."

Benrey groans. "Too long."

"Rain's nice, though," Forzen chimes in, a look of contentment clear on his face.

"Of course the fish person likes the rain!" Darnold retorts from the back, where he and Tommy are huddled together, shivering. "We're freezing!"

Forzen rolls his eyes. "Not that cold."

Coomer feels a small tap on his arm, and he looks down to see young Joshua. As a member of the undead, Coomer is one of the few people in the crypt Joshua can physically interact with.

"Ah, hello there, Joshua," Coomer greets the ghostly child. "You're not here to get under my umbrella, are you?"

Joshua shakes his head. "Rain falls through me." He taps his fingers nervously, before asking, "How long does this usually take?"

Coomer smiles. "Well, Joshua, you've heard thunder tonight, haven't you?" The kid nods. "And it's been pretty loud, which means that the clouds above us can make lightning. So, I reckon it's going to be any second now."

As soon as Coomer speaks, the skies split open, and down shoots a bolt of lightning directly at Bubby. The strike immediately lights up the surrounding area in a blinding flash, after which it’s easy to see Bubby sprawled out on the ground.

“Oh fuck,” Gordon almost shouts. “Are they-”

“Hang on, Gordon,” Coomer places a hand on his shoulder, stopping the zombie from rushing towards Bubby.

In an instant, Bubby sits up. They raise both their arms above their head and shout, “Fuck yeah!”

Joshua and Benrey immediately start cheering. Bubby stands and, after dusting themself off, bows with the flourish of a stage performer. In fact, given many of their mannerisms, Coomer wouldn’t be surprised to discover that at least one of their body parts had been taken from a famous actor.

But something about the look in their eyes, sharp and vibrant, leaves only one thought in Coomer’s head.

Bubby just fucked up their nocturnal sleep schedule, didn’t they?

#hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #hlvrai boomer #boomer #dr bubby #bubby #dr coomer #monster au #my writing #on a dark and dreary night

[punsandfuturekingsmen-archive]

These gifts were handled with utmost care. Vivi sneaked inside Arthur's home and placed them in the living area. She left there without a word and without slamming the door. The next time Arthur ventured into the living room he'd find an array of gifts all for him. First off, a brand new chair for his work shop complete with firm padding and lower back support. Next, inside a smaller, yellow wrapped box was a scrunched orange and yellow origami piece. When one picked it up, it (1/3)

folded out like an accordion. Something for Arthur to play with if he needed a distraction or if he ever was anxious. Leaning against the chair was a sheathed sword. On the hilt, one could see an engraved wrench, the Kingsmen logo wrench. The full sword was just as long as Arthur's real arm, but if he looked at it closer he could see there was a tiny hook where metal met the hilt. He had the ability to take the sword off and hook it onto his mechanical arm. Lastly (2/3)

was a card. Inside the card he'd find a folded, blue, origami forget-me-not attached to a red lotus petal. There was a message too. "Merry Christmas to my wonderful, handsome Arthur. May you and Lance have a wonderful holiday and a healthy new year. I love you so very very much. Thank you for helping me become the person I am today. Love, V+M." (3/3)

Arthur blinked when he made his way into the living room, seeing so many things, ready and waiting. He blinked a few more times, before walking slowly towards the gifts. The first thing he went for was the card. He shifted the things from the chair to the couch, before sitting in it. Oh--- oh shit this was comfortable. Oh he liked this, this was nice.

He leaned back in the chair so only the tips of his toes grazed the carpet, opening the card. 

The origami forget me not was more than enough for him to know the sender, and he smiled as he tucked the little flower behind an ear. He shouldn’t even be surprised it was her. Of course, if anyone was going to lay on Christmas thick and shower him in presents, it’d be Santa Vivi, and her kitsune turned little elf helper.

He smiled as his fingers brushed over the words in the card, and it only turned more tender as he stared. Did she really think he helped her be the person she was? That seemed-- so strange to think. Vivi was the one who made him who he was. Or better than he had been.

 But he supposed could concede that they helped each other grow. He.... he really truly loved her. This chair was just-- it was perfect when he needed to work late nights. The headrest was thick, and could function as a pillow if he leaned back. At least that meant falling asleep at his desk wouldn’t end up with him suffering as hard the next day. It was so--- it was thoughtful. But when wasn’t Vivi thoughtful?

The next gift he opened quickly, tearing through the wrapping. He was confused by the little paper inside, until he picked it up, and it unfurled into an accordion- shaped tube. He raised a brow, before collecting it all together again-- the the light went off. She knew he loved fidget toys. Maybe she’d made this just for him, so he’d have something to mess with, with his hands while he was thinking. It made him smile, and he sat playing with it for a few minutes longer.

He set it aside after a time, eager to see what the last gift the two of them had gotten him was.

He only needed to look at it and actually focus for a quarter of a second to be able to tell. There was no doubting it was a sword, and his tender smile at her thoughtfulness split into something wider, excitable as a kid on Christmas. 

He fucking loved swords. 

Arthur studied the sheath for a few moments, before pulling the blade out and making a far-too-pleased noise when it made the good metallic shiiing noise. He wiggled a little in his chair, looking over the blade and the hilt and-- oh my god. Did-- Did Vivi get him a sword with a Kingsmen logo on the cross-guard? Holy shit that was so cool-- expensive as fuck, but cool. And-- what was that? Some kind of release? That probably meant the sword was decorative and--

Oh. Oh. O h.

Arthur’s eyes widened as thing clicked into place. The blade was made to--

He made a noise-- a laugh. A giggly thing at the notion-- oh he’d definitely need to tinker with this, with his arm to give it a better grip to get more force behind swings and maybe with the hilt to make sure the blade wasn’t flimsy in there which would compromise the integrity. It was sharp probably but he could always make it better and then he could do a sword arm or a sword sword oh no this was gonna be--

Arthur scrambled for his room and then came back with a grin and a pad of blueprints, which he set on the table. Resuming his movie, he started drawing and making notes with a happy hum and wiggling in his seat, only taking a pause to look up at the movie, or to eat some of the homemade pizza he’d been given. 

This.... it’d been upended by things, his Christmas. But at least his friends were amazing, over-the-top, perfect, wonderful, people. Without them he would be feeling awful. But with them?

They’d managed to make an almost ruined holiday into something amazing.

#Arthur adores sentimental and sweet gifts most of all #but he also goes hecking feral for swords and knives and bows and cool tools and pins lol #vivi got him good !!! #christmas gifts #ic #arthur speaks #A@@@@ #AAAAA #AWWWw #bluescarfvivi #he's so excited now #answering things #long post

[aro-of-artemis]

i've had no love like your love (from nobody)

number three! ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28855644 Three times Julie borrows the phantoms' clothes + one time they borrow hers.

(1)

Okay. So Julie loves the studio. She does! Being in there makes her feel close to her mom. And it's where the boys hang out the most (although they'd been spending an increasing amount of time in the house now that Ray and Carlos are in the know).

But it gets so. Fucking. Cold. Especially on long winter nights. Sometimes she forgets that the studio is a glorified garage. Insulation? Never heard of her.

So it is on one such night that she finds herself there, shivering, but too stubborn and too distracted to make the journey inside to find a jumper. She's so close to finishing the lyrics to this song - she just needs to make some adjustments and then it'll be perfect. She wants to get it done before Luke and the others get home so she can show him. Them. But it's just not quite right yet.

Her concentration is rocked when a violent shiver rattles through body. With a deep, heartfelt sigh, she pushes away from her lyric book where it sits on top of the piano. Glancing around the room for any options - perhaps a blanket she can wrap around her shoulders, a stray sock, a particularly large leaf, she'll take anything - her eyes land on a puddle of pink fabric that had fallen off the side of the couch. With a quick smile, she strides over to it, pulling it on.

Alex, of course, is much taller and broader than her so it hangs down low, brushing her thighs, sleeves well and truly past her hands. She doesn't mind being so completely swallowed by the fabric though, because it's warm and it's been softened by age and wear. And it smells like Alex. Like laundry detergent and the beach and just a little bit of sweat. So she pulls the hood up around her face, containing her fraying braids.

She breathes in and out, revelling in the comfort it brings. The muscles of her shoulders, which had been tensed in concentration, relax. After a couple more breaths she sticks the tips of her fingers out of the sleeves - just enough to be functional.

She returns to the piano to continue her work. As she looks over at what she'd written, suddenly words fall into place. She begins scribbling furiously, new fire in her bones.

--

When the boys return, they are greeted by what appears to be a shapeless pink blob sitting on the piano bench and slumped against the lid. The only discernible feature is a mass of frizzy hair peeking out of the hood. Luke and Reggie snicker a little at the sight but Alex feels his heart swell to press at his ribs.

Moving towards her, he looks over his shoulder and jerks his head towards the couch. But the boys already know. They're folding it out into a bed. None of them want to disturb Julie if she's sleeping peacefully so it had become an unspoken agreement that she could just stay the night in the studio with them if that was where she happened to fall asleep.

Alex approaches Julie. Gently, he gathers her into his arms, manoeuvring her into a bridal carry, settling her head against his chest. She snuffles a bit but doesn't wake.

Slowly, he lowers her down onto the pull-out where Luke and Reggie have already laid themselves out. Julie stirs and rolls over to wrap her arms over Reggie's torso and rest her head on his stomach. Luke watches with a fond smile as Alex wiggles himself in place between Julie's other side and Luke. Alex places an easy hand on Julie's head (because he knows she finds it comforting) while Luke snakes his arm over Alex's waist to best use a space that was intended to only accommodate two but now is asked to fit four.

None of them mind being squished together. Julie sleeps peacefully until morning.

(2)

Julie is sad. A deep, aching sadness that made a home in her a long time ago. There are days that are better, where it doesn't hurt so much, the ache dulled, just barely pushing it's cold past the edges of her bones into the sinew and muscle. But some days it feels all-consuming. World-shattering. Some days she is struck anew with this paralysing grief. The feeling that nothing will ever be okay again.

Some days happen less often in recent times. Her phantoms, her boys, her family - they help. They can't rid her of the hurt and she wouldn't want them to. She never wants to not keenly feel the empty space where her mom used to be. She doesn't want to forget her. But the boys. They help that constant awareness to be filled by sweet remembering rather than bitter longing. But the bitter longing will always be there.

So sad doesn't quite encompass what she's feeling but it's a linguistic shortcut to express all of these things that she can't verbalise.

On this particular some day, Julie is sitting on the couch (Luke's couch) in her mama's studio, knees under chin. Her face feels numb. It's wet with absentminded tears - grief made manifest.

The cool stillness is broken by a ray of sunshine who calls out, "Julie?"

Reggie. Reggie is here, making the studio a bit brighter, a bit warmer. He turns around a little until he spots Julie, huddled as she is. "Julie! Are you all right?"

He rushes over to her, stopping short of actually touching her. Julie follows him with her eyes, unable to move any other part of her body.

"You're shivering." His voice is gentle.

"Am I?" Julie whispers.

"Yes," Reggie's eyebrows furrow together. "Are you cold?"

Julie shrugs. She's truly not sure.

"I - hang on." Quickly, he pulls his arms out of the sleeves of his leather jacket before draping it over her shoulders, bringing it around to her chin.

As the warmth of the jacket - Reggie's body heat - settles around her, she realises how chilled she had felt.  She draws in a long, deep breath, feeling the comfort of his smell and his big-brotherly presence settle around her, anchoring the jacket to her shoulders.

"Thank you, Reggie." Her voice is earnest and she finally turns her head to look at him.

He smiles just a little, creasing his ruddy cheeks. "Of course, Julie."

Julie moves closer to him, leaning her head against his collarbone. His arms come up automatically now that he'd been given permission. He pulls her in tight to his chest, rocking her slightly, humming a low, soothing tune.

Julie isn't okay. But she will be. In the meantime, her bones feel a bit warmer. And if she wears Reggie's jacket for the rest of the day, no one mentions it.

(3)

Just her fucking luck. Here she is, stuck in the school bathroom scrubbing lasagne out of her white shirt cause some kid wasn't watching where they were going. And Flynn isn't even here to help her 'cause she went and caught a cold.

She lets out a long, noisy sigh that is abruptly cut off when Luke poofs in beside her.

"Luke!" Her voice comes out as an undignified squeak and she quickly reigns it in as she darts her eyes around to check that all the stalls are unoccupied. Satisfied that they're alone, she returns her attention to the intruding ghost.

"You can't be here! This is the girls' bathroom."

"I - sorry I didn't mean t-- Julie, what happened to your shirt?" His eyebrows tugged together, giving him a puppy-like expression that Julie finds far too charming.

She looked down at her shirt, still covered in oil and tomato stains that are setting by the minute. Another long sigh leaves her mouth, leeching out some of her anxious frustration, leaving her feeling deflated. "This kid tripped over their own feet and spilt their lunch all over me."

"Are you okay?" His voice is gentle, concerned.

She shrugs back. "Yeah. Nothing's bruised except my ego. And maybe that kid's face where they hit the deck."

Luke's face relaxes a bit, eyes now dancing with mirth.

"Don't laugh! I don't have anything else to wear!"

"I'm not laughing!" he defends. "But, c'mon. You have to admit it's kinda funny."

Julie softens a bit. "Fine," she relents, "It's kinda funny. But that doesn't solve my problem!"

Luke nods very seriously, a thoughtful expression coming over his face. And then his expression clears, a small excited smile curling the corners of his lips. The kind of smile he gets when he solves a problem and he's proud of himself: toothy and bright. It's endearing.

"Here," he says, tugging his flannel off, leaving him in just his sleeveless tee. "You can wear this."

Julie looks at the proffered shirt for a moment. She feels some small but insistent something poking against the walls of her chest. "Th-thanks, Luke. You don't have to-"

"I want to," he interrupts. "I can't let you walk around covered in lunch. Besides, if you change into my shirt I can take yours home with me to soak the stain."

"I-," she's not quite sure what to say. So she settles on, "Thanks." A tender smile graces her lips. "Turn around then," she adds. "I'm not gonna get changed with you watching."

As soon as the words leave her mouth her cheeks begin to blaze with the unintended implications of her statement. Luke coughs awkwardly, cheeks a bit more rosy than usual, and quickly spins around.

As she quickly swaps shirts, buttoning up Luke's baggy flannel, she watches as his head tilts back and forth, studying the bathroom tiles on the wall with rapt attention and drumming his fingers against his legs.

"Okay. You can turn around now."

Luke turns to face her and smiles giddily at the way the sleeves fall past her fingertips and the hem settles just above her knees.

"It's a little big on you."

Julie scowls back at him good-naturedly. "I know. Just give me a sec."

He watches in fascination as Julie gathers up and knots the front corners of the shirt so it sits neatly at the top of her jeans. Then she starts trying to roll up the sleeves. Trying being the operative word. But it's a challenge because they're just so damn long.

"Here, let me," he interrupts, stepping into her space. She sucks in a breath.

"Oh. Um, sure." She holds out her arms to him and he begins rolling them up to a decent length, taking the time to make sure they're matching. She feels overwhelmed at the gentle brush of his fingers as they travel up her forearms. The contact sends shivering jolts of electricity along her skin as if a circuit had been completed, allowing energy to move freely between the undefinable start and the infinite end. She feels like she's about to vibrate out of her own skin.

"Good?" he checks once he's finished. His voice is low and soft.

Julie nods mutely.

He takes a step back to size her up and nods appreciatively. "Not too shabby, Jules."

"Um. Thanks!" she squeaks (again) - God, get it together, Molina - and looks at herself in the mirror.

Something about wearing Luke's flannel - skin-warmed and worn in, smelling like him - makes her feel safe and protected and cared for. Like he himself is draped across her shoulders and wrapping around her torso. Also, she looks good in it. Like it was made for her.

"It suits you." Luke interrupts her thoughts as he comes up behind her. They lock eyes through the mirror and Luke's curling smile returns, his eyes auroral.

"Yeah," she says. "It does."

The end-of-lunch bell trills harshly in her ear. Luke steps back, clearing his throat. "Cool. I'll - um -," he picks up the stained shirt, "I'll get this one home to soak."

"Thank you, Luke. I really appreciate it." Her chest feels pumped with helium.

He nods a little, smiling and looking up at her through his lashes. And poofs away.

(+1)

Julie hums contentedly as she toes off her shoes and drops her school bag on her bed. It had been a long, sweaty day at school to top off a long, sweaty week, the California heat having shown up with a vengeance.

She makes her way down to the studio, feeling lighter with the knowledge that she has the whole weekend ahead of her.

The heavy doors to the studio open at her urging. She breathes in deeply the green smell of plants and the metallic tang of guitar strings. And then stops. Blinks slowly and squints her eyes, trying to make sense of what's in front of her.

"Oh, hey, Julie!" Reggie greets her from his spot on the couch. He's leaning forward over a cross-legged Alex, who is seated on the ground, carefully twisting the long hair at the top of his head into braids. And Luke is sitting next to them, guitar across his lap, strumming it quietly. But none of this is what stops her in her tracks.

Alex is wearing what appears to be a mesh tie-dye top, Reggie's top proclaims that It was all a dream, and Luke's blue t-shirt is covered in familiar swirls of white. Those are her shirts. Her crop tops. Her eyes quickly skate across Alex and Reggie's stomachs but are quickly pulled away when Luke stands up, placing his guitar to the side.

"Julie! You're home!" Luke exclaims, a puppy dog smile across his face.

"You-You're." She can't quite get words out. The sight of his bared stomach has set her heart to stuttering in 6/8 time, a drumbeat that echoes through her skull.

She realises that her mouth has been hanging open. She snaps it shut.

"You're wearing my clothes." She's addressing all three of them but she's looking at Luke. Her eyes keep flicking down and then back up to his face. She can't help it. She would stop if she could. Luke definitely notices because his smile turns mischievous.

Alex speaks up, a concerned look on his face. "Yeah. I hope that's alright. It's just that it was really warm and we didn't really have anything to wear and-"

"Alex," Julie interrupts, finally coming to her senses and looking away from Luke, "It's fine. I was just surprised. Besides it's not like I haven't borrowed your clothes before."

"Exactly what I said!" Reggie exclaimed. His voice turns a bit milder now though, "And we all really missed you 'cause you've been so busy with school this week so…"

Julie feels tears spring to her eyes and she quickly scrubs them away. "I've missed you guys, too, Reg."

She looks across each of them, making sure not to dwell too long on Luke who's still standing, fiddling with the hem of his (her) shirt. An idea hits her and her eyebrows wiggle teasingly at them.

"Well, in the name of sharing and caring…" She walks across the room to where the boys keep their clothes. She picks up one of Luke's sleeveless t-shirts. Turning her back to them, she quickly exchanges her shirt for his, breathing a sigh of relief as the cool fabric settles around her.

When she turns back around she finds that Luke's mouth is hanging open slightly as if he simply forgot to close it. Alex and Reggie are grinning at him. If not for the way they are positioned it's clear that they would be exchanging knowing looks.

"What?" she shrugs, playing innocent but feeling vindicated.

Luke shakes his head jerkily. "N-nothing. I- nothing." He averts his eyes to the ground but his whole face is red and Julie is delighted to notice that it extends down his neck, under his shirt to his stomach. She presses her lips together to keep a hysterical laugh from bubbling out of her throat unbidden. Her eyes are stuck on Luke again.

Luke looks up at her and his eyes catch on hers. And oh, his eyes. If you asked her, she wouldn't quite be able to tell you the colour of them, despite the amount of time she'd spent looking into them over a microphone or a lyric book. Sometimes green, sometimes blue. Right now, wearing her shirt, they're a dazzling, drowning blue.

Reggie breaks the silence. "All done!" He ties off the end of Alex's second braid and pats the top of his head gently.

"Thanks, Reg," Alex says lightly, drawing Julie's attention. She's impressed with how well Reggie's done.

"Wow, Reg. Where did you learn to braid like that?"

He shrugs a little half-heartedly but his mouth is pulled into a bittersweet curve. "I used to braid my little sister's hair."

Julie nods, giving him a sympathetic look. A beat. "Can you do mine next?"

Reggie's smile broadens into something entirely sweet, the bitterness done away with. "Of course!"

And so Alex shuffles over so that she can take his spot cross-legged and leaning against Reggie's knees. Alex settles himself so that his back is against the cool concrete floor and his head is in Julie's lap. She starts scratching her nails through the short pieces of hair that didn’t make it into the braid.

Luke is still standing where he'd greeted Julie (although this is perhaps a generous term because anyone who knows Luke knows that staying still is not a skill of his and what he does when upright should not be classified as merely standing. Perhaps a better term would be wobbling. Or jittering.)

"C'm'ere," she says, patting the ground to the other side of her. Luke practically trips over himself to do as he's told. He sits next to her, stretching his legs out long, pressing his thigh against Julie's.

She places the hand that isn't occupied with Alex's hair atop her thigh, palm up, wiggling her fingers a little. She doesn't look at him but she's trying not to make life harder for Reggie whose tugging on her hair is ginger and slow.

But Luke seems to get the message. He links their hands together pulling them into his lap. Julie feels him trace a fingertip over each of her nails, brushing across the back of her hand, tugging on the ends of her bracelets. He holds her hand as if it contains the entire universe.

Here, connected to each of her boys, she feels safe. Each point of contact feels like a lifeline she hadn't known she needed.

"I love you guys."

And she does. She really, really does.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #fic #fanfiction #my fic #jatp fic #boys in crop tops

[haloud]

into the corners of the evening

-- ao3 --

Michael comes over on Fridays. It’s a standing arrangement, an inch of solid ground they’ve managed to carve out for themselves. Sometimes he cooks dinner. Sometimes Alex orders in. They play music or play cards or watch movies or make out, hands over clothes, Michael making sure to bump his knuckles across whatever bare skin he can find anyway, just like they might have if they were ever allowed to be just seventeen.

So Fridays start being the best day of the week. Even Buffy looks forward to them—the second the sun starts going down, she sits in the entryway with her ears cocked and her tail beating slowly against the floor until she hears footsteps on the stairs and picks herself up to corral Michael home. When it’s just Alex and Buffy, Alex even lets himself be eager too, smile at nothing, daydream.

Of course, then it just so happens that a Friday turns into one of the worst days in recent memory. He wakes up in stiff agony from a shitty, awful dream, early enough to be stuck staring at the pitch-black ceiling, late enough that he can’t fall back asleep. He keeps his phone and headphones on his nightstand and an array of playlists—angry, sad, happy, wistful, the works—to drive thoughts out of his head and mask noise that makes it hard to sleep, but no matter how high he turns up the volume, the dream persists, the sound of screaming, the sound of crushing bone. His stump is fucking swollen, which just fucking happens sometimes no matter how he fucking tries to take care of it, and it hurts so goddamn bad he should just stay in bed, but he goes to work anyway just to spite his own body and the universe that thinks it can tell him what to do.

Icing on the cake? When he finally grits his teeth and puts weight on his leg (with his crutch—he might be a being of pure spite, but he’s not stupid), he steps hard on Buffy’s foot, making her shriek and scramble under the bed.

By the time Alex has made himself coffee and is ready to leave she’s crawled out to follow him around licking at his hands, but he still spends the whole drive to base with a death-grip on the wheel and aching at the back of his throat.

And that’s just how his morning goes.

When he pulls back into his driveway that evening, he’s so bone-tired he has to close his eyes and breathe and breathe like he breathed his way through physical therapy just to muster the strength to open the door and put his feet on the ground.

He fumbles his keys. Drops them. And before he knows it he’s slammed his fist into the doorframe, a fast and hot expulsion of fury from his brain to his arm to his knuckles at the point of contact.

He’s shaking when he picks them up. Unlocks the door. Lets it fall shut behind him.

Anger is the easy answer. It’s served him well damn near all his life. It lives inside him, less a tenant to his landlord, more a symbiosis. But when he collapses on his couch, shakes his hand out before cradling his head in it, he just—he just—

He should tell Michael not to come. He should ignore that little voice whispering he only loves you because you’re here, tell him no and he’ll be gone, gone against all evidence and faith.

He loves his anger. Keeps it, nurtures it. But still, is he—he is—he’s Manes enough to fear what that anger is capable of.

Buffy pads over, her claws making little clicking noises on the floor. Michael loves that sound, has been known to lay on the floor cooing to her so she walks over to him and he can mess with her paws while she sits all prim and patient and indulging. She lays her head on Alex’s knee and blinks up at him, and he looks through his fingers back at her. Her tongue slowly peeks out—then she’s licking his jeans, soothing him the best way a dog knows how, and Alex is inches from goddamn losing it.

Footsteps on the stairs. Buffy’s ears perk up, but she doesn’t move, just lets out a quiet boof as Alex strokes her velvety ears.

“It’s open,” he calls out. Almost hoping he’s too quiet for Michael to hear and he’ll just…leave. Tomorrow Alex can deal with the fallout.

But no. The door swings open, and a grinning Michael, the whole mass of him, filling the doorway, taking all the air in the room with him, he steps inside and shakes out his curls like he often does when he sees Alex, like he knows, like he knows what it does to him.

“Where’s the welcoming committee—”

He cuts himself off when he sees Alex and Buffy. His grin slides off his face; his eyes go all big; his head tilts to the side. It’s not a bad Buffy impression.

“Hey,” Michael says, so softly Alex wants to scream.

He isn’t. A person who responds to softness well. Never had it before—why should he need it now? For just a second, he misses, with a vicious, spiteful nostalgia, the jagged, rattling Guerin who’d take him on no matter what they did or said the last time, the bite and bark, they’d fuck and that would be that, that could be that, he had a place within himself to put the soft things, deep in the back of his skull.

He keeps the soft things inside Michael, mostly, now. But sometimes he wishes he could snatch them back. Run and hide. Even if it meant drawing more blood.

“Hey,” Alex responds, voice carefully flat.

Michael hesitates before going to take his boots off, eyes flicking up, then down to fidget with the laces, then up again, then down, just waiting for Alex to tell him to go. Alex hates that too. Hates the echo calling him pathetic in the back of his mind, needy and clinging and weak, and god, Alex is just so fucking tired. Of all of it. Of the job where he’s surrounded by people he can’t stand, constantly reminded of his father, of war, of grief and murder. Of the brain that won’t let him get a good night’s sleep and tortures him with words he’d never say out loud. Of every inch of his body that hurts, of what’s been taken from him, of the fight to get it to function on days like today, clawing his bloody way up the slope.

Michael straightens back up. Rolls up onto the balls of his feet, like he might into a kiss. Nods to himself, then Alex blinks his heavy eyes, and Michael is there, inches from him, eyes green and gold and warm. Alex imagines he can already feel the bathwater body heat Michael always supplies, sinking into his skin better than any heating pad or hot soak.

“Bad day?”

“You could say that.”

Buffy shifts her head on Alex’s knee; she stands, sits, licks Alex a couple more times, her eyes staring soulfully up at Michael. Michael ducks his head on a little laugh and pats her head with a good girl.

Michael sits on the arm of the couch and slowly, so slowly, giving Alex all the time in the world to pull away, reaches over to stroke the back of his fingers against Alex’s temple. “Hey. What can I do? Anything, I’m yours.”

“Just.” Alex takes a deep breath. Can’t look at him. “I’m sorry. For whatever I do tonight. You probably shouldn’t have come. I’m going to be shit company.”

“We’re both here. I think we can make something out of that no matter the circumstances, yeah?”

How can Michael just say things like that, every time? It isn’t fair. Especially when there are so many ways he could be proven wrong. So many ways Alex knows how to hurt him, to tear down everything they’re building.

“I’m gone if you want me gone; I’ll give you the space, but you’ve gotta say it. And it’s okay if you do. It’s not like before.”

Michael’s fingers make another slow pass, lingering this time, his thumb gentle on the shell of Alex’s ear, making him shiver at that delicate touch.

Selfish. It’s selfish to want Michael here  even though he’s bound to end up snapping at him, but—would it be so bad? To be selfish? Michael is a caretaker; it’s plain in the way he is with Isobel, even when he takes it too far. It’s plain in the way he keeps candy and coloring books stashed in his Airstream for the occasional kid dragged along by a parent getting their car fixed. And it’s never been more obvious than it is right now, with him practically vibrating to be allowed to take care of Alex.

Hell, maybe this is something Alex can, in some twisted way, do for Michael, too. Make something out of this shitty day.

“I want you to stay,” he manages, voice still flat, but it makes Michael light up regardless, and hell if it isn’t worth it.

“Thank you,” Michael says, and he nuzzles in to peck their lips together. Alex doesn’t let him get away, though, and weaves his fingers into those curls to hold him close for a longer, searching kiss that has Michael humming with joy by the time he pulls away. Alex could hold him tighter. Keep him in place longer. Pull him this way or that, and Michael would go. Something in Alex just settles and purrs at that knowledge.

“I’ll make dinner and bring it to you. Couch or bed?”

“Hmm.” Alex twists a curl around his finger as he considers the question. It’s tempting to just go to bed, get through his nightly routine, and try and forget this day ever happened. But if he stays here on the couch, he has a clear line of sight into the tiny kitchen, where he can watch Michael cooking, hyperactive and hectic, bouncing from counter to cabinet to fridge to stove and back again, Buffy alert and bobbing and weaving at his feet for any scraps. “Couch,” he says, “but I’m not really hungry. Just…sit for a while.”

Michael obeys easily, sliding himself onto the couch beside Alex, urging him to sit back and relax with his broad, warm hand rubbing across Alex’s shoulders and back, taking the tension there with him.

“Go ahead and take your leg off,” he says, eyes shining, “I’ll take care of it. You. Everything.”

So Alex does, and by the time he’s done, a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers has arrived on the side table. Alex takes two, and then Michael coaxes him into laying his legs over his lap, his one hand gently stroking the remainder leg, mindful of its sensitivity and swelling, and the other massaging his sore foot. So talented with his hands Alex tips his head back, lets his eyes shut, and groans his approval.

Minutes later, he opens his eyes again, and he sees—

Michael in profile, his curls messy across his forehead, his eyes hooded as he looks down to watch himself work, soothing a pain Alex hadn’t even realized he was carrying. So content he’s almost smug. A little smile on his face. It’s so simple, a tiny act of love, of service, but it makes a change in Michael. Makes him softer. And this time, anger left sated and silent within him, Alex can be happy about that.

The electric kettle goes off in the kitchen, sudden and hissing, and Alex jumps at the sound.

“Just me,” Michael murmurs, stroking his hand up to Alex’s hip, looking up at him through his lashes with that same contented smile. A couple moments later, a mug floats out of the kitchen and into Alex’s hands. His favorite tea. His favorite mug—one Maria made for him at one of those paint your own dish birthday parties when they were eight. And Michael, bending over to kiss the back of his hand, not even asking for a thank you.

“I.” Alex has to cough, take a swallow of tea, or else he might get choked up. “Had a really bad day.”

It’s stupid—Alex feels a little stupid for repeating himself. Like it’s not obvious. Like he’s some little kid begging for reassurance.

But Michael just says, “Yeah.” And leans over to mush a kiss to Alex’s shoulder, still cradling his legs so carefully in his lap so Alex doesn’t get jostled by his movement. “Thank you for letting me share this part of it. And maybe do a little bit to make the night less shit.”

And Alex strokes his hair, pets him ‘til he’s purring, sleepy eyes still alert enough to watch Alex with fond focus.

“You have,” he says, “you already have.”

#malex #alex manes #michael guerin #hurt/comfort #alex isnt in a great brainspace for part of ths fic fw #intrusive thoughts cw #is appropriate i think

[always-against-the-grain]

the hangover

Summary: Negan punishes you for being hungover during a run.

Pairing: Negan x reader (female, named Eddie)

Tags: Negan smut, Negan x reader, rough smut

You lay flat on your stomach, one arm and leg hanging off the edge of the bed. In your slumber you could vaguely feel your symptoms of a migraine, dizziness, and nausea creeping up - they were instantly catalyzed by the sound of your alarm. You instinctively hit the snooze button and lifted your head to read the time:

5:00am

“fuckkkkk,” you groaned to yourself bringing your pillow over your head.

You told yourself you had to get up, you could not miss an assignment. Negan would have your ass, and not the way you would like him too.

You mustered your energy and literally rolled yourself onto your feet. You stumbled through your room, sporadically dressing. The fast movements amplified your symptoms, you occasionally had to stand still with a fist over your mouth to control your urge to puke. Your insane headache didn’t help either, it felt like someone stuffed cotton into your skull through your nostrils.

You’ve always had poor impulse control. Saying yes to another drink, another line or bump, yes to a stranger at the club. And last night yes to tequila with the rugby folks.

The semi and two other trucks were set to take off at 5:30. You were on track to be out there early but your bathroom break took longer than usual considering you urinated for what could have been 2 minutes,  took extra time to pep talk yourself and debated with your stomach over the sink. Which led to you getting (in your opinion) the worst seat in the house. The semi, sandwiched between the driver and Negan. 

_______

“Well good morning doll!” He said trough the rolled down window.

Jesus fucking christ wanna lower voice, you thought to yourself

“Good morning” you responded, your voice cracking as you scooted making more room for him.

Negan opened the door, got in, and you braced yourself.

Slam

Oh fuck, you felt like you skull was gonna burst with the pressure.

Negan observed you, noticing the subtle eye-roll under the skin of your eyelids, and your deep swallow - again holding down whatever you last drink and meal was. He knew.

The beginning of the ride was fine but after a half hour, your nausea was exacerbated. You tried to counteract the effects by taking deep breaths and small sips of water. Luckily you didn’t blow chunks in Negan.

The group scavenged some homes, and stores in a nearby plaza. Your last location was a pharmacy. You didn’t believe in god but at that moment there was a fraction of a possibility for you. Your first thought was to get your hands on some aspirin and some not-so-expired Gatorade. But first the job - supplies. You all cleared the place and began loading non-perishables and first aid items into your bags.

Negan walked down the hygiene aisle towards you.

“This is for you, Eddie.” His long arm stretched out to hand you a small white bottle.

You turned it around to read the label: 800mg ibuprofen

You played dumb, “what’s this for?”

“Com’n doll, I know a hungover kid when I see one”

You smiled down at the bottle in disbelief, “Guess I didn’t hide it very well”

“You most certainly did not,” he teased, “I mean, you were boring as shit on the way up, kept drinking water - probably cause you didn’t wanna throw up, and you’ve had that same sheen of sweat on your face all day.”

“Plus” you leaned down towards your ear, you got a whiff of his cologne and felt the heat of his breath on your neck, “you’re a walking distillery.”

You looked up at him confused, you’re brain not having the best cognitive function at the moment to breakdown his metaphor.

“You reek of alcohol, hon”

“Shit, really?”

“Oh yeah, shits oozing outta you!”

“Fuck, alright, thanks for these,” you said gesturing at the bottle.

“No problem doll,” he walked behind you, putting a light hand on your hip, and whispered in your other ear,  “Oh, and we’ll discuss this event further”

What the fuck does that mean?

The ride back was much better. You were tired and almost caught yourself falling asleep on Negan’s shoulder. 

When you arrived the other group was already in the garage ready to unload. Negan stepped out of the semi and held the door open as you followed. You took three steps before Negan hooked his hand under your arm pulling you back. He turned you around.

“Listen, as cute as I found your little attempt to hide your hangover, you could’ve seriously compromised the run. And I can’t let that go unpunished.”

Those words, his voice, instantly turning you on. You wanted to rub one out right there in front of him.

“So eat, get cleaned up, whatever but meet me in my room immediately after”

You nodded in understanding, he released you with a slight push. _______

You made your way through the hallways, nervous and a little scared but mostly hoping it’d end up like last time.

You knocked on Negan’s door.

“Come in!”

You opened the door slowly and stepped inside.

“Have a seat doll” he gestured with his pen toward the couch across the coffee table from where he was sitting.

Negan was on a long coach, ankle on his knee, jotting things down in a notebook, probably taking inventory from today. He was wearing a cotton white tee and his usual black pants.

You sat down. Waiting for him to say something. But there was nothing.

“So, you wanted to talk?” You broke the silence.

“Damn straight I do.” He said not looking up from his notes. “What you pulled today, was unacceptable, so we’re gonna come up with an appropriate sanction. And I’ll let you make the first offer” he finished his final markings and drew his eyes to you.

“I am personally am not a fan of consequences so I couldn’t tell you”

“Com’n, you’re smart, well, most of the time, what do you think I should do with you?”

There was another streak of quiet.

“Well I’m thinking you can have 2 weeks of fence duty, or considering our history, we can come up with a private punishment that serves both parties” he suggested. “I think you’ll enjoy the latter, but no pressure doll, it’s your choice. I won’t force anything on ya, just thought we’d have a little fun.”

“Like a sexual punishment?” You wanted clarification

“That’s a safe assumption to make, Eddie” he laughed, knowing you weren’t so innocent but still managed to ask the question.  

“Well, I don’t want fence duty cause it’s been hotter than the devil's dick lately.”

Negan laughed, “you got some colorful language there doll”

“So what do you have in mind?” You asked, adjusting yourself in your seat, stuffing your foot under your knee.

He set his notepad off to the side and rubbed the stubble on his chin, “What are you into?”

“Well, I, uh, never -“

“You haven’t had this sort of sexual experience have you?” He tried to put the pieces together

“...um, no,” you said shyly

“Oh okay. I want you to know that with me, you just gotta let me know what you like and what you don’t and I’ll adjust. You know I don’t disappoint. So, Is there anything you want to try?”

“Well, you’ve probably noticed, I like being roughed up, manhandled if you will. So...”

“Have you ever tried spanking?”

“I mean it’s happened a during sex, hell you did it last week, but not as an isolated thing”

“How do feel about me bending you over my bed and giving you your punishment?”

You looked over to his bed, and back at him, “yeah, I’m open to that”

Negan pushed off his knees and stood up. You looked up at him from your seat, his predatory eyes making your core tingle. You got up to meet him.

He began attacking your neck, sucking hard at your skin here and there, drawing out moans from you. His hands wandered at your back, made their way under the crewneck sweater you were wearing.

“No bra?”

“Thought I’d make this go quicker”

“Is your mind always in the dirty gutter?”

“Not as much as yours” you whispered in half moans

His hands made their way to your chest, pinching your erect buds.

“Fuck” you groaned

He pulled the hoodie off, revealing your upper half. His hands hooked under both sides of your jaw and began kissing your lips, slipping his tongue in your mouth.

Both of you staggered towards the bed.

“Bend over. Hands behind your back”

You did as you were told. You heard the clicking of his belt. You were worried he was gonna use that on you. You turned her head back, trying to get a better look.

“Relax doll, this is for something else.”

He grabbed your wrists and wrapped his belt around them. He then slipped your loose fitting running shorts down mid-thigh, eyes locking with your womanhood.

“Do I turn you on this much doll?” He asked, taking a thumb and spreading your juices around, swirling it around your clit.

You wiggled your hips trying to get more friction. 

Negan removed his finger, “not yet”

“So you want 10 hard ones or 20 moderate ones? Before I fuck into next week” he asked and he roughly caressed your buttocks.

“10”

“Alright. I want you to count them out, you miss one doll and we’re starting from the top”

“Yes, sir”

Negan groaned at your words, squeezing your cheeks one last time. There was a pause before you felt the first one.

Smack

Ah fuck

“One” you moaned, eyes glued shut. It hurt but you were oddly into it.  

Smack

“Two”

Smack

“T-three” you began breathing heavy

Smack

It took a little longer to answer

“Four,” you said softer

“What was that sweetheart?” He asked menacingly

You didn’t answer, you knew he heard you and you hated repeating yourself, the situation didn’t change that.

“You know the rules. You don’t answer we start over” He reminded you

“You won’t” you challenged him

His clothed body leaned over you, feeling his semi-hard bulge over your ass. He tangled his hand in your hair and pulled your head back.

“From the top” he ordered and carelessly let you head fall

Smack

“One” your voice at a slightly higher pitch

Smack

“Two”

Smack

“Three”

Smack. That one a little extra hard on the next one, your wrists wrestling against the belt around them.

“Four,” you said it clearly this time.

After he got to the fourth one for the second time he gave he gently rubbed his markings, giving you some relief, and switched cheeks.

Smack

“Five” you gritted through your teeth

“Halfway there doll. And damn baby, you are soaking” he brought his fingers to your center again, feeling your slickness. He brought two fingers inside you and you bit down on the sheets hoping he’d give you release.

You slowly pumped his fingers in and out of you, his thumb playing with your bundle. When he felt your walls quiver he pulled them out, causeing a frustrated sigh to exit you.

“Patience, doll”

Fuck you

Without warning, he brought the next blow

“Agh! - Six!”

“You alright doll?” He wanted to make sure you were okay with everything.

You nodded, your cheek rubbing against his sheets.

Smack

“S-Seven”

Smack

Smack

“Eight! Nine!”

You were heaving, your face buried into the mattress, your torso rising and sinking, your back glistening with sweat.

He stepped back and pulled your shorts all the way down through your ankles. He roughly spread your legs out more.

The next blow went where you didn’t expect it to.

Smack right on your center

You moaned loudly and he entered you in one swift motion, you didn’t have time to fully register the sting or count it. He grabbed onto the belt, bringing your upper body slightly off the mattress. He jackhammered into you. Wet, slapping sounds filling the room.

He felt you getting close, your center squeezing his member tighter and your moans getting louder. He let his grip on the belt relax and you flopped back onto the mattress.

He shimmed his hand to your front, causing his body to press against you tightly. His penetration was slower, but he took his time to go extra deep, while his fingers worked your clit.

“I’m close” you barely got out.

He kept himself buried deep, his girth keeping you stretched out, he focused on stimulation.

“Com’n, Eddie, come for me” he practically ordered.

God his fingers

You tensed up and immediately came undone. Sighing in relief.

“There she is” Negan praised

Negan pulled out of you. And began caressing your vulva. You jolted forward at the oversensitivity.  

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet” he gripped your hips and pulled you back into place.

He utilized your secretions and brought his fingers to your puckered hole. Spreading your juices around it.

“This okay doll?”

Fuck it

“Yes da-, yes sir”

“Daddy huh? You can call me that, dirty girl”

His fingers continuing the swirling motions

“So is this okay doll?” he leaned over and nibbled at your muscular shoulder.

“Yes, daddy”

He straightened up and worked one finger in and felt you tense up.

“Shh, shh, relax doll. I got you” He soothed you, and began pumping that single finger in and out.

You felt more liquid land on your hole, you were certain he used his spit, but it helped his finger enter and exit much easier.

After serval minutes he asked, “ready for another one?”

You nodded

Smack

“Answer me!”

“Yes”

Smack

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, daddy”

He slid a second finger inside you. It was tight and stung a little but it was also pleasurable. You started to back your hips into his fingers.

“That’s it” he encouraged

He pulled his fingers out and rubbed the tip of his dick at your hole. He pushed his half his head in and pulled out, he performed that movement several times.

“I’m going to go inside you now, sweetheart”

“Okay,” you said nervously

“If it’s too much you can tell me to stop, and I’ll stop” he reassured you

He pushed his entire head in. It was wider than his two fingers but not unbearable. He stilled for a moment.

“Relax”

You took semi-deep breathes. Negan pushed half-way on your exhale.

“That’s it, keep breathing”

Negan timed his movements. Every time you breathed in he exited and when you breathed out he pushed back in. Eventually hiding his whole member inside you.

“Harder” you muttered at him

“Your a fucking bad girl, Eddie. Wanting me to fuck your ass harder”

He dug his fingers into your hips and pumped violently into you.

“I’m gonna come in your ass” telling you, not asking.

His groans and movements became frantic, and with one final grunt, Negan blew his load into you. Giving you lazy pumps as he softened.

He pulled out of you, and you heard his zipper close. But he wasn’t done yet.

He brought his hand back to your recently used entrance and used his dripping cum as a lubricant. He scissored your anus while using his other hand to flick your clit. You began bucking against him, faster and faster, feeling the coil tighten in your gut, eventually convulsing around his digits.

“Ah fuck!”

He pulled off his shirt and wiped your back dry, making his way to your center to clean both of your fluids.

He tossed his shirt to the side, untied you, and gave you a playful, light smack, “try to handle your liquor better next time”

You sat at the edge of his bed feeling the ache on your backside and rubbed your wrists. Negan was washing his hands in his small kitchen.

“I can handle my liquor, Negan” you told him

Negan laughed, turning off the faucet, flicking the excess water off his hands. He reached for the overhead counters and pulled out a bottle of alcohol and set on the counter.

“Let’s see” he turned to you, daring you.  

#negan #negan x oc #negan x reader #Negan thirst squad #negan smut #The Walking Dead #twd #negan fanfiction #twd fanfiction

[cuorepietoso]

Things you said after it was over / Things you said in the streetcar at 1AM

requested by and ft. @lavolumnia

          I. 

     His mother has not made a sound since that last bitten off scream in the morgue on December 19th. Three days into her crushing, painful silence, Vivianne shows up, a stoic set to her chin, Cyrus holding her hand. He almost doesn’t let them in, an uncharacteristically waxy look to the skin on his face, but the kid darts past the two of him and over to his mother. He stands rooted to the spot as he watches him reach for her frail hand, watches her eyes track the movement without any spark of recognition. She lifts her hand to take his tiny, chubby fingers in a feather-light grip, and then reaches up to trail the digits on her free hand through his golden, fluffy curls. Battista holds his breath, and Vivianne shifts her weight behind him like she wants to step forward and… and do something, probably. She’s a woman of action and cunning. It doesn’t help any of them, here. 

    Shoshanna’s hands fall lightly into her lap like snow, and her blank gaze turns back to the window. Cyrus tugs at her skirt, and then turns his big eyes back to the pair of them. A rock sinks further into his gut, and suddenly his vision blurs. He hasn’t cried yet, so he won’t do it now in front of them, and his hands come up to almost violently wipe at his eyes. Vivianne puts a hand on his shoulder, and Cyrus rockets into his knees to cling to him. He’s not going to cry now. 

     Seventeen days, he’s been skirting around like a ghost, dragging his mother out of bed to sit her by the window. Trying to get her to eat. Going to the police station, getting kicked out of the police station. Ignoring the calls of all of his friends. The police release his body when it’s clear they have no leads, and they bury what’s left of him almost a month late. The funeral is a small affair-- he has to plan it almost by himself, haphazardly gathering the small religious community, some of their neighbors. 

          The day he turns eighteen, they finally get to bury his father. 

     The weather is clear, but freezing. Windy. He has to accept condolences by himself, his mother standing slightly off to the side and staring at the empty skies to the south, her mouth pressed into a thin line that never wavers. Battista’s eyes are far too dry, painfully puffy and gritty, and they are surrounded by dark circles that haven’t disappeared since mid-December. He stands stiffly, and he accepts careful hugs of friends from school, old teachers, cousins he’s hardly met. Neighbors, the nosy old ladies from the kahal kodesh they attended in his earliest years, the sad eyed Rabbi that runs a touching but slightly empty ceremony. Throughout, Vivianne Sloane stands rigid at his right shoulder, and Cyrus periodically fidgets next to him, occasionally reaching up to hold his shaking hand. The older girl watches every movement of every person like a hawk, like maybe she thinks she can protect him from something, after all this. He tries to feel grateful for the thought. 

          Instead, it seems he can only focus on the fact that Philip and Maeve Petre are nowhere to be seen. 

     It nags at him, just like the way Vivianne seems to be on guard nags at him. A sick feeling forms in his gut. As the mourners disperse, he turns to pick up Cyrus and then hands him over to Vivianne, before slinking over to put a hand on his mother’s elbow, with a soft, “Mama.” No response. He didn’t expect one. Carefully, he pulls on her elbow, over to the headstone, and he explains what he’d had written there, and why, what stone they used, who carved it. She stares at it placidly. He feels his eyes well with tears and angrily wipes them away, and then reaches out a hand to touch the rough stone. “He left us, mama.” 

          Let love be the gravestone that lies upon my life. 

     Vivianne steps forward, and he whirls around to face her, fists trembling. She looks him over, flicks her eyes to the freshly engraved stone in the crowded graveyard, and then looks at his mother. She settles one fine-boned hand on the older woman’s shoulder, and then watches him once more. “I can take her back, if you want to stay a while.” 

     Wiping his eyes with his sleeve is quickly becoming unproductive, but with a brief hiccup, he nods. Her mouth is a grim line when he can force himself to look at her again, but her eyes are sad. He’s so angry he’s almost sick with it, and even more than that he is unimaginably, ground-shatteringly tired, and when she pulls him close with an arm over his shoulders, he settles his chin on hers and then buries his face into the crook of her neck, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her there for a moment. He’s finally taller than her, even in her functional little kitten heels. The realization pushes a wet laugh out of him, and he pulls away with a quiet sniffle. “Sorry, I think I got um, snot on you.” Her unimpressed stare makes him duck his head, and his gaze locks on the gravestone again. It’s hard to look away. “I would. Appreciate it. I think I need a minute alone.”

     With one last worried glance at him, she draws away and smooths her expression, carefully taking Shoshanna’s arm and pulling her to her car, Cyrus in tow. Battista sits out in the cold for hours, staring at the grey stone that marks the final resting place of his father, and watching the clouds darken overhead. He only gets to his feet and shuffles home after the sun starts to go down, casting long shadows in the graveyard that look like greedy hands. The horizon is deepening from pink to purple by the time he gets back on sore feet, and Vivianne is lingering uncomfortably in their kitchen, surveying the freakish state of neatness he’s left the place in. Cyrus is asleep on the couch, curled up next to his own mother. Battista wavers, not sure how to thank her, not sure how to open his mouth, and without missing a beat she just scoops her son into her arms and marches up to him. Places a careful hand on his cold-numbed cheek. Murmurs, “Call me if you need anything. Anything.”

          He thinks about his father. About her. He thinks about Philip Petre, and how he didn’t show up today. And he nods mutely, watching her slip into the evening.

          II.

          A month later, he’s drunk when he finally calls her. 

     It’s late when she arrives at the bar he’s sitting on the steps of, smoking a cigarette and holding a cool bottle of water to his swelling eye. He’s temporarily half blinded from the alcohol and the injury, and he knows he’s solved it all, but he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do. She comes to a stop a few feet from him, and only then does he glance up at her, his face gaunt in the street light. She looks… tired. She looks a little sad, behind all that armor. 

          Kids have to grow up sometime. 

     He holds out his half-smoked cigarette to her, and she takes it carefully and puts it out, and then pulls him to his feet. Battista’s balance is too good to send him toppling, really, but he leans their shoulders close anyway. They walk, for a little, before she leads him down to the metro station. He knows he sounds like an asshole when he asks, “What, no fancy car tonight?” 

     Vivianne only gives him a droll look, a dry, “you seemed like you needed some time to think when you called me,” and they sit in silence for a moment on the platform waiting for the train. He fidgets, prodding at the darkening bruise over his eye, and she watches him attentively, waiting for him to spill his guts to her like he always does. 

     So, he gives the lady what she wants, unscrewing the cap of the water bottle with a sigh. “I’m leaving.” He can’t look at her, because he’s not sure which expression he’ll find on her face. Surprise, hurt-- perhaps nothing at all, just the blank mask she wears when she’s not sure how she’s supposed to feel. A long drink, and then he continues. “My mother is going to live with some relatives. I, uh… Enlisted, in the Army.” His foot taps restlessly. The train is coming. He screws the cap back on, and is frustrated to find his fingers tremble lightly. 

     Mercifully, there’s no comment on that from her end. She stands, and pulls him to his feet with a long sigh. He follows her onto the train, and they take a seat in the empty car, and neither of them speak until they’re clattering along the tracks. She glances at him, and her voice is quiet when she asks, “When do you leave?” It’s hard to look at her. Crossing his arms and staring at the yawning blackness outside of the windows seems easier. 

          “The seventh.”

     “That’s … that’s in five days, Battista.” Her voice is hard, and… brittle, maybe. It makes him hunch, and bunch his shoulders up around his ears, like maybe he can hide from the unsaid accusations there: were you going to leave without saying anything? Are you never coming back? Her hand meets his elbow, and he finally lifts his gaze to hers. Cold steel, and a wrinkle of confusion between her brows. 

     He wasn’t going to tell her. He wasn’t going to say anything at all, just in case-- Battista isn’t sure which outcome would be worse, honestly. Finding out she knew, finding out she’d kept it from him, finding out that perhaps she’d even had a hand in it, or finding out she didn’t know anything at all, and putting her in danger with the knowledge. But the words spill from his mouth in a rush, his voice lowered to a harsh whisper.

          “Did you know?”

     Vivianne doesn’t draw away from him, the confusion on her face only growing before she manages to smother that too, her hand still light against his arm. Something grows tight in his throat. “Know… that you were leaving?” 

     Already shaking his head before the question fully leaves her mouth, he snaps out, “Did you know it was a Capulet that killed my father, Vivianne?” The venom in his voice is hard to hide, but she doesn’t flinch away from it.

     The expression on her face shifts so quickly that he almost doesn’t catch it. Cold shock, disbelief, perhaps even horror. It takes her a few seconds to wrangle that back into nothingness, but the fact that she tries to hide it at all proves it to him: she had no idea. It gathers in his throat like acid. He wants so badly to be angry at someone, but it can’t be her. Her only crime, in this instance, is ignorance. “Are you sure?” The question doesn’t come out like she thinks it’s not possible, it comes out low; like she knows that just asking it is dangerous. It probably is, especially for her.

     He shrugs one shoulder. “Yes. I’ve been… you know.” Getting involved with mob politics had been something he’d always been careful to avoid, sometimes having to resort to every single trick in his little book. But his father, and his best friend were both in the life. And he’d learned. 

     Staring straight ahead for a moment, she contemplates this information. He appreciates that she doesn’t try to capitulate, or beg him to believe her. She doesn’t burst into any rushed explanations, or a frenzy of questions, just the single, quiet ‘are you sure’, and then she thinks it over for herself. They wait. He feels like the alcohol is about to give him his first case of motion sickness. 

          Eventually, he speaks again. “Do you know who it would have been?” 

     There’s been a sneaking suspicion in him for a while, and the look she levels him with then means she's already figured that he thinks he knows who it was. Her lips purse, and she shakes her head. The expression on her face is, as always, nearly fucking impossible to read. His stop is coming up, so he stands. “I can’t stay here, Viv. If I do, I’m going to-- I’m going to do something I’ll regret, you know?” He’s going to do something stupid. Something dangerous. He needs to get out of the city that snuffed out the light in both of his parents, before it breaks him too. And so, he’s going to run.

     Vivianne Sloane remains seated, her pale eyes watching him in the bright light of the metro. Softly, almost sadly, almost wistfully, she says: “I know.” He has to look away from her, because he’s afraid that she can see right through him. The gesture is pointless, because she always can anyway. Battista makes to leave, but she grabs his sleeve just before he steps on the train. “Let me take you to the airport. When you go.” 

          She doesn’t say please. 

     He nods, and pulls his arm away from her almost gently. “I’ll text you. I promise.” She takes her seat once more, and he steps off the train just before the doors snap shut, and then watches the yawning tunnel for a long time after the cars have disappeared.

#/ / DRABBLES . #tw death #tw murder #tw alcohol #hoo boy sorry about this in general as always

[radiosteve]

Need Your Loving Tonight Ch. 9

Summary: Having a cold usually sucks, but is it really that bad when you accidentally fall asleep on the shoulder of a cute bassist? Despite being sick, you decide to stay for Queen’s show. But as it turns out, not every Queen show goes according to plan.  

Note: More fluff and more Deaky in this chapter! As always, the italicized part is the reader’s thoughts. The photo is one that I found on google. I do not own any rights to it. If you want to be added to the taglist send me a message or an ask and I’ll add you!  

Warnings: Language, slight angst, fluff

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader, John Deacon x Reader

Words: 3.8k+

  January 28, 1972

 The heat in Brian’s car broke last month, leaving the two of you to freeze on your drive to Bedford College. A shiver ran down your spine as you gripped tightly onto the warm layer of faux fur surrounding you. Ever since you managed to get a stable job after graduation, you quickly started to become very fiscally responsible (which was a good thing for the boys since you still helped them balance their books for the band). Buying this nice, fluffy coat felt like a true big kid purchase and you didn’t regret a single penny spent. However, it wasn’t until after you had already gone out to buy the coat that you realized that Roger had a jacket that was quite similar, but oh well. Your body suddenly became stiff and you felt every muscle in your body tense. With your eyes fluttering closed, you let a soft sneeze escape from your lips.  

 “Do you still have that cold?” Brian peered over at you, his hair matted down by a knit hat and his chin shoved into the collar of his big winter coat.

 “Sort of, but this cold ass weather really doesn’t help,” you chattered through your teeth as Brian’s gaze refocused on the road.

 “Sorry, love. We’ll be there soon,” he reassuringly placed his gloved hand on yours and held it. After a few more minutes of driving, the two of you finally arrived at the school. Brian popped the truck as you got out and went to grab his guitar. The case began to slip from your grip due to the flimsy fabric of your gloves. You heard Brian audibly gasp from behind as you tightly pulled the instrument closer. A wave of relief flooded your chest as you handed the guitar off to Brian, knowing all about his obsession with keeping it safe. “Don’t you dare scare me like that again. You know that Red Special and I have a special bond. I couldn’t go on performing without her,” Brian spew, half-jokingly, half serious.

 “I’m sorry, Bri. But both you and Red know that I have no malicious intent,” you lightly chuckled as Brian narrowed his eyes at you. 

 “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say,” Brian muttered under his breath as he slung an arm around your shoulder and walked towards the building. As soon as you entered, the two of you slipped down a long corridor and made your way to the backstage area. The ‘dressing room’ here was even smaller than the one at Surrey College and you could tell that all of the boys had noticed.  

“First gig of the year boys, how’s everyone feeling?” Brian’s question got mumbled answers from Roger and John, but they could barely be heard over Freddie’s response.

 “I’m just lovely darling. Such a pleasure to perform for so many people that seem to genuinely enjoy us and our music,” Freddie’s arms stretched out from his sides as he spoke. Roger smiled at what Freddie was saying while John let out a soft giggle. “Ah Y/n,” Freddie called out after seeing you standing near the door. “How is the cold, my dear? Feeling better I hope,” You walked into Freddie’s outstretched arms, as he held tightly to your waist. “You look much better. Your face has regained some color and your nose isn’t nearly as runny,” Freddie poked your nose with his finger, and you recoiled as you laughed. 

“You almost gave me a heart attack when you waltzed into my apartment the other day. I was half asleep from the cold medicine and I thought you were trying to rob me,” Freddie erupted into laughter as you sat down on the couch against the wall. John’s cheeks had turned pink from giggling at the banter taking place between you and Freddie.

 “Is that why you grabbed that magazine off the coffee table? You were going to beat Fred and I with it?” John’s words came out softly and sweetly. You nodded, knowing that John wasn’t mocking you, but even if he was you would have laughed along anyway. Because, in all honesty, just being around John made you want to laugh. Everything about him made your heart flutter and your head swirl. It seemed so difficult to conceal your ever-growing feelings for him, but you knew that it was the right thing to do. Your very last intention was to break up the band by creating some unneeded tension between two of the members. Brian would probably never speak to you again and you’d be forced to move back to New Jersey in order to save yourself from shame. Geez, what a terrible thought.

 The conversation continued on, ebbing and flowing throughout the room, getting the boys excited to play tonight. You chimed in when you wanted, trying your best to function normally despite the drowse you felt from the cold medicine you chugged before Brian picked you up. The feeling of fatigue took over about 20 minutes before the boys went on stage. Your head lulled to the side, landing on John’s shoulder as your eyes heavily shut. He felt your hair scratch against his face and the hot breaths fall from your lips. John shifted his arm, resting it against the back of the couch to make you more comfortable. A small smile grew on his lips as he watched you sleeping pressed against him. It was something he thought would only happen in his dreams. And even though this wasn’t quite the way he imagined; John still savored every moment while trying not to draw the boy’s attention to the two of you. 

 Nevertheless, John’s efforts proved to be unsuccessful. It was Roger that noticed you guys first. He had been glancing at you periodically throughout the night, trying to catch you looking back at him. But this time when he turned his head, he wasn’t met with the sight of your beautiful, yet tired eyes. No, instead Roger peered over to see your lips faintly parted, your hair tucked behind your ears and falling down the back of your neck, and your head cuddled into the shoulder of his bandmate. That same feeling, the one he experienced when you rushed out of his apartment that May morning a year and a half ago, filled Roger’s chest. His eyes began to water, and he blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. Why was he crying? What was the big deal? It’s not like you were his girlfriend. And he’d seen you go on loads of dates since the two of you slept together. Roger had even heard you recount steamy sex stories to Freddie when you thought he wasn’t listening (but the truth is, Roger always listened to you, especially when you didn’t think he was). All of that had never made him feel the way he felt now. 

 Heartbroken and jealous.

 He had no right to be, but Roger knew he couldn’t help it. There was something about you and John that set everything apart from all the other dates and hookups you had after Roger. Something about the soft look John gave you as he watched you snuggle further into his side. Or the way you seemed to fit perfectly into him with comfort and ease. Roger’s heart began to beat so quickly that he thought he might go into cardiac arrest soon. The soft touch of John’s hand against your loosened shoulder, the chunk of hair that fell in your face, only to be pushed aside by John’s nimble fingers. It all drove Roger insane, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It wasn’t until he heard Freddie’s loud words that Roger snapped from his raging trance and looked up. 

 “Poor girl fell asleep already,” he walked towards the sofa that you and John sat on, gently resting his hand against your forehead, only to quickly pull it away. “Fuck, she’s burning up,” Freddie squatted down in front of you as Brian rushed over. Roger wanted to push past the two boys and sweep your head from John’s shoulder, placing it in the comfort of his lap instead. He desired to stroke your hair and coo in your ear as he fed you warm soup and cuddled under a blanket with you. Roger so desperately longed to be the one that took care of you whenever needed. But he wasn’t. He was just your friend. So instead of bustling over to you, Roger waited a few seconds before calmly walking to where Brian now stood.

 “I thought she said that she was feeling better,” Brian looked down at you with concern etched across his face. They all seemed to be genuinely worried about you as you slept. Roger felt worse, knowing that he wasn’t able to do anything to help improve your condition. And what killed him was the panic that seemed to have overtaken Deaky as he felt your forehead. That was when it hit him. Roger realized why he seemed to be so bothered by you and John. It was because John liked you, Roger could see that now. John had been so shy, nervous, and tentative around you because he had a crush on you and that made Roger jealous. He just hoped that somehow, despite the major doubts spinning around in his head, you didn’t feel the same for John. Freddie stretched his hand out to gently caress your face, hoping to wake but not startle you. Your eyes slowly fluttered open as you hazily peered at Freddie.

 “Darling, you’re burning up. I think we should have Sally come pick you up. I don’t want you out in public feeling like this,” Freddie’s tone was soft and caring. You moved your head from John’s shoulder, sitting up and leaning into the couch. Your eyelids felt heavy as you fought to keep them open.

 “No Fred, I want to see you guys perform. First show of the year, right?” a smile teased on your lips before it was replaced by a sneeze into your arm. “I can just take some more medicine. I brought it in my purse,” you picked your bag up off the ground and pulled out the liquid syrup. “Don’t make me go home Freddie Bear,” you mustered up the best puppy dog eyes you could, speaking in your baby voice to convince him. ‘Freddie Bear’ was a teasing nickname you first started using one night after a Queen show in the beginning of ‘71. You went with the boys to a party and got very, very drunk. Freddie, despite his own inebriated state, tried to cut you off from drinking anymore. You then pulled the ‘Freddie Bear’ nickname out of your ass and he let you have one more beer. Ever since then, the nickname had become your failsafe. 

 “Fine, but I’m still going to call Sally and have her pick you up right after the show,” Freddie stood up when you nodded and fixed the strand of hair that had fallen in your face. You heard Freddie pick up the phone as you started to pour the cold medicine into the small plastic top that came with the bottle. Brian turned away from you only to return with a glass of water a few seconds later. You thanked him and downed the liquid medicine like it was a shot. Your whole body recoiled at the taste before you quickly brought the water to your lips as a chaser. You fell back into the couch cushions with slight exhaustion. A shiver raked through your body and John noticed.

 “You alright, love?” his eyebrows furrowed with worry as you pulled your knees into your chest.

 “I’m fine, just a little cold,” you shivered again, placing your bag back onto the ground. You could see something in John’s eyes but couldn’t tell what it was exactly. Before you could continue evaluating, John had wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into him.

 “There,” his words muffled as he placed his chin on top of your head. “Now you won’t be cold,” the vibrations of his words echoed in his throat and you nearly giggled at the way it felt against your cheek. You snuggled your body further into John’s, blaming your coziness on what felt like ice flowing through your veins. The two of you sat like that for a few minutes before a man peeked in through the door.

 “Five minutes ‘til stage, lads,” you reluctantly removed yourself from John’s arms, holding out a hand for him to take as you stood up.

 “Come on boys. Let’s get this bloody show on the road,” you spoke jokingly before being interrupted by a loud sneeze. They all chuckled at your cute sneeze before walking out of the dressing room. Brian lead the way to the stage, followed by Freddie and John as you brought up the rear with Roger.

 “You did it again,” Roger leaned into you with a slight bump of the shoulder as he spoke. You just looked up at him confused as the two of you reached the backstage area. “You used a British term,” he smiled, and you returned the gesture, letting out a sarcastic laugh. Another shiver took over quickly after and Roger’s eyes flooded with concern. “Here,” he took off the jean jacket that he was wearing over top of his t-shirt and handed it to you. “I won’t need it onstage anyway.” You graciously accepted the jacket as you started to feel goosebumps pop up on your arms. Roger turned away from you to stand next to the boys near the closed curtain. 

 “Good…” a sneeze interrupted you before you managed to continue. “Luck!” all four of the boys smiled at you before running onstage when the curtain opened. 

 --------------------------------

 The boys stormed off the stage after finishing their short set. A scowl was etched across Roger’s face as he brushed past you, heading towards the dressing room. He seemed to be the angriest out of four the boys. If anything, Freddie saw the whole situation as a bit of a joke, while Brian and John were mild tempered enough to be understanding of it. You slowly cracked the door to the room open, seeing Roger standing in the middle with a broken drumstick in one hand while running his other through his now tangled hair. After telling the rest of the boys to stay outside for a minute, you walked into the room and stepped closer to Roger.

 “Rog,” you breathed out, coming closer as Roger turned to face you. “You can’t let it go to your head,” his face was a deep shade of red as he puffed air rapidly in and out of his chest. “This kind of thing is bound to happen from time to time. The best thing you can do is accept it and better prepare yourself for the future,” your words were calming and gentle, but Roger was too worked up to let himself get over it so quickly.

 “Six people, Y/n! Six people came to our gig! It’s ridiculous!” Roger threw his arms into the air as he spoke, the anger in his tone just worked him up even more. “This is my life, my so-called career! And here I am, playing to an audience of six people!”   

 “Technically it’s seven if you count me,” you muttered, trying to get Roger to laugh. But instead, Roger turned to you, looking even angrier. 

 “You’re really not helping, so can you please just get out,” Roger’s words were laced with ice as they slipped from his tongue. He was too caught up in his own fit of rage to realize that you were right. This is the music industry and not every concert is going to sell out just the same way that not every album goes gold. You stumbled to the door, turning back to look at Roger just before you walked back into the hallway.

 “So?” Brian asked after you closed the door. “Any luck at calming the little drummer boy down?” you just shook your head in response before leaning your back against the wall. 

 “That’s alright darling, you did your best. Now you should go wait near the door for Sally to come get you. She’s going to be here soon,” Freddie chimed in, placing his hand on your shoulder. You pushed yourself up from the wall, pulling your purse up your arm before seeing Roger’s jacket still draped around your torso. You pulled it off, replacing the denim with your own fur coat before giving the boys a hug goodbye and handing Roger’s jacket to Brian. “Johnny, why don’t you stay with Y/n while we go try to ease Roger’s mood?” John nodded at Fred’s suggestion and began walking next to you. 

 “Feel better, love!” Brian called down the hallway before disappearing into the dressing room door. You and John joked along at Roger’s hissy fit as you traveled down the corridor, reaching the large set of double doors leading to the parking lot.

 “We should just wait in here,” John’s voice was gentle as he stopped just in front of the door. “You’re already ill enough, don’t need you getting any worse,” you shot John a close-lipped smile and slowly slid down the wall, curling your knees to your chest as you sat on the ground. John mimicked your actions on the wall across from you. 

 “You did really well tonight, John,” the side of your head now rested against your kneecaps. “I mean you all did. It’s kind of shocking how few people showed up,” John could hear the scratch in your voice before you started to cough. He waited for your coughing fit to end before he spoke again.

 “Not really. There are plenty of reasons as to why only six people came. Could have been poor advertising, different music tastes, financial reasons, some other big event, or maybe they just don’t know who we are yet. Whatever the reason, it doesn’t much matter,” John’s eyes never left yours as he rambled on. “All I care about, all the band should care about, is that the people who do show up at our gigs have a great time. That’s the real reason I want to play music. I just want to look out at the audience’s faces and see a great big smile,” John’s own lips curled into a smile, and yours did too. 

 What John didn’t tell you, was that when he said ‘audience’, he really just meant you. During their gigs, John frequently looked for you. Whether you were in the crowd or backstage, John’s eyes trailed across the sea of people looking for you and only you. And when he saw that heartwarming, genuine grin plastered across your mouth, he had to resist every urge to jump off stage and seal your lips with his. These days, it felt like everything John did somehow brought him back to you. It was as if he was a planet orbiting your sun. Like you were the driving force behind everything he thought and did. And man did it scare him. John felt overwhelmed by the sheer thump of his heart against his chest whenever you entered the room. He knew that he was falling for you, falling fast and hard. 

 “That’s really sweet John,” your smile slowly faded as you lifted your head up and rested it against the wall. Your neck craned upwards as you looked towards the ceiling.

 “Hey, what’s wrong,” Deaky asked, noticing the shift in your body language. A sigh escaped your lips before you tilted your head back down, still avoiding John’s gaze.

 “I don’t know. Guess I thought that I’d be able to calm Roger down from his little outburst. It’s a dumb thing to worry about,” you brushed it off and looked down at the floor. “He just worries me. Sometimes I feel like he’s heading in a downward spiral. I mean, the drinking, the girls, starting to get into some drugs, and now losing his temper like that. I’m just worried that the Rockstar lifestyle will tear him down too quickly,” a shaky breath fell through your words. John stood up and walked over in your direction before sitting down next to you. His hand grabbed for yours as it rested on the ground. 

 “It’s not dumb to be concerned about your friends,” he gave your hand a light squeeze. John had a way about him that made you believe that he’d never been angry before in his life. I hope he stays that way. So gentle and calm. “If anything, it’s endearing to be so worried about your friend’s future. Roger is lucky to be so close to you, we all are,” his head turned in your direction. “I find no faults in being caring and compassionate, even if the other person doesn’t deserve the affection you give them.” you stared at Deaky with tear filled eyes, unaware as to why you were even crying. With a light chuckle, you brushed the tears from your eyes.

 “For only being 20 years old, you are way smarter than me. Smarter than anyone I know actually,” a soft smile formed on your face and John mirrored it. 

 “I could never be as intelligent as you. Not in a million years,” Deaky countered playfully, gently squeezing your hand once more. It was then that you realized how close the two of you were sitting. How you could feel the wisp of John’s breath against your lips and the sensation of his soft hand in yours. John started to lean in, feeling the same close proximity tugging on his chest, urging him forward. Your lips were only a few inches apart, slowly getting closer and closer. Every last bit of air in the atmosphere exited your chest as your breath hitched and the Earth stopped spinning. Your eyes fluttered shut, just two inches from those soft, cushioned lips. John’s mouth was about to ghost over yours, when the loud honk of a horn and the bright flash of headlights ripped you apart. You quickly rose up, feeling the rush of blood in your head. 

 “Thanks for waiting with me John. Good night!” you flung yourself through the doors, filing into the passenger seat of Sally’s car as John stood with blushed cheeks behind the glass door. Your heart was still pounding as Sally drove to exit the parking lot, turning onto the main road.

 “What the hell was that all about?” Sally looked over at your disheveled hair, seeing your thumb rise to your lips. Your teeth ripped into your cuticles, peeling back a piece of skin with it. 

 “We were just talking,” a nervous smile danced onto your lips before you replaced your thumb with a different finger. 

 “Yeah, just talking,” Sally spoke sarcastically before grinning cheekily and returning her focus back to the road.

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#need your loving tonight #need your loving tonight series #John Deacon #john deacon x reader #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #John deacon imagine #roger taylor imagine #Brian May #freddie mercury #Queen #queen imagine #queen fanfic #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #queen fandom #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody fanfic #bohemian rhapsody fandom #ben hardy imagine #joe mazzello imagine #ben hardy fanfic #joe mazzello fanfic #gwilym lee #roger taylor series #john deacon series #ben hardy series #joe mazzello series

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #269

“why aren’t you scared of me, why do you care for me, when we all fall asleep, where do we go?”

What’s your sexual orientation? Bisexual. What are you obsessed with right now? lol y'all know my staple stuff I'm always obsessed with, so two recent ones are Skillet (I've been binging soooo hard) and drawing again! What piercings do you want? A lot, jfc. More than any, I want collarbone dermals once I lose enough weight to where they're prominent. I've been on a goddamn weight loss plateau for two years. What’s your favorite show to binge? None. I generally don't enjoy binging too much. Do you watch porn? No, not interested. Do you have a secret sideblog? lol this survey blog. Do you have/would you get your nipples pierced? No. I very briefly considered getting one pierced, but I won't. Are you angry with anyone right now? Not like... actively. But passively it's there. What tattoos do you want? I refuse to die until I'm P A I N T E D  F O R  T H E  G O D S. Do you like paper books or ebooks better? Absolutely paperback books. It feels more "real," something to dive into, and it's easier to see and understand how far you're in. We talked about this in Writing once, was an interesting convo. Plus the smell of books, aaaaaahhhhh. Do you still have feelings for any of your exes? Yes How many followers do you have? On here? *checks* 265. Do you read erotica? No, I'd feel SUPER uncomfortable. That's why 50 Shades has never appealed to me. Have you ever gotten into an accident with you parents’ car? No. Ever thought of just picking up and moving far away? Oh yes. What’s the wallpaper on your computer? My lock screen is the Halo of the Sun from SH, and my actual desktop wallpaper is my favorite closeup of my late pup Teddy. What is the last thing/person you took a picture of? Probably a stupid Facebook meme to show Sara or something lmao. Name a band/artist you like that isn’t that popular. Otep. Can you lift your significant other (your best friend if you’re single)? I'm sure I could. What is the first vehicle you recall your parents/guardians owning? Mom had a blue/greenish van for most of my childhood, while Dad had this old tan thing that he nicknamed "Frida the Cheetah" lmao. He had that damn car forever. Have you ever seen counterfeit money? Not knowingly. Have you ever lost a pet you were attached to? Well of course. I grew up with tons of pets. What was the most rebellious thing you’ve ever done? Probably texting back "fuck you" to Mom when she was being really shitty when I was having a breakdown. Pick one: laundry, dishes, or vacuuming? I'd pick vacuuming over the others any day. Have you ever moved and had to change schools growing up? No. You are forced to move out-of-state. Where do you go? I literally want to move to Canada. The highway and back roads take you to the same place; choose your route. Back roads, probably. You’re going to be a mom/dad; what do you think/do? Have a fucking panic attack. Are you more likely to give up or persist when you’re having trouble? It really depends on the seriousness of the situation, but in most cases I've actually faced, give up. Do you resemble one parent more than the other? I don't think so. Your best friend needs a kidney to survive; do you give them one of yours? If we're compatible, yes. Name a big life event that has taken place for you within the last 2 years. Nothing because my life is incredibly monotonous and stagnant. Name one difficult lesson you’ve learned. Life isn't fair, and life doesn't care. Name one thing you look forward to as you get older. Hey, let's hope I can be a functioning adult before I'm 70. Do you use your hands when you talk to emphasize what you are saying? Yes. Will you usually admit it when you’ve made a mistake? Yeah. Does stress ever affect you physically? If yes, how? Oh, yes. My stomach will absolutely hurt and I sweat more than normal (I say "normal" because I have hyperhidrosis). Did you have a money box as a kid? What shape was it if you did? I don't remember... I know we didn't regularly get an allowance or anything like that, but maybe I'm sure I stored money I was given somewhere? Has kids TV ever frightened you? As a kid, I both watched and feared Courage the Cowardly Dog, lol. Do you have any potted plants in your house? No. If you were born outside of your era, when would you want to be born and why? Early '80s! What a time for music, metal fashion, and fun. If you ran a store, what would you sell/have? IF I was more knowledgeable on more species, probably reptiles and more proper care materials and give advice that's not shit. Places like PetSmart and Petco just... disgust me. What part in a movie would you love to play? If I was confident in acting, probably the maniac lmao. I've experienced enough Crazy for that. What's the oldest article of clothing you own? I don't really know, but I do know Mom has a lot of my and my siblings' shirts as we've grown up to knit together a blanket one day. Fuckin cute as hell. What piece of furniture have you replaced the most? The couch. What instrument do you wish you could be more than great at? Guitar, with that electric twist anyway. What’s the best part of your favorite movie? When Simba roars atop Pride Rock in the storm and all the lionesses join in FUCK I get goosebumps out the WAZOO. What do you think is the most over-rated candy ever? Twizzlers, disgoosting. If you could only debate two topics the rest of your life, what would they be? LGBTQ+ rights is #1, then... hm... probably the pro-choice argument. Or just women rights in general. Out of your friends, who would you say you are most jealous of, artistically? Oh man, my friend Mini. She drew pretty well when we were young, but her skill like... increased exponentially with time. She doesn't draw in a *style* I'm envious of, but that growth tho. Most jealous of….intellectually? Girt. What is broken that you have, that you wish was fixed? My brain lmao. A famous person you have met? Nobody. Who were the last five people to text you? Dad, Sara, Ashley, Mom, and my grandma. What is your favorite book that you had to read for school? The Outsiders. Think of the last two people you kissed. Who was more fun? I've explained the "idk if *I* ever actually kissed Girt" before, but just for the sake of the question, I'll just count him. I tbh hated it only ever because why were your lips always wet, sir???? The latest person was Sara, and she kissed fine. If your house was burning down and you only had sixty seconds to grab one or two things, what would you grab and why? Roman and Venus because they're family and I adore them. Out of all the concerts you have been to, which band/singer was the best performer? Alice was great! When was the last time you went miniature golfing? For Jason's and my second or third anniversary, so a long time ago. What’s a song you like from a genre you hate? I always answer this question with a country answer, so let's go rap. Hm. OH, probably a Post Malone song. I actually don't mind him. If you had twin girls what would you name them? Alessandra indisputably, and then the other... maybe like, Josephine. Especially as twins, I'd want two gorgeous, less-heard names. What kind of condoms do you use? I don't use any because I'm not sexually active. Do you say years young or years old [ex: 16 years young or 16 years old]? Man, I miss the days I could confidently say "years young," lmao. Do you have any personality disorders? Avoidant, yes. I'm pretty convinced I have dependent PD, too. Do you shave your arms? Armpits, yes, but not my entire arms. What do you dip your fries in? Ketchup or honey mustard. Has one of your good friends ever moved away? Damn, yeah. I particularly remember this girl from elementary school in I think the 5th grade that I was very close with, yet I don't remember her name now. What color car are you when you play The Game of Life? Dude idr the colors at all. Which hair color do you find the ugliest? I've seen it be pulled off, but generally, yellow. Would you date a guy that wears more make-up than you do? Hell yeah man you fuckin strut that shit. Did you ever play M.A.S.H. when you were little? Ah, I remember that! Sure did. If you were getting married, who would be your maid of honor? My mom. If you have any pets, were they adopted from the humane society? No, but I would of course. Do you like home design, like picking out paint colors and furniture? Not any more than the average person. Do you chew gum on a regular basis? No. List all of your features that you have ever got compliments on: Do you mean just physical? If that's the case, hair, eyes, smile, uh... I feel like that's it. WAIT I can't remember who but someone once called my nose cute. Have you ever been in a hot air balloon, and if not, would you ever want to go in one? No; yes. What type of computer do you have? It's an Acer Nitro 5. Is anyone else in the room with you right now? My snake. Do you whiten your teeth with crest white strips? Not Crest, but a different brand, yes. I hate my teeth. Do you listen to local bands? Not really. I will sometimes listen to an old friend's band, at least bits of what they post on Facebook. Nova Mortis, check 'em out if you like pretty heavy metal. Do you have a pool in your back yard? No, but damn do I wish. Do your parents fight? Do they even talk at all? That's why they're divorced. They, especially Mom, avoid doing so whenever they can. Do you drink alcohol on New Year’s Eve? Usually. Do you wear rings? Just one, a friendship ring w/ Sara. Are there any restaurants in walking distance to your house? It'd be quite a long walk, at least by my standards. What was the last picture you uploaded to your Facebook? A picture of Mom and me. Have you ever listened to the same song on repeat for hours on end? YES. When I find a song I really like, I become VERY obsessive. Like I will play it and play it and play it for days. I in general have an extremely obsessive personality. Do you like staying in hotels? I don't have much of an opinion. It's a nice change of space, though. Are musicals interesting or boring? They're cheesy to me. What is your favorite scent of incense? (If you burn it) Okay, HEAR ME OUT. There is legit a kind called "monkey farts" that smells SO FUCKIN GOOD. Jason used to burn incense in his room all the time and that was my favorite one, so I use it now. Where do you normally hang out on the weekends? At home. I'm always at home, regardless of the day. Can you tune a guitar by ear or do you need a tuner? I never could. Do you like love songs? Generally, yes. They're sweet. Would you rather drink 7Up or Sprite? Fun fact: Sprite used to be my FAVORITE soda as a kid. I even had a fuckin Sprite shirt. Now, I hate it. I haven't tasted 7UP in forever. What is your favorite song as of right now? I'm seriously digging Halocene lately, esp their cover of "bury a friend." Have you ever sex texted? This is gonna sound so stupid, but I'm actually not *totally* sure what that is? Just like, dirty talking or like, virtually RPing sex? The former I did when I was fuckin 12 like a goddamn idiot, but not the latter. When's the last time you went out of state? A year and a half (I think?) ago to visit Sara. What was your favorite TV show last year? I didn't *really* have one, at least not actively. Like I didn't devoutly watch anything. Would you know who to talk to if you wanted weed? HAHA I sureeeee do. I wouldn't want any, though. What is your favorite Beatles song? "Hey, Jude." If you could kiss anyone right now, who would it be? I don't want to think about this. What is your favorite energy drink? I don't like energy drinks. Way too intense. Have you ever been to Hooters before? No. When's the last time you tripped? (Literally or, you know) HA, funny I take this survey today because my left foot is either broken or I seriously tore a ligament in it because I fell yesterday. I had to go up a dose on my medication that helps my nightmares, but it's notoriously for lowering your blood pressure, and mine is naturally low. I got up to go to the bathroom and grab breakfast and many times nearly passed out from being so dizzy until I finally fell and my foot bent forward. I couldn't even walk by myself yesterday and am still really struggling today. Our family friend brought the boot she wore when she broke her foot over just a while ago, but if this doesn't help, Mom's demanding I go to the ER. Can you touch your toes? I don't know HOW I can, but I can, I guess from when I did yoga daily and I could pretty much go under my feet. What would you say is the best feeling in the world? Being in love and knowing they're in love with you, too. Have you ever “spoken” to any celebrities via Twitter? No. Do you like croissants? YESSSSSSSSSSS. Do you get a lot of traffic outside your house or not? Yes. Mom explained to me why one day because I'd asked, but idr what she said. Do you eat cereal bars? No, I'm a granola bar person. Would you consider yourself healthy? Uh no. Assuming you could speak and understand the language, would you ever study in a foreign, non-English speaking country? Sure, for like a year or so! Doing that in Germany would be amazing. Are you on any prescribed medication? A lot. Do you know any immigrants? I know an illegal one that got deported. I probably know others. Have you ever lived in university or college accommodation before? No. If you haven’t already, are you scared of leaving home? If you have, do you like it? Very scared. I'm just very dependent and ignorant on how to be an adult. If you could only eat one vegetable for a year (not including potatoes) what would it be? Broccoli. Do you have a certain routine in the bath or shower? What is it? Shave, shampoo, facial scrub, this exfoliating brush for your feet, and then body wash. Is there anything that you loved a year ago but just can’t stand now? Hm. I don't really know. What’s the weirdest meat you’ve ever eaten? I took the SMALLEST bite out of it because I couldn't stomach eating it, but after a lot of convincing I tried a microscopic bit out of deer jerky. If you smoke, what brand of cigarettes do you smoke? If you don’t, have you ever tried? Don't smoke and don't want to. Do you like dried fruit at all? what’s your favorite type? NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

#survey #questions #quiz