#(maybe its under the v-neck lets all believe that) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itsmealaiah · 3 months

Note

I'm so in love with Bill's star tattoo SOOO

Female reader asking bill why he did it and her secretly loving it she ends up teasing him so much that he punishes her by overestimating her

You just love this, don't you?

tags/ warnings: smut under cut, p in v, riding dom! bill, reader teasing bill about the tattoo, overstimulation, squirting, begging and cursing.

MDNI

pairing: bill x fem reader (not described)

Your POV:

As I was making myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, I glanced over at Bill, who was sprawled out on the couch in our apartment, flipping through channels. His broad chest rose and fell with each breath, and I couldn't help but admire the new star tattoo that curved around his hip. It was a perfect addition to his already impressive ink collection. He glanced up at me as I walked into the living room, his brown eyes meeting mine. "What's up, baby?" he asked, voice laced with lazy humor.

I paused for a moment, debating whether or not to ask him about the tattoo. I knew it had been awhile since he'd gotten inked, but I hadn't seen any pictures of it yet. "Hey, Bill? Why'd you get that new star tattoo?" I pointed to the small, intricate design on his hip. He chuckled, rolling his eyes playfully.

"Oh, come on, you really want to know?" he teased. I grinned, stepping closer to him.

"Maybe I just want to see if it's as sexy in real life as it is in the pictures." His smirk grew, and I could feel a blush creeping up my neck. "It's pretty nice, I guess." I laughed, trying to play it cool. "Don't you think?"

He shrugged, still smiling. "I mean, it's alright, I guess." I couldn't help but laugh at his modesty. "But it's not like you're going to forget about it anytime soon." His words hung in the air, and for a moment I wondered if I'd gone too far with my teasing. But then, he let out a soft groan and stood up, towering over me.

"You're just saying that because you like it," he growled playfully, reaching out to grab my wrist and pull me closer to him. His grip was firm, but not painful. "You know I could make you forget about it, if I wanted to." His voice was low and husky, sending shivers down my spine.

I raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. "Oh yeah?" I challenged, my heart beginning to race. "And how would you do that, exactly?" I could feel the heat between my legs start to build, and I knew exactly what he was going to do.

He grinned, his perfect lips curving into a wicked smile. "I could make you forget about it with this," he whispered, his fingers brushing against my stomach before moving lower, over the lace of my underwear. My breath hitched as I felt his warm, calloused hand stroke me through the fabric, and all coherent thoughts fled from my mind.

"Ohhh…" I moaned, arching my back against his touch. He chuckled, his hand moving faster, his fingers curling deeper inside of me. I couldn't believe how good it felt, how much I needed this. His other hand found its way under my shirt, tracing patterns on my bare skin as he continued to tease me. "Bill…" I breathed his name, my hips moving of their own accord in time with his touch.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. "You like that, baby?" he whispered, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine. "You like how it feels?" My answer came out in a wordless moan as I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer still. His other hand left my stomach to cup my breast through my shirt, squeezing gently before rolling my nipple between his fingers.

"Bill…" I whimpered, my head falling back against the couch as I lost myself in the sensation of his touch. He increased the pace, his fingers thrusting deeper inside of me, and I could feel my release building, growing closer with every thrust of his hand. His lips traveled up my neck, sucking and nipping at my skin, sending waves of pleasure coursing through my entire body.

"That's it, baby," he murmured against my skin. "Let it go." And with those words, I felt my orgasm crash over me, washing away all thought and leaving only the exquisite sensation of his touch. He continued to stroke me through my release, his fingers never losing their rhythm, until my breathing began to steady again. Only then did he finally pull his hand away, allowing me to catch my breath.

He pressed his lips to mine, soft and gentle at first, before deepening the kiss, his tongue dancing with mine. His other hand found its way back up to cup my breast, squeezing gently. I moaned into his mouth, arching my back, wanting more. His touch was like a drug, addictive and impossible to resist. He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look at me, his eyes burning with desire. "You are so sexy," he breathed, his fingers still kneading my breast. "I could spend hours just touching you like this."

The words sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn't believe how good it felt to be wanted like this. His fingers continued their dance, teasing my nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through my body. I reached up, tangling my fingers in his hair, urging him closer. "Please," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of our breathing. "Don't stop."

He smiled down at me, his eyes darkening. "I won't," he promised, before lowering his head again, capturing one of my nipples in his mouth. He suckled hard, and I cried out, arching my back further. His other hand moved lower, slipping between my legs, parting the folds of my wetness. His fingers brushed against my clitoris, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I can't wait to do this again"

His fingers began to move in a rhythm that mirrored his lips on my nipple, and I felt my body tighten in response. His other hand left my breast, moving up to cup my face, his thumb stroking over my lips. "I want to taste you," he whispered, his voice rough with need. "I want to feel you on my tongue."

He released my nipple, and I felt the loss acutely, but his touch on my clit only intensified, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. He leaned down, his lips finding mine, his tongue dancing with mine, and I could feel his erection pressing against my leg. I moaned into the kiss, arching into him, wanting more. His fingers never stopped moving, his touch growing more urgent as he neared the brink.

With a groan, he pulled away from the kiss, his breath hot against my ear. "I can't wait anymore," he whispered, his voice strained. He positioned himself between my legs, and I felt the head of his erection at my entrance. "Are you ready for me?" he asked, his voice barely audible above the pulsing need that filled the air between us.

I nodded, my fingers digging into his shoulders as he began to push inside, inch by agonizing inch. His skin was hot and smooth against mine, and I felt every inch of him as he filled me. He paused, letting us both adjust to the new sensation, and then began to move, thrusting slowly at first and then with growing urgency. His hips slapped against mine in rhythm with his thrusts, and I could feel him deep inside me, so close to where I needed him to be.

His hands moved to my hips, steadying himself as he pumped harder, faster. The couch creaked beneath us, the springs protesting at the force of our movements. My breath came in ragged gasps, and I could feel my body tense in anticipation, the familiar tightening in my core. "Closer," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "Oh, God, I'm so close."

His answering groan vibrated against my neck, his hips thrusting deeper still. "Me too," he gritted out. "I'm going to lose control." His fingers dug into my flesh, and I arched my back, meeting his thrusts with my own, needing the release that was building within me.

The pressure built, and I felt the familiar tightening in my core. My hips bucked upwards, seeking the friction I needed, and he responded with a groan, thrusting harder. His hands left my hips, moving up to grasp my shoulders, his fingers digging into my flesh as he held on tight.

I arched my back, lifting myself to meet his thrusts, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The sensation was exquisite, overwhelming, and I knew it was only a matter of moments before I lost control. His movements became more urgent, his breath hot and ragged against my neck, his body tense with the effort of holding back.

And then, with a groan that seemed to come from deep within him, he pushed deeper, harder, faster, and I felt the release building, rising like a wave within me. I couldn't hold back anymore, and as he thrust one final time, I cried out, my body shuddering with the force of my orgasm.

Hot liquid sprayed across his stomach, his chest, his hands, as I squirted for what felt like an eternity. He followed suit, his body tense as he arched into me, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he emptied himself deep inside me.

Our bodies slid together, slick with sweat and my own juices, as we both tried to catch our breath. He collapsed onto me, his weight pressing me into the couch, and I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close. For a moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us, our hearts racing and our bodies still joined in the most intimate of unions.

Finally, his breathing slowed and his weight eased, but he didn't move to pull out. Instead, he rolled us over, still inside me, so that I was sprawled across him, legs dangling over the sides of his hips. "Ride"

I let my head fall back against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his skin against my own, as I began to move my hips, slowly at first, and then with growing urgency. His erection fit me perfectly, filling me with each thrust, and I felt the familiar tugging deep inside as my body began to respond once more to his touch.

As I moved, my breasts brushed against his chest, the rough texture of his skin sending delicious shivers down my spine. His hands slid up my back, cupping them around my shoulders, holding me close as he watched me, his gaze intense.

I could feel my orgasm building again, the pressure growing in my core, the sensation of being so full of him overwhelming me in the best possible way. With a moan, I arched my back, my hips moving faster, my body responding to the delicious friction he created.

His hands slid down my back, cupping my ass, and his thrusts became deeper, harder, more urgent. He growled into my neck, his hips meeting mine with each powerful stroke. The couch beneath us creaked, the springs straining as we moved together, our bodies slick with sweat and the evidence of our passion.

As I neared the brink again, my muscles tensed, my breath coming in ragged gasps, I could feel my inner walls contracting around him, milking him, wanting more. And then, with a cry that was part pain, part pleasure, I came again, my body shuddering with the force of the release. Another jet of my essence sprayed across his chest, his stomach, his hands. It looked…clear? what the fuck did I just do? I wondered.

"hey baby? what's this white stuff? it looks transparent" i asked.

"I think you just squirted?" he replied, his voice slightly unsteady.

I blushed, mortified. I didn't even know that was possible. "I… I did?" I asked, still trying to catch my breath.

He laughed, the sound warm and deep. "Yes, you did.." He ran his fingers through my hair, tracing patterns on my skin. "Don't be embarrassed. It's natural." He leaned in, kissing my forehead. "Besides, it just means I made you feel amazing." His words made me blush even deeper, and I could feel the heat spreading across my chest, down to my core.

a/n: requests are open! keep sending them in! love you all

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel x you #itsmealaiah #tom kaulitz #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz fanfic #kaulitz twins #bill kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz x reader smut #bill kaulitz x you

156 notes · View notes

late-to-the-party-81 · 1 month

Text

Her Alpha

AN: It’s Alpha Steve time!It feels good to be updating all my series 😀 This fits in between Surprise, Surprise and Birthday Gifts

@noseyrosey1597 asked: I’m obsessed with Alpha nomad Steve and his omega. Could you possibly do a one shot where she meets the team? Maybe she doesn’t like Tony

Endless thanks to my beta, @endlesstwanted. Likes are loved, reblogs are golden. Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Join my tag list here

Bingo and Challenge fills:

@steverogersbingo - A1 - Alpha Steve

Master list | SRB Master list | Series Master list

Summary: It’s not even been 24 hours since you and Steve were reunited, but it’s the start of the next chapter - you’re moving in with him at the Avengers Compound, which also means it’s time to meet the team. You’ve just got to hope you can keep your pregnancy hormones under control.

Relationship: Alpha Steve x Pregnant Omega Reader

Word count: 2.8k

CW: A/B/O, Sexual content (P in V sex, pregnancy sex, knotting), Steve’s dirty talk, smidge Angst, hormonal and aggressive Omega Reader, Pet names (Omega, sweetheart, Mama).

You woke up, an almost long forgotten feeling of contentment suffusing you, and turned within the pair of thick arms that held you. With a sigh you looked up into the face of Steve, your Alpha. You lifted your hand and smoothed a lock of his hair back from his forehead, marvelling at the sheer beauty of him. It was almost criminal, the way his long eyelashes kissed his freckled skin. A happy chirp made its way out of your throat and Steve stirred, pulling you tighter to his body.

If it weren’t for the ache on your neck, or the echoing one between your legs, you’d still believe this was a dream. Five months had gone without you seeing each other, longer than anytime before, but now the sporadic visits were finally over. The Accords were rescinded, Steve was no longer a criminal on the run and you could truly be together. Today Steve would be taking you to where he lived, the Avengers Compound in upstate New York, and you wouldn’t have to put up with this shitty, damp apartment anymore. You’d have a nice place to live, access to a state of the art medical facility for when your pup (or pups) came, and you’d get to meet all of Steve’s friends. What a difference a day made.

You sighed again and tilted your head to press your lips against Steve’s. His eyes were still closed, but you knew he wasn’t fully asleep because he deepened the kiss almost immediately and a muscular thigh, covered in coarse hair, pushed its way between your legs. You rocked against it as he kissed you, despite the fact that it increased the ache that was there. You welcomed the mild discomfort because it meant he was really here with you.

“Morning, ‘Mega,” Steve mumbled against your lips. He rolled onto his back and pulled you with him so you were straddling his hips, his morning wood slotting against your sex. Your fingers threaded into the slightly too long hair at the nap of his neck and he let out a pleasured growl.

“Morning, Alpha,” you purred as you lightly ground down onto him. You were wet already, a combination of being back in your Alpha’s arms along with being in your second trimester - your libido had picked up and Steve couldn’t have returned at a better time.

“Ready to leave this all behind?” he asked as his large hands landed on your hips and helped you move back and forth over his length, covering it in your arousal.

“Mmm-hmm,” you confirmed. “Although I’m not ready to leave this bed yet. There’s something I wanna do first.” You lifted your body, took Steve in hand and then sunk back down, a feeling of bliss suffusing your whole being. You were glad that it hadn’t been that long since he was last inside you so that you didn’t need to go through any arduous prep.

“Oh, sweetheart. Fuck.” You very rarely took the lead like this - you blamed your hormones - and Steve’s eyes rolled back in his head. “That’s it, Mama. Ride me. Take what you need. Look so god-damn sexy, carrying my pups. If I could I fuck some more into you. Jeez.”

The power trip was making you dizzy with arousal. You wanted him to lose his mind due to his want and desire for you. He was your Alpha - your mate. You were pregnant with his pups, and now you were going to start the rest of your life together this very day.

As you rocked atop him, Steve ran a hand up your body to cup one of your breasts. His thumb flicked over your engorged nipple and you gasped at the sensation as your body clenched around his length. Your whole body was much more sensitive now.

“Steve,” you keened, and sped up your movements. “So close, Alpha. Make me come, please!” You knew he was close as well because you could feel his swelling knot teasing your entrance.

“Your wish is my command, Omega.” His other hand dropped to your clit and he drew matching circles over it, both hands working in tandem on different parts of your body to pull you over the edge. You moaned loudly as the pleasure hit, rocking back and forth on his cock as your pussy spasmed. A second dart of pleasure hit you as Steve’s knot popped and you felt his cum fill you up. Steve’s noises of ecstacy merged with yours as your movements slowed and then finally stilled. You collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily, your bodies still joined together.

“We don’t need to pack up until this afternoon, do we?” you asked. Steve chuckled, his body jiggling yours as he did.

“You don’t need to do anything, Omega. I can sort it out while you’re having a nap.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“Oh, good,” you replied and then let out a yawn. “I find myself worn out for some reason.”

“I wonder why,” Steve replied with a snort. “Now relax. Let your Alpha deal with all the mundane stuff.

As the car made its way up the long drive leading to the large, white compound, you felt your stomach flutter in anticipation. You’d never met the other Avengers, having only encountered Steve by chance just before he went on the run. It had been like one of those moments from an old movie, where your eyes had met across a crowded room. You’d approached each other warily, sensing a connection but being sensibly cautious. Then you’d each caught the scent of the other, and that had been it. It was a miracle you hadn’t just started fucking in the middle of the coffeeshop, the way your body had reacted - your inner Omega would have done so, happily. Luckily, Steve was a little bit more controlled and managed to at least wait until you’d had one dinner together before agreeing to come back to your apartment with you.

That had been just over two years ago, and given how he’d mated you and then had to disappear, only returning for your heat or his rut, your relationship could be termed a whirlwind. Now you were going to meet his friends - his family - and announce that you were going to be having his pups in a matter of months. Your hands twisted in the fabric of your coat, and you pulled your lower lip between your teeth to chew on it.

Picking up on your anxiety, Steve pulled you tighter into his embrace and used his thumb to release your lip from its torture.

“They’re gonna love you, Omega. I promise.” His deep voice soothed you and you rested your head on his chest.

“You’re sure?” you asked quietly.

“How could they not? You’re so sweet and kind. And when they know you’re carrying my pups they’re gonna be thrilled. Happy likes you already, so you have nothing to worry about.”

You flicked your eyes up to the driver’s mirror, catching the glance of the tall, broad and cheerful Beta who’d turned up to whisk you and Steve back to the compound. Apparently he was Tony Stark's Head of Security and you’d been put straight at ease when he’d greeted you with a genuine smile and a ‘Nice to meet you, ma’am.’ You hoped the rest of the introductions would go as smoothly.

The car came to a halt, and you looked out of the tinted window in awe at the enormity of the site.

“Here we go, Mama - home sweet home.” Steve got out of the car and then held out his hand to assist you. “Let’s head on over to the common room - the others are waiting. Happy will sort out your bags for us.”

Unused to this level of attention, you spun around to face the security specialist. “Oh, you don’t have to. I’m sure we can…”

Happy held up his hand and flashed you a grin. “It’s not a problem at all, ma’am. It’s practically a holiday compared to some of the things Mr Stark asks me to do.”

You giggled back as you wondered what on earth Iron Man had his staff doing? You’d wouldn’t ask though, getting the feeling that you’d regret knowing the answer.

With your arm tucked safely in his, Steve led you into the state of the art compound and along a maze of corridors. Each one looked the same. Your confusion and apprehension must have shown on your face.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart - you’ll learn your way around in no time, and while you’re getting there, you can just ask FRIDAY for help - she’s Tony’s AI and can help with whatever you need.” Steve lifted his head and addressed the ceiling. “Isn’t that right, FRIDAY?”

“It is, Captain. I’m here to assist in any way possible.”

You jumped as the voice came out of hidden speakers, and Steve couldn’t hide his smile.

“Is she always listening?” you whispered, pulling Steve down closer to you. The thought that there would be a computer intelligence that would be able to hear you… your cheeks started to heat at the thought.

Steve shook his head. “She does continually monitor us and the surroundings as standard, but not everything is for her computer eyes, sweetheart. We can tell her when to engage the privacy protocols.” He gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger and leant closer. “Some things are just for me, Omega.” He let out a little growl and nipped at your lower lip, making you jump for the second time in as many minutes, although for totally different reasons. His eyes were dark and his expression held all sorts of promises, but you knew there was no time for that at this moment. Besides, the wait would just make it better.

Your mate obviously had the same idea, as he started walking again, keeping his stride short so he wasn’t dragging you along.

“So, Bucky, Nat, Wanda and Vision live on site. Sam splits his time between here and DC. Clint also splits his time. Thor has rooms here for when he’s visiting from Asgard - at least with his hammer he doesn’t have to worry about the commute time. Tony and Pepper obviously have their own place, but Tony spends a lot of time here, mainly because Pepper’s banned all his large tech and tinkering stuff from their house. Tony should be here, or at least on his way over. He said he was desperate to meet you.”

“Why does that worry me?” you jested.

“He’ll just flirt with you - that’s what Tony does. And he’ll mainly do it to wind me up.” He screwed up his face and you giggled. The idea that you’d even respond to the flirting of someone who wasn’t your Alpha was laughable.

Steve had done a good job of distracting to you, because you didn’t even think about the fact that you must be near your destination until Steve steered you through an open doorway and into a room that housed a large number of sofas, a massive TV, a kitchenette, a foosball table and seven other people.

“And here we are,” said Steve as he came to a halt, moving you in front of him with his arms clasped around your waist. “Everyone, this is my beautiful Omega. Sweetheart - this is everyone.”

You knew your eyes were bugging out of your head. You were in the presence of literal superheroes - your brain had long gotten over the fact that Steve was Captain America - and didn’t for the life of you know how you were going to adjust.

One of them pushed away from the wall and walked towards you with a shy smile, long dark hair flopping over his brow. “Hey, Doll. I’m Bucky, it’s nice to meet you. Sorry I kept Stevie away from you for so long.”

You grinned back at him and shook his proffered hand. At this distance you could tell he was an Alpha, just like Steve. His scent wasn’t unpleasant - metal, sandalwood and fresh snow - but it didn’t speak to you like Steve’s did. His blend of spring sunshine, lemon thyme and honey called to your Omega in a way that no other Alpha’s ever had. “It’s good to meet you too. I’m looking forward to finding out all of Steve’s deep dark secrets from you.”

Bucky threw back his head and laughed, and you heard Steve mutter something under his breath that sounded like ‘I thought it was Tony I’d have to worry about’.

The next to step forward was a petite, but lethal looking red-head. You knew from news reports that this was the Black Widow - or Natasha. “Hi, I’m Nat. I’m glad that this idiot finally managed to find someone to put up with him.”

You sniggered behind your hand as Steve let out a cry of mock anger. Hearing all of the banter made your heart soar. It really was like meeting Steve’s family.

He introduced you around to the others, and you subtly scented them as they got close. Nat had a strange scent - like a cross between an Alpha and a Beta, and you didn’t know what to make of it. Sam and Thor were both Alphas, Clint was a Beta, Wanda an Omega, and Vision was just Null, being an artificial construct.

Your inner Omega was slightly concerned by Wanda for a few moments, until you realised that she and Steve obviously had a big brother-little sister vibe going on and you relaxed.

“Now,” said Steve, “the only person left to meet is…”

There was a crashing and clattering noise from the hallway, and then another man appeared - there was no mistaking who it was.

“...Tony.” Steve finished.

Tony swaggered into the room, walking up to you and Steve.

“Hey Capsicle, sorry I’m late.” He clapped his hand jovially on Steve’s shoulder and grinned.

Before you even knew what you were doing, you’d pulled away from Steve, grasped Tony’s wrist, and pulled it away so he was no longer touching your Alpha. Your upper lip curled and a snarl left your mouth.

“My mate,” you spat at the surprised Omega.

The room fell silent and you felt nine pairs of eyes focussed on you, but your hindbrain was in control, protecting your growing family from this interloper.

“Umm, sweetheart?” Steve placed his hand on your back between your shoulder blades. “Are you alright?”

You growled, eyes still focussed on Tony, who had much more of your Alpha’s scent lingering to him than you were happy with.

“My Alpha,” you bit out, stepping up into Tony’s personal space. “Mine.”

“Okay…” Tony breathed out, slowly removing your hand from him and taking a few steps back, looking you up and down as if he was trying to see what was under your coat. “So, ummm, I think congratulations are in order! I’m guessing that’s what’s set you off.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Vision cock his head and heard him whisper to Wanda. “I think I’ve missed something, dearest.”

“She’s pregnant and she sees Tony as a threat,” Wanda whispered back.

Tony coughed awkwardly and drew your attention back to him.

“I can assure you that I’m not after Ste - your Alpha. I have an Alpha of my own. See.” He pulled down the collar of his shirt, showing you his mating scar.

Your eyes narrowed as you peered at him. “You smell of my Alpha.” The accusatory tone was obvious, and you could feel Steve shifting awkwardly behind you.

“Well, we do spend a lot of time together. We’re friends. I was helping him yesterday - trying to find you.”

You snarled again and Tony’s eyes went wide, as though he thought you might leap forward and try to rip his throat out with your teeth. Your inner Omega was considering it.

“B-But,” Tony continued, “I smell of my own Alpha - Pepper - more. Here…” he held his wrist out towards you, and cautiously you leant forward and sniffed. Tony smelled of oil, coffee and amber. Steve’s scent lingered on him, but it was almost drowned out by another set of notes - vanilla, jasmine and lemon.

“Hhmmph.” You grunted out a non-committal noise, but backed up towards Steve again, taking hold of his arm and aggressively scenting at his wrist - publicly claiming him -, never letting your gaze leave Tony.

“Sweetheart? Omega? Would you like to go to our apartment now and have a little rest?” Steve spoke tentatively, as though you were a bomb set on a hair trigger.

“Not rest. Knot.” you retorted before grabbing his hand and dragging him out of the room. “FRIDAY - which way to Captain Rogers’ apartment?”

The Avengers watched you go, and then looked at each other as soon as you were out of view.

“Well,” said Tony as he breathed out heavily. “I might have to keep my distance from Cap for the next few months.”

Nat chuckled. “Might be best, especially if you want to keep your larynx intact.”

Tony brought his hand up to cup his own throat, lips twisting wryly. “Yeah. At least we know one thing - she’s not gonna let Rogers walk all over her.”

Tag list: @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @kmc1989, @kombatfather1796, @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @wolfsmom1, @doasyoudesireandlive, @goldylions

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #pregnancy fic #pregnant reader #omegaverse #a/b/o verse #My Beginning My End My Everything

97 notes · View notes

pearlsinmyhair · 8 months

Text

₊ ⊹ the price of the name.

synopsis: reader has had a hard life, and now she’s an orphan. but someone just as lonely comes into her life to take her under his wing.

warnings: death. suicidal thoughts. grief. angst. miguel being a hardass. cursing/adult language.

notes: ok, here we go. the last part. star girl kisses hobie on the cheek, and they have some romantic implications. HOWEVER. i did not write them to be romantic. i just see hobie as a very physically affectionate person (especially since i’m this way.)

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

word count: 2.6k

part v : void

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

cursed daughter,

uttering insanities no one believes,

do you regret taking the vow?

“you die.”

it felt like the ground was dropping out from under you, like the void had somehow traveled from your dead universe to this one to drag you down where you belonged.

in the grave. in the ground. gone.

you were staring at lyla. or maybe you weren’t. her orange form blended and swirled as tears overflowed your eyes and dripped down your cheeks. all the fight, the rage, the energy, was gone. snuffed like a candle flame.

just like you should be right now.

“i was supposed to die.” you whispered, more to yourself than miguel or lyla. “but i was somewhere else.”

anger lit in your chest fast, ignited by the frustration that had grown for months in your mind, words yelled at mirrors and whispered to the ceiling.

you turned to miguel, still on the ground as you raised your voice.

“i was somewhere else because of your sorry ass beating a mother fucking teenager to death! because i had to protect a child! from you!” you stepped up, rising slowly even as your knees shook. “if i hadn’t been worried about miles or you or your determination to keep the canon intact, then it would have been fine! i would have died, and everyone in my universe would have been okay!”

deflect, ignore the problem, fight, rage, scream.

you hated how similar you were to miguel.

you hated him.

he stood still as a statue, watching you with a defeated expression as you self destructed.

“y/n…” he tried, voice the softest you had ever heard it.

and you broke.

your knees buckled, but he was there in an instant, hands looping under your arms so that you didn’t fall. he pulled you into him, even as your fists beat against his chest.

“i hate you so fucking much. i hate how you make me feel and i hate what you did and i hate you-“ you sobbed, trying and failing to grapple with the weight of what had happened.

and through it all he just held you, tucking your head under his chin.

“i know, mija.” he whispered, his hand resting against the back of your neck to pull you against him.

“if you hadn’t been an asshole and chased a kid then it would have been alright. all those people would be alive and-“

“and you’d be dead.” he finished, his arm around you tightening slightly. “and i think we both know i wouldn’t let that happen.”

you felt repulsed, like his hands were burning, a betrayal to a boy beaten by the same palms. but you were also desperate, clinging to a life you lived for nine months only to be stripped from it completely. you wanted this contact, craved this hug.

your mind cried TRAITOR and your heart cried HOME. it was a contradiction that made you ache, a reminder of what was gone and would never return.

your hands clenched the material of miguel’s suit tight, bunching it as you wheezed. you felt so small, and yet so large. grief scratched at you with newly sharper claws, and guilt followed at its heels.

miguel’s hold tightened.

your mind switched to analytical thinking, trying to procure a solution, to fix what you had broken.

the answer came clearly, emerging from the darkest spot of your mind like a banished creature.

“you need to kill me.”

miguel pulled back just enough to look down at you, his hands moving to your upper arms to grip you in an unyielding hold. his eyes filled with a solemn determination that made you want to sob, made you want to scream.

“it won’t bring them back.” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. “nothing you or i or lyla or anyone does will bring them back.”

the void at your toes, ready to swarm. an ocean of black silence, waiting to drown you.

“there has to be a way, miguel. please. if my universe collapsed because i didn’t die, then maybe if i died it would come ba-“

“do you think i didn’t try that when gabriella’s universe disappeared?” he asked, voice firm but expression soft. “i tried for weeks, never truly sleeping. i went through data and experimentation just for a chance to reassemble a universe. it doesn’t matter.”

your chest tightened, your breath limited as you tried to force a rhythm.

in, hold, out.

all those children.

in, hold, out.

mothers and fathers.

in, hold, out.

AND ITS ALL YOUR FAULT.

miguel pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you.

the thoughts muted, the world dark and warm as you pressed your face to his chest. his arms, keeping you safe from the outside.

the tears didn’t stop for a long time, and neither did your choked cries. but it didn’t matter to him. it didn’t matter that there was a wet patch in his suit that most definitely included snot as well as tears.

he guided you through breathing, moving his hand in rhythmic circles on the upper plane of your back as he whispered “in, and out” over and over until your heartbeat calmed.

miguel knew that this was just the beginning. there would be late nights and frustrated yelling and breakdowns for a long time. it would take months to heal, months to work this guilt out of you.

but he’d be there every step of the way.

he refused to leave you again.

“you’re a hypocrite.” you whispered, and again he pulled back to look at you.

your eyes were set in firm decisiveness, as though you’d been thinking about this for some time. his gut twisted and his frustration flared slightly, but his inclined his head to let your speak.

you took a breath. “you’d save me for the sake of your own benefit. you care for me- i make you less lonely.” she held up her hand when his mouth opened, and his words died on his tongue. “you’d let my entire universe die just to have me.”

your voice faltered as tears balled in your throat, but you swallowed and carried on. miguel needed to hear this, and you were pretty sure you were the only person he’d hear it from.

“that’s selfish. incredibly so. but.” she trailed off, piecing the words together and preparing for his rebuttal. “when miles wants to save his father, it’s a cardinal sin.”

“y/n, it’s diff-“

“no, it’s not.” you cut him off, and again his mouth shut. he had forgotten just how quick your words were, no doubt sharpened by your temporary grounding.

“you’re sympathetic to me, but you slam a boy, a boy, miguel, into a train because he wants to save his father. meanwhile, you’d save your daughter without so much as a second thought? that’s hypocrisy.”

his eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“all i ask is that you give him the same grace. can’t you understand why he refuses to follow your orders?

miguel sighed, keeping his eyes on you.

“miles is an anomaly, he’s was never meant to be spider-man-“

“enough of that. that has nothing to with the canon event. the universe didn’t collapse when he was bitten. it’s not his fault.”

“he is the beginning of this, the reason why there even is a spider society.”

your eyes narrowed, anger rising as you remembered the broken boy with bandages on his chest. “so you’re going to traumatize him? as punishment? he doesn’t deserve this blame, and you should never have reinforced it into his head. he’s fifteen, miguel. fifteen and scared. and now his head is full of your rhetoric, full of this hate that he doesn’t deserve. it’s not fair.”

you paused, and miguel worked his jaw, speechless.

“there must be another way. the canon has been flexible before. we can’t bring my universe back, but maybe we can save his. without making him watch his father die.” a tear slipped from your eye as you shoved down your sadness, forcing yourself to move on in order to help miles.

miguel’s thumb caught the tear before it fell, and you leaned into his palm.

“i think you need to sit this one out.” he whispered, eyes full of concern as your own blinked open. “i made the mistake of training you too early after your mother died, i won’t make the same mistake by allowing you to rush into this while you’re falling apart.”

you watched him, processing his words.

he was right, of course. it wasn’t healthy to push grief aside for later, especially this kind. the kind that poked at your throat and dug into your stomach. but the clock was ticking. a little less than two days.

you wanted nothing more than to curl up into a bed and cry. but you didn’t have time.

“i need to do this. and i need you to be there with me when i do, at my side. not against me. and after we figure this out, i’ll go to therapy and we can eat ice cream or whatever shit people normally do when they’re sad. ok?” you said.

this was the price of the name. sacrifice. pain. suffering. all for the greater good of the people.

miguel’s thumb stroked across your cheekbone as his jaw feathered.

“please. let me finish this.” you whispered.

miguel’s decision appeared in his eyes before it came out of his mouth.

“is this our tradition now?” he asked, and your face broke into a watery smile.

“fucking shit up despite our metal health? i guess so.” you laughed as you rubbed the heel of your hand against your eye, rubbing tears from your face.

“lyla?” you called, and she appeared at your shoulder. “can you help me reach hobie?”

lyla nodded, but miguel’s eyes hardened. “what do we need him for?” he asked, already sounding exasperated.

you smiled. “if you want to really fuck the system, you call the anarchist.” you said as you tapped at your watch.

i need some help defying the canon. you in?

it only took a few seconds for a reply.

let’s raise hell. meet you at my place in an hour.

i have miguel. but he’s leashed.

miguel looked over your shoulder, scoffing at the message.

“leashed?” he asked, and you smiled wickedly.

“you will be if you don’t listen. i’m not above webbing you to a wall and taking Rapture away from you.” you patted his shoulder. “just behave.”

you opened a portal when a thought rose suddenly.

“do you have any causal clothes?” you asked over your shoulder, and miguel raised a brow at you.

“for what?”

you grinned. “hard to be incognito in a spider suit. we need to blend in where we’re going.”

he smirked. “and what about you? think no one’s gonna stare at that suit just as much as mine?”

your teeth flashed as your grin widened. “i have clothes at hobie’s place.”

miguel’s amused expression dropped, and the glint in his eye told you that you may have to stand in front of hobie when he came back.

when he returned with clothes, grumpy as ever, you turned to the portal and jumped in, miguel at your heels.

₊ ⊹

“i cant fold it right, mine keeps bursting open.” you sighed, showing miguel the embarrassment of an empanada in your hands.

he shook his head at you, having already made a pile of at least ten. “it’s too much filling. you’re smart: use deductive reasoning.”

you elbowed him in the side, and he pretended to be wounded, letting out a fake gasp of pain.

you had both gone to the grocery store as soon as you entered earth-138, grabbing the necessary ingredients for a meal for the kids.

you had resolved that, if miguel couldn’t fully verbally apologize yet, then he could at least make them dinner.

and miguel had dragged his feet, refusing to give his input as you walked the aisles of produce and food. but when you fixed him with a glare and a sharp word, he had straightened up, explaining what exactly you needed.

and that brought you here, assembling empanadas with salsa verde and mexican rice on the counter of hobie’s house boat.

the group was late, though hobie had messaged you telling you that it was because they were talking miles into actually going in. the boy was terrified, but hobie and gwen were assuring him that everything was fine.

miguel placed the empanadas in the oven as the door to the boat clicked open and the spider band stepped though.

thank god it was spacious, you thought as the filed in.

you stepped forward to hobie, who embraced you with an arm around your waist and his mouth to your ear.

“one word and he’s a dead man.” he murmured to you as his eyes stayed fixed on miguel over your shoulder.

you garnered that miguel was staring back based on the tingling feeling of your skin.

“i got it. but noted.” you replied, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you pulled back.

his hands found your shoulders, leaning down to level a look at you. “you good?” he asked earnestly, his eyes concerned.

your smile was small, but it was a start.

“i’m good. better now.” you whispered, and he squeezed your shoulders.

he moved to the side, and your eyes caught miles’s, who stood with his arms limply at his side in a corner of the room.

you walked over to him, and his jaw clenched.

“i’m so sorry.” he whispered, and your heart ached.

“its not your fault. fate is a bitch sometimes.” you said as you slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. his arms wrapped around your back gratefully.

you reached a hand to gwen and pavitr, and they joined the hug.

“my baby spiders.” you cooed. “i missed you.”

you pulled away to look around at the others, nodding to noir and peter b and fist bumping peni.

you met miguel’s eyes, and he nodded.

deep breath. it’s not like this is the end of the word or anything.

“we have less than two days to find a solution to save miles dad. the cannon is temperamental, but it is flexible. there must be a way other than jefferson’s death that can prevent earth-1610 from collapsing. any ideas?”

you gazed around the room to blank stares and thoughtful expressions. silence pressed against your ears as no one replied.

“my dad stepped down.” came a hesitant voice.

you turned to find gwen staring at you with a hopeful expression.

“he stepped down from being captain.” she said again. she looked to the side at miles. “after he found out my identity.”

something like hope grew in your chest as you glanced again at miguel. he looked back with a soft expression, tilting his head at you.

“he’ll never step down.” miles sighed, his fingers finding his temple.

“but it shows that there’s wiggle room.” you said, and miles’s eyes peeked at you.

“nothing is black and white. it’s not simple, but it’s a start.” you said as you walked over to the oven, getting out the empanadas.

“brain food?” asked peter b, and you smiled.

miguel stood beside you, preparing plates.

“not bad, y/n.” he said, and you leaned your side against his for a moment.

“where there’s a will, there’s a way.” you said, passing out plates before taking a seat next to hobie on the floor.

you looked around at the group, a smile rising on your face.

“spot’s on the move in 1610.” announced lyla, and hobie turned to you.

“okay, star girl. what’s the plan?”

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　fin　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

taglist: aka my little stars

@brittany69 @ladyfairenvale @teamwolverine @kinkybandages @lunamhm565i @dhadiirah @pearlssdiary @zeyzeys-stuff @alexisabirdie @ifuckyourmom @hagdgishr @migueloharaslxt @ladynecromancer @leviathxn @khaylin27 @dulceteris @mouthfulofpearls @alecmores @kissitoffme @mvlanchqly

oh my goodness. thank you all so much for your love and kind words. this is my first finished series, and it’s crazy to think that it all started with a thought of

“what if miguel had a daughter who’s universe collapsed?”

and it’s become a series with followers and people who love it. i’m so incredibly thankful for both your love and your patience- i went through a very hard friendship breakup that kind of ruined my spirit for a while. hence why this took so long.

i know there will be some of you who are not satisfied with this ending. i myself am never truly honestly satisfied with what i write. but i wanted to get this out into the world. BUT. my asks are always open for questions, requests, and headcanons for this story. it’s very dear to my heart, and i’m just so amazed at you all.

my little stars, i hope you enjoyed ‘the price of the name’.

all my love,

pearl ♡

#—the price of the name #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #dad!miguel o’hara #dad!miguel x daughter!reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader #platonic!miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara

177 notes · View notes

iztea · 4 months

Note

They still feel off specially the eyes i could feel them about to manifest their own life and run off

Even my linework is ... Idk what's wrong and it's the problem maybe I'm staring too much but I don't think so

Sorry for bothering alot but i loved your last advice ty

i think the main problem with the first picture has to do with the proportions and anatomy of the lower body area aka the neck and shoulders. i'd make the shoulders wider and add some sort of form to the neck so that it looks believable instead of a flat rectangle shape ( maybe make it slimmer a bit too? although that might be just a stylistic choice so you do you). That's the first thing i'd fix because otherwise the head looks too big in comparison to the rest of the body, and it can throw you off

I actually think you did a great job with the eyes, they have a lot of life and that comes from the fact that they are the most rendered part of your piece, which is not a bad thing. The thing is, while it is true that the eyes are the main focal point of a face and portrait in general, that doesn't mean you can neglect the other parts, so i think it is also a consistency issue or not figuring out exactly what sort of style or rendering you want to go with that holds you back (which is totally fine and normal ofc). So let's pick a semi-realistic stylized rendering style for this since this is the vibe i'm getting from this piece.

If that's the style we're going for, then the face should have a bit more form. You have to remember that our facial features ( eyes, nose, lips) are connected with each other via the planes of the face, right? So, for a semirealistic style, revisit your reference and try to idenitify what those planes are and how they connect to those features, and most importantly, where the shadows hit, and just accentuate them more, because at the moment they look like 3rd forms plastered over a 2d surface which is not right, our skin has form as well. Color-wise, don't be afraid to go darker with the shadows, they really make your drawings pop. Without looking at a reference, i'd def add some shadow under the lips, a bit where the lips connect to the nose, under the neck, and in the lower body area.

I'm really trying to avoid the most basic answer which is " practice anatomy !!1! " because everyone can say that however, at the end of the day, this is the main thing the face lacks. And tbvh you don't have to actually know anatomy, you just gotta know some proportions things that make the face look believable enough. I feel like the features are mostly just drawn from the reference without an understanding of the structure behind it. Something tells me that in the reference picture, the person had their head tilted a bit upwards, but here it's kinda flat and the features are just painted without following the motion. Try to draw over your reference picture the vertical and horizontal lines and make up the head shape behind it to figure out the way it is tilting and facing, because the lips, eyes nose, etc will follow that same sort of flow, they're not stationary. I'd also make the eyes a bit smaller, or maybe make the skull bigger bc i think they are touching the outer edge too much now, and also narrow the distance between the nose and lips just a bit. Kinda hard to explain without actually doing it myself. But really, try to play with that, and try getting comfy with drawing 3d forms i know it's easier said than done but..... there really isn't any shortcut unfortunately As for the lineart drawing, yes it's actually pretty solid, i like that duplicate blur thing you did, i'm familiar with that technique and it def has its perks so that's great. Im not an expert on lineart, however here i think there are too many " unnecessary" lines that could easily be omitted (purple). Less is more and all that~ The hair strands at the end feel too stiff and identical (green). If you notice, they all just end in this " V" shape and they rarely overlap thus making the image look flat. Try to break this pattern by introducing more spontaneity aka random hairflies, making the strands overlap, adding more shape variety etc

Make sure that the lines connect properly whenever they meet, and also although you already did it and i think that's great, you can make some lines even thicker, go even further and add even more lineweight. As a general thing, usually, the exterior or contour lines are thicker and whatever it is inside is thinner so experiment with that, you can start from the nose- thicker lines for the nostrils thinner for that nose tip i forgot what it's called and also add thin lines that just hint at the form. Lineart is hardd so i don't blame you, but if you're gonna keep the lineart in, try "shading" with black blocks so to speak, make sure the lineart layer can stand on its own, and pay more attention to the lower part area (neck and shoulders) even if it is less exciting to ink

#ok i lied it's long again #these are pretty fun to do can u blame me #ask iztea #you should also check in with other people don't take my word for everything #but since you asked my personal opinion here u go #sorry for any typos if there are any i'll fix them later #long post

69 notes · View notes

thedevilinmybrain · 11 months

Text

this is the fic i was talking about that i started and just...never did anything with

Despite what television and movies would have one believe, once you've attended one college party - you've attended them all. It doesn't matter if it's in a cramped dorm room or a shitty apartment across town, it's always the same thing, the same cast of characters, the same outcome. Somehow, a fist fight will almost always break out. Someone will be left crying on the curb, waiting to be dragged home by friends. A couple will do a little too much in a too public place. And there is always a mess, sticky and suspicious, left on the floors and countertops.

It doesn't mean that the monotony doesn't have its own charms though. One can look around the room and finally settle into something that vaguely resembles home. There is an odd sense of serenity in knowing the gaggle of faces crammed into someone’s shitty apartment, recognizing who to approach and who to avoid, even the same pulsing, vibrating beat of the music has a certain familiarity with it.

After three months of the grueling summer heat, a sleepy college town emptied down to the locals, it's like a true revival to be here again. Louis lets himself sink into it, the atmosphere washing over him from the moment Zayn and him had wedged themselves in through the front door. It's an overwhelming and overstimulating experience. The lights are mostly off, just a few low lamps and a string of brittle Christmas lights strung up along the top half of the living room. It's enough to give some illusion of ambience, a subtle glow that makes faces vague and wandering hands mostly in shadow.

It's not that the decor really matters anyway - it's the thick press of bodies - people shoved together, talking, laughing, shouting that makes it feel more intense. Someone has wedged the large couch against the wall, a tangle of people crowded into the center rug as a make-shift dance floor. They're the reason so many people are shoved to the perimeter of the space, little clusters of friends perched around, leaning close, not minding when they get shuffled this way and that.

Someone has been wise enough to tape Tupperware containers over the smoke detectors. The curl of smoke hangs over it all, thick and coiling, the sharp scent of cloves mixing with another sharper - more exact.

As it is, Louis is settled against the wall in the hallway leading from the kitchen to the living room, a six pack of Magic Hat between his feet. Because, as he’d learned early in his college part career, if you want to drink the good stuff at parties – you bring your own and you keep it with you. It's doing a good job of keeping his pregaming at a steady level, the vodka they had shared in a water bottle on the way over still sitting warm in his chest.

"How was your summer?" Matt - a guy from Louis' figure drawing class last year - leans into his space, shouting to be heard over the music. His dark hair is cut short, curling up on the edges from sweat and humidity, a large chest tattoo peaking out from his v-neck.

"Boring. Glad to be back. You?" Louis asks, tries to remember if he's even spoken to Matt before. Probably, maybe a group project last fall?

"It was good. Spent some time road tripping in Virginia. Really nice down there. Was really good for like, my muse, ya know?" With a small scuffle, Matt's speckled Doc Martens bump into Louis' Vans, squeezing himself close as a group of girls wedge themselves by. They're laughing loudly, Smirnoff Ice held above their heads. "Do you hike at all?"

"What?" Louis turns his head, tilts his ear up.

"Do you hike? Like are you into hiking?" Matt repeats himself, his breath warm on Louis' neck. "Or outdoorsy stuff?"

"I mean, sure. Who doesn't like a night out under the stars, am I right?" Louis is lying. He's lying so well he almost believes himself. When was the last time he went camping? Maybe that overnight field trip with the Boy Scouts in third grade?

"You should come with next time." Matt grins, his teeth flashing even in the low light. It makes his face appear oddly young, the stubble around his lips thin and patchy. “Me and my friends did some molly and I swear, it really woke up my chakra, ya know? Like, I felt so intune with nature. I painted for like six hours. Some of my best shit."

"Oh yeah?" Eyebrows raised, Louis nods his head slowly. He could really use another beer, or five, or at least a shot of the tequila that he can barely make out on the kitchen counter.

He's saved a moment later from having to say anything when a warm arm suddenly slings around his waist, a shock of bleach blond hair nudging into his shoulder. Zayn is burning up, his thin tank top clinging to his chest, the sides cut open along his ribs. It's too hot in the apartment for all of the people that have managed to cram in, but it doesn't seem to dissuade anyone.

"Where have you been?" Zayn hollers, his voice sharp and loud directly in Louis' ear. "I've been lookin' for you! I left for two minutes and you disappeared!"

"I've been here!" Louis shrugs, has to shift his weight, spread a little wider to keep them both upright. Zayn's pupils are so blow his eyes look black, staring at Louis' through a scrunched brow. "Where have you been?"

"I went to the bathroom and fuck." Zayn keeps his grip firm on Louis' hip, reaches down, tugs a bottle out of the cardboard holder between Louis' feet. "I don't know. Fuck it. I'm here now though. Who is this?"

"Matt." Louis points between the two of them. "This is Zayn. Zayn, this is Matt."

"Yeah, man, nice to meet you." Zayn nods, fumbling his beer a little as he pats himself. "Ah, shit."

Matt just stands there, giving a close inspection of the two of them. Louis already knows the conclusion he's going to draw, wouldn't be the first, as Zayn gives up on his own pockets and reaches for Louis instead. It's the easy way Zayn fits against Louis' side, his hand curling casually into the front pocket of his skinny means to pluck out Louis' lighter. He uses the bottom of it to pop the top on his beer, lets the metal clink to somewhere on the floor, lost in the mass of feet. It's too familiar of a touch, too intimate, and Louis watches as Matt's mouth turns down a little bit more.

"Uh, hey man." Matt hooks his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll catch you later, yeah?" He makes a little aborted motion with his hand, stumbles away with his 40 cradled to his chest before Louis can even reaction.

"Shiiit." Zayn drawls, lets go of Louis to lean on the wall in the now vacated spot. "Were you trying to pull? I fucked it up, didn't I?"

"No." Louis rolls his eyes, takes the lighter back from Zayn's limp fingers and pulls his smokes out. He lights a cigarette, passing it over, before getting one started for himself. "He was trying to get me to go do molly with him and camp in Virginia and awaken my inner muse or some shit. I don't fucking know."

"You camping?" Zayn snorts derisively, shaking his head. "Outside? With bugs? And no wifi?"

"It's not the camping." Louis exhales a cloud of smoke up towards the ceiling, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Oh. Come on, Lou. You don't want to go out there and, let me guess? Become one with the higher powers of art?" Zayn's cackle is half drunk and half scathing. "Let's all just get in touch with ourselves and one another?"

"Semester hasn't started yet so if you could cut the hipster bullshit." Louis reaches out fast, flicks Zayn's ear. "Thanks."

Zayn makes to retaliate, hand already raised, when it's caught out of the air. A long arm covered in ink comes into view and suddenly Liam is stumbling forward into the them with a solid clunk. His beer bottle has dented the plaster a bit, a long scuff in the paint, but he doesn't even seem to notice as he smears a kiss to Zayn's cheek. Then one to Louis' temple.

"Oi! Payno, christ's sake!" Louis grumbles loudly, barely gets out of Liam's grasps as he means to drag the three of them into a group hug.

"My boys!" Liam croons, his face flushed and eyes glassy. They hadn't seen him when they came in, so there is no telling how long Liam's been here. His t-shirt is wet on the bottom though, wrinkled from what looks like the edge of a table. Liam's never been one to resist a beer pong tournament and his glassy eyes, red face give away that he was champion for a while.

"Easy, easy!" Zayn is laughing, leaning his cheek against Liam's as they straight up, nearly toppling into the couple making out behind them. "God, you fucking bear. Don't gotta maul me."

"Yeah? Thought you liked that?" Liam has that look in his eye suddenly, glinting as his eyes shamelessly roam over Zayn. This is a new development, barely started since the beginning of summer. They're still so new that the excitement hasn't even really started yet.

Louis lets his eyes roll away from them, tilts his body so he can see past and into the living room. It's dark in there, a collection of shadows and vague shapes, all milling around and dancing. Louis has half a mind to go out there, his cigarette now sitting in the bottom of his nearly empty beer. He could lose himself in the press of warm skin, strangers with wandering hands and sickly sweet breath. He knows he's already lost Zayn and Liam's attention, both of them still just staring at each other, having one of their silent conversations.

It’s not like he's big into dancing, not really, but the crowd is mostly just swaying into each other – bumping and pressed tight into a mass of moving part. Louis could do it, just wedge himself between some people and let the heat take over. It’s only a fleeting thought though, nothing coming of it. Through the sea of twisting legs, sprawled bodies, Louis catches the full view of the couch. There are half a dozen people squeeze onto the dark leather and Louis instantly scowls, feels the hackles on the back of his neck raise when he recognizes the man sitting directly in the center.

Colton Montgomery.

At least, that's what his name actually is. But a guy like that doesn't deserve to be called anything other than what he is. So, Louis refers to him as Asshole and Asshole only. Capital letter. Proper noun. Full stop. It's not like Louis to hate people like this - he's a people person! An extrovert with a loud mouth and a strong opinion. But there is a special spot in Louis' mind reserved for this guy.

Tall and blond and ridiculously handsome, Colton is the epitome of old money privilege. He's got an easy way of commanding a room, just steps through the door and grabs attention, draws a crowd. Maybe it's the luxury brands always draped across him or the perpetual tan that screams 'I just stepped off my yacht.' Or maybe it's the rumor that he's second cousins to the Rothschilds. Either way, where Colton goes, eyes follow.

That is until he ultimately opens his fucking mouth. All it had taken was one side eye, one long glance during Orientation Week for any awe to turn to ash on Louis' tongue. Colton and Louis had been assigned in the same dorm building, same floor even. And yet it was his cold, blue eyes glancing over Louis’ ripped jeans, his scuffed and holey Vans, a generic hoodie on, before contempt had settled in.

“They really will give anyone a scholarship here, huh?” Colton had sneered at his friends, his companions in vintage luxury brands, perfectly combed Martha’s Vineyard haircuts. It was all in that phrase, that hinted edge, the very unspoken hiss of ‘white trash’ and Louis had been done.

Sneering, Louis reaches into his pocket and pulls out another cigarette. It was just bad luck that Colton and him seemed to show up at the same parties, were always seeing each other on campus, had suffered through a class together last year. In a private art school though, it is almost expected. Louis can’t fucking escape him. He’s always around and always with those side long glances, that sneering mouth.

Louis watches through the haze of smoke as Colton slings his arm around the shoulders of someone, his head tilted back in a slow, lazy grin. The guy, small and pretty, tucks himself into Colton's sided, a hand pressed to his chest. It's clear where this is heading - all coy with heavy eyes made glassy with alcohol - leaning in to whisper to one another. It's a party after all, but it's just the way Colton goes around it - cocky and spread out on the couch, like a king to his subjects.

Louis French exhales, lets the smoke spill out from his nose as he means to turn back to his friends, put the Asshole out of his mind, when something else draws his attention. More of a someone than a something. There is a guy cutting through the crowd, uses his arm to wedge between people. He's tall, head tilted down so the wave of his dark curls falls like a curtain over his face. He tosses it back with a quick hand, crushes it to the side, and Louis can see the edge of his sharp jawline, big eyes illuminated in the dim, Christmas lights. His full mouth is twisted into a thin line, only deepening the closer he gets to the edge of the dance floor.

Hands placed on thin hips, the guy stomps in front of Colton, motions his hand between him and the pretty boy tucked into his side. It's too far away and way too dark to make anything out as far as words, but whatever the guy says makes Colton pull back. He's shaking his head then, saying something placating and pushing the smaller guy away from him, hands up in something like faux innocence. The curl haired one instantly takes the now vacated sea, sits with his knees close together, a pronounced space between where he's sitting and Colton's thighs rest.

Louis keeps watching, can't look away, as the guy starts talking, his hands raised in a sharp shrug. Colton laughs at him, sharp and loud even over the music, but the guy doesn't smile back. Instead, he flinches hard, his ringed hand coming to rest against the base of his throat, like he's holding himself back, swallowing it down.

"Oi. Payno?" Louis drags his thumb along the length of his beer, scratches halfheartedly at the label. He's trying hard not to stare anymore, keeps sneaking glances up from his eyelashes. The guy is illuminated by the Christmas lights now, the glow highlighting the pretty contours of his face. "Who is that?"

“Who?” Liam swivels his head wildly to the side, tries to grab a glance of who Louis is referring. He's in every club on campus; practically an expert on the whole student body. “Who’s who?”

“Stop making it obvious!” Louis hisses, reaches forward with his foot and purposefully presses the toe of his Vans into the top of Liam’s shoes. “Behind us. Long hair. Open shirt. Talking to Asshole.”

Liam turns his head again, uses Zayn’s shoulder as a bit of a shield as he stares down the length of the hallway and into the living room. It’s not hard to figure out who Louis is referring to, the boy perched on the very edge of his seat, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Whatever Asshole – Colton – is saying to him, he doesn’t look very happy.

“Oh, um, I think that’s Harry?” Liam squints a little. His cheeks are blotchy and red, his beer sweating all over Zayn’s tank top as he leans heavily into the other boy. “Styles. Yeah. Had an Art History class with him last semester.”

“Oh. Cool.” Louis makes a point of looking disinterested, apathetically shrugging his shoulders, but Zayn is fast. He’s known Louis since Freshman Orientation. He knows all of his tells.

“Oh. Oh no. Lou no.” Slumping on the wall, Zayn rests a hand heavily on Louis’ shoulder, shaking his head. “Look at who he’s with! He has trust fund written all over him.”

“I wasn’t-“ Louis instantly defends, hope that the darkness of the hallway covers his slow blush. “I was just wondering.”

"If you want to pull, I'll help you out." Liam slings an arm around Louis' shoulder, glances around at the people milling by. "Saw some Freshmen in the kitchen a few minutes ago. Lookin' like they could use some company."

"I'm not going to pull an eighteen-year-old. Thanks. Not desperate enough yet to rob a cradle." Louis shudders, thinks of his own teenage sisters back at home. It's only a three-year age gap but it feels like eons. "I'm going to get some air."

"Louis." Zayn tries this time, wraps his hand around Louis' wrist. “I was just playing.”

"I'll be back. Don't leave without me."

Louis leaves them too it, sees out of the corner of his eye as Liam tucks Zayn back against the wall. He's sure they'll be there when he gets back, preoccupied with staring at each other or doing whatever it is that they do now. It's still too new to be anything other than desperate touching, but Louis is waiting for a bit longer before he starts to pry.

Outside, the air is thick with summer humidity, the cicadas chirping loud and shrill in the trees. Louis finds himself alone on the back porch, just the lone alleyway street lamp to keep him company. His throat is starting to feel raw, dried out from the alcohol and the smoke inside. He combats it by taking another swig of his beer, digs his Marlboros out of his pocket again.

The new semester starts in two days. Monday hanging like an omen - foreboding and dark. Louis will be a junior this year, nearly finished, halfway there. It's hard to put into words how he's feeling about it. Art has never been about being a release for him, as so many other people say. It's something else. When Louis creates something, he's not releasing anything. He's pulling it from within himself, he's making himself raw, bloody, bruised. There is a fragility, a kind of selfish selflessness in letting himself be known and then judged for it. It's exposing self inflicted scars and then praying that someone sees them and understands, views the beauty in the creation.

With photography, it feels even more genuine. Sure, you can create with lighting, angles, forced perspective, but there is a point where you can't hide anymore. It's not like other mediums where a vague shape or a color choice can be metaphor’d away. With photography, at the end of the day, it is what it is. All that is left as a barrier is the view of the artist and the view of the audience.

Louis thinks maybe he's been a little morose about it, should probably not be so introspective when he's sat in the dark on someone's back porch outside of the first party of the semester. Thankfully, he's only a third of a way through his cigarette and he's interrupted a moment later.

With a sharp bang, the backdoor opens and then closes, lets out a burst of noise from the party within and then muffles it in the same moment. The man who steps out is tall, thin shoulders hunched as he shuffles across the back porch, steps haggard in a way that is most likely from alcohol as the beer bottle in his hand knocks against the far bannister.

It's hard to make out any features other than his long legs, wrapped up in jeans and ending in a pair of boots, until the alley light catches on his face. It's a sharp contrast - the soft curl of his hair against a sharp jawline, the curve of a cupid's bow and full mouth, the pale light gleaming on the wetness of his cheeks. With a rough sniffle, he rubs the side of his hand under his nose in a sharp, jerking motion.

"You know." Louis can't help it, sets his hands on the banister so he can lean out of the shadows of the house. Call it liquid courage or maybe just dumb fucking instinct. Zayn’s not out here to tell him not to. "You really are too pretty to be outside crying at a party."

"Excuse me?" The man jolts a little, turning to see where Louis is perched, the curl of smoke from his cigarette coiling around the end of the deck.

"Just seems a shame." Louis grins a little, just the corner of his mouth tilted up. "Feel like you should be in there, holding court with a couple fashion majors or something, dancing your heart out. Not out here by yourself, crying over some fucking prick."

"I'm not- What-" The man blinks, rolls his shoulders back. There is a dainty silver chain hanging around his neck, a small circle pendant resting in the center of his sternum, shiny with sweat. "Who are you?"

“An unbiased observer.” Louis swings his legs, watches the guy shifting around on his feet. “And someone who knows that you’re wasting your time if you think some pretentious asshole is worth your time. Colton is a dickhead. You should find someone else.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Brushing his hair over his shoulder, the guy rubs a hand along his cheek, mouth pulled down in a pout. He’s eying Louis now, gaze drifting over what he can see in the shadow of the house. “And I think you should mind your own business.”

“Alright. Sorry.” Carefully raising his hands, Louis relents as he slips off the bannister, getting to his feet. “I wasn’t trying to pry or anything. Just seemed like a shit reason to ruin a perfectly good party. First of the semester and all.”

“It’s a dumb party anyways.” The guy mutters, wipes at his other cheek now, a few stray tears still clinging to his jaw. “Who celebrates coming back to school anyways?”

“Ah, I don’t know about that.” Louis tilts his head back, watches the soft curve of the man’s mouth, lips flushed red from biting at them. “Why don’t you let me take you back inside? Get a drink and a dance? Take your mind off of it?”

“I-“ Looking up, a delicious sort of flush takes over his cheeks, and the guy looks decidedly certain before the backdoor is slamming open, Colton stepping onto the deck.

“Seriously? Jesus, Harry. It was a fucking joke. You’re always so sensitive.” Colton’s long, sun kissed arm thrusts forward, hand wrapping around the guy’s – Harry’s – wrist. “Are you seriously crying over – Oh!”

He stops when he spots Louis, takes one long look between the cigarette perched between Louis’ fingers, the blown out knees of his jeans, the cheap beer in hand. Louis’ entire outfit probably cost less than one of Colton’s shoes, the leather gleaming in the light. Colton seems to cataloguing it all away too – the way Louis is staring and the way Harry is standing – only a few feet between them. Drawing conclusions, his grin turns brittle, haughty and sharp, tugging Harry half a step back and into his side.

“Tomlinson.”

“Asshole.” Louis greets, resists the urge to draw himself up. Colton only has a few inches on him, but it feels like miles.

“Haven’t dropped out yet?” Colton smirks, ignores the way Harry has gone stiff beside him, rubbing at his cheek. “They still letting you paying tuition in coins?”

“Well, you know what they say, it’s better to be given a scholarship based on talent than flash your daddy’s name and bribe your way in.” Louis snarls, feels his teeth grind together around the words.

“Bribe? Why would I need to bribe anyone?” Colton does that scoffing laugh of his, the sound sharp and scathing. “I know it must be hard for you to understand, but I didn’t bribe my way into this school. I was formally invited.”

#will i ever finish it?#probably not #but maybe #but probably not #but perhaps #hmmmmm

98 notes · View notes

pearlneow · 2 years

Note

Hi hi hii!

How hard it is to find a good nsfw writing blog wrote by minor damn(im 17 now btw lmao)

But!

I came here with brainrot and kinda request!

Imagine Zhongli and Ayato(separately) with Reader who have hand and voice kink 👀

THE TEASING, MY MAN, THE TEASING

they would have no mercy on reader damn-

୨୧ ꒰ could you say it again .. ?! ♡ ꒱

written by a minor!! please dni if that makes you uncomfy!!

summary : ayato nd zhongli (separately) x reader w a hand + voice kink!!

word count : ~500 words

content / warnings : sub!gn!reader, hand and voice kink, teasing, some praise w zhongli (reader receiving), pet names w zhongli (darling) degradation w ayato (reader receiving), name-calling w ayato (brat, whore), i think that's all?

note : THE TEASING FOR SURE!!!?? i love you and ur ideas sm holy shit,,,,, i've honestly never considered voice kinks before so i may have written it v badly but!! i had a lot of fun with this nevertheless thank you for the brainrot nd the compliments mwah mwah :]]

additionally if ur looking for good nsfw minor writing blogs..... i recommend @/millyboo nd @/qingxiin! i'm a little bit biased bc i've talked to both a few times but they're both super sweet from my experience and write v well!! ^^

✦ ZHONGLI.

okay so while i do think he'd totally tease you... he's a little bit more of a gentleman in bed than ayato!!

his teasing is typically on the gentle side, but really really persistent!! you absolutely can't get a break

if you'd asked him to repeat anything he said, he'd chuckle lightly and feign ignorance as to what ur referring to, asking you to be more specific whilst slowing down his movements, causing you to squirm under him in impatience-

zhongli'd let you suck on his fingers whilst pounding into you at a steady pace, slowly swirling them around in ur mouth. maybe even instructing you as to how he wanted it done as he went <3

"darling, be patient, won't you?" you shivered as his coarse hands ran over you and down your waist. "b-but, zhongli..! please, i- i really can't take it anymore.." zhongli hummed lowly and reached up to hold your jaw. "open." he said. you complied, but before you could question him, his fingers were thrust into your mouth and you let out a whimper.

you tried your best to swirl your tongue around them, not missing a spot while he whispered praises in your ear. that god damn deep, rich voice of his </33

✦ AYATO.

ayato is an absolute menace okay. like wtf

he's always having to maintain a good image as the head of the kamisato clan and the yashiro commissioner, so ur kind of his stress relief yk!! <3

ayato's reeally touchy, even more so when he knows how much you love his hands. he loves to run his fingers up and down ur body, circling ur more sensitive areas, nd he's always watching ur face to see the way you react!!

as for his voice,, i strongly believe in moderately sadistic ayato he loves loves loves calling you terrible things right next to ur ear to see you go red, only to tease you moments after about how dirty you are for enjoying it <333 he's so mean and i'm here for it

the head of the kamisato clan had you, completely stripped of your clothes, pinned to his bed and was observing you with an amused look on his face as you shifted around, looking anywhere but his face.

suddenly, you felt a hand cupping the side of your head and gasped, jumping slightly. ayato laughed and you let out a breath you'd been holding in, chewing on your lip out of nervousness. "my, my. someone's not paying attention today." he mused as his smooth hand lightly trailed down, running down your neck and to your chest, stopping to rub small circles over them.

you panted heavily as ayato began to grope them slowly and lean to beside your ear. "what a brat you are, refusing to look at me. i'm doing all this for you and you can't even spare me one glance, hm, you whore?" a small moan made its way out of you as he squeezed your chest to prompt a response.

"you even enjoy it when i call you a whore? hah, you sure are one."

#୨୧ ꒰ writing !#sorry lmaokds ayato's ended up being a lil bit longer cause it got a bit self indulgent tbh #but i hope its ok!!!#genshin impact smut #genshin smut #zhongli smut #ayato smut #genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #ayato x reader #sub!reader #uuuhuuh did i forget sth #seriously #whag did i forget

646 notes · View notes

sereshawl · 1 year

Note

I can't believe no one's asked for this one yet, it's so Hangster! "Is that my shirt?"

Oh, I’ve been waiting for this one.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 555

Bradley is minding his business, staring at the pool table and trying to figure out his next shot, when his world tilts on its axis. He glances up just in time to watch Jake stroll through the door.

Usually this wouldn’t mean much, Jake doesn’t even acknowledge him after all. But Bradley can’t tear his eyes away as he makes his way over to the bar.

Jake is wearing Bradley’s shirt. It’s a navy blue hawaiian shirt that Jake would not be caught dead in normally. He’s made fun of Bradley’s clothing choices countless times. How did he even get it? Now that Bradley thinks about it, he hasn’t seen that shirt in a while.

Fuck. Jake’s walking towards them now and with every step Bradley gets a better look. He’s got three of the buttons undone, showing off his chest, the thin chain of his dog tags hanging in the center.

It isn’t until Jake stops on the other side of the table that Bradley finally tears his eyes away and looks up. Immediately they make eye contact and Bradley realizes Jake has a shit eating grin on his face.

Jake tucks his sunglasses into the v of the shirt neck, low on his chest. The action brings Bradley’s eyes down again and he can’t look away.

“Is that my shirt?” He asks absentmindedly. He knows it is, he doesn’t need confirmation.

Jake hums and shrugs, waving him off in favor of saying hello to Coyote. Oh right. There’s other people here. He looks up to find Phoenix has started a new game entirely, a smirk on her face. How long has he been standing there looking like an idiot?

Jake mingles, talking to anyone and everyone while Bradley stands off to the side and stares. Jake doesn’t look at him, doesn’t even glance.

They agreed to keep whatever this is quiet. No one needed to know before they even knew themselves. But then Jake walked in wearing that shirt and all of that went out the fucking window.

Bradley steps in between Jake and Payback, drawing both of their attention. Jake’s green eyes are sparkling with amusement when they meet Bradley’s brown ones. “We’re leaving.”

Jake scoffs, “oh, are we?”

Bradley grabs his wrist with one hand and turns towards the door, not bothering with anything else. He hears someone whistle right before he drags Jake through the doors.

From there it’s a blur. Bradley broke a fuck ton of traffic laws. As soon as they are in Bradley’s door he crowds Jake against a wall, grabbing a handful of the shirt, “do you have any idea what this does to me?”

Jake hasn’t stopped grinning, “maybe you’ll have to show me.”

He fucks Jake on his back. Jake’s still wearing the shirt, the buttons completely undone as it hangs off his shoulders and splays across the bedding. Jake moans and keens under him, the red blush flooding down his chest and up his neck is stark against the deep blue.

When they are done, sated and sweaty, Bradley finally lets Jake throw the shirt to the side. “Did I leave that at your place?”

Jake laughs, collapsing against the bed again, “nah, I took it out of your closet. Surprised you didn’t notice.”

Bradley hums, “you should wear my clothes more often.

#hangster prompts #sereshaw prompts #this one tried to be a whole fic

112 notes · View notes

blood-mocha-latte · 4 months

Text

happy holidays part two to the wonderful @ep6bastogne, truly the mvp. i know you're traveling most of the day, bel, so have a safe flight and i hope you enjoy when you eventually get around to reading this <3 <3

find part one HERE (v important to read first lmao)

read on ao3 here (recommended for formatting) or below the cut :)

ii. everything melted in less than a week watching you felt like forever the lights started dimming and then they went out heaven came down like a blanket

9 December

“People usually use poached redfish,” Gene says. “I can’t believe you got catfish.”

Babe shrugs and shovels another spoonful of courtbouillon into his mouth. It’s hot, and he opens his mouth around it, nearly coughing. Gene, thank Christ, doesn’t seem to notice, busy stirring his own soup. “Dunno.” He near-splutters, waving his hand across his face. “Thank Google.”

That’s sort of a lie; Babe had remembered what Gene said about catfish, running his fingers absently through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, Babe resting his cheek on his bare shoulder, the sheets pooled around their waists (before November). He’d hoped that catfish could work the recipe he’d found, and found the rest of the ingredients with Liebgott after they’d found a shabby copy of Dracula by Bram Stoker for Web.

“Still.” Gene says, and takes another careful sip of the soup. “It… it’s a thoughtful gesture, s’all. I wish…” He trails off, blowing absently on his bowl. Babe watches him before hesitantly trying another spoonful of his own.

“What’d your boss say?” He asks, and isn’t sure why. “About goin’ back to Louisiana, I mean.”

Gene shrugs, absently fiddling with the handle of his spoon. His other arm is propped up on the table, his cheek resting on the heel of his hand. He looks almost half asleep. Babe feels a spark of fondness dart through him.

“That I could.” Gene says. His accent seems almost thicker, more drawn out. “Dunno if I will, though.” Babe blinks at him.

“Why wouldn’t you?” He asks. “I—I mean you clearly miss home.”

“Yeah.” Gene agrees, absent. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, colouring it red. “I just… I don’t know. It’s hard, to leave what I have here.”

What Gene has here, it seems to Babe, is a depressing job and a fucked up fuckbuddy. Babe doesn’t say that.

“What about your aunts and uncles, and stuff?” He asks, taking another try at the soup. It’s really quite good, just. Spicy. “Cousins, and whatnot.”

He’ll go back home on the day of Christmas, see his sisters and his ma and let himself get dragged to Mass, but until then, Babe’s not too worried. He could technically get to his ma’s house in under fifteen minutes, if he wanted to, it’s not like with Eugene’s family, all the way down in the South. Gene just shrugs.

“Yeah.” He says, voice soft. He seems somewhere far away, and Babe feels like an asshole. He’s just Gene’s friend, he shouldn’t be telling him what to do. He opens his mouth, maybe to apologise, but Gene continues before he can. “Are you stayin’ over?” He asks. It’s Babe’s turn to shrug.

“Aren’t you pretty tired?” He asks, and runs a hand down his face. “I mean, Genie, you just worked, like. Twenty-four hours. Don’t you want to sleep?” Gene shrugs. He doesn’t seem to catch Babe’s nickname slip-up, which is good, because Babe’s ears are starting to burn.

When Gene looks up at Babe, he looks up through his eyelashes. Babe nearly huffs a laugh. Eugene knows how to play coy, but he isn’t exactly subtle about it.

“Could use some help, getting to bed,” Gene offers, like he couldn’t fall asleep in five minutes on the floor of a concert. “‘Course, I gotta shower first.” Babe shrugs.

“Guess I have no choice, then.” He says, like he’d ever want to leave. “To stay, for a while.”

Gene smiles at him over his courtbullion. It’s gentle, and his nose is red.

–

Gene jerks him off in the shower, because Babe’s incapable of refusing him anything but Gene gives as good as he gets, and he comes so hard he almost topples right through its glass pane.

Gene catches him by the waist, exhaling a surprised huff into his soapy hair.

Babe returns the favour by dropping down onto his knees, and ignores the sharp pains that shoot up into his side.

Gene doesn’t kiss him, afterwards.

Babe wonders if he tastes like the courtbouillon.

–

Babe doesn’t stay the night.

He leaves just before dawn.

–

“Why’s your face doing that?” George Luz asks him when Babe gets back to his own place, the door, as always, unlocked.

“You don’t live here.” He informs Luz as he toes off his shoes inside the entryway. Luz just shrugs, stretched out on the couch, an elbow propped on the zonked out Joe Toye underneath him, his cast propped neatly and carefully on an ottoman shoved up next to the couch.

He shoves a handful of popcorn into his mouth — the bowl precariously perched on Toye’s hip — at the same time that he says, “I get entrance privileges. Of the fucking assortment.”

Babe doesn’t justify that with a response.

He wanders into the kitchen and opens the fridge. There’s a styrofoam carton of takeout shoved precariously on the lip of the plastic shelf, and as if sensing his train of thought from the living room, Luz shouts, “Picked up Buffalo Wild Wings, because I’m basically God. Don’t touch it.”

Babe sighs and closes the fridge.

“How is he still asleep?” He asks Luz, wandering back out of the kitchen. His bare feet make soft sounds against the hardwood. The recliner is in a jumble on the floor, screws and metal strewn everywhere. “You’re louder than a fuckin’ foghorn.”

Toye has an arm thrown across his eyes, mouth slightly open. His chest is rising and falling steadily and he doesn’t move at all; entirely oblivious to the blaring TV (Babe’s pretty sure Luz is watching The Princess Bride), the man on top of him, or the loud jabber that Babe and Luz have adopted since Babe walked through the door.

“New pain meds.” Luz says, grabbing another handful of popcorn. “Supposed to help with tendon pain, or something. All I know is that they make him sleep like a fuckin’ rock. Christ, I thought he’d died last night, when I got up to take a piss.”

As if subconsciously, Luz shifts closer to Toye’s chest, hand going flat against his collarbone like he’s trying to feel for his heartbeat. Babe just grunts and makes his way over to the sofa chair opposite the torn apart one. This one doesn’t recline, but Babe tucks his feet up under him, anyways, so it doesn’t matter.

“Has Robin Hood killed Andre the Giant, yet?” He asks, getting comfortable as the all-familiar spring digs into his back. Luz huffs, affronted.

“You’re an abomination to popular culture.” He informs him. “And don’t think you’re off the hook. I wanna know why your face is doin’ that.” Babe turns to frown at him.

“My face isn’t doin’ anything.” He says, and Luz gestures to his own face, as if to make his point.

“It’s making this strange, stretching motion. By God, I don’t think I’ve ever really seen it on you before. I think it’s called a smile?” Babe almost laughs.

“Oh, fuck you.” He says. Luz throws both hands up, careful not to elbow Toye.

“Hey, I’m just sayin’.” He says, settling further into the couch. “You’ve been a real gloomy goddamn gus, lately. I’d say it’s dragging everyone down, but everyone’s been down, anyways. An accumulation of seasonal depression and… well. Other things.”

Luz falters at the end of his statement, and Babe shifts subconsciously in his chair, clearing his throat.

George Luz is sometimes one of the people that Babe thinks about, at night. When he stares at the pile of his blankets in the corner of his bedroom as he freezes his ass off, and thinks about the people he’s luckier than. It’s not helpful, and it just makes him feel like an asshole, but… it’s something to do. Whatever. Babe never said he was a fuckin’ role model.

But of all of the people, Luz is up there.

He and Gene might not be dating, but if Babe had to walk in and see Gene like how Luz had seen—

Well, if Gene had been in the fire at the auto shop, it would have fucked with Babe’s mind, is all. He doesn’t think he could handle it, and he doesn’t handle anything, anyways, anymore.

“What’re you getting Toye for Christmas?” Babe asks, before he can think about asking anything. If he’s surprised by the veer in subjects, Luz doesn’t show it.

“Why?” He asks, sounding both satirically and truly suspicious in one go. Babe just shrugs. On the TV screen, an ad about air freshener plays.

“Dunno.” He mutters, picking at the sofa chair armrest. “Just… went shopping with Liebgott, the other day. For Web. And am thinking about getting something for Gene. Guess it’s just on my brain.” He can feel Luz’s eyes on the side of his face.

“Liebgott’s getting Webster a Christmas present?”

“I said it was stupid, too.”

“Okay. And I thought you weren’t dating Gene?”

“I’m not, but. He’s my friend.”

“Are you getting your other friends presents?”

Babe wrinkles his nose. He hadn’t really thought about that. He doesn’t really get anyone anything, but then again, none of them do. Sort of an unspoken agreement among their group of friends. Luz keeps talking.

“Besides, is Eugene getting you anything?”

Oh. Babe doesn’t know about that, either.

Luz must read that on his face, because he raises an open palm to him, as if to say, there you go. Babe sighs and leans further back into the sofa chair. Toye shifts on the couch, muttering something vaguely menacing, and Luz catches one of his hands in both of his to get him to stop moving, pressing them to his mouth. Toye falls back asleep in under five seconds.

They get through three more ad breaks before Babe pauses.

“Wait,” He says. “What are you getting Toye for Christmas?”

Luz smiles, and it looks almost impish. He drops a second kiss onto Toye’s scarred up knuckles and says against his skin, eyebrows raised, “let's hope you never find out.”

Babe mimes gagging, and Luz laughs so hard that he almost wakes up Toye.

–

10 November

Babe leans slightly against Gene, who’s both freezing to the touch and the warmest thing he’s ever felt. He remembers when he was a kid and touched his ma’s iron, and how it had been cold, at first. He wonders if Gene’s just like that. So scalding he’s arctic.

The weather is already biting, but there isn’t any snow on the ground, yet, and the buzz of Thanksgiving makes Christmas seem like a thousand years away. Eugene has his nose tucked into the collar of his coat, but Babe can still see the red of it.

They walk to Babe’s place in silence, and even though Gene’s only been to Babe’s apartment maybe three times, he has no trouble finding it again. Babe’s eyes fall on the metal stairway that leads up to the apartment building, and thinks absently about the lights that go up at Gene’s place. He wonders if they’ve been put up yet, this year.

The door to his apartment is unlocked, and Gene lets out a little sound through his nose, at that. Babe ignores him, and trods almost absently to his bedroom.

The apartment is silent, and he doesn’t think about that. It’s never silent. He tugs off his shirt — which is still covered in grease and oil and whatever else, because even though they’d made him take off the filthy clothes at the hospital, he’d been allowed to leave with them — by the collar, and throws it absently somewhere in the hall. He hopes that Gene is following him.

He tugs off his jeans in much of the same fashion, and collapses face first onto his bed. The comforter is soft against his cheek. He hears Gene’s footsteps pad gently against the carpeted bedroom floor, and feels a rush of relief.

“Do you have a laundry hamper in your room?” Gene asks gently, and Babe just groans.

He listens to soft footsteps, for a while; muffled clattering and other noises, and is half asleep when Gene’s hand rests lightly at his bare back, fingers pressing carefully into the nape of his neck. His other hand — just as cold — curls around Babe’s bicep, tugging him upright.

“C’mon,” Gene murmurs, hands gentle but insistent. “You need to shower again.”

Babe presses his face to the comforter, but lets Gene pull him up, anyway.

“Gene,” He mutters, and doesn’t know why. His hand finds Gene, the waistband of his scrubs, and he hooks his fingers over the elastic just to feel him; just to make sure he’s actually there.

“I know.” Gene says back.

–

9 December

The thing, it seems, is that Gene is too good to even be Babe’s friend.

Babe’s thinking about Eugene, later that night, after The Princess Bride ended and Toye woke up, and Bill dragged himself out of his room, where he’d apparently gone down for a nap.

They eat an amalgamation of Buffalo Wild Wings leftovers and whatever else is dredged up from the fridge, and Toye and Luz sit on the couch (they haven't moved from their position taken up in earlier hours, and Babe’s beginning to wonder if Toye’s just gone completely numb) while Bill takes up occupation in the sofa chair. Babe sits next to the torn apart recliner and stares at it forlornly.

“Are you ever planning to put this back together?” He asks, and shoves another forkful of slightly–rotting salad into his mouth. Bill, who’s been staring at Luz eat a plate of chicken wings with his fingers over Toye with a look of abject horror, waves a hand at the recliner absently.

“It’s a lost cause, Babe.” He says. “You’ll have to take it down to the dump sometime.” Babe groans. A piece of lettuce falls onto his jeans.

“Why do I have to take it down to the dump?” He complains, and wonders where in the hell the dump even is. Toye grunts and reaches up to grab a chicken wing.

“I’m stuck on the couch, Bill’s a lazy bastard, and George doesn’t live here, and is also stuck on the couch. So. Process of elimination.” He says, counting off on his fingers. Babe sighs. Bill laughs.

“Fine.” He says, and pokes through the salad. He has a burn on the roof of his mouth, it makes everything taste off. “But once you guys get better you’re going shopping.”

As expected, Bill and Toye dissolve into an argument at that, Luz chiming in both helpfully and randomly, and Babe looks down at his salad and thinks about Gene. He’s been racking his brain since last night, trying to remember what other foods Gene has mentioned at some point or the other. He’s not really sure why.

He’d left Gene’s place around noon; Spina worked more reasonable hours than Gene and so was gone for the majority of the day. They’d slept almost the entire time, and Babe doesn’t know how to feel about that. About laying on top of Gene’s blankets; soft and warm and heavy, heavy, heavy while Gene lay under them, sleeping on his stomach with a hand curled close to his face, dead asleep.

Babe’s been having trouble, staying asleep consistently since the fire and the car, so he’d wake up sporadically and just… watch Gene.

Gene, who’s always so deathly pale but always has some sort of colour keeping his face vibrant; Gene, who has slightly chapped lips; Gene, who hates the word fuckbuddy and sleeps shirtless under four thousand pounds of blankets and has the coldest hands that Babe’s ever felt.

He blinks back to the present when Bill throws a napkin at him, and tries to stop thinking about Gene.

“You staying tonight?” Toye is asking Luz, voice gravelly around a bite of chicken. His thumb is rubbing absent circles into Luz’s bare bicep, where his t-shirt has ridden up, and Luz stretches against him, both feet dangling off the side of the couch as he cranes his head up to kiss absently at Toye’s throat.

“Uh-huh.” He says, tracing absent fingertips up and down the curve of Toye’s jaw. “No work until noon. Unless you want me to go?” He asks, voice quirking up at the end of his words and lips twisting into a smile, and Toye huffs, knocking his nose against Luz’s gently and running a hand down the length of his spine.

“Nah,” He says, voice soft and quiet, almost playful. “I think you should stay.”

“I think I’m gonna kill myself.” Babe inputs helpfully, and Bill cackles his agreement. Luz flips Babe off and kisses the tip of Toye’s nose at the same time before clambering off of him, swearing and tilting to the side slightly when his back pops. Babe stands up, too. It makes his knees twinge.

“We gonna watch something tonight?” Bill is asking, spooning another forkful of cold spaghetti into his mouth. He nods at the TV absently. “Lord of the Rings, maybe. It sure as hell takes up time.”

Babe hums. He wonders if Gene’s seen The Lord of the Rings. “Nah,” He says. “I’m gonna go on a walk. See all the Christmas decorations.”

Bill flashes him a look that sails right over vaguely interested in Babe’s activities and right into highly suspicious that Babe’s about to do, go through, or see something stupid. Luckily, he’s spared whatever Bill’s planning on saying when Toye says, “if I stay on this couch even a second longer, I’m going to burst into flames and take the whole damn apartment with me.”

The bickering starts up again, and Babe lets it fade to white noise as he picks up the plastic container that his salad resides in and carries it absently into the kitchen. His phone is resting face down on the counter next to the sink where he’d last left it, and when he picks it up, he has a message from Gene.

It’s a recipe link to something called maque-choux.

Babe smiles so hard his cheeks kind of hurt.

–

His ‘walk’ consists of wandering a block and a half away from his apartment until he finds a produce shop that’s still open.

“Hello,” He greets the woman behind the counter, hands going to his pockets out of habit. “Uh. Do you have chicken stock?”

–

10 November

Gene’s hair is wet, and it sticks to the back of his neck. Babe falls back into his mattress, now cold and wet on top of exhausted.

The comforter is soft, and he runs his fingers over the quilted top of it. The stitching at the hem of the blanket is slightly loose, and Babe picks at it absently.

His eyes are slightly blurry, still, but he doesn’t tell Gene as the bed dips with his weight. “What if something happens at the hospital?” Babe asks, voice rough. He doesn’t know why he asks it, doesn’t know why it’s all he can think about when he trusts Gene when the other says that everyone will be okay.

At the very least, Gene seems to understand Babe when Babe doesn’t, and his fingers are cool where they lace through Babe’s limp ones. Babe turns his hand over, if only to grip Gene more firmly.

“I’ll text you when Toye and Penkala are out of surgery,” Gene tells him, fiddling with his fingers. His voice is even, if not tired. “And I’ll keep you updated on everything else.”

Babe rolls over onto his back. He’d only bothered to tug on boxer shorts after the shower, which was all awkward silences and too-hot water, and now that same water cools in a thin film of ice against his skin, prickling it with goosebumps. He stares at the ceiling, and finds the shapes of clouds and animals and mountains in the plaster.

“I thought I was gonna die,” He murmurs, like he’s twelve years old and back in absolution, sitting on his hands and squeezing his eyes shut tight. He keeps his eyes open, now, and the bed dips even further as Gene shifts all the way onto the mattress, moving his legs up to press against Babe’s. “I thought the car was gonna fall on top of me.”

“It didn’t.” Gene says. He doesn’t say anything else. Babe swallows, it makes his throat hurt.

“I couldn’t see anything afterwards.” He says, which Gene already knows.

Gene’s hands are cold against his pulse point, fingertips rubbing absent circles against the thin skin there. He seems to be gathering his words, trying to find the right ones. Babe doesn’t tell him that he thinks everything Gene ever says is the right thing to say.

“I’ll be right back,” Is what Gene lands on, and Babe would protest if he could tear his eyes away from the ceiling. As it is, he lets the bed bounce back as Gene stands up and pads quietly out of his room.

Gene comes back just as quickly as he left, with what Babe recognizes as his black hospital bag over his shoulder. He must have left it out in the front room. Gene sets it carefully on the bed, next to Babe’s calf, and roots through it for a moment before finding whatever it is he’s looking for and setting it at the foot of the bed.

The bed dips again, Gene’s hand finds Babe’s for a second time. He tugs on Babe’s wrist, so Babe turns away from the ceiling to look at him. The corner of Gene’s mouth is turned up, like a smile that Babe doesn’t understand. His eyes are tired.

“Got you.” He says softly, and when Babe furrows his brow, Gene shifts again, ripping open a wrapper and holding up a square of a hershey’s bar to Babe. “Here.”

Babe — who knows firsthand that if Gene wants him to have the chocolate, he better goddamn well take the chocolate — takes the chocolate. Gene nods, satisfied, and shifts against the comforter, wrinkling it.

“Gene.” Babe says, again. Eugene’s fingers tighten carefully around his.

“I know.” He says. His accent is thicker, than it was before. Babe blinks at him, tracking his face; from his brow, to his eyes, to his cheekbones and nose and lips and chin.

He looks exhausted, halfway because it's Eugene, halfway just because. Babe wants to reach out and touch him, but doesn't want to sacrifice not moving.

“What if I still couldn't see?” He asks, when there isn't anything else to say. When the silence stretches thick and long between them. “What if I couldn't see anymore?”

Gene blinks, and Babe watches him like it's what he was born to do. He shifts closer, close enough that Babe’s eyes blur slightly. “Then I'd make sure you couldn't get lost in the dark.” Gene says, after a moment, like an afterthought.

Babe watches him for another long second before reaching out a hand, stretching his fingers out to graze them along Gene’s jaw. The skin there is slightly rough with stubble, and he rests his fingertips along his pulse point.

“Alright.” He murmurs. “Okay.” Gene’s eyes dart across his face, dark and bright and blue.

“Babe,” He says, and he never says Babe’s name, so Babe just watches him, watches his lips and his eyes and his pink nose and thinks about memorising the way Gene’s accent twists the word, the way his mouth moves. “I'd make sure you couldn't get lost, okay?”

And the way that Gene says it, the way that he leans into Babe’s touch, the way that his eyes burn bright and blue fire makes Babe think about them: think about the past year and a half they've been friends and friends who sleep together and friends that know more about one another than is typical and friends who walk one another to their apartments and stare at each other in the bed that Babe suddenly feels achingly, achingly exhausted in.

When Gene kisses him it's no great surprise; soft and cold and chaste and chapped lips. It's careful and tentative, and Babe pulls back first to rest his forehead against Gene’s, his fingertips still pressed to his jaw.

He exhales once, careful and shaky, and it tastes like gasoline. Gene stays still under his fingertips, soft and gentle against his skin.

Babe has just enough forewithal to recognize the adrenaline rush cessation as it hits him, all at once. Not like a truck or a bat, but a realisation. Of exhaustion, of heavy-limbed anxiety. Like when a child realises that they’re too big to dance on their mothers shoes anymore.

When he closes his eyes they're too impossibly heavy to open again, and so he focuses on where Gene is, on his hands and his lips and his jaw and the dip in the mattress that he creates.

“Won’t let me get lost, right?” He asks, maybe in his head, and the phantom press of chapped lips to his forehead pulls him under a wave of black.

–

His dreams are strange, and convoluted, and they wind through his head like a smoke haze exhaled through a cigarette filter.

They all have the same theme.

Conscience ebbs to and from him like ocean waves, and the white caps are Eugene Roe.

–

Sometimes, Babe wonders if when people die in their sleep, they're in the midst of a nightmare.

–

When he wakes up, his first coherent thought is heat, then panic, then he’s kicking out as hard as he can, like it will flip the car off of him, like it will help him breathe.

It doesn’t, but the comforter gets tangled up in his legs, and it shoots bright lights of alarm through his head, sparks of pain through his eyes. He twists at the waist, trying to get the comforter off—

He twists too far, rolling over, and right off the bed.

He hits the ground flat on his back, knocking the wind right out of him, shocking him out of movement. Babe stares up at the ceiling, and it swims across his vision sluggishly. His ears are ringing, and he can’t hear anything else.

It’s still dark, maybe around midnight, and Babe can’t breathe, panic settling into his throat in a bitter layer, still tangled in the comforter that’s trying to strangle him to death.

He blinks up at the ceiling for a few moments, unable to do anything else, and by the time he’s able to breathe properly again, he’s calmed down enough to realise that he’s alone.

Gene left.

–

It takes him a moment to drag himself up to his knees and then feet, exhaustion and pain parrying across his joints like fire across water, and when he does, he grips the side of the mattress to pull himself up. He nearly trips over the comforter, so he bunches it up under his arm, dragging the sheet off the bed with his other hand.

Babe tosses them into the corner of the room, limping slightly, and in the dark of night he can almost pretend that he’s blind.

He falls face first onto the bed, and carefully doesn’t feel anything. He can do that later.

The bedroom is freezing.

–

11 December

The cold bites into the softness of his cheeks and nose relentlessly, so Babe tucks his chin into the collar of his jacket, ducking his head against the wind.

He'd finally caved in and excavated his coat from the closet, coughing up an assortment of mothballs and dust, after he’d tried to go out about half an hour earlier and nearly froze to death. The coat smells like his grandmother's closet, and the weight of it makes his entire person seem on fire.

Gene’s at work, is the thing, so Babe has fuck all to do, because somewhere along the way, Babe started measuring himself by Gene.

That doesn’t matter much, anyways, because his only other options are watch movies with his roommates and take the broken recliner to the dump, so he feels it both an equal and understandable trade to trace his steps carefully down the half-icy pavement to whatever corner shop strikes up his fancy.

As Christmas draws closer — slowly, lurchingly, like a treacherous slug, spreading tidings of Christmass cheer and commercialism — it seems to drag Philly with it, and Babe wonders absently, after seeing the third apartment building with lights strung all over it, how Gene celebrates Christmas. He still isn’t sure if Gene’s gonna be able to get time off to go down to Louisiana. Babe wonders what he’ll do if he does.

The problem with going out in the name of shopping is that Babe hates shopping, and since he went out the other day and got the recipes for the maque-choux Gene sent him, the variety of corn, chicken stock, and spices stowed deep in either the fridge or the cupboard, Babe really has no reason to shop at all.

So he walks until he can’t feel his toes, and he wants to pull off the coat and shove it back in the closet before turning on his heel and heading back to the apartment.

He’s not sure the meaning nor importance of the walk, but he feels good enough after getting back from it, skipping up the steps of his apartment, to wonder if he should excavate his phone from wherever it is in the coat to text Gene. About what, he’s not sure, but.

Well. Friends text each other.

The door to their apartment is unlocked, because it always is, so Babe just opens the door, turning slightly to shrug off his coat.

“Hey.” He says absently, a vague greeting to whoever’s in the living room, and doesn’t get a reply, which is odd in and of itself. He huffs, and his cheeks still sting from the cold. “Gave up on shopping, it’s too fucking cold. What’s—”

He turns on his heel and cuts himself off with some sort of strangled cough, surprise darting through him almost as harshly as the cold. “Gene.” He says, because, well. Gene.

Eugene Roe’s sitting in what’s usually his chair, hands clasped in his lap, eyes dark. “Hey.” He says, and Babe blinks at him again.

“Hi.” He says back, and manages to move his feet away from the door in a stumbling, dragging step that nearly topples him right over. “You’re at work.” He says, which makes no sense, because Gene’s in his living room.

“Yeah,” Gene agrees, anyways. The circles under his eyes are bruised purple, posture slumped. He’s still wearing his coat, black and quilted, over his scrubs, and everything from the shells of his ears and the tip of his nose to the jut of his knuckles are dyed a careful red. His eyes, dark as they ever are, are almost somewhere else. It lights the inside of Babe’s head up with warning lights.

Bill, Babe realises for the first time since walking inside, is on the opposite couch, slumped over his knees, jaw jutted forward. Babe wonders if he’s ever seen him look so uncomfortable. “Do you, uh,” Babe starts to say, and looks back to Gene. “Do you want to go back, to…” He trails off, waving vaguely towards the hall.

This is weird. This is really, really weird, because Babe can count on one hand with three fingers the amount of times that Gene’s been over at his apartment. Babe can count on even less fingers the amount of times that Gene’s stayed for more than ten minutes (November never counts). It’s a bit like seeing a ghost, and before Babe can speak again, Gene does.

“Yeah,” He says, again, moving noiselessly from the chair to the hall. He gestures, vague, down the hall. “I’m just…” He trails off, expression smoothed out in a combination of something both blank and too expressive. “I’ll be in your room.”

“Okay,” Babe agrees, too dumbfounded to think of anything else. “I’ll follow you.”

He watches Gene’s back, for a moment, before turning back to Bill, surprise still making everything tinged with paling saturation. He doesn’t say anything, but he must look bewildered enough, because Bill shrugs from his place on the couch, leaning back against the cushions.

“He just fucking… knocked on the door.” Bill says, all in a hushed, frantic rush, like Gene will overhear him. “In the fucking — in the fucking doctor clothes, and everything, he asked for you, I don’t even goddamn know—”

“I got it, I got it.” Babe interrupts him, picking up Bill’s hushed, frantic whisper almost subconsciously. “I got it, it’s fine.”

It’s not fine, because if it was fine, Gene would be at work. And if it was actually fine, so would Babe. But Eugene’s not at work, and neither is Babe, and so Babe just leaves Bill on the couch and turns on his heel, making his own way down the hall. The floorboards creak under the soles of his shoes.

“Babe—” Bill says, and Babe pauses just long enough to look over his shoulder. Bill’s lips are pressed together, shoulders hunched. “There… there was a car pile-up this morning, I think.”

Babe blinks. The pin drops so far away he can’t even hear the echo.

Gene left the door to his bedroom open, and he sits on the corner of Babe’s bed, looking somewhere between being somewhere else and painfully, numbly in the moment. He doesn’t look up when Babe walks into the room and closes the door behind him, but his gaze drops, almost robotically, to the floor as he reaches down, tugging at the laces of his shoes.

Babe spares a glance at him before walking around the bed, kicking absently at his sheets and comforter on the floor before dropping down to sit on the opposite side of the bed. The mattress bounces slightly. Gene gets both of his shoes off and, holding them in one hand, looks blankly around like he’s trying to find where to put them before just dropping them down next to him.

“Gene.” Babe says, after a moment, Gene huffs, eyes on the corner of Babe’s room, on his sheets. “You were at work?”

He means it to be prompting, but Gene hardly reacts. Babe watches his profile, watches the curve of his jaw and the wedge of his nose and how dark his eyes are against the white paint of Babe’s bedroom walls and his stripped bed.

“Eugene?” Babe asks, reaching out. He doesn’t touch Gene, but just by a millimetre. Gene had shrugged off his coat, and Babe’s fingertips brush against the sleeve of his scrubs. He hesitantly pulls his hand back, and drops down to the foot of mattress between them. Gene keeps his eyes on Babe’s wall, Babe keeps his eyes on Gene.

“This job is gonna kill me, and I’m gonna let it.” Gene says, after a moment. He doesn’t meet Babe’s eyes. “It’s, I’m — I’m carrying every single goddamn kid on my back, and their blood is running into my eyes, and I can’t fucking—” He cuts himself off, voice strained. Babe’s chest hurts.

“Gene.” He says softly. Gene doesn’t move. “You…” He trails off.

He doesn’t know what to say, is the thing, because if he did, he would have said it already.

He thinks about November. Gene’s nose and ears are still red, so are his knuckles.

“Okay,” He says, and plants his hands on his knees, pushing himself up and off of the bed.

Babe lucked out to high hell and back, when they’d moved into the building, because through an elaborate play at cards and a bet on a hockey game, he’d gotten the connected bathroom of the two in the apartment. (It was near mutiny, as he’s the only single member of their argumentative trio, and Babe doesn’t think he’ll ever stop lording it over Toye and Bill.)

Now, he pushes into the bathroom, batting back the tub shower curtain impatiently and turning on the water. He turns, and his sneakers squeak against the linoleum of the bathroom floor. He shuffles out of them as he moves back into his room, tossing them down next to Gene’s and peeling off his socks.

“C’mon,” He mutters, palm going to hesitantly pat at Gene’s bicep. “You, you need to warm up. C’mon, Gene.”

Gene looks up at him, eyes exhausted, face smooth of any emotion. “I only had an hour left on my shift.” He says, and Babe’s chest hurts. “I — I should have…” He trails off, and Babe pulls him to his feet.

Babe’s kind of freaking out, is the thing, because he’s never, not once, seen Gene like this. Even last Christmas, when Gene had been working the same exact job, doing the same exact thing, he hadn’t been like this. Just… quiet. Prone to more silent anger, maybe. Face cold, lips pursed.

There’s none of that, now. Gene’s just… blank.

“C’mon, Gene.” Babe says again, when Gene only barely looks up at him “C’mon, twenty-three hours is enough. Let's go.”

“Okay.” Gene says, barely even a murmur, not moving. Babe wraps his fingers around the crux of Gene’s elbow, tugs again. Gene shifts, like he’s going to move, but just drops down to the mattress again. “Okay.” He says again, and Babe blinks down at him, surprise beginning to match the apprehension that's building up in the base of his stomach.

“Okay, get up.” He says. “Not okay, lay down. Okay, get up, right?” Gene blinks at him, like he's snapping out of it, slightly, so Babe tugs on his arm again and Gene lets him pull him up willingly, this time.

“Okay.” Gene mutters again, and his eyes look almost brighter, at least. He looks somewhere over Babe’s shoulder, face almost unreadable. “Showering?” He says, and Babe hums.

“Yeah.” He says. “You need to warm up. You’re all… you’re all red, Genie, c’mon.”

–

Gene’s hair is wet, and it sticks to the back of his neck, and he seems more aware than he was even fifteen minutes before so Babe just awkwardly hands him a towel and goes to root through his dresser for sweatpants.

“Thanks,” Gene mutters, eyes somewhere between the tub and bathroom linoleum.

Babe, who’s own hair is wet as he scrubs at it with a towel, just hums. “Yeah.” He says back. It’s quiet, for a moment after that, and Babe wonders if there’s anything else he could say.

“‘M getting Christmas off, I think.” Gene says, after a moment, shifting into Babe’s sweatpants. They’re low slung, and he doesn’t bother putting on a shirt. “Go down to Louisiana, for a day or two.”

Babe’s chest hurts. “That’s good.” He says, and Gene huffs. “I — I mean, it seems like you need to get away.”

Gene sits at the edge of his bed again, and his bare feet skim across the top of Babe’s carpet absently. “‘M sorry I came over here.” He says as Babe searches for another pair of sweatpants, coming up empty. He shrugs into boxers, instead. “I — I don’t think I was thinking, right.”

“You scared the shit out of Bill,” Babe offers, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “He must think you’re truly cracked up, or something.” Gene huffs, but the smile that curls up at the corner of his mouth is wry.

“Think I did a while ago.” He says drily, and Babe leans against the doorway to the bathroom to watch him.

“Gene.” He says again, and Gene watches him, eyes bright. The swell of relief that seems to build up in Babe’s throat at that — at the way that Gene’s not so out of it as he was earlier — could knock him right over. “Bill said something about a pile-up…?”

Babe trails off, because he doesn’t know if Gene wants to talk about it or if he should even be asking about it, but Eugene just shrugs, eyes going once more to the sheets in the corner of the room.

“Minivan collides with a Honda Civic collides with a Chevy, so on an’ so forth.” He says dryly. His lips seem to twist around the words, as if chewing on them, and Babe watches as he loops his hands under his knees, shrugging slightly. He looks cold. “Could have been worse, could have been better. There was this kid…” Gene trails off, more than his voice breaks, but he sounds strained either way.

Babe finally follows Gene’s gaze, stares at the sheets and the comforter and thinks.

“You’re helping people, you know?” He says, and his chest hurts. “You’re… you don’t owe anybody anything too much because you’re…”

He pauses, doesn’t know the word. Gene just hums, like he doesn’t believe him.

“Couldn’t help that little girl.” He says, voice rough. “Couldn’t help the woman who OD’d a week ago. Couldn’t help the construction worker who caught a support beam to the face. Couldn’t help—”

“You helped me.” Babe says, almost indignant. He crosses his arms over his sternum, almost as if to defend himself, scuffs at the carpet of his room with his heel. “You… you got me back here, and you made me shower, and you made me eat, and you got me to sleep. You helped me, Gene, and that meant a hell of a lot, so don’t think it doesn’t.”

Eugene watches him, while Babe talks, and Babe has to look away before he starts doing something stupid, like cry. His chest is tight, like his ribs are closing in around his heart.

“You just… you help all sorts of fucking people, okay, and if it ain’t me it’s Bill, or Toye, or Muck, or Penkala—” He sees Gene start to open his mouth so he starts talking louder, faster, “and I don’t care if you didn’t operate on ‘em or didn’t diagnose ‘em or whatever the hell you do wit’ ‘em, because you cared enough to keep track of them and tell me about them, and you care about me, and you care about Bill and Toye and Muck and Penkala and Luz and Spina and whoever the hell else you’ve ever even shaken hands wit’, and it don’t… it don’t define you as a bad person if you lose others. That’s just… that’s just life. That’s how it works. It’s shitty, and it sucks, and that’s how it works.”

His ears ring, slightly, and Babe coughs, gaze dropping back down to the carpet. He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt, and now he’s regretting it. It’s kind of cold. Babe drags a hand down his face, exhales harshly through his nose. “Fuck.” He mutters.

He can feel Gene’s eyes on him, as substantial as a handprint. “Yeah.” He says, voice low. “How… mad would you be if I told you that I missed most of the end of your sentence, there? You weren’t even speakin’ English.”

Babe snorts a laugh, and it hurts his throat. “Fuck, I speak the Queen’s fuckin’ English, it’s not my fault you’re from the town of slow-talkers and French bastards.”

The corner of Gene’s mouth quirks up, wry, and Babe finally tilts forward from the bathroom doorway, reaching to grab a sheet from the corner of his room with his fingertips.

He bunches it up in between his hands and tosses it over Gene’s shoulders before he can begin to think too much, gets a knee up on the bed while Gene huffs again, leaning back as Babe shoves the sheet under him.

“Boil you alive like a damn lobster and you’re still cold,” Babe murmurs, even though he’s kind of cold, too.

Gene just leans back further, manages to pull his hand out from where Babe had trapped it at his side with the sheet to push gently at the ball of Babe’s shoulder, moving him back.

“Babe.” He says, tilting his face up, and Babe would make fun of him, for saying his actual goddamn name for once, except for at some point he’d hiked his knee up on the mattress, and Gene’s wearing his sweatpants, in his room, on his bed, and Babe’s so goddamn exhausted that he thinks that he’s never been more awake.

“Yeah,” He says, and when Gene’s other hand comes up, cold and calloused and careful against the side of his neck, Babe gives up on the sheet entirely to drop his hands down to the mattress in between Gene. “Yeah.” He says again, and dips down to kiss him.

Gene arches into the kiss, like he always does, lips chapped and skin cool against Babe, and he lets Babe push him further into the mattress, lets Babe land a hand in his damp hair and tug through it carefully, mouth warm and welcoming under Babe’s, lips parting easily.

Babe pulls back after a moment, one knee on the bed, one foot braced on the floor, bent over Gene awkwardly, and sees his own dilated eyes reflected back at him in Eugene’s face.

Christ, it’s fucking freezing.

Babe drops down to kiss him again, and one of Gene’s hands moves from his arm to his hips, fingers tugging at the elastic of his boxers in a silent query that’s Babe’s happy to oblige, pushing himself all the way up onto the mattress to bracket his knees at Gene’s own on the bed, tilting his head to kiss Gene better, to be warmer—

The fingertips of the hand that Gene doesn’t have at Babe’s jaw tap a senseless rythm against Babe’s bare waist, and when he flattens the palm of his hand against his stomach, pushing him back slightly, Babe’s happy enough to oblige, turning over and letting Gene switch their positions, letting his back hit the mattress.

Babe pushes back on his elbows, sitting up enough to kiss Gene again, biting at his lip absently as he does.

“Is—” Gene starts to say and cuts himself off as Babe drops down onto one elbow, using his other hand to tug Gene closer, tangling their fingers impatiently together.

“Yeah,” He says, because he knows what Gene wants to say, anyways, because Eugene’s heavy on top of him and the sheet’s tangled between their legs, but Babe doesn’t care, couldn’t give a shit less about not sleeping with blankets and having nightmares and not going back to work because Gene’s freezing and the warmest thing he’s ever touched, because Gene’s eyes are dark, dark blue, so dark they’re black, swallowed by his pupils, hips shifting against Babe’s as he breathes sharply through his nose as he moves back to kiss clumsily at Babe’s cheek, his jaw. “Yeah, fuck, yes, c’mere—”

Gene puts more of his weight on top of him, moving back up absently to kiss Babe again before dropping down to his neck, his collarbone, and Babe arches into his touch, his own hands going absently to the waistband of his sweatpants, that Gene is wearing, tugging at the elastic of them, and Gene hums, pulling back just enough for Babe to see his face.

His eyes are bright, dilated, hands pressed flat to the mattress against either side of Babe’s head, hair sticking up in all directions and the closest thing to fucking radiant that Babe thinks he’s ever seen.

In a move that Babe thinks impresses himself more than it does Gene, Babe hikes one leg over the back of Gene’s knees and pushes a hand through his hair at the same time, pulling him back down, kissing him again. “Yeah.” He says again, against Gene’s lips, in between kisses.

–

12 December

He wakes up before Gene does, but not so much because of a nightmare but because Gene’s heavy against him, an arm thrown over the small of his back, where Babe lays on his stomach next to him. The sheet that Babe had grabbed earlier is tucked in around him, his face buried in the crook of the arm not around Babe, so Babe just turns his cheek against the mattress of the bed to watch him, blinking blearily.

The tip of Gene’s nose and the shell of his ears are red, because of course they are, and from where he lays on his stomach, the sheet dips down around a pale, goosebump-covered shoulder.

Babe just… watches him, for a moment, tracing his eyes and nose and lips, how deep his breaths are, the weight of his arm against his back. When Babe shifts against the mattress again, looking for his phone, he finds it on the floor next to the bed and reaches down to pick it up, dislodging Gene’s arm as the other pulls it back with a huff, rolling on top of it, still asleep.

The time reads at a quarter after six, which surprises Babe, mainly because he can’t remember the last time he slept past 5:45. But he gets up, anyways, careful not to move the bed too much, and pads around the mattress to pull the comforter out of its corner, almost tripping over it as he tosses it onto the bed and up and over Gene, who still doesn’t wake up.

He finds the sweatpants on the floor next to their shoes and finds a tourist shirt that, accompanied by a green, warty witch and a schlocky black cat, announces its birthplace as Salem, Massachusetts.

Out of season, but it works.

He shrugs the shirt over his head and nearly brains himself on the corner of his dresser tugging on the sweatpants, but manages to get up and out of his room, closing the door behind him, without waking up Eugene.

No one’s awake, when he makes his way into the kitchen, wondering vaguely how long Gene will stay and if they’ll make the maque-choux.

It's almost 6:15 by the time he manages to find the cereal box (in the microwave, for some reason) and milk and get a bowl out, and Gene comes out of his room just as Babe sticks a spoon in the cereal and calls it good enough.

“Hey.” He says, voice rough with sleep. He's wearing boxers and Babe’s Philly Eagles shirt, hair stuck up in all directions.

“Hi,” Babe greets back, and, in afterthought, picks up the cereal box and shakes it. “You want, uh…?”

“I'm okay.” Gene says, and presses his lips together in a smile. It's awkward. Babe’s starting to remember why, when they do this, one of them tends to leave whilst the other’s still incoherent.

He puts the box back in the microwave and turns on his heel, gesturing vaguely to the fridge. “There’s, uh, stuff in there.” He says, picking up the bowl and moving carefully around Gene to the living room, almost settling in the sofa chair before thinking better of it, in case Gene wants to sit there, and settles on the couch, instead. “If you’re hungry.”

Gene follows him into the living room and sits in the sofa chair, left hand moving to hook under his knee in an absent gesture. He’s holding his phone in his other hand, Babe realises belatedly, and Babe works his way through the Lucky Charms whilst Gene contacts whoever about whatever. (He’d guess his boss about work, or maybe Renèe Lemaire.)

It’s quiet, for a while, but Babe feels like he might be drowning in it. Before he can break the silence Gene does, clearing his throat and dropping his phone down to the couch cushion next to him.

“Think I’ll be flying out on the twenty-second.” He says, scratching absently at the back of his neck. “You know, stay for Christmas. Come back right before New Years.” He sounds… off, slightly, and it reminds Babe of earlier in the week, when they’d made courtbullion.

I just… I don’t know. It’s hard, to leave what I have here.

Babe kind of wonders what Gene has here.

“That’d be nice.” He says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Gene hums. His eyes are on the black screen of the TV on the opposite wall of the living room, like he’s thinking. Babe leaves him to it, finishing off the cereal and getting up to put the bowl and spoon in the sink.

“Could take off longer, too.” Gene says, as Babe turns on the sink to fill the bowl with water. “If I wanted to.”

Babe drops the spoon in the bowl and turns off the faucet, wiping his hands off on the sweatpants. “Well, I’d take off longer.” He says, because who wouldn’t? “Seems like a good deal. You deserve it, too, ya’know.”

Eugene makes a noise at the back of his throat, at that, neither confirmation nor denial. “Yeah, well.” He says. Babe doesn’t go back to the couch, feeling too restless, so he leans against the kitchen counter, the corner of it digging into the small of his back. “I’d have to come back to Philadelphia, anyway, so I might as well work. Unless there was — something else, I guess. A — a reason.”

He’s still not looking at Babe, so Babe leans further against the counter, bracing himself on his palms. He tries to think of what he’s been doing, lately, because he sure as hell hasn’t been to work and life has been… okay.

“You could make more stuff.” He offers. “You know, branch out. Try Italian food.” The corner of Gene’s mouth twists up, like he’s thinking, and it makes Babe’s chest hurt. “Uh, cable’s got some interesting day channels, now. We watched The Princess Bride, the other day.” Gene hums.

“Yeah.” He says, eyes still doing that thing. “What about your work?”

For a split second, Babe thinks that Gene’s asking if he’d want to work at the autoshop, and only barely holds himself back from telling Gene that he’s overqualified.

“I think I’ll go back after the New Year.” He tells Gene. “Winters gave me the rest of the year off, anyways, so. Might as well take advantage of that.” Gene hums.

“That’s nice of him.” He says. He shifts on the couch, moving up to cross his legs under him.

“Yeah.” Babe agrees. “With pay, too, so.”

Everything lapses into quiet, again. Babe wonders what Gene’ll do in Louisiana, about his family. He knows that Gene has a ma, at least, and a brother, but that’s about it. He wonders if Gene’ll tell his family about him. Probably not. That would be weird.

“I should get—”

“In the fridge there’s—”

They speak at the same time, and Babe blinks when Gene does before holding his hand out, palm open. “You first.” He says, and Gene clears his throat, pushing back against the couch to get back up.

“I should get going.” Gene says again, before blinking and looking back towards the hall. “Uh. After I get my stuff. I need to…”

He trails off, so Babe doesn’t actually know what Gene needs to do, but he decides to just nod anyways. Gene’s his friend, he probably shouldn’t stay for too long.

“I — yeah.” He says. “That’s what I was gonna say. Do you want me to—?”

“No, it’s fine.” Gene says, already turning around. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be out of your hair in a mo’.”

“Alright.” Babe agrees, still against the counter, watching him pad back to Babe’s room.

He likes seeing Eugene in his boxers.

Surely that is a normal part of the friendship experience.

–

The sleeves of Gene’s coat brush against his knuckles, which is something that Babe hadn’t noticed before but now can’t keep staring at. Gene’s back in his scrubs, the coat and his boots his only winter wear, and in a blank moment of confusion Babe dashes off to the closet that holds his coat and grabs a scarf.

He’s not sure whose it is, but he knows that it’s one that his ma made, so he thinks that gives him the authority to give it away.

“Here.” He offers the scarf to Gene awkwardly. It’s an ugly yellow, and it clashes so terribly with Babe’s hair he thinks that his mother either made it for one of his roommates or actually secretly hates him. Gene takes it carefully, like he’s surprised. “You need more than just a coat, y’know? So…” Babe gestures vaguely at the scarf until Gene hesitantly drapes it over his neck.

“Thanks.” He says. “I’ll — yeah. Thanks.” Babe nods. The yellow doesn’t really match Gene, either, but it doesn’t affront him like it does Babe. He looks nice, where he stands in the doorway. He’s still somewhat pink.

“You — yeah.” Babe says, not sure what he was going to say. He’s still wearing sweatpants, and he absently tucks his thumbs into the waistband. “Be careful, right?” Gene nods. His gaze drops to somewhere around Babe’s knees.

“Yeah.” He says back, and his eyes jump back up to Babe’s face. “I’ll see you. Maybe – maybe you could come down to Louisiana, next year.”

And that’s out of pocket, if Babe’s ever heard it, and he blinks, surprised.

“Uh.” He says. “Yeah, that would be fun. You know, me an’ Bill and the rest mostly just stay here, we could all go down to Louisiana, that would be fun. ‘Cept maybe Joe. I’m thinking he wants to go up to Rhode Island with Luz, next year. But that’s on him.”

He’s rambling, Babe realises, but he can’t stop himself, because just for a moment, in a split second of time, just long enough for his heart to thud in his chest, he thought that maybe ‘down to Louisiana’ meant Gene-and-Babe in Louisiana. But that’s ridiculous, because Gene’s his friend, and Babe thinks he may have paused for too long and is now making up for it.

“Anyways,” He says, feeling himself flush. He waves a hand around absently. “Yeah. That would be nice. A — a friend trip down to Louisiana.”

Gene doesn’t seem to have caught his slip up. He nods, expression almost unreadable. He looks somewhat… unsurprised. Like he was expecting something.

“Yeah.” He agrees. “Friends. That – that would be good.” He watches Babe, for another two seconds, and Babe can’t understand his gaze. Gene nods, just once, and turns on his heel. “Bye, Edward.” He says, absent. Babe waves at his back, futile.

As soon as he shuts the door to the apartment he turns against it, letting his back thunk against the wood.

He thinks he may have fucked up.

#rie writes #hbowarsanta23 #band of brothers #babe heffron #eugene roe #doc roe #baberoe #hbo war #rie does secret santa stuff

17 notes · View notes

bloodyknucklesforme · 1 year

Text

Carnal Ch. V | Don't You Ever Tame Your Demon

Carnal (adjective): relating to or given to crude bodily pleasures and appetites

Simon was born with what his father called 'The Curse'. A wanton craving for taboo meat. Since meeting the similarly cursed Johnny, the two had formed a bond. They didn't just fight together, they ate together, slept together, and shared everything.

When a favor to Price reveals another cursed person, Simon worries she could destroy everything.

A horror AU inspired by Bones and All and Raw among other works. TW: Blood, gore, cannibalism, smut, violence,

Masterpost | AO3

Title Credit: Arsonist's Lullaby - Hozier

She didn’t make a habit of thinking about her mother. It wasn’t like they were anything more than acquaintances if that. It felt strange to even call her a mother. She died minutes after Nina lived. She had twenty-eight years before that. Twenty-eight years reduced to the five minutes it took for her to hemorrhage.

It was best not to think about her too much. It only made Nina sad. She could only imagine a much different life if she’d only had a mother. A mother to explain to her why blood spilled from between her legs and why she wanted to tear into flesh. She imagined her mother had the same affliction and it could only exist in one of them at the same time. Her father never talked about her but he also never remarried. She never asked why. Was he content in having her as his only child or did he believe his seed was tainted and it was best not to try again?

“Nina! Come up here!” Price’s voice tore her gaze from the photo on the wall. The only photo of her mother in the whole house. She looked like Nina. Blonde hair and brown eyes. She looked just as sad. Maybe there was a time when she also sat on this old couch with damp hair and blood still thick in her throat.

She stood up and headed upstairs. He’d obviously seen Arthur’s body. The stairs creaked under her as she walked to her sentencing. The hallway felt longer as she crept along. Two men left the room as she walked in. Cedar and rosemary. It made her nauseous. She didn’t like the way the masked one looked at her like she was in his house and not the other way around. The other one, with the dumb haircut, seemed avoidant all together. She could feel his gaze drift to her as she shut the door behind them.

Shame came flooding back as she saw Price. His head in his hands, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“Tell me what happened Nina.” He turned to her. He’d aged too much for his age. Barely forty but greying in his hair and under his eyes. War had taken its toll but so had she.

“We had an argument, he grabbed me and was screaming. I told him to leave and he chased me up here.”

“No. What happened to him? Where’s his face, Nina?”

She felt the need to wipe her mouth on the back of her hand. She’d never lied to him, not directly. She tried to look at the floor and was met with Arthur’s feet. His shoes were still on. God, she hated he never took his fucking shoes off.

“Nina, answer me.” His hard stare dug into her chest to pull on her ribs.

“You weren’t supposed to see this.” She never should have called. There was a lake nearby. It was deep enough. She’d fill his pockets with rockets and let him sink. Tell the lie that he was suicidal, she’d broken up with him and he’d offed himself out of spite. Fewer questions.

“I thought your father was crazy.” He murmured. She flicked her eyes back to him.

“What?”

“He left me a letter when he died. Said you were sick. ” He patted the space beside him. She sat down next to him. “Used words like ravenous and cannibalistic. ”

That word made her cringe.

“He said that you would hurt someone one day.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “I need you to tell me if you’ve done this before.”

“Never.”

“Don’t lie.” The first time he’d ever given her an order.

“I’m not. I swear. This is the first time.”

“Okay. I’m going to fix this but it can never happen again, understand?” His hand was on the back of her neck, forcing her to make eye contact. “Never again. Nothing between us has changed. I still love you, Nina. I can’t make this disappear twice.”

“I know,” her voice cracked under the weight of his palm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to kill him. I just didn’t want him to touch me anymore.”

He pulled her into his arms, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, lamb. I got you. It’ll be okay.” She was a child again, being carried away from the horrors she helped create. “I’ll have one of the lads stay with you while we get rid of him. Is the guest room made up? Go rest, I’ll clean up.”

He patted her back as she stood back up. She was careful not to step in the mess on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” She said again.

“If you didn’t do it, I would have.”

She had to pass the two men again on her way out. They’d probably heard everything.

“You’re bleeding,” the masked one said as she walked away. She turned to stare at him. The bite mark on her arm had stung but she robe had covered the wound and no blood was showing on her hand. Cedar and rosemary. He wouldn’t even look at her, his back against the wall staring straight ahead.

Mohawk was glaring at his friend. She felt a rush of territorialness. She wanted them out of her house. They were bigger but so was Arthur.

“Ghost, Soap, get in here.”

Mask straightened and went into her room with Mohawk close at his heels. He turned one last time and gave an apologetic look.

She was alone again.

The guest room was made, albeit dusty on every surface. She opened up a window to let the air in. It was cool but all she could smell was cedar and rosemary. No one had ever smelled like that before. It wasn’t a scent that made her mouth water, instead her skin prickled.

She laid on the bed, her feet dragging across the floor. She could hear them carry Arthur down the stairs. Improvised pallbearers taking a tarp covered body to its final resting place. The sound of a boot opening, a thud, the boot slamming shut. Two cars starting. She watched the lights dance on the ceiling as they drove away.

Her phone vibrated.

“Get some rest. I’ll be back in the morning.” From Price.

She needed a smoke. The hallway was dark but from the top of the stairs she could see the dining room light was still one. Which lad was left behind?

Mohawk sat in her seat at the dining table. He was staring out the windows toward the front of the house.

“I’m gonna go smoke.” She announced. He turned to her, barely registering her presence. A quick nod before turning back to the window.

Price hadn’t reclaimed the remaining cigar in the living room. He knew she’d use it.

She always liked the garden. Her grandmother had spent most of her marriage planning it out. Pink Rose bushes, stone path ways in the perfect gray, trees and bushes trimmed to the right shape and size. She hadn’t take the care it deserved in the past couple years. Little green plants grew between the stones and the shrubs looked like actual shrubs instead of rectangles.

She sat on the carved stone wall and re lit the cigar. She needed to buy cigarettes again. Cigars were such a fucking hassel.

“I don’t know how you and Price are able to smoke those things.” He said, closing french doors behind him.

“Its not my usual but he,” she looked up to her bedroom window, “didn’t like cigarettes in the house. I just steal Price’s when I can.”

“You’re in luck.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He laid them flat in his plam as he offered it to her.

“He’ll be pissed that I wasted it but fuck it.” She stubbed the cigar out on the stone. She took two out and set them between her lips before lighting them.

“Thanks,” he chuckled, taking one from her.

“What?”

“I was gonna offer the light, is all.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Obviously.” His smile fell. “I’m sorry. You probably still upset.”

“Not really. I am but not in a ‘my boyfriend died’ way.”

“Price said he’s prick.”

“He was.”

They stood there smoking. Menthol and rosemary mixing in the night air. It was nice to have company for once. Where she didn’t feel the need to pretend or be on her best behavior. He’d already seen what she did and here he was, smoking next to her.

“You still bleeding?” He asked as they made their way back inside.

“I don’t think so.”

“Can I look?”

He rolled up the sleeve of her robe to examine the bite on her arm. He didn’t even raise an eyebrow as he ran his finger over her teeth marks. It wasn’t deep and the bleeding had stopped but her skin was crusted in dried and jellied blood. He sat her on the edge of the bathtub and knelt between her legs as he took a wet cloth to her arm.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What is it?” She’d forgotten to ask for his name.

“Did it taste good?”

Rosemary. The way her skin prickled under his touch. She felt like she could meld into him. There flesh would stick together until they were one. Because they were one, one in the same. He didn’t smell like food.

“Yes.” It did. She knew it shouldn’t have but it did. It tasted so fucking good. It didn’t matter that she through up most of it. That she sobbed as she ate. She wanted to consume and be consumed. Devour until her jaw broke and crumbled.

He held her arm delicately, locking eyes with her. She gave him a nod.

He licked her wound, gathering up any remaining blood on his tongue. She felt his teeth scrape against her flesh. She blinked and he had stood up, digging through the medicine cabinet.

“I always thought I was alone,” she said. “Didn’t think there was anyone like me.”

“You’re not alone. Not anymore.” He finished wrapping the bandage around her arm.

‘What about mask?’ she thought.

Pray for Price's heart rate. He needs it.

Tag list: @gogh-with-the-flow @queen-ilmaree

Comment or DM me if you want to be added

#Carnal #simon ghost riley x oc #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #ghostsoap #modern warfare II #modern warfare #call of duty fanfic #call of duty #john soap mactavish #John soap mactavish x oc #captain john price

24 notes · View notes

cococowboah · 6 months

Text

God this rewrite has become, I don't even know.

We went from a scene that looked like this:

Looking over at the man in the passenger’s seat, I saw a puzzle with a missing piece. Paul had lost a little bit of himself back there, and he wasn't getting it back.

“You know if you need to talk-”

“I don't want to talk, Alan,” it was his usual interruption, but in a somber tone, sad and bleak.

I wanted to cheer him up, but that was always his job, his duty. He was the older one, my rock, the kindhearted and sometimes brainless older brother who believed in me and knew I could do anything.

To this:

"You're as sweet as strawberry wine." He sang to me gently, sent shivers up my spine. He was singing to me, drunkenly, slurring the words and laughing at every fuck up. If I could have felt my face I was sure the lines around my mouth would have been aching from the near permanent smile they had been holding up.

He was gorgeous. Straight or not I couldn't doubt it. It was no wonder he had no issues with finding partners to bring to bed, had I not grown up with him I was sure even I would be tempted to know what the skin under his yellow Beer Mom V-neck looked like.

But I already knew that. I knew his body better than anyone in this bar ever could. I knew about the scar on his inner thigh from a bicycle accident we had both been in at 14 years old, I knew about the perfectly round mole that laid right in the center of his back, just below his raven and dove tattoo. I knew about the marks that hadn't been permanent, welts and bruises from playing paintball together, scratches and cuts from all the stupid stunts he convinced me to let him do, blood on his cheek, dirt on his palms. Tears in his eyes when he confessed his attraction for men, the smile of relief when I told him I didn't care.

We swayed continuously, the song seemed to last forever. I felt stuck in the rhythm, cursed to keep dancing, although maybe it was actually a blessing.

I let my drunken state take over, I leaned my head down on his shoulder and shivered as he continued to sing, the vibrations of his voice and the sigh of his breath caressing my neck with a warm, wet heat.

It's literally becoming a totally different story. Evolving before my very eyes, doing everything in its power to leave behind the cocoon that came before it, emerging into a butterfly that I can only hope will be as beautiful as I want it to be.

#writers on tumblr #writing #writerscommunity #writers and poets #writeblr #reading #lgbt #lgbt fiction

3 notes · View notes

jzbnee · 10 days

Note

omg jezebunny hiiiii~ <3 i like ur new sideblog its very nice

i would like to know more about gone girl stephcentric and brujay vampire au please <3

omg ; v; bean!!! ty for hitting me up 🥺

gone girl stephcentric is a kind of ancient wip but one i had a lot of crazy ideas for??? i believe it was going to be kind of steph with a robin harem sort of?

bruce activated his protocol to pull all of the Standard Robins out of play by framing them in a human trafficking ring crime & getting the authorities to bring all of them in at once. Steph goes to ground/fakes her own abduction (with the implication that she might have been one of the women abducted in the ring) and is trying to figure shit out, while babs + cass + duke are also trying to figure shit out together... this fic features a lot of tv/interview clips alternating with prose!

brujay vampire au was actually backstory for an rp that got a little out of control... i think the rp is dead but i was playing jason and had a very elaborate mental image for what was going on with them. it was going to kind of highlight how they were both different from their canon counterparts while emphasizing bruce's unique fondness for/obsession with jason. kind of lost steam for it when the rp died (the plot of that was that dick & tim & jason were conspiring to kill bruce together which was v funny to me)

putting excerpts of both under a readmore!

gone girl stephcentric

Barbara turned to Cassandra and Duke. Cassandra’s body was stiff, ready for a fight any second. Duke

“If I’d gotten to their places right after, then-”

Raising her hand, Barbara cut Duke off. He shouldn’t be blaming himself. This had come totally out of left field and the ball smelled fishy, too.

“None of us were expecting this. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Steph?” Cass asked, hands flexing at her sides. Yeah. Barbara was feeling helpless, too. Not for long, though. She’d figure this out.

“No word yet.”

“You checked the cams at her place, right?”

“Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m the reason those cams are there in the first place.”

“Sorry, guess I’m nervous,” Duke rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Me too.”

“Well,” said Barbara. “I’m sending one of my contacts over to Steph’s place now. I don’t know where she is, but she wouldn’t vanish like this without a good reason.”

“...Bruce?” Frowning, Cass looked at the screen, then at the communicator she’d brought along. This room had controlled frequencies, but it would let in contact if it came from an approved channel. Bruce hadn’t messaged any of them.

“Compromised. We’re flying blind on this one. I want us to maintain normal behavior in civilian mode for now. I’ll set up a new meeting location, one Bruce doesn’t know about. We’ll meet again in eight hours. If you want to do solo investigation, that’s fine, but stay away from their apartments in daylight.”

“Got it,” said Duke. Cass nodded, though there was a shift to her mouth that indicated she’d disobey in a heartbeat if she thought she could find something. Barbara understood that impulse, and maybe she would find something. Better to let it go for now.

brujay vampires

"Here we are again," Bruce mused. He crossed one leg over the other. The tiger's teeth were brushing Jason's face. Each inhale and exhale moved his hair. "Sire and childe, reunited."

"Yeah," Jason said lamely. Bruce's arm went over his shoulder. Despite himself, he listed to the side, into Bruce's steady presence. Remembered when he'd been small and Bruce had been everything to him-- protector, father, mentor, sire.

Bruce's thumb brushed his shoulder. Jason sighed, body relaxing in increments.

"I missed this," Bruce continued. "Missed you, Jason. It hasn't been the same without you."

"...Missed you, too," Jason allowed. The tiger's mouth was closing around him. And to entertain whom? No one else was here. Still, he could picture the clapping and cheering from the audience as he risked his life for their measly entrance fees. Others called for the clowns to come back out.

Jason hated clowns. This was at least better than clowns.

"But I wonder..." And there it was. The trailing off, the deliberate shrug. The sigh.

Jason's body tensed as if bitten, and Bruce's fingers dug into his shoulder, tight and hard.

"What." Jason's voice was tighter. Hoarse, already."I wonder why my precious little boy, when he found himself alive, didn't come find his sire. Why he wandered for years. Why he let someone else turn him the second time.”

#ask game

1 note · View note

kentolove · 2 years

Text

Earlier today i was haunted w thoughts of boring office worker Tsukishima who has a small (huge) crush on one of his coworkers....

1.4k words

potential content warnings: there’s a portion in which reader feels v sad, but its all good since Tsukishima reassures them!

Tsukishima is a confident guy.

He prides himself in his strong character, one that is often praised by onlookers. Applauds and remarks of his nature are regarded as his best asset, and he believes them to be his best trait as well.

However, his persona crumbles the first day he sees you in the office; pink pencil skirt and a pearl white blouse to complement you.

My God is the first thing that he thinks, along with the fact that you are the most beautiful person he has ever seen. You strut the office with an unusual amount of confidence, considering the fact that you are the newest addition to the office. Your head is held high, heels clattering the floor with a sound that echoes and rings throughout his ears.

“You like the newbie, Tsukishima?” His coworker and work husband, Koganegawa, interrogates.

A wave of defensiveness overcomes him.

“What? I was just looking at her.”

“For much longer than necessary,” a loud, rumbling chuckle escapes his friend’s chest, “it’s fine, anyways. She’s cute.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes and walks away from him. He has better shit to do than to sit down and listen to his friend endlessly interrogate him.

His plain work desk is calling for his name. Maybe he could sneak to the back and smoke a cigarette? Or maybe he could play one of those stupid mobile games he has downloaded on his phone? Or he could--

“Excuse me?” A voice lulls him from his previous daydream. “I’m sorry to bother you, but it's my first day here and I can't figure out how to use that godforsaken printer.”

An angel stands before him. The angel in the pink pencil skirt and the white blouse. You look so much prettier up close, he thinks, and maybe that's why he's being so overdramatic.

“Me?”

He’s aware he sounds foolish.

You laugh. It's short and cute, and he feels as if he's under a spell.

“Yes, you, blondie. Who else would I be talking to?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Don’t call me blondie,” he gets up from his seat. “Follow me. I’ll show you how.”

Tsukishima likes to think you’re friends.

You get drinks after work, you spend all your lunch breaks together, and you sometimes come over to his small apartment to visit him. You drink and talk the hours away, and Tsukishima has never felt so close to someone since his high school best friend.

He feels as if he could tell you everything, so he does. From the big milestones in his life, to the cute dog he saw on his way home, he tells it all to you.

He thinks it might be love. What else could it be? The burning desire to share every part of yourself -- the ugly and the good -- to someone close to you. To hold someone so close, it feels as if your mind and body have become one. He wants to love you. To admire you and praise you like no one has ever done before.

Maybe one day he’ll be able to share his dreams with you.

One day, he thinks.

You’ve drank far too much.

Going out with your coworkers in the middle of the week is never a good idea. You know it, Tsukishima knows it, and everyone else knows it.

But sometimes there’s a part of you that wants to live out your youth before your job takes it away from you. And in order to do that, You decide to get drunk on a Wednesday afternoon.

It’s never a good idea, unless you have Tsukishima around.

He calls a taxi for you, and he gets in the car that is far too small for his huge stature, just to make sure that you get home safe. He lets you rest your head on his shoulder, and he doesn’t complain even when you spend the whole night talking his ear off.

“Kei,” you whisper, leaning up to his ear. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Humor me.”

His hand moves to the side of your head to force you back onto his shoulder. Your body must be sore and he knows that you always complain about neck pains, so he takes it up to himself to take care of you.

“That first day, when we met... I lied to you.”

“How?”

“About the printer... I knew how to use a printer. Who doesn’t know how to use a printer? You’re kind of stupid for believing that I didn’t know how to use a printer.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Am I?” He’s egging you on, he knows, but he can’t help himself. Not when you have that dreamy smile on your face, and your eyes are closed as if you’re in some type of wonderland.

“Mhmm... I thought you were so cute. I wanted to talk to you but I didn’t know how.”

He tenses. You were just as interested in him as he was in you?

“You looked so mean. I thought you’d tell me to go away after I talked to you,” you move your head slightly so you can look him in his eyes. One of your fingers traces the shape of his lips. “You’re still so cute.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I know,” your finger is still tracing the features on his face, all the ones you’ve grown to love. “I really want to kiss you right now... Can I?”

He sighs. He takes your hand and brings it to his face. He places a small kiss on your palm.

“I won’t kiss you when you’re drunk.”

You whine. “Why? I like you so much...”

“I like you too, baby. But not when you’re drunk.”

You place your head back on his chest and wail. He grabs your chin and forces you to look up at him.

“Stop whining,” a small kiss is placed on your forehead. “That enough for you, crybaby?”

You smile, and it’s like lightning. Bright, shocking, blinding.

You love everything about Tsukishima.

His personality, his mind, and even his tiny little closet-size apartment.

You spend more time in it that you do your own, but that’s only because he makes a home in everything. The space is so utterly him -- littered with vinyl's all over the shelves and a small little cat he calls Graybee.

He makes it known that he wants you in his space. The small home he made for himself is not full unless you’re in it. He’s told you this numerous times, yet sometimes it’s hard to grasp.

But on days like these, where he spends his whole day loving you, it’s easier to understand.

You’ve been down for the past few days. You can’t describe why you feel this way, for everything is fine. Rent is paid, you have food to eat, and your health is fine. You feel as if there is no “real” reason as to why your spirits are so low.

He noticed. He noticed that you drag your feet whenever you walk, and that your eyes have a dark cloud inside them. He noticed, so he called out of work, all in the name of taking care of you.

“Kei,” you call for his name. He’s in the kitchen, making some type of soup. He told you that its meant to raise your appetite, but the pungent scent of the soup is poisonous.

“I told you not to come into the kitchen until I finish this,” he scolds, moving away from the stove to greet you. His hello comes in the form of an endearing flick to your forehead.

“Are you trying to kill me?” You ignore his antics and move over to the pot, staring at the meal he’s prepared for you.

The ladle finds purchase in your hand, and you use it to get a taste of the soup.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, but it’s hot,” you groan and touch your lips in slight pain.

“You took a sip while it was still cooking,” he stares at you, dumbfounded.

“Kiss it better?”

He rolls his eyes.

A chaste kiss is soon placed on your lips. It’s short, but it’s temporary and it quells the small burn. You love his kisses more than anything.

“Go back to the bed and rest, baby. Don’t move or you’ll piss me off,” he says, taking your head in his palms. He holds you and stares. He does this often -- moments where all he wants is to bask in you and your beauty.

A kiss is placed on your forehead.

“I love you. Now go.”

He pushes you off him.

#mine #tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima headcanons #tsukishina drabbles #tsukishima imagines #tsukishima scenarios #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu scenarios

768 notes · View notes

wheelsup · 3 years

Note

okay but can you imagine spencer washing your hair for you?

like, i never (ever) let anyone (at all) touch my hair, but i feel like he'd be really gentle about it, and there is just something so soft and tender to me about the idea of washing someone's hair for them 🥺

that’s my dream <3 ik you didnt specifically ask for a blurb but i think about this very often. i wrote two versions of this, but this one (with two bickering best friends who are v much in love) won my heart.

wc: 1.6k contains: friends (to crushes, maybe ;) ), injured reader. gn!reader

“Spence, I promise you that I can do it by myself,” you huffed, attempting to yank off your tank top as you walked toward the hotel bathroom, using only one arm while trying to keep the other as still as possible.

“I’d be more inclined to believe you if you didn’t sound like you were going to cry,” he snickered, following hot on your trail as you tried to escape his hovering.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Oh really? Lift your arm up, then.” He leaned his hip against the marble counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for you to do it. One obnoxiously smug eyebrow arched on his forehead.

Sometime during the case, you’d gotten into a brief tousle with a suspect, who just had to run away when approached. If Morgan had been there, you wouldn’t have even batted a lash, but he wasn’t. So not only had you detained him by yourself, you also wound up with a minor pulled muscle in your shoulder.

You shot him a sarcastic smile, toothless and irritated, and raised your right arm into the air. He let out an airy scoff.

“Other one, smart ass.”

Your arm dropped down to your side, your smile falling with it as you turned sharply towards the shower.

“Look, I’m disgusting right now. So either I suck it up and shower, or you’re going to smell me until the day we solve this case.”

Spencer’s nose crinkled at the gross truth. He wasn’t ungentlemanly enough to tell you, but sharing a bed with a coworker was quite a quick way to discover if they were in need of a shower or not. Your shoulder might be out of service, but both of you could agree that hygiene was a bigger priority.

“You can’t even move. Just… just let me help you.”

You snorted. “Nice try, Reid. I’m not letting you shower with me.”

He rolled his eyes at your use of his last name. You only called him that when you were annoyed with him. He pushed off the counter and turned to the wall, hitting the light switch and earning a shriek from you as the room suddenly went dark.

“I won’t look,” he shrugged, amusing no one but himself.

“You’re a clown, you know that?” you muttered under your breath, drawing back the shower curtain and fumbling around, searching for the knobs in pitch black. “Absolutely fucking theatrical.”

You found them moments later and ran the water, testing the temperature on the back of your hand. By the time it went from cold to warm, you noticed that he still hadn’t moved. From the sliver of light peeking under the door, you could make out just his silhouette in the corner, perched on the vanity.

He was being stubborn about this. That, and the comforting fact that you couldn’t see a single thing –�� thankfully, not even his face –– wore you down.

“Close your eyes,” you murmured.

“It’s already pitch black in here ––”

“Close your eyes, Reid.”

Sighing through his nose, he did just that. To make sure you knew it, and also maybe just to be annoying, he made a show of getting off the counter and turning himself around to face the wall. You peeled out of your clothes as quickly as you could. In the process, you caught the long shower curtain under the heel of your foot and, as you stumbled over it, accidentally dragged it along, sending the metal curtain hooks screeching as they slid along the bar.

The second you found your ground, you immediately shot daggers into the back of Spencer’s head, waiting for him to make a joke. As if he could feel them, he bit back his quip. Not without letting a barely contained cackle slip under his breath.

“Okay,” you warned, stepping into the shower. Grabbing the end of the shower curtain, you pulled it tightly over your body to cover yourself as you poked your chin out to talk to him. “I’m in.”

Spencer turned and approached the shower, eyes still shut with his hands out in front of him, feeling the walls for guidance. He was still mocking you for making him close his eyes. You raised your brows; he must’ve thought he was quite funny.

“You look like Velma when she loses her glasses.”

That knocked the funny bone right out of him. His hands dropped to his sides.

“Just get your hair wet and hand me the shampoo.”

You drew the curtain shut again as you dipped your head under the shower stream, coming back moments later with sopping wet hair and a little bottle of complimentary hotel shampoo.

He let you sit on the floor of the bathtub, just slightly removed from the spray of the water. Your back was to him, as he kneeled down on the tile floor, just outside of the bathtub so he didn’t have to get wet. You bent your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them.

Spencer first pushed up the sleeves of his sweater as far as he could before deciding to remove it altogether for the sake of protecting the wool against stray water. The cuffs of his work shirt were unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows as he got to work.

Taking a healthy quarter-sized amount of shampoo into his palm, he lathered it between his hands before running soapy fingers through your scalp. The pads of his fingertips softly dug in as he carefully massaged the shampoo in.

When he started working his fingers in patterns, putting pressure near your temples and increasing it as he dragged them up the curve of your scalp, you let your eyes close. He was getting rid of a headache you didn’t even realize you had.

The tension you’d been carrying in your shoulders eased a little, and it made him think about how much you probably needed this. One of his hands came down to massage the muscle between your neck and your good shoulder, knowing it was best to just let the hot water do its magic on the bad one.

When the shampoo had been sufficiently lathered, he stood up and detached the shower head, bringing it down to you so you didn’t have to move. You leaned your head back for him as he carefully rinsed the soap out.

You weren’t going to ask, but thank God Spencer told you to hand him the conditioner next. This, he slathered all over the ends of your hair, making sure all of it was sufficiently covered in conditioner before loosely twisting it into a low, makeshift pony for you.

“Mm. I was about to ask how you’re so good at haircare,” you chuckled lowly to yourself, in a half-sleepy voice with your forehead resting on your knees. Dangerously close to falling asleep. “Then I remembered what you used to look like.”

You had a lazy smile on your face just thinking about the days where Spencer’s hair used to be down to his shoulders. He looked so pretty like that (not that he didn’t look pretty now, too), you always wondered why he got rid of it.

“Remember when I got shot in the knee?” he hummed, returning to work your shoulder. He adorned a tiny smile of his own as he started to reminisce. “You came by my house at least once a week. Brought me meals, watched movies with me. Helped distract me from the pain. Even drove me to my physical therapy appointments.”

You mm-hmm’d that you remembered.

“You pretty much did everything shy of helping me bathe. Though, I feel like you would’ve helped with that, too, if I asked.”

You both laughed at that. You hadn’t really noticed the parallels of your situation, being injured and needing his help for once. He was happy to repay the favor.

“I’ll, uh. Let you wash your body yourself,” he said, coming out of his daydream for a moment. He rinsed his hands off and got up, patting down his wet hands on his trousers. With one nod from you to confirm that you’d be able to do it, he quickly exited the bathroom to give you privacy.

You emerged seventeen minutes later, clad in pajamas with towel-dried hair. Spencer was still awake as you crawled onto the bed beside him, more than ready for bed after that. He looked to the side to ask you how the rest of your shower was, and before he could get it out, you shuffled up next to him, winding one arm around his and resting your head on his chest.

“I take it you had a good shower?” he laughed. This was one of his “I told you so” moments, and for once, you didn’t mind it.

“Mhm,” you smiled, chuckling behind it as you shut your eyes. You were falling asleep fast. “Spence, the scalp massage…”

“Was good, right?” he boasted, inflating his own ego a bit.

You nodded against his shoulder, not caring if you helped blow up his ego another two sizes. Burrowing deeper into the covers, nestling tighter against Spencer, you got one more quip in before falling asleep. “S’good that I think I have a crush on you now.”

Joke or not, he pulled the blanket higher until it reached your chin, holding you with both arms and kissing the top of your head before falling asleep himself.

thank you for being on my taglist!

if you’d like to join, the link is at the top of my masterlist

@ellesgreenaway @suburban–gothic @mercy-burning @reidspurple @mediocre-writer @honeyboysteezy @andreasworlsboring101 @calm-and-doctor @drayshadow @reidgifs @you-sunshine @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @altsvu @reidtheprettyboy @goose-eats-god @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @muffin-cup @amoeebaa @reidingmelodies @reidyoulikeabook @anaagraceeberr @spencerreid9 @luvofyourlifeliv @averyhotchner @spencerreidat3am @paw71211 @princesssmooshie @gubeskneescrew @gourdboy @reid-me-a-story @reidabookforonce @willowrose99 @singularityjc @spencerreid9 @miahelen @alltooreid @meganskane @multixfandomwriter @coldlilheart @lunajoyce3 @boldlyvoid @destiny-tsukino @ahhahahhh @spencers-dria @cocomoo1 @spenxerslut @thehuntresswolf @ssa-natalya-reid @the-chaotic-cow @kuolonsyoja @queenofthepouges @gublersss @username2002 @msspencerreid @itwouldburnupintheatmosphere @oeuryale @big-galaxy-chaos @reidsacademia @idonotexiste @rem-ariiana @spencerreidscumwhore @spaceapplehead @newgirlinhell @noellestrash @jswessie187 @reidaissance @violetclifford @fruitoftheweek @mystical-and-modern-marauder @ilovespencerreidmarryme @mlqcool @opheli-yeah @lytrc @youabitchhhh @spencerscumrag @dinonuggets1967 @flowerchildprotectiveservices @annalayton19 @mrsobrien888 @toast-on-t0ast @xoxospencerreid @motionlessgirl12 @bloodyxheaven @my-thoughts-are-weird @rexorangecouny @nani-2305 @measure-in-pain @donald4spiderman @mrs-dr-reid @manuosorioh @sapphic-prentiss @reid-me-a-story @reblogsoffanfics @winifrede @peoniarose @takeyourleap-of-faith @morks-watermelon @silverhetdanes @luwheezey @cc13723things @starrylang @b00b133 @kidd3ath @seastarapiaries @sergiosbae @mrsobrien888 @jesuisbenny @cocomoo1 @youabitchhhh @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @silverhetdanes @onlyhereforthefanfics @shesalatesh @amoeebaa @happymangospot @mugi-chwan @peayoursoftie @reidsadriana @death-becomes-her @nyx2021 @subbyspencereid @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @nomajdetective

new tags not working: @chelsea-the-enchanted @craybae1116 @writingintheroses (rose i know u changed ur url but atm i have NO idea to what lol)

plus: @pissbit @redevil590 @kaz-2y567 @datsimplol @reid-to-me @rem-ariiana @thegirlinthedresscriedalltheway @jaddi-e @just_arandomwriter @spencerswildestdreams1 @sskylarpaige26 @zbgubler @nyasiablack1899 @faithsamantha @chrisdylan17 @just_arandomwriter @peterisbetterthanpietro @thegirlinthedresscriedalltheway @jaddi-e @chloehanson

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #criminal minds fic #b a queue

710 notes · View notes