#i love you all but someone is going to be dying on this grey eyed hill ಠ_ಠ

[butmakeitgayblog]

For all you nonbelievers

😘

#😤 #i love you all but someone is going to be dying on this grey eyed hill ಠ_ಠ #alycia debnam carey #i took the audio out because I realized you could hear sam watching the fuckin office in the background 🥴 my bad

[taylortruther]

The way almost EVERY single line in YLM can be related to a previous like she wrote about Joe is INSANE. Like YLM is basically the song that would most fit the theme of Midnights (reflecting on the past and integrating it into the present) and guess what? She left it out (for reasons that I understand).

Here we go;

You say I don't understand and I say I know you don't// Give you the silence that only comes when two people understand each other

We thought a cure would come through in time now I fear it won't// I thought the plane was goimg down, how'd you turn it right around?

Remember looking at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light...now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time// The entirety of Daylight duh

Remember looking at this room, we loved it 'cause of the light...now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time// The entirety of Daylight duh

Do I throw out everything we built or keep it //I am an architect I'm drawing up the plans (I'm reaching here I know)

I'm getting tired even for a phoenix always rising from the ashes // I am ash from your fire

Mending all her gashes // is this the end of all the endings, my broke bones are mending

You might just have dealt the final blow // Darling this was just as hard as when they pulled me apart (these two lines feel so similar to me)

Stop you're losing me (I hope I never lose you) I can't find a pulse my heart won't start anymore// he got my heartbeat skipping down 16th avenue

Every morning I glared at you with storms in my eyes// after the storm something was born on the 4th of July

How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying// There's many different ways that you can kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough

I sent you signals and bit my nails down to the quick // I gave SO MANY SIGNS

My face was GREY but you wouldn't admit that we were sick // I don't like anticipating my face in a RED flush (I could write an essay about just this grey/red parallel but nvm)

And the air is thick with loss and indecision//clearing the air I breathed in the smoke

I know my pain is such an imposition // You don't really read into my melancholia // Always taking up too much space or time // I'm not your problem anymore

Now you're running down the hallway // I heard your key turn in the door down the hallway // You were standing hollow eyed in the hallway

And you know what they all say "you don't know what you've got until it's gone" // he better lock it down or I won't stick around 'cause good ones never wait

How long could we be a sad song // each bar plays our song

Till we were too far gone to bring back to life // Do I really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?

I gave you all my best mes, my endless empathy // I'd give you my sunshine, give you my best// After giving you the best I had, tell me what to give after that?

And all I did was bleed as I tried to be the bravest soldier // All the bloodshed, crimson clover // And if I bleed you'll be the last to know // soldier down on that icy ground

Fighting in only your army // I'd sit with you in the trenches

Frontlines don't you ignore me // I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me

I'm the best thing at this party // best believe I'm still bejeweled when I walk in the room, I can still make the whole place shimmer

And I wouldn't marry me either // She would've made a lovely bride // I'd marry you with paper rings // all they keep asking me is if I'm gonna be your bride // the entire bridge of Lover

A pathological people pleaser // what a shame she's fucked in the head // mirrorball tm // my covert narcissism I disguise as altruism

Who only wanted you to see her // Walking with his head down, I'm the one he's walking to

And I'm fading thinking DO SOMETHING BABE // Some boys are trying too hard he don't try at all though

SAY SOMETHING // You don't ever say too much

LOSE SOMETHING BABE RISK SOMETHING // this ain't for the best

CHOOSE SOMETHING BABE I'VE GOT NOTHING TO BELIEVE // stood on the cliffside screaming "give me a reason"

i have nothing intelligent to say but I LOVE THIS, let's discuss

#ylm

[steddietogo]

Made With Love

Part 3 of Steddie Tik Tok au: The Halloween Vlog

Read part 2 <<here

———

Robin is in a pinstriped three-piece suit, her short brown hair dyed black and slicked back, with a badly drawn moustache on her face. “Unhapphy, darphling?” She speaks around a rose stem she’s holding between her teeth.

“Oh yes,” The camera pans to Eddie lounging on an armchair. He’s ditched his usual band tee and ripped jeans combo for a tight black dress with the deepest neckline known to man, the long black fabric pooling around his feet. He raises his arm, bell sleeve flaring, and flips his straightened hair behind his shoulders with red painted nails. “Yes completely,” deep red lips curve into smile and he bats his eyes, heavily lined and dusted in smokey grey eyeshadow.

———

“Originally, we were supposed to be the Sanderson sisters for Halloween but someone—” Robin looks at something pointedly off camera, “—decided to go off and commit to a group costume with his long-distance babysitting wards without consulting us,”

“This—” Eddie strikes a pose as Robin gestures to them, “—was supposed to be a revenge costume but now we feel kinda bad because—” the camera flips around to show a pile of blankets on the couch, “Dingus is now down with the flu,” A hand emerges from its depths and flips them off.

“I think he’s going as The Thing,” Eddie says and they both snicker.

———

Eddie is in the kitchen using Steve’s recording set up. “My darling Gomez has gone off to party, it’s just me and Steve at home now,” he sighs dramatically, “Alas, I knocked him out with cough syrup so he won’t be up for a couple hours,”

“And I found this recipe for chicken noodle soup and I, Eddie Munson who cannot cook to save my own life, am going to put it to test since Steve keeps saying ‘anyone can make it’. Were gonna find out today baby,”. Eddie’s reading off of a book as he lays out everything he would need on the counter, announcing each item as he takes them out. “I hope I’m using the right pot and Steve won’t kill me,”

———

Eddie is slow dancing to Lady Gaga with a plastic skeleton meant for decoration, his dress swishing around him as he twirls with his inanimate dance partner. During a particularly enthusiastic dip, the skeleton’s skull breaks off from the rest of the body and rolls away.

“Betty! Noooo!” Eddie cries, falling to his knees.

———

“No one told me how sweaty cooking can make you,” Eddie’s twisting his hair up in a bun, “But I’m committed to it now, I will not be bested by soup,”

“Look at this, my make up isn’t the only thing melting in the heat,” He holds up a bent looking plastic spatula to the camera. “Its totally not because I put it too close to the stove but we’re going to hide the evidence so Steve doesn’t find out,”

———

“I accidentally added too much salt, went to the Internet for help and a lot of people say that adding a potato will help fix it,” Eddie explains as he is chopping one. “There are no potatoes in this recipe, so if Steve asks, I’m gonna tell him I have no idea how they got in there,”

“Here goes nothing,” Eddie shoves both sleeves all the way up his arms before dropping all of the potato pieces in at once, making a little bit of the boiling soup splash out of the pot missing him by inches. “Oh shit, that was close. Don’t try this at home kids,”

———

“Moment of truth people,” He’s ladling soup into a bowl. “Personally, I’m just surprised this came out edible, but let’s see what the chef has to say about it,”

The clip cuts to Eddie shuffling away from the camera that’s now facing the sofa where Steve is taking a nap. Eddie kneels before him, a gentle hand on Steve’s face as he nudges him wake. Cut to a bleary-eyed Steve sitting up and waving at the camera.

“Just know that if you give me food poisoning on top of the flu, I’ll never forgive you,” he says as Eddie is handing him the bowl. “Why’re there potatoes in here?”

“No reason,” Eddie smiles back innocently at the look Steve gives him before he takes a bite, and then another. Eddie watches, nibbling in his fingernails.

“Oh shit,”

“What?”

“The potato actually makes it better,” he looks like he’s trying to sound annoyed but the smile on his face gives him away. “I’m gonna have to add potatoes to the recipe,”

“Wait. Does that mean my soup is better than yours?”

“It’s still my recipe, Munson,”

“You’re avoiding the question, Harrington,”

“…Maybe?”

Eddie throws his hands up whopping and his sleeve smacks Steve in the face.

———

“I was standing there, Morticia-less,” Robin is back and the three of them huddle in the sofa in the darkness of the living room, the only source of light is the movie no one is actually watching.

“—and she’s was wearing that Kate Bush bat dress and we were like ‘that’s close enough’ and then we completely winged a little dance and I only tripped on my own shoe once, you should be proud of me,” Robin is wearing a sash that says ‘Hideout King’ and is going a mile a minute about the party she came back from.

“And then she kissed me when they announced us as the winners, she kissed me Steve!” Robin shakes Steve and then high-fives Eddie so hard he almost falls off the couch.

———

Robin is filming Steve launching candy corn from the couch and Eddie, now in his jammies, is on the other side of the coffee table trying to catch them in his mouth. Steve’s laughter is getting increasingly hysterical and his aim is getting poorer while Eddie practically dives left and right trying catch the candy. Steve looks like he’s going to fall off the couch in stitches. The video ends as three are celebrating a complicated twist dive Eddie executed and successfully caught the candy with in mouth.

———

Caption says:

@_eddie_munson who do you think edits all the footage?

———

Comments:

user80085: who else questioning their sexuality rn?

Dustin H: RIP Betty, you will be missed 😔

Reefing Rick: Why tf don’t I have an Eddie Munson in a Morticia Addams costume cooking in my kitchen? God really has favorites huh

spring roll: So no ones going to talk about how Robin basically came out?

Gayby replying to spring roll: good for her

———

Part 4

———

A/n: it’s so funny to imagine Steve sitting in his room alone and reviewing an hour-long footage of Eddie messing around in the kitchen. And it cracks him up that every time Eddie messes something up he walks up to the camera and whispers ‘don’t tell Steve’

Steddie tag list: @deehellcat @eddiemunsonswife @missarte-beltane @grtwdsmwhr @kit-means-death

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fanfiction #Steddie Tik Tok au #mine

[dewdropdinosaur]

Could I please request another Luci x M reader:

So when Luci came back into Charlie’s life, one of the guests at the hotel he notices is I suppose bashful the right word around him.

Vaggie explains she knows him because he had a similar experience like Vaggie being sent from Heaven to exterminate sinners. Only a huge difference having a kid too with someone years ago and no mention of the mother.

The kid is half of Charlie’s age and they (they do not have a clear gender in my mind) and one night when awake after a storm Luci getting a midnight snack, hears singing. He follows and finds the M reader singing a story of the presumed other parent of his kid. However with what little is said, plus similar physical features (eye color and between grey and white skin) Luci realizes that M reader was a past lover of his whom since has transition 🏳️‍⚧️ into a man and the kid is Luci’s. He puts two and two together and accidentally catching the M reader about to bath and accidentally squeaked a rubber duck that was louder than expected.

Plus, M reader had faint scar of what can be assumed another Angel ripping his wings feathers out.

Luci also accidentally clumsily tripped against the door and both have a very VERY teary eyed talk of Luci thinking M reader died in a past extermination.

M reader explains he had to turn his back to the Angels and especially Adam who was terrible to M reader when he founded out the unlikely ally ship of M reader and Luci (which Luci can in a time skip reveal to Charlie he was scared of her going to Heaven because the last ally ship was twisted as more sinister than good). Especially Adam was furious when found out the two (Luci x M reader) been intimate as Adam saw M reader pre-transition as his second in command and implied forced M reader to be intimate with Adam.

So when Adam found out M reader was pregnant forced M reader to choose between him and Luci, which reader revealed he loves Luci, but mistaken Luci not love him back.

Adam kicked M reader out of Heaven and to Luci’s misimpression was killed.

Back to present day Luci and M reader now holding each other crying as both apparently did loved each other.

Luci asked why M reader thought he did not care for M reader.

M reader pointed out with the poor treatment of Adam who would lie to Sera (M reader twin) of such poor treatment, and M reader said nothing as again already was attempting to make an ally ship with Luci.

Unlike Charlie who wants to redeem Souls, Luci and M reader wanted to attempt to make life not such black and white or virtue and sin so extreme. If that makes sense?

This way purgatory could continue but after Adam letting his ego get the worse of him, he scrapped the idea and resumed the extermination. As well when continuing lied to Sera of her twin, M reader, dying by Luci going against his part of the deal.

ALL this is explained to the main cast the next day after Charlie comes from cannibal town.

In doing so Charlie finds out about her half-sibling and welcomes M reader as her family.

Time skip and when in finally fight, Adam realized M reader lives and tries to kill M reader, but Charlie protects both him and her half-sibling. Only gets hurt like in the original show, to have Luci help her.

However both him and M reader fight Adam. Plus with Niffy, the two’s kid kills Adam.

After recovering, Luci asks M reader if they can try being together again, plus says something like “unlike before where you my girlfriend, can you please be my boyfriend and our families work together”, which was during a romantic surprise date, which M reader agrees, and both kids, both men laugh as they see Charlie smiling with her half-sibling on her shoulders screamingly happy “our dads are boyfriends”.

Hi!

Of course! Since I have a few other requests I have to do first, expect about two and a half week wait!

Love,

DewDrop/Dewy

#romance #hazbin hotel fandom #vizziepop #answered #radio killed the video star #request #lucifer imagine #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you

[coco-bean-1218]

CLAIREEEEEEEE I AM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES BEGGING FOR ANGSTY CHUCK/CLAIRE CONTENT 🙏🙏

could i do "You’ll be fine.” silence “You’ll be fine. Hey! Wake up! Please. Please wake up…" from the injury prompts?? it doesn't matter who's injured, i'm sure it'll be great either way!!

love you!! have an amazing day!

BLU!!!!! I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!!! THIS IS GONNA BREAK SO MANY HEARTS!!!! GRAB THE TISSUES; YOU'LL NEED THEM!!!! LOVE YOU TOO!!!!

WARNING: SPOILER ALERT

December, 1944

Ardennes Forest, Bastogne, Belgium

The world erupted in a cacophony of thunder, the ground shivering beneath Claire's feet. December's chill had seeped into the bones of Easy Company as they huddled in their foxholes in Bastogne, but nothing could have prepared them for the sudden inferno that rained from the sky.

"Get down!" someone screamed, barely audible over the roar.

Claire’s instincts as a combat medic kicked in—she was already moving, crouched low, ready to throw herself towards the wounded. But fate had a cruel twist; a shell burst mere feet away, its shockwave hurling her through the air like a ragdoll caught in a gust of wind. Time seemed to slow as Claire soared through the air, her body twisting and contorting in unnatural ways. 

"CLAIRE!" The cry cut through the chaos, agonized and sharp.

Grant's voice, unmistakable even amidst the pandemonium, was laced with raw terror. His long strides ate up the distance between them as he bolted from his cover, the golden-haired paratrooper from California who'd never quite mastered the art of concealing his heart on his sleeve.

Claire hit the frozen earth hard, her vision exploding into a swirling mass of grey and crimson. Sounds dulled, as if she were underwater, her ears ringing with an eerie high-pitched whine that drowned out the battle cries and explosions.

"Cl-Claire?" Grant’s anxious face swam into view above her, his blue eyes wide with fear. His lips moved, forming words she couldn't hear.

She tried to respond, to tell him she was alright, but her voice was lost, a silent scream in her throat. Panic clawed at her insides, a relentless beast that wouldn't be soothed. She couldn't move, couldn't feel anything below the sharp pain that sliced through her chest just below her collarbone.

Blood—her blood—stained the snow around her, a vivid red against pure white. Claire's mind reeled; this wasn't how it was supposed to end, not here, not now. She had always been the one patching others up, not the other way around. 

Her breaths came in shallow gasps, each one an icy dagger in her lungs. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all—the girl who joked in the face of death now stared it down, and the humor was lost on her.

"Please," she heard Grant whisper through the veil of disorientation that clouded her consciousness, his plea a fragile thread in the tapestry of war that unraveled around them.

Claire's thoughts swirled, conflicting emotions battling within her. There was Eugene, her best friend, whose steady presence had always anchored her, and then there was Grant, the embodiment of awkward affection and earnest blue-eyed concern. She had never intended to weave such a complicated web of feelings between them, especially not here, in the midst of a world torn apart by conflict.

Was this what dying felt like? The cold seeping into her bones, the world fading at the edges, leaving behind only the echo of unrequited love and the faces of those she cared about?

"Grant," she tried to say, but the name dissolved into the frigid air, unheard. Her body was betraying her, refusing to cooperate, to fight, to cling to the life she'd always gripped with stubborn tenacity.

Through the haze of pain and fear, Claire held onto one thought: she wasn't ready to let go. Not yet.

"Roe!" Grant's voice tore through the biting cold, a desperate plea against the deafening blasts that continued to punctuate the frozen landscape. His hands, already numb from the chill, shook as he assessed Claire's injuries—a graphic contrast of crimson against the pristine white snow.

"It's okay, Claire," he reassured her, his gaze between duty and decorum. The fabric of her coat was shredded, and beneath it, a darker stain spread, threatening to consume her vitality. He knew he needed to act, but propriety held him back. How could he, a man raised on respect and decency, expose Claire in such a way? Yet, as her shallow breaths fogged the icy air, he realized that hesitation could cost her life.

"Please, Eugene!" he called again, his voice cracking with the strain of both fear and cold. He tentatively reached for the edge of her coat, hesitating, "Sorry, Claire," he whispered, as he carefully started to remove the layers, his fingers working with urgency yet light and respectful. His hands trembled, not just from the cold, but also from the fear of further injuring her or crossing an unseen line even in this dire situation.

Claire's breath came in shallow gasps, fogging the air briefly before dissipating into nothingness. She lay there, a delicate figure etched against the harshness of war, her life slipping away with each labored breath. 

"You’ll be fine." The words felt hollow even as they left his lips, a mantra against the overwhelming helplessness. Silence swallowed his assurance whole, leaving him stranded amidst the chaos of his own emotions.

Grant looked down into the wound, the blood seeping out onto the snow, painting a harsh picture of mortality. His mind raced, every second without Eugene an eternity, every drop of her blood a testament to his own inadequacy. His hands, though gentle, were clumsy with urgency as he worked to stem the flow, his movements mindful not to cause further harm.

"You’ll be fine." He repeated, more to himself now, a feeble attempt to will the universe into compliance. "Hey! Wake up! Please. Please wake up…" The tremor in his voice betrayed the panic that clawed its way through his composure.

In his mind, he saw her smile, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the spirited debates they’d shared, the tender moments that had unfolded so naturally between them. Those memories clashed with the present—her face losing color, her body growing still. The thought of a future without her was unacceptable, unthinkable.

"Come on, Claire," he murmured, his hands slick with her blood. Each heartbeat that throbbed under his fingertips was a reminder that she was still here, still fighting. And as long as she fought, he would fight with her. In the battlefield of love and war, surrender wasn't an option. Not for Claire. Not while he still drew breath.

"Doc, hurry," Grant whispered into the void, as if the words could summon Eugene faster. His gaze never left Claire's face, willing her to return to him, to return to the world that was cruel and beautiful and theirs for the taking—if only she would wake up.

Claire's eyelids snapped open with a jolt, revealing a world that spun and shimmered in a haze of blurred shapes and muted sounds. Her breaths came in ragged gulps, stirring the frigid air into tiny clouds that dissipated as quickly as they formed. The coppery tang of blood filled her mouth, mingling with the sting of gunpowder and earth.

"You're okay," Grant's voice reached her, distant and distorted, like an echo in a deep cavern. His hands were gentle yet urgent on her skin, pressing down to stem the flow of warmth that seeped from her chest.

But Claire's attention was pulled away, drawn to the spectral figure emerging from the chaos—a boy, no, a young man with familiar brown hair and eyes that mirrored her own in-depth and sorrow. Noah stood before her, his navy uniform impeccable, untouched by the grime of war. He seemed out of place amidst the snow and blood, an apparition from another time, another life.

"Hi, Claire," he said, his voice clear and soothing, a balm to the agony that wracked her body, "I've missed you."

"Noah...?" she whispered,

"It doesn't have to hurt anymore, the heartache or the pain," Noah replied, offering a half-smile that twisted Claire's heart with nostalgia, "The sorrow, the guilt, the longing."

"Can't feel anything... should be nice..." she muttered, her voice barely a thread, as her hand quivered, reaching toward Noah's inviting grasp.

"It is," Noah whispered, his voice like an ethereal gust of wind. "Peaceful. No pain. No fear. No war."

Her hand twitched, instinctively reaching for him, but a sharp pain lanced through her body, drawing a gasp that fogged the lenses of her glasses. She could see Grant's silhouette hovering over her, the intensity of his gaze burning even through the blurriness.

Noah's hand stretched out towards her, fingers almost translucent against the backdrop of the winter sky. "Come with me, Claire. We can be together—like we always should've been."

"Grant will understand," Noah continued, his gaze holding hers, unyielding yet full of compassion as he placed his phantasmal hand on Grant's shoulder. "He's a good man. He knows about loss, about love. He knows how much you loved me, how much I meant to you. He'll let you go."

Claire's mind reeled, torn between the beckoning peace Noah offered and the raw, desperate need to cling to life—to Grant. Her thoughts became a tangle of memories and wishes, each one pulling her in opposite directions. Could she leave Grant and Eugene behind? Abandon the future they might have shared?

"Please, Claire, fight this," Grant urged, his voice breaking through her indecision. "You're strong. You’ve always been the bravest person I know."

Tears blurred her vision further, mixing with the blood and dirt on her face. Noah's presence was comforting, promising an end to pain, to fear. But it was Grant's touch, warm and alive, that anchored her to the here and now.

"Grant...Eugene," Her voice was a wind-whispered echo, her hand lifting with the tremulous fragility of a leaf in a storm.

"Hey, hey, I'm right here," Grant said, his voice thick with panic as he pressed down on the wound with more force, crimson overflowing onto the white snow beneath them. His heart pounded against his ribcage, each beat a hammer blow against the walls of his composure.

"Noah...?" Claire murmured again, reaching out to the spectral vision only she could see. A soft smile curved her lips, a stark contrast to the chaotic tumult around them. Her fingers brushed through the apparition's offering, finding nothing but the chill of winter air.

"God, no," Grant whispered, hot tears carving tracks through the grime on his face. He watched her eyes fixate on an unseen horizon, her gaze filled with longing and love for a ghost from her past. The ghost of Noah Walters—the man he could never be, the first to claim her heart.

"Stay with me, Claire," he pleaded, feeling the tremble of her body like a sparrow in his hands. "Don't go to him."

But how could he compete with eternity? How could he chain her to a world of pain when the one she loved offered her solace in the beyond?

"Grant...will understand," she spoke aloud, her voice a fading ember as the hallucination of Noah coaxed her further. Her fingers twitched in the empty air, seeking a hand that wasn't there.

"Understand what? That I'm losing you? That I can't save you?" Grant's whisper broke into a ragged sob. A sob born from the deepest well of fear and loss, a sound that mingled with the distant thunder of war.

"Please, don't leave me," he begged, pressing his forehead to hers, his tears warm against her cold skin. "I can't—I won't let you go."

Claire's breath hitched, a silent struggle raging within her. Noah's presence was soothing, a balm to her shattered soul, yet Grant's touch, his earnest plea, was a lifeline thrown in a roiling sea.

"Damn it, Claire! Fight! Don't let him take you away from me!" Grant's voice was a desperate incantation, willing her spirit back from the precipice.

In her delirium, the pull of Noah's ghostly allure was strong, like a siren's call tugging at her very essence. It whispered promises of peace and reunion, of a love that transcended time and death itself. All the pain and suffering that had marred her existence would be washed away in the tender embrace of Noah's phantom arms. In a veil of mist, she saw Grant's tear-streaked face, his blue eyes searching hers for any sign of sanity, of recognition. He begged her with silent tears, his breath catching in his throat as he reached out for her one last time.

"We can be together, just like you always wanted," echoed Noah's voice in her mind, a haunting symphony of memories and dreams.

"God, no...not her...not my Claire," Grant repeated, his voice a raw edge of hope. He took hold of her hand, still reaching out into the open air, and pressed it tightly against his chest, over the frantic thump of his heart. His grip was fierce, unwilling to let her slip away. "Don't go. Please, don't go," he pleaded, his voice hoarse with desperation. "I can't imagine my life without you."

"Stay or go," she heard her own heart echo, as she slipped back into unconsciousness. A heart that beat not just for the lost love of her youth, but for the man who held her now, who wept for her life amidst the snow and blood, whose tears fell onto her cheeks.

"I LOVE YOU!"

---

#uh oh poor Claire #well behaved women never make history #wbwnmh #band of brothers #band of brothers ofc #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers x ofc #my oc #ask game #chuck grant #eugene roe #eugene roe x ofc #chuck grant x ofc

[newtinaboot]

“You’re so mature for your age-“ thanks,it’s the autism.

“You have such a big vocabulary-“ thanks, it’s the autism.

“I like how things with you are never ambiguous. You always have clear-cut opinions-“ thanks, it’s the autism.

“You’re so detail oriented, and those details are perfect!” Thanks, it’s the autism.

“You read books so high for your age!” Thanks, it’s the autism.

“You have fun facts all the time, you must be smart!” Thanks, it’s the autism.

“I like how you tell the truth, even if it’s ugly” thanks. It’s the autism.

“You’re always punctual!” Thanks, it’s the autism.

Now, here are the downsides to all of these “compliments” I’ve gotten-

The maturity was spawned not only from being the “oddball” or “weirdo”, but because I had to mature faster in the only way I could-mentally-to keep myself from falling behind and possibly-quite literally-dying.

The vocabulary was grown from my love of books, because they were there for me when people weren’t. They raised me as my friends and family. I learned them by reading, so when I say them wrong, I’m made fun of. When I say them right, I’m being “snooty” or “on a high horse” (whatever tf that means) when, in reality, it’s just the way I talk.

The clear cut opinions are something I have always struggled with. Because I have problems with finding the greys, I often come off as rigid and abrasive-and more often than not, I am. Staunch opinions due to my clear cuttedness have rendered me slightly more prone to bouts of anger when I’m not listened to, or when someone tries to change my opinion through their perspective-something that I should actually hear out in hopes of gaining a wider lens.

Me being detail oriented is not only because the details are the easiest thing to focus on, but because I crave validation in the form of compliments. I also have to get the details perfect, or I will crawl out of my skin like a pink toed tarantula. I have had anxiety attacks because I couldn’t get something perfect on the first two tries.

The book level was because I enjoyed reading. It brought me solace that people could not, because I understood them in a way I couldn’t understand people. Once again, they raised me. From the magic treehouse at age four, to “How to Kill a Mockingbird” in third grade (a book that, once I was discovered reading, was swiftly confiscated and had me reported to my parents.) I was the freak who preferred books over people, because the protagonists were often freaks like me, the ones who hungered for knowledge and acceptance and a purpose-the ones who saw me, and who I saw.

My fun facts are often given at random times in conversations that seem irrelevant, because to anyone else, my thought process is disjointed. Some take it as random intelligence, and assume that, because I know so many facts, I must be a genius. I’m not. I just look up facts in my spare time, and the majority of facts I have memorized are topics I haven’t even gained a baseline knowledge on. That said, many others see it as intelligence, but also annoying, and-in some cases-even “disturbing”.

The truths I speak are almost never pretty. Not only do I strip them of sugar, but I add extra salt, and I don’t frame the truth in the way people want me to. It will still be blunt and easily decipherable, but not in the way most people want. (I.e. my friend tried on a shimmery orange dress, and instead of saying “that’s cute, but let’s try something else” or “I don’t really think that’s the best fit for you”, I said “that dress makes you look like a bug-eyed goldfish.”) I do things like this, because that’s how I would want someone to tell me. You tell me “That’s cute, but let’s try something else” I’m going to insist on the goldfish dress because you gave me a crumb of validation and I’m not risking losing it by trying on a different one.

I’m only punctual because high expectations were placed on me at a young age to the point where I was not voluntarily punctual anymore, but I was early against my better judgement.

#autism #allistics #audhd #adhd #neurodivergent #neurotypical #yep #facts #fun facts #compliments #misunderstanding

[siren-serenity]

"mia princessa~"

characters: princess erica/ghost bride, melody striker, twst boys! warnings: fluff, romance a/n: - i just had to do something for melody striker! it's the ghost bride event in twst eng~

"There is no more hope..."

"We're done for!"

"Someone save me from marrying her!! Anyone!!!"

Princess Erica's delighted laughter echoes in the bridal hall. Her cerulean hands cup Idia's terrified face, murmuring soft reassurances that do not do anything to sooth Idia's pounding heart. If anything, his hair is flickering the shade of neon blue, borderline navy blue. His blue lips open and close but nothing comes out.

"Somebody do something!" He pleads to the amused looking students that look away from his desperate gaze.

"I do love weddings," Lilia grins. "It's been quite a while since I've been to one!"

"The suit and hairstyle does suit Idia," Vil mutters. "It's regrettable that he never dresses up."

Leona scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Please, we all know he's dying on the inside."

"I am!!" Idia screeches back in panic.

"Choose her, Princess Eliza!"

An oddly familiar figure steps out from behind the double doors, making the frozen boys' eyes widen. Teary-eyed guards look guiltily at the eyes of the royal ghosts.

"I'm so sorry, princess!" One wail. "But this prince, she is worthy!"

The other nods, blowing his nose noisily into a tissue. "She is everything you dream of! She is at least 180 centimeters tall, has healthy, lustrous skin, lidded eyes with a hint of dark mischievousness twinkling in them, a devastatingly charming smile, and bright, shimmering hair!"

"Impossible!" Puffy yells. He points accusingly at a smiling Melody. "You! Prove yourself."

Melody chuckles before stepping forth, showing her entire attire that is now showcased under the bright lights. Her hair, which used to be all black with her bangs messily dyed purple, is now completely lavender with neat black roses braided into the sides. She swapped out her purple headphones for a black necklace and wore silver earrings. She dons black slacks with a silky black dress shirt; over the dress shirt, she wore a black corset and an ashen grey dress coat over her clothes. An aura of mature elegance blossomed outwards and she captured everyone's attention immediately.

She knelt before a flustered Princess Eliza, clasping her hands to kiss her knuckles. She blushed as Melody presented a bright bouquet.

"Baby's breathes for everlasting love, orchids for elegance, tulips for true love, roses for love and passion," Melody crooned. Princess Eliza took them with shaky hands before smelling them; a lovely smile bloomed on her face to the boys' astonishment.

"B-but, you must pass all the tests!" The ghost bride spluttered and Melody nodded, an easy-going smile still on her face.

"For you? I'll fight anything and everything."

Princess Eliza's cerulean face turned bright red. One by one, Melody passed all the tests with practiced ease, making the boys gap.

"Who are you and what have you done with Melody?!" Sebek hollered.

"Sevens- how is she doing it?" Trey wondered aloud. Cater hummed in agreement.

"Come on, Melody! Charm her like the SSR card you are! K.O. her for me!" Idia whisper-shouted.

Melody got up from one knee to clasp the princess's hands. She quickly dipped her romantically and flower motifs blossomed around the devastatingly beautiful duo.

"Pick me," Melody's lips were centimeters from Princess Eliza's. Her warm breathes caressed her face, making red bloom on her cerulean face. "Love me for infinity."

"I do!" Princess Eliza squealed.

#🎼 melody striker #the rhythmic beast of night raven college #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland ghost bride #ghost bride event

[nevadas-night-time-novelist]

Main 4 - S/O gets infected and becomes a ZED

CW: Reader is dying/dies, violence, angst, amputation and mentions of gore during Sanford’s section

Hank

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. How had it all gone so damn wrong? Together you were clearing out a path in the city, everything had been running smoothly, until that fucking zed got the drop on you. Literally. Leaping from the top of a building, it landed with precision and tore a chunk out of your shoulder before you could even blink.

Hank had grabbed it by the neck and tossed it aside, putting it down with a flurry of bullets into the rotbag’s skull, fury and rage swallowing him whole. Satisfied with how it’s brains painted the pavement, he turned to you and froze, there was blood, a lot of blood, all of it yours, gushing from that hole in your body.

“Came outta nowhere.” You wheezed, trying to staunch the blood flow by pressing down on the wound. Usually he loved seeing you drenched in blood, but it was like someone was twisting a knife in his guts when he knew it was your own. Hank gingerly picked you up and pulled you into the nearest building, setting you down on the floor while he swept the area to check for further dangers.

Once satisfied of your safety, he came back over to you, gently moving your hand to get a look at the bite. It was necrotising fast, tissue already going green as you started to change. “No-” He pleaded, mind rushing at a million miles a second, trying to rationalise a way to deal with the unthinkable.

Your whispering words broke his already shattered heart further. “D-don’t let me turn, Hank. Don’t let me become one of them.” “Fffffuck.” He was crying, fuck, he was crying. “C-can’t lose you, please.” His voice cracked, the reality of it all not setting in, there wasn’t a way to fix this, no way to stop the train already screeching down the tracks towards its final destination. Hank was powerless.

“Please, don-don’t lehmeee-” Your words slurred as your brain began shutting down. The last ebbs of humanity flowed from you, you were dying and it was killing him too. He couldn’t let you turn. Your tear filled eyes, dull and dying, stared up at him as he raised his pistol to your forehead. “Llllovvve… Yooou.”

BANG.

2BDamned

He was kicking himself, he shouldn’t have sent you out alone, but he thought you could manage it, you were strong like that. You’d always check in at specified intervals, and he began sweating bullets when you missed one, which only got worse when you missed the next, and the next.

Doc felt sick to his stomach, something must’ve gone wrong, you’re never one to miss check in, he sent Ford and Dei out to look for you after half a day since last contact. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest knowing you were out there, hurt, possibly dead.

He jumped as his radio crackled, Sanford’s voice coming though. “Err.. We’ve found ‘em Doc. It’s not good news I’m afraid.” You were dead. Shit. It would be a pain in the ass to set up the system to revive you, but it could be done. He settled on never letting you travel alone again, regardless of how you protested. “Bring their body back. I want to see them.” “Dunno if that’s a good idea Doc,” Deimos chimed in. “It ain’t.. What you think it is.” “I said bring them back.”

You snarled and lunged around, trying in vain to get a bite of the sweet flesh ahead of you, heavenly scented and primed for devouring. All brain functions but the hunger had gone, once a bright and powerful soldier, now just a starving husk. Had his stomach not already been empty, he’d have vomited. His sweet partner, the one who’d patiently waited for him to lower his walls, gain his trust, steal his heart, now just a grey eyed monster.

“Get out.” Doc snapped to Deimos and Sanford. He was angry, not at them, no, at himself. He let this happen, and now he’s going to wallow in self pity because he lost the one he loved and couldn’t save them.

He would keep you chained up in his room, burying himself in research, surely there’s got to be a way to reverse this, there has to be. He’s pulled off the seemingly impossible before. He neglects his needs even further, his boys have to practically force him to eat, and sleep only comes when his body gives in.

So engrossed in his work, he doesn’t notice your fitful jerking has worn your shoulders out, and with a little more strain, your arms tear free from the your body, and you’re out. Without a second thought you leap at him, teeth inches from his throat before you’re wrenched off by Hank.

Hank doesn’t even hesitate, putting a bullet through your temple and killing you instantly. Doc screams at him, insulting him, demanding an explanation, how he was on the brink of a breakthrough, of bringing you back to your former self, of-

And Wimbleton slaps him, hard. “Get a fucking grip. This has gone on long enough. They’re fucking dead, they’ve been dead for months. You’ve been deluding yourself.” Doc breaks down, falling into Hank’s arms and violently sobbing.

He’d given into the fantasy that he could save you, but it was time to come back to reality.

Deimos

It was all his fault, he was so busy trying to gain access to the computer systems to shut down that alarm that he’d left you to deal with the armada of the dead it attracted. Once the noise was muted he joined your side again, clearing out the dead that remained. “Close one, eh? Phew.” He shot you his signature shit eating grin. It faltered as you pulled your sleeve up, a sizeable bite on your forearm.

“They got me Dei.” He frantically grabbed your arm and looked close at it, a mix of your blood and zed saliva coated the wound. “Fuck-We can disinfect it, you’ll be fine.” He grabbed the med-kit from the wall and began rummaging around, picking out the tiny spray bottle of alcohol, and a packet of wipes.

He brushed one of the wipes across as gently as he could while still putting pressure in to clear out debris, you hisses as it stung. “I know I know, bit of pain to do a lot of good.” He then applied the spray with the same reaction. “It hurts I know, but it’s going to help. Stop wriggling so much babe.”

'They’ll be fine,’ He kept telling himself as you continued on, imagining how Doc is gonna flip his lid when he realises it’s his fault you got hurt. Dei would keep glancing at your sleeve, this was gonna haunt him for a while. You started slowing down slightly, hot flushes running through your body intermittently, tugging at the back of Dei’s jacket. “Need a rest,” You said, suddenly breathless.

“Shit. Lemme look at your arm again.” You collapse suddenly and he catches you, panic setting in quick. He rolls up your sleeve and his heart collapses, your veins have already turned black, flesh turning green, you were infected. “Awe shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.” He gets on coms with Doc.

“Doc, Doc please I need help.” “I read you loud and clear Deimos. What’s the problem now?” Deimos quickly explains, and Doc has to bite back his anger. “Dei.. You know there isn’t some cure for this. I can’t help, I don’t know how.” “Please.” He whispered back, desperate.

Doc sighed hard. “What are they doing now?” “Still unconscious.” “Kill them.” “WHAT-ARE YOU MAD?!” “I already told you, there’s nothing to be done for this. You’re delaying the inevitable. Do you really want to watch them turn into a zed? Can you live with that?”

“It’s not fair,” Deimos’ eyes clouded with tears, freely rolling down his cheeks and onto your face. You didn’t stir, and he could see the veins 'neath your skin on your face begin to change colour, infection pulsing through you. Doc was a heartless bastard, but he was right. He’d never forgive himself for letting you get bit, but it’d be so much worse if he let you turn.

He hoped you could hear him as he leaned in and whispered sweet adoration, planting a longing kiss to your lips for the last time. You weren’t even dead yet and he already missed the feelings and moments he’d never experience with you. Stealing you away, getting married, starting a family. All his hopes and dreams shattered around him and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do.

Sanford

The situation was less than ideal, the pair of you had both run dry on ammunition, and were left with just melee options while dealing with a flock of zeds. Ford was using his hook to destroy their brains, while you were hacking down anything green with a sword you’d stolen from an AAHW agent some time ago.

You were both supposed to be the careful ones, and yet shit had hit the fan fast. Any time you’d even get close to thinning the herd, another alarm would trigger and more would come running to you. Someone was out there, fucking with you, purposely trying to get you killed, and Maker help them once you got your hands on them.

“We’re gonna have to just retreat, we’re gonna die if we keep fighting.” Sanford was a very fit man, but you could see him panting from exhaustion. “You’re right, this is a losing battle.” You turned on your heels, frantically looking for an exit, a way out of the sea of the undead.

Sanford interlocked his fingers with yours and began hacking through the bodies, if there wasn’t a path, he’d simply make one. “Ouch-BASTARD!” You looked down to see a zed with his teeth buried in your calf. With a quick jab through the eye, the crawler dropped dead and you continued your escape.

“There,” Ford pulled you along to a fire escape, giving you a boost up before clambering after you. Fortunately the zeds weren’t smart enough to climb a ladder, so you had some temporary refuge at the top of the escape, a chance to breathe and make a new plan. “Fordie, I got bit.”

You rolled up your pant leg and Sanford swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Ah hell,” He knelt down, resting your leg on his knee. “That ain’t good. I can see it’s startin’ to turn already. Shit.” You looked up at him with pleading eyes. “What are our options?”

He scowled, mulling it over in his head. “We don’t really have any. I could… Try remove the leg but we don’t know if the infection has already entered your blood. And even if you aren’t infected, being down a leg is gonna slow us down a lot. But hell, I’d rather make slow progress with you than lose you entirely. But it’s up to you.”

You stared at your blade, still coated in gore from all the zeds you’d chopped up along the way. “This isn’t safe.” “We don’t really have alternatives baby.” You wiped as much blood off the sword as possible onto your shirt, and handed it to your boyfriend.

“We don’t. Please, just…” You were gonna ask him to be gentle, but one can’t really be gentle while hacking off a limb in an open city, with no real medical experience on how to do so, nor drugs to numb the pain. Sanford took off his belt, tightly wrapping it around the area just above the infected bite and began breathing deeply.

“Just focus on me, and breathing, alright baby?” You bundled up part of your jacket and stuffed it into your mouth, biting down hard and nodding. Pain flooded your brain and you screamed into the fabric as he began cutting, whispering desperate apologies over and over.

“I know it hurts baby, I’m sorry, it’s for the greater good.” Bile rose in your throat as you looked down. “No, no don’t look.” You turned your head to the side and puked, seeing your own flesh and muscles hacked open was awful.

“Shit.” Oh no. “Wh-what’s wrong?” “It’s already spread up past where I’ve cut.” You felt like puking again. “I can’t Ford, I can’t. No more, please, no more.” “Don’t give up on me baby, please, we ca-”

“No. There’s no way in hell I’m getting out of this alive.” Your skin had noticeably paled from blood loss. “I’m not gonna hold you back Fordie. You need to go on. You need to escape.” Your eyes fluttered shut and your breath got heavy, it felt like someone was crushing your rib cage, a vice grip on your lungs.

“I can’t lose you baby, please, not here, not like this.” “Don’t let this end in vain, live for me Sanford. Live the life I’ll never get to.” The infection hit your brain, and systems began shutting down. “I’ll never.. Stop loving.. You.”

God, you were desperate to sink your teeth into that muscular bicep. “Nnneevverrrrr,” Your final words turned into a growl as you began shifting forward, a beastly hunger taking over. Sanford grabbed your jacket collar and tossed you off the top of the building, internally screaming because he was tossing his lover aside like they were nothing.

Once a body he’d held not nearly tightly enough, not enjoyed enough as it rested against his own, never spoken enough of the words in his head. He cringed as he heard the crack as you hit the ground below, body wracked with sobs as he thought to your joint bedroom. Of the nightstand on his side of the bed. Of the little box tucked away. Of the ring made to fit your finger snugly inside.

#madness combat #madcom #madness combat x reader #madcom x reader #madness combat reader insert #madcom reader insert #x gon deliver to ya #hank #hank j wimbleton #hank x reader #sanford #sanford x reader #deimos #deimos x reader #2BDamned #2BDamned x reader

[writefightandflightclub]

I really enjoyed your Nathan fluff 🥺 we love this angry peach fuzz king 👑💖 would you ever write him being comforted after having a nightmare? 💕

First of all, LOL @ “angry peach fuzz king” 🤣🤣🤣

Second of all, here you go! 🧡 I will warn you - I think I forgot the fluff a little bit though. It became more hurt / comfort? More angst than expected? It ends nicely though and comfort is given to Nathan - but only after I’ve subjected him to rattling around in his own head and house for a bit.

Through the looking glass (Nathan Bateman x GN!reader)

Summary: Nathan has nightmares after The Incident. After so long alone, he doesn’t realise how badly he needs a little comfort - and maybe he doesn’t believe that he deserves it.

Author’s note: hopefully this isn’t too similar to All Better. I know they both take place post-stabbing, but I tried to give this a different focus. I know I could have made the nightmares based off of anything given the ask, but this timeline / focus seemed most sensible to explore the character.

Warnings: nightmares following traumatic incident (a stabbing); mentions of blood and injury - not graphic. Self-harm (punching the bag until injury); Body horror if you squint (some gruesome descriptions occurring in-dream, but fairly abstract); swearing; implied alcoholism recovery if you squint; mentions of therapy; Nathan mildly injured in fic; reader offering comfort.

Rating: MATURE for themes mentioned above.

GIF: by @santiagogarcia (this whole gifset is magic- check it out + reblog!)

Nathan wakes up breathless, plastered to the covers by a sheen of sweat - and not in a good way. On instinct, or out of habit by now, or maybe somewhere between the two, his palm slides over his body to the site of the wound.

He is so slick that he half-believes he is soaked with dank, deep blood again, until his fingers trace over nothing more than a half-concave, half-ridged scar. The lack of searing pain is the next point of evidence leading him towards an alternative conclusion. He’s not dying (again).

It’s just another gruesome nightmare.

Although… there is nothing “just” about it.

The nightmares are pretty brutal. Brutal enough for him to wake with ragged breaths and a hammering heart, his sheets dampened and coiled up around him. Enough that it takes effort to sift through the layers of terror and distinguish reality.

With what can only be described as a whimper, Nathan swings his legs over the edge of the bed, bringing himself into a seated position and bracing his head in his hands until his racing heart levels.

In his mind, he’s telling himself to be logical about this. That Ava hasn’t truly arrived to finish the job she started; but logic is not the safe haven it used to be.

She could come back.

She’s still out there, somewhere, and Nathan distinctly got the impression, last time, that she was vehemently not a fan of him.

His hand trembling, Nathan reaches for the glass of water by his bedside, glugging it down so eagerly it spills into his bushy beard.

Since the… accident? Malfunction? Functioning just fine, actually? Failed experiment? Greatest achievement known to man? Attempted murder? (Truth be told, Nathan isn’t quite sure what to call it, so he simply calls it The Incident.)

Since The Incident, Ava has begun to regularly visit him in his sleep.

The visitations are not waning with time. In fact, they are happening more often, not less. They are happening more since you moved into the house.

It’s a bad fucking time to have quit drinking.

You’d been sent by the board. Something about Nathan taking “tortured genius” a slice too literally. Something about him being in isolation too long and needing another human around in the compound.

Well, that’s not technically true, is it? The shit all started when he opted to get social, after all.

Fucking Caleb.

Before that, he was doing just fine.

Nathan doesn’t like it at all - having you here. Being watched. Observed. Having someone monitoring his actions. Waiting for him to either fuck up or prove himself.

Ironic really, considering where he kept Ava. The experiments he ran on her.

She’d probably find it poetic, if she could truly understand such a concept.

At the thought of her, Nathan physically shudders, and reaches for an old vest to haphazardly mop the excess sweat from his skin. Then, he balls up a change of clothes and tracks nude to his wet room, feeling relief as the luke warm water sluices over his skin.

He watches himself in the mirror as he stands there naked. It’s not a vanity thing - at least not any longer. These days, he examines the way his form has changed since it happened. He lost some of his muscle and bulk during recovery, whilst unable to exercise, his arms slightly smaller and his abs softer. His stomach a little more rounded.

There’s also the puckered scar, of course - that permanent reminder of where he was skewered through the chest like a piece of kebab meat.

His gaze travels up over his body, until his eyes settle on his still haunted face. He doesn’t have his glasses on, and somewhere between the blurred vision, misted mirror, clouding steam and sluicing water, his reflected face distorts. It transforms - for the briefest of moments - into her.

Still amped with adrenalin from his harsh awakening, this briefest flash sends a surge of panic zipping through Nathan’s chest, his heartbeat racing so hard he can feel the pounding of blood in his ears.

Fuck, he curses, reaching his arms out to brace himself against the shower wall above him, his body trembling and his head dipping down between the cradle of his broad shoulders as his legs threaten to buckle.

He turns the water cold, until it is practically glacial and thundering on to the back of his neck, subduing this spiking heat.

She really did a fucking number on me, didn’t she?

It’s true though.

Ava is haunting him. When he sleeps - and at other times too.

Nathan didn’t know robots could do that. Didn’t know they could spawn ghosts.

Nathan doesn’t believe in ghosts, of course… but he does believe in trauma and its effect on the brain. He at least concedes that it is natural to continue to feel afraid; but this?

Being dogged by the spectre of her taps into Nathan’s deepest insecurities.

After all, there is nothing a genius fears more than doubting his own mind.

Nothing a God fears more than his own mortality.

And the man? Turns out, there is nothing he fears more now, than dying alone.

With a ragged breath, Nathan towels off and pulls on his grey sweatpants, tugging on his black zip-up hoody over his bare chest. And then, keen not to return to his damp, tangled sheets, he tracks towards the kitchen - mainly for want of any more favourable option.

Of course, he had returned to the compound after The Incident. Something about that many fibre optic cables being a bitch to lay down. Sunk cost fallacy and all that - too much already invested.

But it possibly wasn’t the best choice for his recovery.

Nathan has certainly gotten more used to walking down that hallway since he returned from the hospital, and yet he still finds himself holding his breath until he is free of it. Still finds his pace is just a little faster as he passes through. His gaze deliberately averted from that spot.

Once, you’d found him lying in it.

Lying in that exact spot, his body arranged like a crime scene photo, his eyes closed.

Hey, it’s hardly his least healthy coping mechanism, is it?

What in the fuck are you doing, Nathan?

Re-enacting my death, obviously.

Uh-Kay…. A beat. A devious smile. Shall I get some popcorn?

Absurd as it was, he had laughed. Laughed for the first time since it happened, and, with an extended hand, you had helped him up off the floor.

Still, now that he’s alone, he does not dwell in the corridor, colder and darker as it is without your light in it, and he tries not to think about your face or hers as he pads to the kitchen.

When he arrives though, he bypasses it entirely - heading out on to the decking, the crisp night air soothing his hot skin.

He wants to be outside.

There are too many ghosts in his house now.

He has tried to shake it. Tried to desensitise himself to Ava’s face. Spent longer than strictly necessary poring over footage of her.

He built her. Shouldn’t that take the fear out of things? Not to mention the fact Ava’s face was simply a composite of some manipulable nerd’s wank bank browsing history.

Fucking Caleb.

Still, once Nathan had looked her in the eyes and seen a rage that was all too human, things seemed a hell of a lot different.

Nathan crosses to the punchbag on the deck -lit by creeping dawn- on instinct, or out of habit, or maybe some combination of the two, his unease riling him enough to sock some punches at its midsection. Right at the equivalent site of his corporeal puncture.

He punches so hard that the skin on his knuckle splits, but Nathan doesn’t stop. He throws punch after punch until his hands are scathed and bloodied, and a trail of spit hanging from the corner of his mouth. Until he hugs the bag - the closest thing he has to a warm body to hold - and slides down it, coming limply to his knees, wiping his face on his sleeve.

He stays there, dead eyed and still for some time, the pain in his hands raw and singing. Unpleasant, but better. Better than what he was feeling, and worse all at once.

He considers his tired, cumbersome body, and contemplates remaking the world one more time. Uploading his mind into a machine or some shit, so that he doesn’t have to contend with the fragility and failings of his own existence.

He stays there, until some motion in the interior of the compound causes the light and shadows to dance differently over him, and he looks up to see your figure there, cast in a soft halo of yellowed light.

He tips his head up slightly, opening his mouth as though he might cry out to you for help, but no sound comes out - only a thin, dry croak.

So, instead, Nathan watches you for a moment, moving seamlessly around his kitchen as though it is your own. Maybe it is - more yours than his now.

Observing you like this, through the tall, cinematic windows, it is as though he peers in on another world entirely. Something less resembling a nightmare.

Lighter than that. Something more like a good dream, albeit a good dream that Nathan cannot be part of. One he can only ever watch, from the outside looking in, always fated as he is to be on the other side of the glass.

Truth be told, you haunt him too. You represent everything he could have and yet doesn’t deserve.

You appear in his nightmares and his dreams, in various terrifying and beautiful incarnations. Many variations of which his therapist would have a field day with, he’s sure - or, she would, if he’d ever fucking call her.

When you first arrived here, he was plagued by grotesque visions of you. Grotesque visions of the skin being peeled back from your body. Sometimes, circuitry beneath, and other times, muscle and bone. Sometimes, Ava’s face was buried beneath the chilling slip of your fleshy mask.

Sometimes it is a better dream. Sometimes you save him. Sometimes he saves you.

Sometimes it is a good dream. Ava isn’t there at all. But the good dreams never seem to last for long. 

Sometimes you kill him, and sometimes...

The glass door slides open.

“Reenacting your own death again, are you?” you tease, though not unkindly, interrupting the spiral of Nathan’s incessant thoughts.

A lump forming instantly in his throat, Nathan swallows thickly, and looks up at you helplessly with a thin, joyless smile. He snorts as though it’s funny, but it really isn’t. “Over and fucking over.” 

You nod once, and, without hesitation, you extend your hand towards him. Your gaze cuts through him as you search his face and he feels suddenly see-through, as if he’s about to be hit with some Shyamalan-esque twist. Was he the ghost all along? Did he die here after all?

If so, is this purgatory because Ava is here too, or heaven, because you are?

Christ. So fucking schmaltzy, Bateman.

After hesitating, Nathan takes your hand and you yank him to his feet, drawing him inside, through the looking glass.

The room seems warm on the other side. It feels… safe.

“What happened?” you ask, as you look down at your joined hands, your thumb painting a smear of red across his split knuckles. 

You mean now. What happened now, but Nathan’s mind harks back further than that. In his mind, everything is connected. Every thing threaded to another. This one smear of blood to that weeping flower of red.

The thought -the thoughts, all of them- halt him in place, his feet firmly planting on the ground. Nathan’s hand clenches tightly around yours as though it is a lifeline, as he is cast adrift on this familiar crimson tide, his face growing increasingly angular and stern.

“She...” He swallows, unable to complete that precise thought, his eyes dropping down to his feet.

You turn your body towards Nathan as he croaks, still not letting go.

Your eyes flitting around his face, attempting to search his eyes, you tentatively step closer, sliding your palms slowly over his tense shoulders, feeling them rise with an uneven, stuttered breath as you do so.

He’s so tired. He’s so very, very tired.

And it happens all at once on the exhale.

Suddenly, your arms are tugging him closer, and his face is contorting as a violent smattering of tears beads in his long lashes. You are encasing his body in your embrace and rubbing circles into his back as his buzzed head sags all too willingly toward the junction of your shoulder, your fingers splaying along the smooth flesh at the nape of his neck and pads dancing over the gentle prickle of his hair. You are shushing and soothing and reassuring and squeezing and smoothing and cradling and Nathan can feel it. Can feel his heart race in his chest and…

Finally.

Finally, his heart is not pounding because he is reliving his death.

It is pounding because he feels alive again.

When was the last time he cried, even? The last time someone really hugged him? He doesn’t remember the last time. The serendipitous combination of Nathan willing to be vulnerable, and another being willing to hold space for his pain is an all too rare thing.

There’s a reason -or several - he’s so emotionally constipated, after all.

Fuck. I’m taking a huge emotional shit right now.

Nathan remains in the welcome circumference of your arms longer than is strictly necessary - until the tear trails over the bridge of his nose begin to feel cloying. Until his breaths steady, and until his thoughts and ego creep back in. Until he notices the way his hands are clasped at your waist like claws, fingers sinking into your softness, and he thinks to release you.

Then, he leans away, a weight on his brow making his expression stern.

He waits for you to judge him, another swallow trailing thickly down his throat.

However, your eyes are kind and level, dancing with soft concern. Not with judgement or satisfaction or pity, or with anything he fears.

It is refreshing not to feel so afraid.

Finally.

“She…” Nathan begins again, finally finding courage. All at once his eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “She fucking stabbed me.”

You take his words in. You listen.

His “reveal” is simple. Plain and factual. A little indignant. Kinda salty. It’s not overly emotional, or articulate.

But it is enough.

Your eyes narrow, and you nod slowly, trying to understand the true meaning beneath his words.

You even reach up to cup Nathan’s face, his springy beard a cushion beneath your gentle palm as you hold him. “Yeah, genius,” you tease, with a tentative, lopsided smile, dropping your arm all too suddenly, perhaps as you catch yourself. “I got that from context.”

In response, Nathan chucks air from between his teeth, bringing his hand up to comb through his beard - perhaps to obscure his involuntary smile, or perhaps chasing your tender touch, the impression of it left warm on his cheek.

As he brings his hand up, your brows draw together, and you hook his bloodied paw delicately in yours, examining the wound, and leading him gingerly across to the couch as though his whole being might be hurting along with it.

It is.

You order him to stay put while you fetch the first aid kit, and then, in stages, Nathan watches you with fascination as you painstakingly clean and tend to his wounds, without ever being asked to.

He watches you carefully swipe the angry red away from his skin, and, to his overactive mind, it’s all connected. This red is one and the same with the flower of blooming red from The Incident.

Ava hurt him then, and she is hurting him now too.

And you…

“Going to tell the board about this?” Nathan asks, his voice weak and scuffed.

You search his eyes, holding your words back for a moment before answering. Then, you launch them on a big breath. “Fuck the board, Nathan. I told those assholes to stick it.”

Nathan blinks in confusion, shaking his head, his hand flourishing emphatically through the air. “Then… what the fuck are you still doing in my house?”

“Well. I’m… here for you,” you admit, sucking in air through your teeth, your voice shrinking. “If you want that.”

Well, that’s news to him.

Welcome news, perhaps?

You’re not watching him at all, are you? Not observing. Not asking him to evidence his humanity. Not waiting to see whether he fucks up or proves himself.

Instead, you’re seeing him. You’re seeing him and you’re not running.

Nathan had begun to think that maybe he was the nightmare. He’d begun to think he might always be haunted.

Always alone. That he might die that way; again.

And now, here you are.

Nathan thinks about that. He could so easily revert to his old ways, in this moment. Of pride and ego and stubborn independence.

But, perhaps those assholes from the board got a few things right - he’ll admit.

Maybe he had been in isolation too long. Maybe he didn’t need to take “tortured genius” quite so literally.

And so, Nathan almost protests. Almost rejects your presence and your comfort and pushes you away. But the truth is, he’s just so… tired. He’s had so many nightmares, and this time, he’d like to be on the other side of the glass. He’d like to step into that dream.

Nathan takes a deep breath, and releases on the exhale. Releases more than air.

He slowly, ever so slowly, shifts towards you on the couch, angling his body until he can safely dip his head towards your lap, his nose pointed in towards your abdomen and his knees curling around you.

“Th.. this okay?” he asks weakly.

You throw your splayed hands up into the air in surprise as the weight of Nathan settles there, but as he curls his arms around your middle and shuffles closer, you ease into it. You snake your fingers in intricate caresses over his head and neck and shoulders.

“Yeah, Nathan. This is okay,” you soothe gently, voice taut with emotion.

You comfort him.

And finally, Nathan does not need to peel your skin back to know what’s underneath.

He knows you’re not a robot, and that, as your kind touch finds him corporeal, that he is not a ghost.

He closes his eyes. And this time, when he next wakes, he knows that whether the dream is bad or better or good, it doesn’t matter. Because you will be there with him.

He wants you with him.

It’s not at all natural to him, to have you around. For the longest time, he didn’t like it. It didn’t come instinctually, and he has formed no familiar habits.

It isn’t easy - he doesn’t make it easy.

But he wants it to be.

And, in your arms, he can finally dream that it will all work out. What’s more; he can dream he deserves it, too.

#Nathan Bateman #Nathan Bateman x reader #Oscar Isaac #ex machina

[whosjunglejim4322]

Best friends brother!Johnny

Warnings: voyeurism, jerking off, blonde johnny bc yes this is a fair and just warning, spitting, inexperienced (of age) reader, finger fucking, teary eyed orgasm

You know it's wrong, on so many levels. You should retreat back to the room, should leave him to do whatever it is he's doing. But it's as if he did it on purpose, cracking his door open after hearing your footsteps and rummaging downstairs as you fixed yourself a glass of water.

It had been closed when you passed previously, warm light illuminated underneath the door, from somewhere inside his room.

There's always been a...tension, for lack of better term, between the two of you for about two years now. It's incredibly hard to not seem so obvious around him, with his plush pink lips and tall, lithe frame. He'd purposely make eye contact with you during dinners or movies, just to watch you squirm and look away, cheeks hot.

Its not fair, he carries a tangible aura around him, the type that makes your belly warm and heat spread throughout your inner thighs. Maybe it's a crush, or simply just you, being irrationally attracted to a man who's pretty and definitely has big dick energy.

But still, you can't ignore the voice of reason that echoes in the back of your head as you fight the urge to sneak a peek, having heard soft, but purposeful expletives in a low voice that could only be his.

It's not even necessarily panick that you feel, inching closer and closer on the tips of your toes, your brain filled with vivid, fever inducing images of what he could possible be doing, even if it's already blatantly obvious.

A part of you wants to rationalize, but the other half has not even a hint of doubt that he's doing it on purpose, a cruel punishment of some sort.

Tonight he'd caught you staring a bit too hard, a bit too shamelessly. Your bestfriend and their parents were engrossed in a coversation after dinner, you and Johnny on opposite ends of the long grey couch.

He was wearing a black tee that fit snug around his biceps in an unmissable way, slim grey sweats on his bottom half that allowed his thick thighs, among other things, to be seen clear as day when he sat down.

As always, your gaze gravitated towards him like a magnet, pupils wide as you divulged in raking over his entire figure. From his tousled, and recently dyed golden hair, to his elegant yet sharp profile, and then lower. And lower. You were confident enough that everyone else was too distracted to notice, that he too was engrossed in the conversation being had.

But then you felt it, his eyes, burning holes into you. This time, when you met eachothers stare from where you were sat, something deranged and idiotic inside of you decided that you wouldn't look away this time, that if he wanted to play this game with you as he seemingly had been for the past couple years, that you'd play along too.

Something about it felt oddly safe, like, what? Your bestfriends older brother is going to rat you out and tell everyone that you're staring at him? Not likely.

So, you glanced from his lips and then back to his hooded eyes, something inside of him whirring at the small but obvious notion.

To your surprise, he was the first one to break. You had almost gasped, as if the whole time you'd been in a trance and forgotten where you were, who he really is. He cleared his throat, running his slim fingers through the front of his hair before standing, quickly.

"Feeling tired, gonna go to bed early."

He'd stated, politely yet in a manner that felt all too unusual in comparison to his usually steady, confident tone. No one else seemed to notice, but you definitely did. You felt stupid, staring at his broad back as he trotted to his room.

Once he was at the top of the staircase, you could have sworn he threw you a glance over his shoulder.

He didn't leave the room after that, and now here you are, being severely unhinged and deciding that it's a good idea to listen closely, and eagerly, to the pants coming from behind his door.

Maybe you're letting your fantasies get the best of you. What if he's not even doing that? As unpleasant as it is to think, what if all this time you've just been this hormonal mess around a person who is just existing as the sexy and somewhat flirty man that he is?

Afterall, he is effortless in nearly everything he does, it's not like it's hard for him to capture the attention of others. Maybe he's weirded out, what if it's all just in your hea-

"Fuuuck, Y/N."

Your eyes go wide, heart pounding so loudly you're almost scared he might hear it. You feel like every nerve in your body has been struck with a live wire.

There's no fucking way.

But then he moans again, louder this time, and you find your inhibitions almost completely disappearing as you saunter in the dark to a position where you can peek inside to get a clear look.

Nothing prepares you for the sight, not the thoughts your subconcious conjures up on nights where the need to relieve yourself becomes overwhelming.

He's so pretty, his head thrown back against his headboard, heart shaped lips parted and eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You don't even pay attention to what he's doing yet, too focused on the way his adams apple bobs as he swallows, the shape of his jaw.

But it's impossible to ignore the way his bicep is flexing under his minisrations, leading your eyes south to where his large hand is gripping the base of his thick shaft.

Fuckfuckfuck.

He's big, the tip slightly darker than the rest, almost plum in hue. You can't take your eyes off of his long fingers, the way they're wrapped around his dick. You wonder how it would feel if it were you, jerking him off like this, being the source of his guttural groans.

It's just all so filthy, the sounds, the way he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

You feel slick between your thighs, overwhelmed at the sight of his manhood that surpasses any and every expectation that your daydreams have created, deciding to watch his face again and tuck the memory of his lewd expressions into the back of your mind for later use.

But it's as if your heart stops, when you lift your gaze to see that he's already staring right at you, eyes lowly lidded and indescribably dark as he continues to jerk himself off.

It feels surreal, like maybe this is all a dream and you'll wake up soon and greet him in the kitchen during breakfast or something and all of this will just be another reason to be overwhelmingly nervous around him.

But it is real, in fact you're sure of it because that's his voice, clear and resonant calling your name, beckoning you with a lascivious, yet welcoming cadence.

"Come here."

Your feet move on their own accord, brain not yet in sync with your body, still trying to comprehend the fact that this is all really happening.

You know you look nervous, bewildered as you step into his room, a room you've seen and snuck into many times before with your bestfriend to steal vinyls from his collection. Except now, said bestfriends older brother is stroking his dick while you suddenly rethink being so overly confident earlier tonight.

You instinctively close the door, too worried about someone seeing despite the fact that your bestfriends room is on the other side of the house, his parents on the first floor.

You realize as soon as it clicks shut, that you've solidified it; whatever is about to happen. Though you're not as scared as you thought you'd be, more so fascinated and unbearably aroused as you approach him where he's sat on the bed.

He pats the space between his legs, just below his knees as to not make you apprehensive or nervous. You do so, eyes wide with curiosity and exhilaration. You fold your legs underneath yourself, heart hammering from behind your ribcage as you sit.

"You know," He begins lowly, hand still wrapped around his hard cock, stroking slowly, as if he has all the time in the world. As if this whole thing is as casual as eating dinner together. "It's rude to work me up so much and then not even say hello while you're spying on me."

Your cheeks burn, gut twisting with a mixture of arousal and embarassment. You look everywhere but his eyes, knowing they're on you, examining your every expression.

"I-I'm sorry I wasn't trying to spy, I just heard you and-"

He interrupts with an amused chortle, loving every minute of your shy fidgeting.

"And what? Just had to look, huh? I knew you would, always had eyes for me," He states in a manner that has your sex throbbing between your legs. "You were really bold tonight, I mean look how hard you made me baby, could barely stand it."

You can't resist peering up at him through your lashes now, his countenance hungry and full of desire; it almost has you whining, the source of your sexual frustration sitring right in front of you professing that you're the reason his dick is being fisted in his palm.

"I didn't even know that you thought of me like that, to be honest."

He chuckles, head cocking to the side ever so slightly.

"I do, I have for a while now, after I knew for sure that you felt the same way. You think you're so slick, staring at me like that."

His hand quickens in pace and you finally find some courage within yourself, his admittance leaving you slightly breathless but the comfort of his room and the quiet of the house allowing for an appropriate atmosphere.

As appropriate as this could be.

"Johnny, I want to touch you."

It almost comes out as a whisper, you can see him swallow.

"Go ahead baby, you can touch me."

Your fingertips trace the inside of his thighs before you hesitantly grasp his dick in your hands, disbelief clouding your senses at the realization of what's happening, and that it can't be taken back now. Not that you want it to.

You take mental notes of the moment, the softness of his golden skin, the slight stickiness of his precum and the curve of his length. It's so pretty upclose.

His own hand is suddenly wrapping around yours, dwarfing it completely as he shows you the pace he enjoys, the contact causing you to squeeze your thighs together.

"Just like that," He bites down on his plump bottom lip, a flutter of heat suddenly rushing between your legs. "Have you ever done this before?"

He removes his hand but keeps it close to yours, allowing you to work as you shake your head in a silent confession.

"Are you okay with this? Really?"

You both regard eachother with a shared gaze, the softness of his voice giving you more butterflies than you'd like to admit.

"Yes, yes I'm really okay with it."

At this you pick up the pace, twisting your hand in the same manner you saw him demonstrate earlier, taking pride in the groan that leaves his throat. You feel like you're on fire, but in a good way.

"Y-You moaned my name earlier." You state, free hand wandering over the thighs you've dreamt of riding, and over his agile hips. His skin is silky.

He hums in admittance, cock twitching.

"I was thinking about you, about this. I've been cumming to the thought of you more often recently."

Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

Your surprise must be written all over your face, his arm reaching out towards you, smooth knuckles caressing your sweltering cheek.

More often, as in, he's done it before. As in, you haven't been the only one fantisizing. It feels like your head is spinning.

"You're really so clueless, don't even realize how fuckin' horny you make me."

He bucks into your fist, your senses becoming overwhelmed. It's the arousal fogging your brain that finally leads you to speaking more than just a few words per sentence.

"I just wasn't sure, I spend more time than I'd like to admit thinking of all the things I want you to do to me, all the things I want to do to you," Your palm twists over his tip, his mouth slightly agape as he listens with rapt attention.

"Your dick is much prettier in person, you should feel how wet I am right now."

It feels as if you've just run a mile, out of breath. A bead of pearlescent precum cascades down his frenulum.

"Can I?" He asks, the strain in his rough voice evident. You nod eagerly, gasping as he suddenly reaches out and clasps his large hands just under your arms, to pull you onto his lap, sitting you on his thighs.

"Open your hand for me sweetheart."

You do as he asks, worked up beyond belief and even more so as he purses his lips and spits into your palm.

You're gripping him again as he cups your pussy through your leggings, middle finger tracing your slit through the thin material. It's a foreign feeling, having someone else touch you so intimately; you're not prepared for the surge of desire that washes over you.

He senses this in the way your wrist slows, rythym faltering just slightly. You pick it back up as he slips his hand past your waistband, the warmth of his digits against your slick folds all too much to bear.

You let out a soft mewl, and he slips his middle finger inside of your warm, welcoming walls, sucking in air through his teeth as your slick coats the digit.

He begins to thrust into you in time with the pace you stroke his cock, the sticky sounds of your wetness driving him more wild than it does when he's picturing it inside of his head.

The moment is so vivid, for both if you. His fingers are so much longer than your own, skilled and curling inside of you as his middle digit nudges your cervix. The pressure of him rubbing your sweet spot has you barely holding your eyes open.

"Feels good, sweetheart? You like when I finger fuck you?"

You're fully in it now, senses overtaken with a yearning, a need. You're already so gone yet irrevocably present, the depravity in his voice causing a knot of desire to swirl in the pit of your abdomen.

"Y-Yes I love your fingers J-John- oh!"

You hiccup your words as he adds another finger, his eyes glossed over with astonishment at how wet you are, coating his silver rings and soaking his palm.

"You love em' huh?" He uses his free hand to wrap around your throat, gently but firmly, forcing you to look down at him. The knot of his eyebrows and the parting of his lips is enough to have you twitching around him.

You're using your fist to fuck just his tip now, as you've noticed even despite the haze of your arousal how he's more sensitive there. You wonder if he's as close as you are, as he suddenly pulls you down to his parted lips, pressing your mouth to his.

This feeling is different, it's blissful in an agonizing way. Your body is tingling all over, the pleasure reaching a sweltering peak. He pulls back but doesn't move his lips from yours, delivering slow and sloppy pecks as he speaks.

"I want you to fucking cum, show me what you do when you touch your little pussy to the thought of me."

It feels like you might cry, the sob you let out never reaching past your lips as he places his palm over your mouth; fingers fiercely fucking you through your orgasm. You notice he's cumming too when spurts of warmth drip down your fingers.

Still, he's so focused on you, the way you're writhing. Nothing will ever compare to this.

"Shh shh, that's it baby let it go, fucuuuck-" he grits through his teeth, unbearbly handsome face blurry through the tears that threaten to spill from your eyes.

Your thighs tremble atop his lap, his cock half hard and still in your hands. He slips his fingers from you and brings them to his mouth, tongue lapping at your release.

It has you twitching, underwear almost soaked through.

He finally removes his palm from your mouth just to kiss you again, sweetly and with a softness that gives you whiplash.

"I think I'm gonna steal you, from now on." He mumbles, after the two of you finally catch your breath. You can feel the corners of his mouth lift as you hum in agreement.

"Guess I'll have to stay the night more often." You reply, nibbling on his plump bottom lip. You can hardly believe any of this really just happened.

He grasps your jaw.

"Only if I can have you again for breakfast."

#johnny seo x reader #johnny seo #johnny suh drabble #johnny suh #johnny suh x reader #johnny suh smut #johnny seo smut #johnny seo drabble #nct 127 smut #nct127 x reader #nct 127 imagine #Johnny suh scenario #johnny seo scenario #nct x reader #nct smut #johnny suh fluff #nct fluff #johnny seo au #johnny suh au

[likeshipsonthesea]

in the after

what really happened after buck kissed lucy back, and hen being there like always.

Lucy pulls back from their third--fourth?--kiss and Buck blinks heavily. She sways closer and then further away, and he’s not sure if it’s really her or just his muddled vision, but he knows he wants her back close again. That--that felt hot, not warm, but hot like burning, skin-tight and aching, and that--that felt so much better than the emptiness in his chest now.

“I’m gonna go get us more drinks,” Lucy says, smirking, and Buck nods because Buck doesn’t remember the last time he turned anyone down for anything.

As soon as she leaves his vision, Buck is weightless. He can sort of feel the corner of the pool table digging into his thigh and he can sorta hear the news still playing in the background and he remembers jumping from the back of a truck while wondering idly if he’d make it this time, too, just like all the other times, just in the nick of time, just barely, and--

Hen materializes. She’d been--out, either in the bathroom or calling Karen, or something else entirely, and as he sees her, Buck realizes how intensely he just wants to be on her couch, listening to her and Karen criticize reality television as he falls asleep there and one of them runs a caring hand over his head as they cover him up at night and--and Buck just wants Hen to not be across the room right now.

Buck remembers he can do something about that. He stands, teetering like Taylor in her heels after one too many, and Buck’s made his way over to Hen before he remembers--Taylor.

Hen reaches out to steady Buck, frowning as he sends her wide-eyed wordless pleas for help. “What’s wrong, Buckaroo?” she asks, and it’s been so long since someone called him that, and Buck just--drops.

Hen hugs him back as he buries his face in her shoulder and throws his arms around her shoulders. “I wanna go home,” he says, muffled, but Hen hears him anyway and pats at his head and he feels, for the quickest second, a fraction of the warmth he’s been dying for lately.

“Okay, let’s get you home.”

Hen has the bartender give her a bottle of water to go and they sit out on the curb as she orders them an Uber. Buck drinks his water dutifully, as directed, and lets it keep his mouth busy so he doesn’t ask her to let him crash on her couch or, worse, to drop him off at Eddie’s instead.

The image of his own apartment flashes in his mind--gunmetal greys and deep browns that aren’t the right shade, and the one pop of color, Taylor’s bedhead, the strands he finds in his shower, on his pillow, everywhere, and--and he sips more water, and bites his tongue.

He tells Hen what happened in the car. She listens--she always listens, even when she has more important things to listen to, and Buck loves her and wishes he hadn’t said anything and wishes he could say the rest--and Hen tells him to tell Taylor. And he knows he should. Hen didn’t tell Karen, all those years ago, and that just made everything worse. But they fixed it, and so this isn’t the end, Buck could fix it, too.

But Hen loves Karen, Buck thinks, drunk, and sobers enough not to let himself follow that thought any deeper.

Hen helps Buck up to his grey, brown, red apartment and makes sure he drinks another glass of water while she waits for another Uber to arrive and take her home, and when Buck’s finished the last drop, she squeezes his shoulder and says, “Whatever happens, you have me, okay?”

And Buck must react some kind of way--probably tears, he’s quick to cry, just like Maddie, just like Mom--because Hen hugs him again.

“You and me, Buckaroo.”

Buck remembers that month back during his probie year, Chimney out with rebar, Bobby--not yet Bobby, when Hen would quiz him for his exam and listen to his random facts and let him win, every once in a while, when they played video games, and Buck clings to her, now, years later, because he knows what she means. It’s just them again--Chim left, Eddie left, Ravi’s good but he hasn’t bled with them yet, not really, and Bobby--Bobby’s too busy trying to pick up the broken pieces of his A-shift, and there’s always been a distance anyway, with him the captain and them the ones who rely on him.

But Hen--Hen’s still here.

“Thanks, Hen.” He squeezes her, probably too tight, too needy, but she doesn’t say anything.

She leaves, when her Uber arrives, and the warmth lingers long enough for Buck to fall into his empty bed and the best sleep he’s had in a while.

#evan buckley #9-1-1 spoilers #henrietta wilson #hen #buck #can be read as #buddie #if you squint lol #not exactly anti b*t but not favorable so it doesn't go in the tag #my writing #sort of fic #ficlet #idk man i have feelings #we don't actually know what happened after the kiss #the first story was a lie obvs #so this is my interpretation #i need more buck hen friendship in my life #also buck is sad #:(( #we love #angst #:))

[scvrllet]

Eternity

“What crueler punishment is there than love?”

PAIRING: Regulus Black x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Falling in-love was always scary, but falling in-love knowing there is an inevitable end is terrifying

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

WARNING(S): Mentions of death + brief mentions of grief, Immortal!Reader

AUTHORS NOTE: This has been sitting in my drafts for months ( back when i was an active hp writer and was primarily in said fandom) and finally decided to post it

JOIN MY TAGLIST - MARAUDERS MASTERLIST

Immortality may seem like a blessing to those who desire it but forget the burden those cursed with it must carry.

How long have you been alive to watch the world around you evolve? Watch as one Dark Wizard rose and fell only for another to take their place? Watch as those you loved died, leaving you to grieve for all of eternity but yet some dare say that it’s a gift? The answer; far too long.

If anything, it’s more of a curse than a gift. A cruel way of punishing others but not just them but their family as well.

Old magic was dangerous and masters of those forces were not to be messed with. Your family had learnt that the hard way many years ago. An old witch, who one of your past ancestors had wrongly messed with, put a curse on your family. Any and every daughter born into the (Y/L/N) family would be cursed with immortality, paying their ancestors debt for all of eternity. Perhaps this is where the term ‘old soul’ had come from. You thought to yourself once. It humored you at the time but barely anymore. All you wanted was for your soul to be at rest but due to that witch’s magic, that would never happen.

When your parents welcomed you into the world you would be cursed to live in forever, a part of them had hoped that the curse would have somehow skipped a generation but when they noticed your lack of physical aging as you grew up, the only thing they could do was spend as much time with you as possible, your father especially. His time was running out but not yours. It never would.

You’ve lived through many decades and met several people, most of whom were starting to leave your mind, being replaced by the new people you were always meeting. Friends in your opinion, were easily replaceable. Whether it be betrayal or death that causes a rift in the friendship, there was always another willing to fill that spot. This being said, it didn’t mean you never loved them because you did. You spilled all your secrets and thoughts into them and held them as death took them away from you. Oh how their souls were fortunate enough to be able to rest.

You remember listening to your aunts and grandmother talking about their past lovers as a little girl. When one had finally passed, they’d give themselves some time to grieve before hopping into a new relationship, allowing the cycle to repeat itself. They would’ve expected for you to follow in their footsteps given the curse and all but were quite surprised when decades, maybe even centuries had passed, and you were still in-love with that boy from 1976.

You smiled as you recalled the day. It was the day you realized you were falling in-love for the first and possibly the only time in your life. For a moment, that moment specifically, you forgot about your curse and what would result from it.

It was the third of December. Snow fell onto the white ground as a cool breeze turned your faces red. You were both supposed to be in Herbology class at the time, not by the Black Lake throwing snowballs at each other but

With a bit of help from your magic, you had sent at least ten snowballs in his direction. You laughed as it hit him in the face and the moment of you letting your guard down allowed for him to throw one right back at you.

Your face was cold and wet as you wiped the snow off your face. Narrowing your eyes at him, you noticed a sparkle in his grey eyes before another snowball hit you in the face.

“Reg I swear to God I will murder you.” You threatened as you wiped the snow off your face. Anybody else would’ve been scared and immediately apologized but he knew you like the back of his hand.

“Is that so love?” He teased knowing that nickname was always able to crack your façade. Glaring daggers at him, you hoped he wouldn’t notice how your face got warmer but he saw the corners of your lip twitch upwards a bit and that was all he needed to continue teasing you.

Waving your wand, a pile of snowballs appeared beside you and before Regulus could even say anything, they were all sent flying in his direction one by one. He sighed in relief when the last of the snowballs had been fired at him before using his wand to dry himself off.

When he was finally dry, he looked up at you and smirked before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the Black Lake. It was frozen but you were absolutely terrified of the ice cracking and falling into the cold water. Just thinking about it sent shivers down your spine as he walked closer to the frozen lake.

“Do you trust me?” He turned around to ask you, standing at the edge of the frozen lake. Had this been someone else, you would’ve broken free of their grasp and run back to your dorm but he was different. You couldn’t explain why, but you felt safe around him. It was an odd feeling.

Simply nodding, he smiled before carefully stepping onto the ice. He laughed as he felt your grip on his arm tightened as the two of you walked further on the ice.

“Regulus what are we doing?” You questioned as he continued to lead you away from the shore.

“Ice-skating, I think. I’ve overheard my brother talk about doing it with his friends and figured I’d give it a try.” He replied with a shrug.

You abruptly stopped in your steps and arched a brow at him as you asked: “You’re telling me that we’re currently ice-skating?”

Regulus cocked his head to the side slightly. “Are we doing it wrong?”

“Ice-skating Reg, it’s in the name. We need skates.” You replied and a look of realization dawned on him. He knew that it felt odd for muggles to do this sport with normal footwear but he just hadn’t realized what he was missing.

“I was wondering why we weren’t going as graceful.” He said under his breath, causing you to chuckle. “Well, right or wrong, I think we’ve had enough ice-skating for today. Come on you must be freezing.”

He grabbed your arm again and started walking back towards the shore. A mistake in this action though was that he didn’t give you enough time to react before he was pulling your arm. This resulted in you losing your balance and slipping on the ice but thankfully, his fast reflexes had you balanced on both feet as Regulus held you by the waist.

“Are you alright?” The playful teasing expression had now been replaced by a wide eyed look of concern as he moved his hands to rest on your shoulders as if to further steady you. He searched your eyes for any sign telling him that you weren’t okay. Thankfully, there were none and he sighed in relief and pulled you into his chest.

Far too intoxicated in his scent, you hadn’t realized that you were shivering until he pointed it out and began to cautiously head back inside. Lightly tugging on your jacket, the two of you got off the ice and back onto the solid ground. As you walked back you couldn’t help but question that feeling you felt whenever you were with him.

It was the feeling you felt when you were having a snowball fight with him. The feeling you felt when he laughed and his eyes would light up. It was the feeling you felt when you were around him and what you felt when he caught you on the ice and looked at you. The moment that happened just a few seconds ago replayed in your mind and you doubt that it’d ever stop. It made you feel warm and safe, mortal even.

You didn’t even realize you were back inside until you heard a voice call out from down the hallway in front of you.

“Mr Black and Ms (Y/L/N) aren’t you supposed to be in Herbology?” It was McGonagall. Shit.

Turning the opposite way, the two of you ran down the hall and turned the corner towards the Dungeons. Teacher or not, you both doubted she would enter the Slytherin’s Common Room.

“Blimey Black, if I wanted to warm up I would’ve rather set myself on fire.” You huffed as you tried to catch your breath. “And how are you not out of breath? I feel like I’m dying.” You had just run nearly halfway across the castle and Regulus wasn’t gasping for air like you who was hunched over the couch, quite dramatically as well you might add.

The boy in front of you rolled his eyes at your exaggeration before sitting down on one of the couches and patting the seat beside him, gesturing for you to sit down beside him. With a flick of his wand, a fire was lit in the fireplace allowing both light and warmth to fill the dark Common Room the Slytherin’s had. You always wondered why Salazar decided to place the Common Room in the Dungeons out of all places. A tower would’ve been much nicer, warmer even, but it seems as his blueprint for Common Rooms was different compared to the other founders.

As you sat down beside him, he pulled you closer towards him so that you were resting on his chest as his arms were wrapped protectively around you. “Better?” He asked and smiled and you hummed in response.

His fingers were tangled in your hair as he hummed a song. That combined with the sound of the fire crackling in front of you were enough to pull you to sleep. When you woke up the next morning you were still in the Slytherin Common Room but the fire was now out and there was a blanket on top of you. You were also laying on something that was most definitely not the couch since you could feel arms loosely wrapped around your stomach.

Sitting up you noticed that the sun was just starting to rise but that wasn’t what shocked you. It was the fact that you had fallen asleep on top of Regulus and that he stayed there until he too fell asleep. He could’ve just left you on the couch to go to sleep or ask one of your friends to take you to your dorm so why did he stay?

“(Y/N)?” You heard him mumble groggily. Whipping your head around you saw Regulus still very much asleep, or at least he looked like he was. His eyes were still closed and his black curly locks were a mess, something he wouldn’t have accepted if he was awake. He was always thought to look presentable at all times.

Shrugging off your previous thoughts you smiled down at him and intertwined your fingers with his. “I’m here Reg.”

He stirred a bit and his grip on your hand became firmer before light snores were heard from him.

“What are you doing to me?” You mumbled as you pushed a few strands of hair off his face. It was that same feeling. That warm feeling that just made you yearn to be with him, it was back. This time much stronger but back nonetheless.

It took you awhile but you did realize what he was doing to you: he was making you fall for him. You didn’t know if it was intentionally or not but what you did know was that it was working.

You were falling in love and it was absolutely terrifying.

Despite your curse and the known outcome, Regulus treasured every single second he was able to share with you. The relationship lasted two years, ending a few months after you both graduated from Hogwarts due to his discovery upon Voldemort. Aside from Kreacher, you were the only person who knew the truth about Regulus Black and what happened to him. Not even his brother or parents knew what had happened to him but that’s how it would stay. The world wouldn’t know about the boy who died trying to right his wrongs.

After his passing though, you couldn’t bring yourself to move on. It didn’t feel right and with all the pain that came with it you doubted you’d ever allow yourself to fall in-love again.

So as years went by and the world continued to move on, you were stuck on that boy from 1976.

#regulus black fanfic #regulus black fic #regulus black angst #regulus black imagine #regulus black x reader #regulus black x fem!reader #regulus x fem!reader #regulus black x you #regulus black x y/n #regulus black immortal au #immortal au #immortal!reader #regulus x reader #regulus x you #regulus x y/n #regulus fic #regulus oneshot #regulus imagine #regulus au #harry potter au #hp immortal au #hp imagine #hp fic #hp oneshot #hp x reader

[kalee60]

Wondering if you have any thoughts about beefy bucky? And maybe any thoughts about any thoughts that Steve might have about beefy bucky? For a cheeky anon 👉👈

Hoo boy Cheeky Nonnie... Do I have some thots about this??

*ahem - clears throat as it's a little thick for some reason... err - yes, yes I do... Many in fact...

Just to clarify - you mean...

Or even...

I thought so...

Oh - Cheeky anon - you are speaking my language! So I had set out to tell you my thoughts about Beefy Bucky...but Steve came screaming into the room, panting and excited, a light shining in his eyes and suddenly it was all about him... maybe one day I’ll get my say...

This got away from me slightly - hope you enjoy Nonnie! 😘

~*~*~*~*~

Steve tried to not stare, tried to be respectful like his ma taught him, tried to be the responsible adult, hero that he was. He was the paragon for truth, the beacon of all that was good, but all that ran through his head as he looked at his best friend, his semi-recently unbrainwashed best friend, was Bucky’s large frame manhandling him to the bed and doing unspeakable acts on Steve’s body.

He was past caring what these acts might be, he’d be open to anything, try anything - not having had much experience due to time or inclination. But as he sat in the mission brief and watched Bucky playing with a pencil, unintentionally snapping it between his chunky fingers, looking around sheepishly in case someone told him off for breaking SHIELD property - Steve thought about those meaty fingers wrapped around a specific part of his anatomy. A part he knew couldn’t snap off (he’d tried when jerking off - not intentionally, but sometimes he twitched hard in the heat of the moment - and he had super strength after all).

From Steve’s vantage point, a few yards behind Bucky’s immensely broad shoulders, he found his breaths coming in quicker, wondering how it would feel to be picked up and slammed into a hard surface by Bucky, to have all that unrestrained strength pushing him - up against his body. Steve shivered, knowing that, yes, Tony and Thor and the others with the use of their powers or suits could pin Steve for a few seconds - but Bucky - he’d had a similar serum as Steve and it gave him thoughts. 

Would Bucky be at the same level of strength and power, were they evenly matched in every way? And if Steve begged on his knees staring up at Bucky - would Bucky relent and finally give him all he’d been dreaming about since he was sixteen?

Steve didn’t know. But he fantasised about it a lot.

Bucky had always been bigger than Steve, had always towered over him when they were kids, and Steve fit under the crook of Bucky’s arm, snug and nice, knowing that even before the serum, Bucky could have had his way and Steve would let him - even as feisty and independent as he was. But oh god, given half the chance, in a million different ways Steve would have let him.

But then the war happened, Steve had the serum and everything changed - he lost Bucky, had lost his better half, his true north, and that was when Steve lost hope. Until the Winter Soldier appeared - no, when Bucky appeared. Hope welled eternal in Steve for the first time in years, and to now have Bucky before him, it was a dream come true and he was scared to do anything to break the bubble that was surrounding them in case he scared Bucky off again.

So through hungry eyes, Steve watched Bucky closely, helped Bucky with the holes in his memory as best he could, ignored the lack of compassion that sometimes came through, and tried his best not to ogle Bucky’s new physique.

It was hard.

Extremely hard.

Because Bucky was built, he was wide, he was thick and it made Steve jittery inside.

He was unable to hide the most basic of reactions when they sparred, growing stiff the moment Bucky threw Steve over his shoulder like he weighed nothing to land on the mat roughly before straddling him, hand gently around his throat and a smirk on his face. And Steve had to scramble to the toilets for a moment alone - each and every time. Images of Bucky’s muscular thighs either side of his stomach fodder for a slew of fantasies and he only ever felt a little guilty when he came, hand shaking around his dick and Bucky’s name on his lips.

But it was undeniable that Bucky had changed - his quick smiles gone, humour buried away with only a glimpse here and there, but Steve knew Bucky, his Bucky was lurking somewhere in the depths, and Steve was slowly teasing him to the surface. So it would be completely unfair to foist his desires on his friend - a friend who'd never indicated that he liked Steve on a romantic level.

So Steve sat behind Bucky in the briefing, letting his mind wander, allowing his gaze to rake over the back of the too tight dark blue henley, Bucky’s shoulders taking up more space on the chair than Steve’s did - and he watched. 

Steve’s eyes traced the lines of Bucky’s wide stance as he moved in the chair, watching the toned muscles shift under the shirt and he couldn’t help lick his lips, only to look up and find Bucky stalled, stopped in his tracks staring over his shoulder at Steve with something deeply shadowed in his eyes. And Steve had been caught, caught staring like a man dying of thirst and Bucky the only person in the world that had a trickle of water left.

Standing up hastily, Steve fled - heading towards his room on the thirtieth floor, not knowing if the briefing was over or not, not really caring - he’d walked out of them before - it was only a safety meeting about new protocols that Steve himself had helped to create, but he couldn’t sit behind Bucky and stare at his bulk any longer. Bucky might have already realised where Steve’s thought’s had been, and he needed a moment to agonise over it.

He’d only just made it to his hallway, sprinting up the stairs as it was quicker than the elevator, when a huge solid hand grasped his arm, yanking to slam Steve up against the wall and suddenly two very intense blue/grey eyes were staring at him, pinched at the corners, questioning. Steve was no longer concerned about being called out - he was too busy sweating heavily at the sheer muscle Bucky was showcasing by pinning him to the wall, and he flexed, trying to move, but Bucky - oh fuck - Bucky had him. Steve would have to exert a lot of energy to break the hold, and his knees buckled.

Bucky grasped him, holding him upright as he sagged, “hey pal - you okay? What in the hell is going on?”

Steve managed to get his knees to lock long enough to hold his weight, and Bucky wide-eyed and concerned held him trapped. Held him aloft in his strong arms, his flesh one just as huge and muscular as his metal one.

“Yeah I’m alright,” Steve ground out. And he was, mostly - except for the tenting in his cargo pants, something that if Bucky stepped in less than an inch would feel pressed against him in all it’s post-serum glory. And Steve shouldn’t have thought that - what had it done to Bucky if the rest of him had grown so thick.

Bucky exhaled slowly, then looked up at the roof and Steve watched the sinews dance under the skin of Bucky’s neck, the wide hefty expanse of muscle that had to be at least twice the size as before. Steve wanted to lean forward, nip at the jutting Adam's apple, lick it, suckle it and have Bucky tense the muscles so that Steve could trace the hardness under his stiff tongue.

Words escaped him before Steve knew what was happening. “You’re so big.”

Immediately his face flamed because the words didn’t come out like a question, or a matter of fact statement - it was breathy, whispered with reverence, with a tone that couldn’t be disguised - Steve sounded horny for Bucky, and shame welled up.

Shutting his eyes, Steve shook his head, trying to get up the strength to break free of the large hands holding him, but Steve was learning he was a masochist under Bucky's control, Steve wanted it, no matter how he got it - all of that power and force bundled into the man he’d been in love with all of his life, it was too much.

“Open your eyes, Stevie.”

He was powerless not to, not when Bucky called him that.

Bucky’s long hair had fallen over one side of his face, and he peered at Steve, a small frown between his eyes as he worked something out in his head, Steve having seen that puzzled expression many times, usually directed at the coffee machine or at Sam, until suddenly like the dawning of a new day - his face went slack. 

He’d realised something, something big. And Bucky stepped forward, closer, the entire length of his body now against Steve, and although Steve was still a little taller than him, he felt as small as his teenage self while Bucky held him aloft using just his body, and it was only then that Steve realised what Bucky was pressed against and… oh…

What was now pressed against Steve in return.

“Buck…” he said brokenly.

“How long?”

“Errr…”

“How long, Steve?” The demand came with a tightening of hands on his biceps and Steve groaned at the pinch, the pressure, and Bucky threw his massive flesh arm across Steve’s collar bone instead, restraining him, and Steve just about came on the spot. It was too much, the sheer strength, the sheer size of Bucky was making him quake like a teenager with too many uncontrollable hormones.

“For as long as I can remember.”

“Jesus,” Bucky swore and let go, Steve slumping against the wall, and Bucky took one step away, Steve had ruined it - ruined everything.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

Steve looked up at the order in Bucky’s voice.

“Where?” he croaked.

“Your room, it’s closer - I’m going to nail you to your bed and make you scream Stevie Rogers - I have one vivid memory of before the war, and I know it was just a fantasy. And right now... right now I want to make it a reality.”

Bucky strode away, intent in each step and Steve watched the sway of his thick hips, the delectable peach-like ass he wanted to sink his hands and teeth into, and Steve stuck to the spot, couldn’t believe what was about to happen.

“I’m not going to ask twice.”

Steve jumped to attention, and had never ran so fast in his life.

#stucky #mywriting #this ask was not intending to go down this path... 🤷 so sorry??? #cheeky anon - this was a BRILLIANT ask and thanks for being patient until i had time to put a little something together for you! #steve x bucky #Steve is pining #Steve has thots #beefy bucky

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Ch 8

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: Connor and the prototype check out the Ravendale district, and as per usual, the android doesn't listen to him.

AO3

Story banner by @uh-kitty-got-wet​

It was raining. Again.

And Connor was standing out in it. Again.

At least Colin seemed as miserable as he was, wrapped in his expensive leather jacket while shivering. It was more than a little satisfying that Connor’s practical windbreaker was holding up better under the never-ending deluge.

“Damn thing robs a convenience store, and no one sees where it went,” Colin complained, hunching his shoulders against the November chill. “Why don’t you tell Barbie over there to fetch?”

“Don’t call it that,” Connor muttered, sneaking a surreptitious glance at the android in question. It was standing next to his Mustang, back ramrod straight as it remained facing forward, looking for all intents and purposes just like a plastic doll. It didn’t even blink or fidget as it was pelted with cold rain droplets.

“Okay, Mr. Android Rights Activist.” Colin smirked. “You seemed fine calling it that at the station. Yelled it, in fact.”

Connor turned up the collar of his windbreaker, not dignifying that statement with a response. He was going to have to change the bandages on his cheek when he got back to the station. It stung like hell and was already soaked through.

“Shut up,” he said, halfhearted, before leaving Colin’s side to approach the prototype. Its eyes shifted toward him, its head following as if on a swivel. Connor had noticed it move that way before, and it was uncanny as hell. Like a bird, or a reptile, focusing on something of interest.

Without waiting for Connor to speak, it said, “The deviant fled by bus and didn’t disembark until the last stop. From what we saw of the Ortiz android, deviants don’t behave rationally and are often driven by emotions such as anger or fear.”

Connor scoffed.

“Okay, great. Emotional machines. How is that helpful?”

The YN800 model cocked its head and its eyes slid to the side, a thoughtful expression if Connor had ever seen one.

“Knowing it would soon be pursued by the police, it would most likely choose to hide. And with a young child in tow during inclement weather, it couldn’t have gone far.”

Connor’s eyebrows rose.

“All right. If you were a deviant, where would you hide?”

There was a flash of something in its eyes. It almost looked… annoyed.

Interesting.

The prototype turned and gaze out across the street, its eyes roving over each building with a critical lens, a small crease appearing between its brows. Had someone designed that little dip on purpose? Make it more human and less creepy?

“There’s a motel nearby, but that option would require cash and a change of clothing. It’s a human-only establishment, but it is a warm, dry place to shelter, so this location is high-risk high-reward. There’s also the foreclosed house on the corner, but it is structurally unsound and unsafe for a child. The AX400 may not care.”

It aimed its chin toward a lot surrounded by a chain link fence, and added, “The overnight parking lot may offer a good alternative as well, uncomfortable but discreet. Units should be placed at all three locations to cover the most ground and assure the deviant doesn’t slip away.”

Connor would have loved nothing more than to find fault in the prototype’s logic, just as an excuse to take it down a peg, but everything it said made an annoying amount of sense.

Without acknowledging the android, Connor went back to where Colin and Ralph were hunched miserably in the rain and gave them the update. The rookie got on the radio immediately and coordinated where the uniforms should be stationed, spread out all along the Ravendale district.

The android’s calculations paid off—an AX400 was spotted just down the street, a struggling child in tow.

Connor was about to turn to the YN800 model to give it the go-ahead when it blew past him, a streak of dark jeans and grey jacket with glowing blue accents.

“Goddammit, wait!” he yelled after it. Goddamn android didn’t even have a proper name for him to curse. For insisting on being Connor’s new partner, it sure didn’t act like one, running off or disappearing the first chance it got.

Connor fled after it, boots slapping against the wet pavement as he weaved around groups of people on the sidewalk, diving into traffic around slow-moving autonomous cars where he could.

The officers stationed along the street directed Connor where to go since he’d quickly lost sight of the prototype. It was eerily fast, and Connor wasn’t exactly diligent about getting regular exercise. By the time he caught up to it at the end of an alley, he was panting and wheezing for breath.

“Shit,” he panted through his teeth, staring wide-eyed through the chain-link fence as the AX400 and child somehow made it to the median strip without both of them dying. That fucking lunatic android was going to get the girl killed.

There was movement out of the corner of his eye; the prototype was halfway up the fence before Connor could grab it by the jacket, yanking it back down onto solid ground.

“What are you doing!”

He considered giving it a good shake when it stubbornly refused to let go of the fence.

The prototype ignored him completely, staring through the links to its target like a predator homing in on its prey.

“What I was designed to do.”

It tried to shrug off his grip, but Connor held on tighter.

“It’s a miracle they even made it that far!” Connor snapped, fingers digging into the slippery fabric. “You chase after them, you’ll get yourself killed!”

The YN800 positively glared at him out of the corner of its eye. It was a look so hostile that the air left Connor’s lungs, and he made the mistake of slightly loosening his grip.

The android jerked out of his hold, leapt onto the fence, and cleared the top before Connor could stop it.

“No!” Connor yelled, useless and too late.

The YN800 landed on the muddy embankment and slid down the slope to the highway railing, disrupting the shimmery text of the warning hologram as it leapt into traffic.

Connor was helpless to do anything but watch as it expertly dodged oncoming vehicles, sliding over and under them, always a hair’s breadth away from certain death. Somehow it made it to the median and gave chase, yelling for the AX400 to stop.

The deviant turned, panic twisting its features, and the two androids faced each other at a standstill, an innocent child caught in the middle.

Next Chapter

#connor x reader #human!connor x reader #connor x android!reader #human!connor x android!reader #inside your wires #my fanfiction #my writing

[cuppimagines]

Hi I'm currently dying trying to make this older guy with GIANT hands fuck me and your blog is like. killing me rn. Can we have some more imagines that have literally anything to do with big hands 🥺 I just want some big burly mobster w giant thick ass fingers to make me cum so hard i cry

I KINDA went really indulgent with this one, I had a TON of fun writing it which is probably why it came out as quickly as it did, SO I hope you like it too

Back straight, head held up, arms behind your back, but you were still shaking in your heels. The room smelled of cigar smoke, and the man in front of you toon the cigar from his mouth and put it out in an ashtray nearby. With his...second pair of arms. Not only was he a shady arms dealer that you were hunting down for months, but also a four armed, eight eyed dark grey spider with biceps bigger than your head on all four arms. His name was Harkan Spinner, and you found him alright, but now he had you right where he wanted you.

“So...” Harkan leaned against his desk. “What’s a cute little private eye doing getting in over their head? Did someone want you to find me? A pissed off colleague, a lonely betrayed friend?”

“I-well I uh...” you started to stutter. You had to find him because of a supposed loan he owed your client before jumping ship and taking business elsewhere in the country. But only now, standing in front of him did you realize that you didn’t know what to do now that you were here...He was huge, and could easily crush you under one thumb. Seeing the realization wash over you made Harkan let out a condescending laugh.

“I actually don’t care, I’m sure there are tons of people who hate me, but I didn’t expect any of them to send a rookie detective,” his eight eyes all glared you up and down. “Especially not one so cute, cute enough to eat I might add...” he stood up, and even with him getting closer to you, you didn’t run, instead looked up at him as you felt your face flush red hot.

“I’m not here to force anything, but my client knows your location, and so will be needing your lo- your Uh...” you got distracted when he put his hand on your shoulder, and pulled you even closer.

“You and I both know I won’t do that, because I really don’t give a shit,” he smirked. “But I will thank this “client” that you keep choosing not to name. I love the entertainment he sent me.” You stopped staring at him only to start staring at his hands. Along with the rest of him, Harkan’s hands were so large, you felt that if he squeezed your shoulder just a little bit harder it would shatter. And the thought made you very intimidated, but excited at the idea.

“Are you looking at something?” He asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Did something catch your eye little one?” His hand moved from your shoulder, right up to grabbing your face, with two of his hands holding your waist.

“Use your words kitten,” he smirked. He made you stare right up at him, and you could feel your body shake even more. He was so big...so cocky and sure of himself. You’d be angry at him but instead you were drawn to him.

“Y-your hands are...”

“Big?” His thumb gently rubbed your cheek. “And I got more than two of em, wanna see what they can do, kitten~?”

“Yes! Please...!” You realized you answered way too quickly, almost immediately, and turned your head in embarrassment.

“That’s exactly what I wanna hear,” Harkan smiled. At that second, the hand on your cheek wrapped around your neck, and his free hand went to your face, two fingers gently placed up to your mouth.

“Open your mouth, kitten,” he demanded. Your parted your lips for his fingers, and almost immediately his fingers went to the back of your throat. Just two fingers felt so large they filled your mouth so much. Without a command, you started licking his fingers, wrapping your tongue around them and curling against them. You moaned and whimpered, and shuddered in his touch.

“Mmm...you’re so cute,” Harkan smiled. “And so eager too...keep sucking, those fingers are gonna be fucking you to tears very soon...” The thought made you melt in his touch, your thighs pressed together as your arms went up to grab his large wrist. It felt too soon when his fingers left your mouth, and his hand left your throat. His two fingers were slick with your saliva, and you could swear you were drooling in anticipation for what’s gonna happen next.

Very roughly, Harkan tossed you down onto his desk, and you felt his hand creep up your skirt, while one of his other hands grabbed your wrist.

“Legs spread, keep still, be a good girl,” Harkan smiled. He pulled your panties down, and put them to the side, before two of his slick fingers started rubbing up and down your folds. You moaned, looking up at him with pleasing eyes while you kept your legs nice and spread. You wanted it so badly...

“What did I say earlier kitten?” Harkan asked, his slick wet fingers still against your cunt. “Use your fuckin words.”

“Please!” You cried out. “Please Harkan, please I need this...”

“Good...such a good girl...” Harkan smirked down at you, before you felt only one of his large fingers push past your entrance and thrust up and down inside of you. Just ONE felt so large, practically the same size of a regular cock you’ve taken in the past, and that alone got you moaning loudly for him. So large, yet so gentle at first. He obviously didn’t wanna hurt you, and it felt so good.

“That feels so good, oh god...!” You moaned. “Ah...ah fuck...you’re doing so so good...”

“No need to tell me, kitten,” Harkan leaned down and kissed you, before you felt his two fingers slide into you, filling you up so good while his thumb rubbed your clit. If your hands were free at all, you’d grab him by the collar and keep him in the kiss, but you were at this large spider’s mercy, and he pulled away and looked down at your glazed over expression. Your moans were so heavenly to him, Harkan could barely look away from you, like he was admiring his work.

“Oh kitten...” he sucked his teeth. “No other lover is treating you well are they? Haven’t had someone finger you like this?” You didn’t even answer, just moaned loudly and squirmed in his grip. You bucked your hips against his fingers, as you felt him go deeper than your own fingers ever could until his knuckles couldn’t go any further. Your moans were absolute music to the large spider’s ears, a sweet melody that made his pants feel tighter and put a satisfied smirk on his face.

He was gentle, so gentle with you at first, but he slowly got rougher the more he gauged your arousal. You felt him thrusting his fingers in and out of you while a fourth hand rubbed circles into your clit. There was a soaking wet mess that was dripping onto the table, and your eyes were completely glazed over, but soon shot back to life as you arched your back and cried out. Harkan started to get real rough and fast with you, his fingers getting soaked down to the knuckle in your juices as he watched you beg and plead for more.

“Please, please oh god please!” You moaned out. “I need more, please it feels so good!”

“Shhh shh shh,” Harkan leaned down to kiss you. “I know you do, you’re such a good little kitten, I can feel it, you’re almost there, come on~!” You felt yourself tighten around his fingers, moving and bucking your hips like your life depended on it. You couldn’t take it anymore, you could feel yourself tip over the edge. In one final loud moan of his name, your pussy clenched around him and you felt your body twitch and spasm as you finally came, soaking your inner thighs, his fingers, the table underneath you.

When Harkan let you go you lay there limp and exhausted. You felt a mess but a good one, and Harkan sat back with a grin on his face admiring his work. You tried to sit up, and noticed a very large, impressive bulging in Harkan’s pants, and went to rub at it while looking up at him.

“Sh-should I...?” You muttered. He just grabbed your hand and gently pulled it away.

“No, no, I’d be way too much for you to handle, for now that is,” he said. “I had fun with you tonight though. I guess that means I’ll be a good citizen and pay what I owe, if your client comes and faces me like an adult.” Harkan looked down at his soaking wet fingers, and went up to lick them, moaning at the taste.

“Cute enough to eat...” he smirked, causing you to turn red and look away. He looked down at you and gave you a few gentle, loving kisses on the cheek and forehead.

“If you’re still in town tomorrow, I’ll visit,” he said. “In fact I’ll drive you back, there’s no way in hell the buses are still running at this hour, sound good?”

“Yeah, uh, thanks Harkan,” you smiled, as he lifted you up in his arms and carried you, exhausted to the exit of his office.

“Anytime, kitten.”

#cuppyask #cuppimagines #exophilia #nsft #nsft text #terato #spider boi #spider boy #multiple arms

[btsbling]

Unspoken Words

🥀 pairing: Kim Taehyung x Fem!Reader

🥀 genre: High school!au, soulmate!au, fluff

🥀 summary: The first words that would be exchanged between you and your soulmate is tattooed on a body part

🥀word count: 1.77k

©️ Btsbling (i do not own BTS members or Taehyung)

You stared at the clouds above you, feet dragging heavily as you blew out a breath. You held a half eaten sand which in one hand and scrolled through your phone with the other.

Music boomed softly through your ear buds as you made your way to school. Autumn was approaching as you walked down the path filled with palettes of orange leaves.

Very soon, winter break would be arriving. Your last year in high school was dawning on you. In a couple of days there would be an early graduation party. You could see the faint outline of your school building as you walked closer and closer. You unconsciously rubbed the tattoo on the inside of your wrist

“hey, title of my sex tape”

You chuckled as you recalled the day you had gotten your tattoo for the first time. It was your 15th birthday as you felt a tingle or two on your wrist. You were worried and out of it, not knowing what was happening to your body and unfamiliar ink started to appear on your body. Especially when it wasn’t the most innocent of comment.

You had gotten stares from your tattoo that was mostly visible. You rubbed the soft skin and brushed over the words. You hated the tattoo that was carved on you in the beginning, hating how sexual it was related to. However, slowly you begun falling in love with it.

You searched on the web, and after finding out about “soulmates”, you couldn’t wait to find yours as the tattoo was the key to your destined partner.

As you approached the gates of high school, you drowned out the sounds of chatters and gossiping with your music. You had spent the last three years, hiding in the shadows. Sure you didn’t have many enemies or anything “dramatic” happen to you. You were used to the silence you often engulf yourself with.

You sat in your seat, watching as people engaged in their own physical activities. The teacher infront of you was boring and you desperately wanted to skip class and return to your comfortable bed. You sighed as you felt the wind blow softly across your face when suddenly abrupt cheers erupted from the field below.

Your chin was nestled comfortably on your palm as you watched as he dribbled the basketball, before getting into position and scoring successfully. His teammates surrounded him in a big team hug, each head dyed with a unique hair dye.

But his silvery grey hair caught your attention as he threw his head backwards to laugh at a comment from his teammate. You felt your pulse quickening. You had never actually spoken to the cute alien boy before.

But you remembered the day you first met him. It was during first year. The thundering sounds of the rain pattering on the ground mocked you as you raised your palm to the sky. You had stayed back to study own your own but had completely forgotten to pack an umbrella with you in the morning.

You chewed on your lip, mentally listing out possible ways of avoiding the rain. Which seems to be quite big of a challenge. I could take the road behind the school? It’s kind of dangerous but i wouldn’t get drenched at all—

You nodded to yourself, feeling as if it was the best possible route, but as you stepped out of the school, you felt someone behind you and you looked behind to find Taehyung smiling at you with a gummy square smile, he opened up his alien designed umbrella, gesturing for you to take it.

You were hesitant, but he didn’t seem to back out of his offer. Once you took it from his hand, bowing to him slightly, he only flashed you another cute grin before running out into the rain. You tried calling out for him, but he was soon out of your sight.

Soon, you began learning his name. Since he joined the popular group of boys in your school it wasn’t very hard to do so. You constantly spit him walking down the hallway, beside your class as he spoke animatedly with his 6 other friends.

You didn’t know when you started falling for the popular “kid”. Maybe it was his square boxed smile that caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach, or the way he was always willing to help anyone in need. You constantly caught him patting the neighbourhood cat, and helping an old lady cross the street while helping her with her groceries.

His hair made you want to touch them and nustle into them and his vibe was so warm, you’ve always wanted to give him a hug.

But of course, you were a “nobody”. A shadow. There were tons and tons of girls that were willing to follow Taehyung to the ends of the earth. They were way better than you and you didn’t deserve a man like Taehyung.

So you could only look away from him. Keeping to yourself.

Not noticing the way he stared at you.

You rubbed you’re arms up and down, nervously standing in the corner of the room and staring at the sea of people infront of you.

The music boomed loudly as people gathered and danced together. It was the night of the graduation party, you weren’t really the type who would attend parties but seeing as this was your last year. Here you were, dressed in a fitting red silk dress that showed your curves perfectly.

You fidgeted with your dress, everyone was dressed in suits or formal dresses. You started zoning out at your corner.

Your hand lazily holding up a plastic cup of juice, as you leaned against the wall behind you. You had let down your wavy long hair today. You tucked a piece of stray hair behind your ear and focused on the crowd in front of you.

You could recognise that bed of hair from anywhere.

He slapped the back of Jungkook as he snickered adorably. Taehyung was dressed in a suit, his hair styled slightly, making him give off a charismatic vibe Your heart raced as you eyed him up and down and when he looked in your direction for a second, you could only look away to avoid eye contact with him.

But when you turned back, you found almost a ring of girls surrounding Taehyung. Pressing their breasts together in hopes of catching his eye.

Your heart ached at the sight even thought you knew he wasn’t even yours. You shook your head, your eyes looking away and spotting the stairs that led up to the school roof.

You sighed and walked slowly to the roof, your heels clicking onto the floor.

Taehyung gazed at your form, the group of girls pressing up against him, attempting to get a smile out of him was getting on his nervous.

As he spotted you leaving for the roof, he quickly excused himself with a forced smile and quickly disappearing from the sights of his fangirls.

he had always noticed you.

Probably after he had lent you his alien themed umbrella

He didn’t expect you to look for him, holding a bag of homemade desserts and his properly folded umbrella. You awkwardly rushed out a “Thank you for yesterday” but he heard it loud and clear. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, he didn’t understand why he found you absolutely adorable.

He knew you were quiet, a shadow. But for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. It’s been the same for the past few years. Sure he had dated others to get his mind off of you, but it always went back to you.

Taehyung read the tattoo on his finger,

“i came alone”

as he met up with his friends. Most of them have already found their own soulmates and he was excited to meet his.

But the moment you entered, everything else and anybody else disappeared. Your silky hair was down in beautiful waves, and the red silk dress you wore made you look more angelic than ever. Taehyung quickly looked away, a slight blush adorning his cheek. he could only hope that the dark dim lights of the hall would hide the obvious blush.

he tried to keep up with his friend’s conversations but the moment he could sneak a small peak of you left his heart racing.

Taehyung climbed up the staircase leading up to the roof, slightly panting as the nerves got to him.

You heard the door open and close behind you. Quickly whipping behind to check who it was, you were surprised with the sight infront of you.

it was him

you nervously fidgeted,

did he come up here with someone else?

but he montioned if he could sit next to you. You quickly opened your mouth to gesture to him.

“I came alone” you said

he smiled reassuringly and sat next to you, he placed his finger on his lips, pretending to “brainstorm”

“hey, title of my sex tape” he said with a large smile, proud of his dirty joke.

Until the both of you realised what had happened

the two of you glanced at each other with wide eyes, you quickly covered your mouth, in shock of what had just happened.

Taehyung pulled away from his daze, his hand reaching out for your cheek.

“May i?” he asked softly.

You nodded your head, not trusting your voice at the very moment.

With soft movements he slid his hand to rest it on your cheek, smiling as he felt you nuzzle into him almost naturally. He shifted closer to you, your legs resting upon his thighs as he gazed at you with eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

“You’re everything i could every want Y/n, i’m so glad i finally found you” he whispered before resting his forehead against yours.

your eyes widened as you realised that he actually knew your name. Your eyes filled with happy tears, happy to have found the person that you knew, you were going to love with all your heart.

“same here tae”

Taehyung’s eyes dropped to your lips and you gave him a nod of approval, he leaned in and captured your lips with his.

You felt a spark in your heart, feeling a connection to him immediately.

As he broke away, he took your hand in his. There was an obvious size difference, but he linked them together as you laid your head against his shoulder.

Words that were once unspoken, are now the reason you are able to smile wholeheartedly.

#BTS x reader #BTS taehyung #Kim taehyung #Kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader fluff #taehyung fluff #bts x reader fanfiction #taehyung x reader fanfiction #taehyung soulmate!au #taehyung x reader soulmate!au #soulmate!au #V x reader #BTS