ozimagines

[ozimagines]

@9cbffs literally never considered these two until I read the tags on your reblog. Now I kinda want to try my hand at writing it. Let me know if I did ok for my first time.

Ryan O’Reily x Alonzo Torquemada

Falling In Love Again

The new fag was an absolute mystery to Ryan. Couldn’t get a read on the guy’s sexuality or gender, much less his intentions in Oz. He pretty much let everything roll off his back, and yet still somehow got revenge in the most intense ways possible. From calmly verbally emasculating Winthrop at lunch, to getting Zanghi’s girlfriend to leave him, to a now well known Oz rumor that he’d been responsible for Kenaniah losing half his pinky finger in the soup at lunch, Torquemada always got his way, and no one seemed to be able to read his next move enough to stop him. Even now, as he was sitting and watching Sallycize intently, with a haunting smile on his face in a gaudy and feminine suit, no one could tell whether or not he was attracted to the blonde or to her many backup men. Possibly both, if Beecher’s guess held any weight.

It really irked Ryan, who normally could read anyone’s true intentions, that the man threw up static in all directions. Ryan couldn’t figure out what the next move was, so he certainly couldn’t figure out how to capitalize on it. He heard humming behind him.

“Hmmm hmm hmmmm… never wanted to… hmmm hmmm hmmmmm… can’t help it.”

“Now,” Bob’s ears perked up and he turned over his shoulder to Torquemada, the owner of the hums. “That’s a song I haven’t heard in a long time.”

“Happy to recall the memory for you, abuelito.” Torquemada responded, a coy smile playing around his lips.

“What song?” Asked Poet, unable to keep to his own business in any capacity.

“Falling in Love Again. Marlene Dietrich sung it in-“

“The Blue Angel.” Alonzo finished, gazing at Bob appreciatively. Some of the other fucks in Oz were real philistines.

“Now how does someone as young as yourself happen on that movie?” Bob asked, ignoring those who told him to shut up as the balloon breasted former children’s star started crab walking.

“A pretty young thing of indeterminant yet powerful sexuality breaks the hearts of many and reduces men to clowns as she cycles through a great many scintillating and provocative outfit?” Alonzo replied, grinning impishly. “Darling, how could I not?”

Bob half rolled his eyes but was still smiling good naturedly. Ryan was bored and half interested in the discussion.

“Who’s Marlene Dietrich? Is she hot?” He asked over his shoulder. Now Bob really did roll his eyes. Ryan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up so he looked over his shoulder to reveal Alonzo, staring him down, eyes as impassive and mysterious as ever.

“Devastatingly.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “She’s a nightclub singer. Turns all the little boys’ heads. Lola Lola. A local professor goes to give her a piece of his mind for corrupting the youth.”

Alonzo leaned impossibly further in, smiling now like a jungle cat leering over its prey.

“He sees her up on her stage and falls madly in love with her.” He shrugged a second after. “Or, at least, the idea of her.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

Bob took the reins.

“She never disguises the kind of person she is. She’s always honest. But he gets in his head that she’s someone she’s not, he just has to save her.” He nodded at Alonzo. “He’s reduced to a clown.”

“And that’s the song she sings in the movie?” Ryan asked, not sure what the last part meant.

“Three times.” Bob clarified.

Alonzo licked his teeth and let his head roll back.

“Falling in love again / Never wanted to / What am I to do? / Can’t help it / Love’s always been my game /Play it how I may / I was made that way / Can’t help it / Men cluster to me / Like moths around a flame / And when their wings burn / I know I’m not to blame / Falling in love again / Never wanted to / What am I do do? / Can’t help it.” He sang low and teasing, but his voice having an anything but playful bite.

Fuck, Ryan’s dick twitched in his pants. He shifted in his seat and looked away, Alonzo not breaking eye contact even once Ryan averted his gaze.

“Guys’ll do anything for pussy, I guess.”

“Oh, I disagree.” Alonzo contradicted, and at Ryan’s raised brow, he clarified. “Not with the literal interpretation of your words, but the essence of them. It’s not pussy that drives men crazy. It’s the game.”

“The pussy game?” He asked incredulously. Alonzo broke a small smile.

“The love game.” Most of the other men have gone back to watching the television with their headphones on. Bob bowed out of the conversation as soon as it had gotten weird. All that seemed to exist was Alonzo and Ryan. “The wondering if you can get this person, completely unattached to you in anyway, to live for your existence. The external validation of yourself; just one person to believe that you’re worth it.”

Ryan swallowed thickly. He tried to move his eyes away but he found he couldn’t. He remembered learning about that in school; about how cobras trapped birds in their gaze, the more feeble animal not being able to look away to save itself. It was as if Alonzo could read his mind.

“You can look away, cupcake.” He popped the K sound mockingly. Ryan bared his teeth.

“Watch your mouth, gay-lord.”

Alonzo oooooohed softly and touched his breast.

“Ouch, sparky, that one hurt.” He grinned and looked Ryan up and down. “Why don’t you come over here and kiss it better?”

Ryan hopped to his feet and sulked away. Any other queer and he’d have thrown a shot. He still didn’t know how dangerous this Torquemada jag really was. He stalked down the Em City halls, looking for something to let his aggression out on. He slammed the door to his and Cyril’s pod, startling the man in the process. He held up his hands.

“Sorry, Cyril, just having a shit day.”

“Sounds like it.” Cyril had his sock on his hand, flapping the ‘mouth’ as if he was talking to it. Ryan smirked. Cyril was so innocent, yet so perceptive. Bingo. Ryan thought of something.

“Hey, Cyril, maybe you’d like a little job.”

“Sure, Ryan.” He turned to his big brother, eyes a wonder. Ryan sat down in front of him.

“You know the new fag leader? Torquemada?”

“The blond guy with the white eye?” Cyril asked, and Ryan nodded, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I need you to find out some stuff on him. Pretend like you’re playing detective.” He looked at the common area. “Follow him for a day or so and let me know what you find. I need to know an angle on this prick.”

“What do you want me to find?” Cyril asked excitedly, already slipping into the role of Detective Cyril. Ryan smiled and made his brother lean in.

“Any vulnerability the fucker has.”

Cyril thought.

“Can you give me a present if I do?”

“Sure, man, what do you want?”

“Button Bear.” Cyril answered, resolutely. Ryan raised a brow and Cyril elaborated. “It’s a puppet. It’s a little brown bear in suspenders with-“

“Buttons, yeah, Cyril, I got it. You find anything I can take this fuck down with, and Button Bear is all yours, pal.”

Cyril’s eyes lit up and he rushed out of the pod, down the stairs to do some detective work.

Ryan didn’t see Cyril for the rest of the day. It freaked him out half way in, and when it got to be count, he was all but shitting himself. Cyril, however, sauntered up with a big smile on his face, and a small, knowing nod in Ryan’s direction. Ryan heaved a sigh of relief.

They entered the pod together, and Ryan ran to embrace his brother.

“God, Cyril, I’m so glad you’re ok.”

“Why?” Cyril asked innocently.

“I thought… nevermind. Did you find anything?”

“I think so.”

Ryan sat him down on the bottom bunk and leaned in.

“What happened?”

Cyril looked at Ryan but said nothing. Ryan rolled his eyes.

“What happened, detective?”

Cyril smiled and went on.

“Well, he was talking to Fiona for a real long time. Blah blah Destiny blah blah dagos. Then, he talked to Tony about eyeshadow. Something about a smoky eye but it just looks like when you punch someone real hard.” Cyril droned but Ryan made a face that said ‘continue, and quick’. Cyril got serious and lowered his voice. “Then, he took a phone call. I was behind him, pretending to talk to Aunt Brenda.”

He raised his hand like a phone and pretended to be talking to show off his skill. Ryan sighed.

“Go on, Cyril.”

“Well, he called some guy named Luis.” His face fell. “It didn’t sound too good.”

“What happened, Cyril? Was it a drug set up? A hit? A new prisoner?”

Cyril paused. Ryan furrowed his brow and made a gesture for his brother to continue.

“No.” Cyril reminisced thoughtfully. “I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget.”

He gave Ryan the notepad, and turned over to go to bed. Ryan got off the bottom bunk and moved to his bed, reading the notes Cyril made in his scrawling writing.

Hola, Luis, baby, how have you… no, I know you said not to call… I know… Jesus, Luis, you act like we never had any good times… I know… Luis please don’t… hello? Hello?

Ryan stared off into nothing that night, mind racing at how he could use this to his advantage.

The next day, Alonzo was surrounded by his army of shes, gays, and theys. He was wearing a mesh top with a little flower crown and velvet pants. He saw Ryan coming his way. Something about straighter than straight boys gave off a certain scent to him. Must have, because why out of all the gays in Oz did Alonzo have to poke the straight guys who wouldn’t suck a cock if it would save their life. He grinned at Ryan, blowing a kiss at him as he walked by. Ryan, uncharacteristically, went to let it go. It was what Torquemada did next that was the straw to break the camel’s back. Ryan was nearly past him, when he heard that same familiar humming.

“Falling in love again… never wanted to… what am I to do… can’t help it…” Alonzo pursed his lips at O’Reily, who walked past, stopped on a dime, and turned back.

“Fuck off, Luis.”

The smile disappeared from Alonzo’s face, replaced with subtle shock and then even subtler anger.

“What?” He asked, coldly, venomously. Ryan smirked, turning back to meet Alonzo nose to nose.

“Shit, sorry, Alonzo. Guess I forgot your name there for a sec.”

The threat wasn’t at all wasted on him. It was too pointed to be an accident. Torquemada’s chest swelled angrily, and for once Ryan actually could read what the man was feeling. Rage. Yeah, this was better. More familiar.

Alonzo and Ryan were nose to nose for a solid minute, but Ryan knew the other man would back down first. Alonzo wasn’t like the other men in Oz. He was much more like Ryan, at least when Ryan wasn’t scrapping and used his manipulation to take others down. To Ryan’s surprise, Alonzo smirked, and turned away, gesturing for his men to follow.

Ryan was grinning ear to ear with that stupid fucking shit eating smile. He’d finally got one on the man. He walked around with a shit don’t stink air the rest of the day. He stalked down every hall like his balls were made of brass and they rang when he walked.

He was walking down the hallway, back from the library, when it happened. He smelled Alonzo before he saw him. He always wore this sickly sweet perfume that smelled of light florals and whipped cream. He turned his head to Alonzo, but for the first time since his arrival, not with annoyance or guarded caution, but rather with superiority.

“Hey, Big Al, my man.” He teased, making a side motion with his hands to beckon Alonzo into the closet. Alonzo raised a brow and followed. The Irishman leaned against the wall. “Well?”

Torquemada kept his cool, impassive face.

“Well, you’re the one who asked me in here. Why don’t you tell me what’s ‘well’?”

“Luis.” Ryan said as though he had the whole answer. Something twitched in Alonzo’s face but he didn’t react beyond that. “Wanna tell me who that heartbreaker is?”

“Great question. No.” Alonzo said all in one breath, having too much grace to lean against the wall as Ryan was doing. Ryan expected such a response.

“Want me to start asking the fellas around here who this Luis guy is? Maybe have someone track him down so he can tell me himself?”

Torquemada hitched his breath in, and even though he didn’t react in any other way, Ryan knew he had him by the balls.

“That’s what I thought, Al.” He started to pace. “I think you know that to keep this secret, you have to keep me happy. And to be happy, I need green. You get that through your Destiny shtick. Cut me in and this stays between us.”

Ryan stopped his little villain monologue, and let his words sink in with a quiet and respectful, even if resentfully so, Torquemada. Torquemada waited a second, then chuckled a little in a way that chilled Ryan’s bones.

“Think you’ve got me beat, huh?” He started to pace. “I know how things usually work for you, Ryan. You get a little piece of information and like sand in a swimsuit, you wheedle enough to become more than a mere annoyance. I like that about you. You’re a scrapper. A do what it takes kinda guy.”

Ryan shrugged as if to say ‘fair analysis’, but kept smiling, if only as a facade to how creeped out he was by Alonzo’s calm demeanor. Alonzo’s smile disappeared.

“Let me tell you what kind of a man I am.” He snarled these words. “I’m a consume your life like a flame type guy.”

“Sorry,” Ryan said impishly; “did you say flamer type guy?”

Alonzo chuckled again.

“I know what you all think of me. That because I’m a fruit, I’m easy, right? That I don’t protect what’s mine; that I let others walk all over me.”

“Are you a full fruit? Because there’s a pool going for what piques your interest.” Ryan kept trying to gain control of the conversation but was losing, badly.

“Honey, there isn’t yet a word for what I am.” He let his lips twitch into a sadistic smile. “Ryan, I’m not what you’re used to dealing with. I’m so much more. Now, I don’t mind if we keep posturing to each other, believe me, I find the whole will they kill each other won’t they kill each other thing to be extraordinarily sexy,”

He stopped smiling again, voice going deep and angry. Quiet angry.

“But you will dignify me with the respect I’ve earned,” he added; “in love and war.”

“Love?” Ryan asked the air, hackles raised again. “There’s not a snowball’s chance in Hell we’d ever be in anything more than war.”

“Right,” Torquemada’s demeanor was somewhat playful again, but like how a cat playing with a mouse might be. “I forgot, you’re straighter than straight. A real he-man hetero.”

“You got that right, faggot.” Ryan spat, and Alonzo chuckled, wiping around his eye.

“I suppose you’ve never ever wandered into the caring embrace of another man. That you’ve never fantasized about meeting your match.” He backed Ryan up into the wall, Ryan trying not to be touched. “Finding a man who can keep up with you in every way. I understand you’ve had your little schoolboy crush on Gloria for the past several years now. I also know you never stop until you get what you want. And yet she’s not yours. Makes me think that on some level, you know she’s not for you. She’s sweet and loyal and, if you’re honest with yourself, a little boring.”

Ryan bristled and Alonzo chuckled.

“No, you need someone more your speed. Someone manipulative and cunning. Someone brutal and fierce. I think what you hate the most is that you’re more suited to any of the men in Oz more than your precious Gloria.” He had Ryan against the wall, his voice savage and grating now. It was horrible, being read to filth this way. The worst part about all of it is that it was true. If Ryan wanted Gloria she’d be his, but lately he pulled back on the endeavor. He did need someone as vicious and forceful as he. Someone who was as much a storm as he was. Someone powerful. Fuck, Ryan knew exactly what Alonzo was getting at. He wished he hadn’t poked. “What’s worse; you’re too much of a chicken shit to realize it. Do a little soul searching, you deluded, cowardly, polished little turd, you, and come back to me when you’re ready to stop running from the truth.”

Ryan was red faced but he couldn’t think of something fast enough. All his brain was thinking over and over again were two things; 1) Alonzo was ten times more a danger than he’d ever anticipated, and 2) he was absolutely, drop dead, cataclysmically sexy when he was angry. Oh, it pained Ryan to the very bone -literally- that Alonzo was as beautiful as he was threatening. Ryan’s heart was beating out of his chest, to the point of ringing in his ears. His cheeks burned and his chest was hitching breath after breath. Alonzo looked down his nose at the pathetic mess he’d reduced Ryan to, and went to leave.

“Wait.” Ryan outstretched an arm and caught the edge of Alonzo’s shirt. Even Ryan didn’t know what he meant to say. He just didn’t want the interaction to be over; not yet. He was, it seemed, a glutton for his own punishment. Alonzo stared him down, and Ryan got a good look at his sexy his eyes were, even if one of them was cloudy. He balked, but when Alonzo turned to leave again, Ryan felt himself say; “kiss me.”

Alonzo froze, but it wasn’t long before a sly smile appeared on his face. Ryan was embarrassed to holy hell that he’d made a pass, but nearly felt his heart leap out when he heard Alonzo say;

“You giving me an order?”

“Yes.” Ryan breathed. Alonzo took his time, getting his arms around Ryan’s neck and pressing his stomach into him, letting his lips dance around Ryan’s chin and cheeks.

“Beware of blonde men,” he grinned, pecking Ryan’s cheek. “They’re special, every one. At first you may be unaware but something’s definitely there. A little hanky panky can be fun. But from their clutches you’d better run….”

Ryan could barely take it, whimpering a little every time Alonzo did a near miss on his lips.

“Alonzo…” Ryan whispered, cock going full tilt just saying his new paramour’s name. Alonzo growled and bit Ryan’s lip.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, say my name.” Alonzo plunged his lips to Ryan’s, who all but melted in his former enemy’s touch. He moaned as Alonzo dragged a soft hand across his neck, licking Ryan’s teeth and relishing the taste. Ryan was choking on Alonzo’s tongue, the thumping of their heartbeats colliding into one. Ryan started fiddling with his pants, going for his zipper, when Alonzo’s hand stopped him. Alonzo sucked his teeth and tutted.

“No, not yet.” He nipped at Ryan’s nose. “Not a cheap fuck in a closet running on hormones. It’ll happen, Ryan, and soon. But I want to savor it when it happens.”

He pecked a kiss on Ryan’s lips, and turned away, sashaying out the door. Ryan could barely breathe. He heaved in and out. In and out. Until he reacted in a way that even surprised himself.

He started laughing.

Oh, as much as the great straight part of him was crying out at the inconsistency, he hadn’t felt this alive in ages. Oz had the habit of squeezing the life out of people, but right now Ryan had life coursing through his veins. Alonzo was right; he needed someone more his speed.

Ryan went walking into Em City with the biggest, goofiest smile on his face. His eyes were alight and his face was beaming. He strode past all the dinks living their buttfucking normal lives and felt restored.

That was until he saw his brother.

His brother was playing with something. A new toy. A bear puppet with overalls and little buttons.

Ryan could have puked.

He rushed over to his brother.

“What the fuck is that?!” He asked, already knowing the answer. Cyril looked up and presented his toy.

“Button Bear!” He made the bear dance in the air.

“I didn’t get that for you. Who got that for you?” Ryan swallowed thickly, also having an idea of what this was. Cyril looked a little sheepish.

“He said if I gave you the note, I could have Button Bear and Lacy Lamb.” Cyril gestured to the lacy puppet of a sheep next to the bear. Ryan felt his knees go weak, holding himself up on the chair.

“Oh, fuck.” He felt his soul leave his body, crazily searching for the blonde leader amongst the crowd. When he spotted Alonzo, he made a beeline. Alonzo was standing on the second floor landing, taking with Fiona and Tony. Ryan blew past them both.

“What…?! How…?! I don’t…!” he couldn’t find the right thing to say, mostly because there wasn’t one. Alonzo smiled and motioned for Fiona and Tony to leave him. He raised a brow and shrugged.

“You’ll have to be more specific, pumpkin.”

Ryan was nauseous with anger.

“You had my brother give me that message. You promised him his toy if he gave me information you wanted me to have.” He looked away, hating that he didn’t see this coming. “There’s no Luis, is there?”

“There have been so many of every name, it’s hard to keep track. I’m sure I dated a Luis at one point or another.” He made some gesture with his hands brushing the subject off entirely. “But no, for our purposes here, there’s no Luis.”

“You played me.” Ryan felt the words leave his mouth as if he was watching from someone else’a body. It just sort of happened. Alonzo smirked.

“I knew you wouldn’t make a move until you thought you had the upper hand. I had to see what you were made of just like you sent Cyril to find out of me.” He held his hands up. “Don’t worry. I didn’t hurt Cyril. I promised him you’d be safe, and I’d double what you were giving him to spy on me. He’s a lousy detective but a fine double agent.”

Ryan was fuming. He could have sworn there was actual smoke coming out of his reddening ears. Alonzo leaned forward, voice serious and deadly.

“I told you; I demand the respect I’ve earned. I’m not punching up. You are. If you’re ready to play with the big boys, I’m here, willing, and able. Until then, take your rightful seat at the kiddie table.” He stared Ryan down, now smiling again but not at all in a joking manner. Ryan turned first, knowing the upper hand was still Alonzo’s. He stalked away, hearing over his shoulder;

“Love’s always been my game… play it how I may… I was made that way… can’t help it. Men cluster to me… like moths around a flame… and when their wings burn…” that part was pointed. “I know I’m not to blame. Falling in love again… never wanted to… what am I to do… can’t help it.”

Ryan reached his pod, ears still red, heart still beating out of his chest.

But fuck he still felt so alive.

Ryan sat down in his bed, thinking over the day, he found himself, against all of his instincts, smiling again. He knew he’d met his match. Even at the idea of revenge, his whole body was on fire with life.

Falling in love again. Can’t help it.

[ozimagines]

Can you do an NSFW alphabet for Sean Murphy bitte und danke 💜❤️🖤

Been thinking of this one for a while. Like he’s not overtly sexual but he strikes me as a guy who has a pulse like anyone else. He’s just better at controlling himself than others. So yeah, I dig it, let’s do this shit! Murphy time!

NSFW Alphabet with Sean Murphy

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Caring partner after sex. Gets you cleaned, curled up in a blanket, and places soft kisses on your neck to help you decompress. Even if he doesn’t feel like moving he’ll take care of his partner.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On his partner, he prefers chest/breasts. Likes putting his hands there and feeling your heartbeat. On himself, it’s between his hair and his arms. Knows he’s not the world’s strongest guy but he likes his sturdiness. He also likes his wavy brown hair. Irish man, Italian hair.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Isn’t too much a fan of his own cum. Doesn’t necessarily care to see it on you. That’s fairly ironic though, because he can cum like a fire hydrant under the right circumstances. 😂

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Likes taking it in the ass. Isn’t a “ok I guess I’ll let my partner fuck me for their pleasure” person, genuinely likes anal and being pegged.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Ok experience. People like him. He’s a good guy. People like to throw a good guy a bone. (Lol) but that’s not to say he’s done as much as most of the dinks in Oz.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Spanish sunset, Scorpio, and wedge. Random ones. He’s a Baskin Robins lover; 31 flavors at any given time.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Sarcastic funny. Loves loves loves when his partner laughs and he’s inside them. Drives him absolutely insane.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Carpet absolutely matches the drapes. He’s a what you see is what you get kinda guy.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Is hamhandedly romantic. A clumsy kind of romance like your first love in high school, holding hands and stealing glances.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Prefers to whack off in total silence. Doesn’t always think of a person either, just pleasurable things.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Fingering (giving and receiving), bathtub sex, 69ing. Kinda general but genuinely gets him going. He’s not trying to impress anyone. He likes what he likes.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

The bath and his bed lol. Not even a bed, his bed. He knows all the creaks and lumps that way. He has been coerced into doing it in an alleyway once or twice.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

That look. He’ll regard you, then look again, and see that look. His body reacts immediately. Fuck how he loves that look.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No piss, please. Please, if you’re into that, you’re into that, but please please please leave him out of it. (Your loss, potato boy.)

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Both. Often at the same time. Big 69 guy. Usually does side sixty inning though, as he’s not great at planking.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual most of the time, but he likes fast, his energy is usually just too low for it. Catch him after a nap though and it’ll work out just fine.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Sure, he’ll take a quickie if you’re offering. Who the fuck turns down a clumsy, fumbling quickie? He doesn’t expect it to blow his mind but he’ll take it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Not really a risk taker. Much more of a “tried and true” kinda guy. That said, he is also a big fan of keeping his partner happy so he’ll begrudgingly try something new.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

One long round or two short ones; after that he’s shooting blanks. He thinks he does alright though, if you’re asking his opinion.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Has a dildo of non-negligible size. Would absolutely use a vibrator on his partner. He’s not super adventurous outside of that but will always make room on his nightstand for yours.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Teases without meaning to tease. Reaches past you and presses his chest to your back, and you think he’s making a move, but he’s literally just reaching for something. 😂

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Grunter, you heard it here first. Doesn’t necessarily moan, but you can always hear some small rumblings coming from him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Will absolutely no questions asked never been more sure in my life cook you a post fuck meal. Isn’t the greatest cook, but you been fuckin’ and you want some Mac n’ cheese? Baby, you got Mac n’ cheese.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Yummy dad bod; sturdy and thick. Cock of the same description. Isn’t the longest but is absolutely thick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not really high, but when he’s in the mood, he’s decidedly in the mood. Has a little trouble focusing when he’s aroused.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sleeps on his back like a psycho lol. But that means he can have his partner cozy up to him and put their head on his chest. He’s got a loud, steady heartbeat. Always lulls you to sleep.

[ozimagines]

Just looking for extra creative prompts and a little curious at people’s preferences…

[ozimagines]

I watched the scene again where Cutler leaves everything to Miguel, and wishes there was a scene of them together. I also did a little existentialist reading at naptime for the kids today, so…

Miguel Alvarez and Wolfgang Cutler in…

Chalk

“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow / Creeps in this petty pace from day to day / To the last syllable of recorded time / And all our yesterdays have lighted fools / The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!/ Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player /That struts and frets his hour upon the stage /And then is heard no more. It is a tale /Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury / Signifying nothing.” Wolfgang paused for a second, before saying; “whatever the fuck that means.”

Suzanne smiled kingly but was screaming at him in her head. That’s what Miguel thought, as he watched her go through all the stages of grief before answering. Now, Miguel was no literary sage but even he could understand what was going on. How dumb did Cutler have to be?

“Macbeth is mulling over the purposelessness of life; the futility of the human condition.” She eloquently explained, only to watch Cutler furrow his brow and declare;

“Gay.”

“Um…” she clapped her hands together and looked to Miguel for support, but all he could muster was a genial smile. “Why don’t we take ten?”

Too bad O’Reily’s Mom didn’t do drugs. She coulda used a hit just then.

Miguel snorted at her exasperated expression as she turned around, and excused herself to the ladies’ room. He pulled his book out of the desk and started reading. It was a book recommended to him by Rebadow. The old man didn’t have all the answers, but his taste in literature hardly disappointed. This was a non-fiction suggestion, the first of his that Miguel took. Introduction to Metaphysics by Heidegger. He found himself reading one page and sitting for twenty minutes to figure out what he had just read. It was a translation of the original German.

“Where’s that play lady?” Wolfgang asked brusquely, towering over the seated Miguel. Miguel looked up slowly, not because his instincts were failing him, but because, even though Cutler was a mountain of a man, Miguel didn’t consider him to be a threat. He’d survived worse.

“Suzanne is grabbing her cardigan from her car after she hits the head.” He responded, looking back at his book lazily. He furrowed his brow at a rather twisting paragraph. Cutler noticed the shift and stared. Miguel felt the aryan’s eyes on him and asked; “What?”

“What ‘what’?” You’re the one screwing your face up like you gotta take a hard shit.” Cutler shit back, and Miguel rolled his eyes. He went back to reading, and Cutler leaned his back up to the stage front. Miguel’s brow furrowed again. “Seriously, is that book causing you physical pain? ‘Cause I’d be more than happy to take its place.”

“Anytime, any day, baby.” Was all Miguel said, turning the page of his book. Cutler huffed, but didn’t make a move. Miguel had a reputation for fighting like a cornered animal, and Cutler wasn’t about to lose a chunk of himself in the fight.

“So what’s the book about? Some trashy queer romance novel?” He sneered, but Miguel didn’t react. That’s probably what pissed him off most. How little Miguel reacted.

“Metaphysics, jagoff.”

“Meta-whatsit?”

Miguel sighed.

“Metaphysics. Means beyond the existing.” He hoped Cutler would leave it, or more realistically, make some comment about it being gay and move on. Cutler considered it, but something intrigued him.

“Like God and shit?”

“Like purpose and shit.”

Cutler thought, and Miguel could swear he could hear the wheels of the man’s mind physically turning.

“You mean like that faggy Macbeth nonsense?” He asked almost accusatorially, like Miguel was planted to get him thinking about the play.

“Kinda.” Miguel said, still trying to make heads or tails out of the current concept. “I’m not too far in it though. Mostly working on the fundamental question.”

“Well, Copernicus, what would that be?”

“Why is there something instead of nothing?”

Cutler went to say something, then stopped himself. Miguel was a little shocked at that but kept his reaction minimal to piss off Cutler more. Cutler wasn’t paying attention to this, though, brain a little stuck on the initial question. It seemed simple enough, but he still found himself floundering for an answer.

“Because of God, or evolution, or something.” Wolfgang reasoned, looking away to try and pretend that the question hadn’t gotten to him. Miguel tutted and shook his head.

“That’s the answer to how, not the answer to why.” He underlined something with his pen and thought for a moment. That’s probably was most of his experience with the metaphysical; read for two minutes, think for fifteen. Cutler was caught off guard again by Miguel’s simple honesty.

“So you haven’t gotten the answer yet?” He pretended to be inspecting his dirty fingernails, but his mind was racing. Miguel shook his head, still not looking up.

“Don’t think the book answers it, but just explains different schools of thought and ways of thinking. Right now, though, it’s mostly set up. It just got finished explaining that ‘instead of nothing?’ isn’t superfluous.”

Wolfgang dropped his facade for a second.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, the question could just be ‘why is there something?’, but ‘instead of nothing?’ suggests that there is being and nonbeing, and that nonbeing is as tangible as being. By speaking of nonbeing it becomes being, but and we only understand what is by what isn’t.” He squinted his eyes at the page. Sometimes this logic hurt his head, but he wasn’t about to pussy out and tell Rebadow he couldn’t take it. “That we exist, and don’t take that existence as seriously as we should.”

“How do you mean?” Cutler asked, eyes thinking and searching for an answer in his tiny mind. Miguel debated leaving him hanging but the out loud philosophy was helping him understand it better.

“The book uses a piece of chalk, for example.”

“A piece of chalk?”

“Yeah; we can describe it in so many ways. It’s white, cylindrical, fragile, what have you. But the fascinating part is it exists. Part of the reason it exists is its purpose.”

“A chalk’s purpose?” Cutler was back to acting incredulous even though this was all fucking with his head. “It writes, dumbfuck.”

Miguel gave him a motherly look.

“That’s exactly it though. It writes. That’s its purpose. And even though it exists before its purpose is fulfilled, its purpose is what makes it what it is. Without its purpose, it would be all those physical attributes but be something entirely different.” Miguel looked back at the book and turned another page, underlining something first. “Our purpose, which doesn’t exist until we give ourselves one, defines our existence.”

“Purpose.��� Wolfgang thought absentmindedly. He hadn’t really thought too much on purpose, and that was for good reason. He’d always acted on his first impulses. Always done whatever he wanted in the moment. He considered himself purposeless in that way, only fulfilling the desires as they came and never thinking about the Cutler of the future. He shook off the existential dread. “You got all that from a piece of chalk?”

“Think about you and me.” Miguel thought aloud. “We could have all the same attributes. I could have your house, your money, your size, your face, Hell, even your wife, and my purpose would be totally different from yours, making me someone else entirely. The purpose is what makes something what it is.”

“My life, huh?” Cutler mused, feeling his steps go hazy and his demeanor change. “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow…”

“What?” Miguel asked the air, encouraging him to speak up. Cutler turned red, however and didn’t.

“I gotta go talk with my lawyer.” He put down his paper and started walking towards the guard. Miguel finally looked up.

“We still got a half an hour left of rehearsal.”

“Get my fucking understudy in there, I got shit to do.” He snarled unkindly.

A week later, Cutler was dead. Suicide apparently, but there were rumors in Oz it was his now former Prag. McManus called him in and asked about his relation. Miguel couldn’t think of any reason the man would leave everything to what was essentially a stranger. There was a note in amongst his stuff. Miguel opened it and froze. All it said was;

Chalk

[ozimagines]

Chico x Reader

Anywhere

You’d gotten the job in Em City as Tim’s assistant only a few weeks ago. He’d made a pass at you the first week. You turned him down but kept the job. You’d become fairly well versed with the prisoners, some even being kind, which surprised you and made you a little ashamed of your first instinct that they would all be beyond saving. Some -maybe a little more than some- however had the idea that you were there solely to get them off.

Chico Guerra was one such prisoner, making a pass at you whenever he could.

He didn’t have any falsities in his brain that things might exist between the two of you beyond the little jibes he got in every day. But he couldn’t deny, when his mind was wandering in the late hours of the night, thinking of what could be between himself and his left hand, your face popped in, the idea of walking in on you after a shower, or seeing your cook his favorite meal as he planted kisses down your back. Yeah, a real day with you wouldn’t be so bad at all.

You were walking through Em City, trailing behind Tim and noting what he told you to note. Chico wolf whistled at you, and ignored McManus when he told Chico to mind his own.

“When you get tired of the Irish nerd, let me know. As long as I have a face, you’ll always have a place to sit.”

“Keep it to yourself, Guerra.” Murphy ordered, making a small, insincere move towards his nightstick to show he was serious. Chico raised his hand and.l backed off. You start away, casting an almost apologetic glance his way. He pursed his lips and winked but walked away all the same. You felt a blush betray your better instincts.

So what? He was a bombshell.

Clayton Hughes was someone you worried for inside the walls. He didn’t seem to have an ounce of patience in him and his survival instincts were lacking. Him being still pissed off at the Latinos for Carlo, who was making sure to look Clayton up and down, smiling to himself at the false assuredness Hughes was trying to display. He mimicked Guerra’s actions with you and pursed his lips and winked at Clayton. Clayton felt his face heat up, and Guerra let loose a hearty cackle at the scene. Hughes touched his nightstick, mimicking Murphy, and stepping forward.

“You looking to get your ass handed to you, Guerra.”

“This ass ain’t for you, faggot.” Chico said with malice but still laughed like he’d said something playful. He glanced your way, but the look was a poor choice, as Clayton took note and nodded his head knowingly.

“Oh, I see. Got the hots for McManus’ assistant. I’m sure that’ll work out.”

Chico felt his smile disappear, a grimace replacing it. He should have kept smiling. Clayton knew he hit a nerve, so he kept going.

“No, really. Some people take their dates out to fancy restaurants, you’ll get to take Y/N to the cafeteria. Make sure it’s chicken nugget day, it’s the best swill available for you pigs.” Clayton was smiling now. Carlo was glaring, casting wary glances between you and Clayton. He knew Chico could be a little impulsive when he got hot headed.

“Shut the fuck up n-“ Chico went to say a slur, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. You. You were standing there, looking over the railings of the control deck, watching this whole event unfurl. Chico felt his face go hot and his eyes start to burn. He’d been mostly kissing about making it with you, mostly, but there was an attraction. A draw. You had kind eyes and a sweet smile. Nicer than most of the shit he’d seen in Oz. He didn’t have many nice things, and seeing you everyday was one of them.

Clayton saw him falter and went to strike the final blow.

“Think you’re some Casanova with that goofy eye?”

Carlo winced. If there was ever a way to provoke Chico’s temper, it was to mention his eye.

Chico was seeing red all over. He reached into his belt, and with one final glance your way, took out a blunt hunk of metal he got from an Aryan in the repair shop that he’d filed down to a dull point. He slashed the air around Hughes, who instantly panicked and jumped back.

“Shank!” Murphy yelled, hitting the panic button and calling in the SORT team. Chico figured he had a solid five minutes before he was beaten down, but in those five minutes he’d go down like a man; fighting with every ounce of aggression in his body.

He kept slicing the space in front of Hughes, almost feeling himself laugh at how afraid the motherfucker looked. All he could think of though, was how horrible he must have looked in your eyes. How the insults had made him seem. He didn’t think anything would come from you and he, but the talk about the cafeteria and his eye shattered that little bit of fantasy he had. That little dream at night when he thought of you. That smile when he saw you come in for your shift. Fuck, everything felt like it was melting away. He started stabbing around Clayton, relishing watching him try to dodge Chico’s attacks.

Chico saw the SORT team start to file in. When his gaze was averted, Clayton used the opportunity to slink away. The SORT guys surrounded him, commanding him to drop the shank.

“Fuck you!” He shouted, determined to go down fighting. Suddenly, he sees movement move past the sort and turns around to stab whatever the motion was. He stopped in his tracks when he realized it was you. He pulled his shank back, eyes large and questioning. You put your hands out.

“Chico, give me the shank.” You say calmly. Chico’s brow raised and he looked around at the SORT guys, who stopped moving in and were also looking in with some confusion. “Give me the shank, Chico, please. You have to know this isn’t going to end well for you.”

“F-fuck you.” He repeated but with some hesitancy. You walked forward but he held out the shank. “I’ll fucking cut you.”

“No, you won’t.” You state, resolutely. You take another step forward, and Chico flexed the shank in his hands but didn’t go to slash. So you took another step forward.

“Stay back!” He yelled, but you didn’t listen. You took another step forward. He pulled back the shank so it wouldn’t injure you, but snarled; “I’ll fucking kill you.”

“No, you won’t.” You say again, keeping your stride forward. You put out your hand to take the shank, and he jerked his hand away, but you just smile sadly. You put your hands on his chest, letting one train right over his heartbeat. The other started to slide down his arm, touching the bicep softly and feeling it twitch, keeping your fingers going until you’re down his forearms, reaching for the shank. You’re a few inches away from him, gently prying the shank out of his hand. He didn’t fight you, his eyes not leaving you for a second. All he could think about was your hand oh his chest, that rapid beat of his heart calming down. You take the shank, and drop it to the floor. The SORT team moves forward, but your next move shocked everyone. You put your arm around Chico’s and start walking him away.

“Let’s go up to McManus’ office. We can talk about what to do next.” You keep walking with him, as he sent glances after glance over his shoulder at the team of men and women, all looking confused as hell. He walked with you, feeling your hand squeeze his bicep reassuringly.

You could have knocked Carlo over with a feather.

McManus was just a fazed, going between you and Murphy and Chico, unsure what to do besides follow you up to his office. You take him up the steps, and go to open the door for him. You’ve not stopped smiling.

“Please, sit.”

“The fuck was that?” He asked, before McManus walked in.

“The fuck was that?” McManus asked, and you giggled a little at the repeat.

“Look, I think before we all get ahead of ourselves here, we have to remind ourselves that no one was hurt here. Chico had the opportunity to stab Clayton, but he didn’t. And he didn’t hurt me. So let’s all just figure out what to do next with the reminder that no one was hurt. Okay?”

McManus looked at Chico. Then at you.

“This is insane.” He sat down as Murphy walked in the room, also looking at you both as if you were insane.

You both talk through what to do next. They decided against solitary, as no one had been hurt, and you even talked him down from a week in the hole to reduced gym privileges and docked week’s pay in the hospital. Chico was warned the next time he was found with contraband, it was the hole for a three weeks. Chico walked out with you, considering himself very lucky he didn’t come away with more severe punishments.

It was a day later, and you were walking down the hall when you saw Chico stalking towards you. You greeted him with a smile and continued walking. Chico had other plans. He grabbed your wrist and started pulling you into a supply closet. You start to panic a little bit knew if he didn’t hurt you yesterday, he wouldn’t hurt you now. He slammed the door and turned to you with a snarl.

“What the fuck was that yesterday?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, not appreciating the bite in his tone. He kicked the wall.

“You made me look like a total pussy in front of everyone!”

“I saved your ass and you know it.”

“All the guys saw was a hack coming to my rescue. If I wasn’t hooked up with Hernandez, my ass you’d be grass.” He turned back to you menacingly and hated himself when he saw you flinch. He turned back away and put his hand on the wall.

“Why?” He asked softer, but still pissed.

“I know they wouldn’t risk it if I was next to you.” At his questioning glance you continued. “The SORT guys. I knew they wouldn’t take you down if I was standing next to you. They wouldn’t risk hurting me.”

“How’d you know I wouldn’t take you out.”

“I didn’t, really.”

“Then why the fuck-“

“I couldn’t watch you get beaten up. I couldn’t watch them hurt you. I saw how Clayton was poking you. I don’t think he deserved to be stabbed over it but I know it wasn’t right.” You stepped forward and it was his turn to flinch. “You wouldn’t hurt me. I haven’t done a thing to you.”

“Why couldn’t you watch me get beaten up?” He asked, and at your hesitancy, took a step towards you. You averted your gaze to the floor, and bit your bottom lip. He smiled a little at that. He took another step toward you and placed a hand under your chin, moving your face up to meet his gaze. “Cosita dulce, dime.”

(Sweet thing, tell me.)

“It sucks we met this way.” Was all you could think to say. He smiled to himself, intertwining his fingers with yours and pushing you back into the wall, he loved your hands over your head and held them up. You felt his lips on your neck, hotly pressing kisses into your skin.

“Mi vuelves loco.” He nipped at your neck. “Loco de deseo.”

(You make me crazy. Crazy with desire.)

“Oh, Chico.” You sighed, feeling the large, flat side of his tongue run up the length of your neck, finishing with a kiss on your jawline. You start to feel warning bells and pull away a little. He holds you in his arms, smiling ear to ear in the cocky, self assured way.

“Let me take you out.”

“We can’t go out.”

“If we could, would you go with me?”

You think for a second, then nod. He smiles.

“Then I’ll figure out something.” He kisses you on the lips, passionately and breathily. “Thanks for helping me.”

You can barely hear him over the sound of your heartbeat, but you nod anyway, mumbling something like ‘of course’. He goes to leave before popping a wink at you, going to shut the door behind him to give you a minute. You call after him and he stops.

“I think your eyes are beautiful.” You said, a little sick of your breath at the end. His heart feels so full, puffing out his chest a little and smirking to himself.

You can’t stop smiling the rest of the day. The sweetness of the closet connection had you feeling like a giddy schoolgirl going steady for the first time. Every then you saw him, you couldn’t help blushing and looking away. You realized in those moments, that if you could, you would go on a date with him anywhere, even to the cafeteria.

[ozimagines]

@lovesongforavampyre

NSFW Alphabet with Augustus Hill

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Extremely attentive and not very vain. Usually cums with an intensity and upon looking at your sweet face after, can’t stop himself from cracking a smile, maybe even a chuckle if you catch him in the right mood. Gives a massage or just spoons you close after.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On him, his legs. On you, your eyes. He knows they’re not explicitly sexual answers but he always thought his legs were strong, and that the eyes are the mirrors of the soul.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Really doesn’t mind if you don’t swallow after a BJ. Some guys say that and still do but he really doesn’t take it personally. He’s no fan of the taste himself.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Ok so it’s a secret because Augustus considers it basic but Stranger Play. Like pretending you’re a stranger to him and am just meeting him for the first time.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Enough experience. The right experience. Experience that counts. He knows his way around thank you very much.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Modified missionary, looking at you, and down doggy. Any position where he can use his wheelchair to his advantage. It’s the disability Kama Sutra, look it up.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Serious not in a terrifying way but in a good natured, debonair way. Always seems to be ready for a good laugh after sex tho.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Medium hairy, with short, coarse, curly hair. Keeps himself relatively trim but never shaves bald.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Incredibly romantic and sweet. Lots of breathy kisses, soft affirmations, and sweet nothings. “Keep making that music, baby, don’t stop.”

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Likes to masturbate in front of his partner as they do erotic things for him. Always respectful about asking but something about playing with himself in front of someone does it for him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Bondage, I think, and dom/sub play. Is a firm, but loving dom. Likes the whole ‘sir’ thing in bed, but less as a form of submission and more as a form of respect.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Likes the standard beds and couches. Also genuinely likes doing it in his chair. Considers his chair an extension of himself and treats it as such.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Staring too long. When he finds you staring for a little longer than usual, he feels this small smile creep onto his face and finds himself saying “what?” Even though he knows for damn sure ‘what’.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No drawing blood in bed. Really, really hates it when he ends up hurting you for real. He can slap and choke or whatever you’re into, but once he makes a mark, the guilt creeps in.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

A BEAST at oral. Just demolishes you with his tongue. “Open them legs, sweetie, let me in. I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down.”

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual, but in his devastatingly sure and penetrating (in every sense of the word) way. Deliberate in his movements.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

“We gotta go in fifteen? All I’m hearing is we have fifteen minutes to fill, cutie pie, get over here.” Master at making a quickie count.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s a man who likes to try new things. Anything he likes was once new to him so he can admit to himself when he has a fantasy he likes to see that said, he also likes what he likes.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Damn. 4 quick rounds, 3 medium rounds, or 2 long rounds. He can make happen whatever it is you need.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Doesn’t believe in paddles; would rather just use his hands. Same for dildoes. He has one built in, so why spend the money. Vibrators? He’ll gladly use those. Cans match hummingbird speeds in his own despite how hard he tries.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Is very very good at teasing. Has the patience of a saint and the mischievousness of a demon. “Man, you got it bad, baby. Needin’ some lovin’.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Loud. Loud loud. Real loud. He can’t help it; when he’s in passion, he’s in PASSION.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Doesn’t like to drink before sex. To him, sex is better if the mind is clear. Doesn’t like questioning whether a person is really there or not.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

General marble statue Apollo-esque gorgeousness of a man. Abs and muscles and smooth, even skin. Large, thick penis.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Actually pretty high sex drive. Thinks about sex when he isn’t thinking about his existential crises. Sometimes he does both, lol.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Likes to stay up and watch you sleep. Talks to you after you go to sleep. “Night, gorgeous. Goodnight beautiful, beautiful soul.”

[ozimagines]

@mloo had a ficklet idea and thought of you!

Chucky Pancamo x Reader

Mercy

Dating Chucky “The Enforcer” Pancamo had its struggles like anything else. He was a little dim, and a little brazen, but his passion ran deep, and when he did stop to care, it made you feel safe. So fuck what your mother said. Chucky was a fine boyfriend.

He came in the front door, home from the gym. He sees you on the couch and walks over to give you a sweaty kiss, when he notices what’s on the screen.

“The fuck?” He asks the air, trying to figure out what his grown ass girlfriend/boyfriend/partner was doing watching VeggieTales. He sees your watery eyes and wonders if it’s possible you’re on some sort of period. “What’re you watching a kiddie show for?”

“First of all, fuck you, you watch Miss Sally’s Schoolyard.” You answer, sniffing a little. He rolls his eyes.

“It’s pretty fucking obvious why I watch Miss Sally.” He retorts, plopping down on the couch next to you. There’s an asparagus with a monocle and a caterpillar with a turban on. He couldn’t make heads or fucking tails out of any of it.

“My mom sent me some of the movies I watched when I was a kid. This is the Veggietales Jonah movie.”

“Jonah’s the guy who wears eaten by a whale?”

“One and the same.” You reply, poking his shoulder jokingly. “Knew ten years of Catholic schooling would pay off one day.”

“Ha ha ha.” He replied in a deadpan. You snort a little and pull him into the cushions with you, kissing the side of his head and running your fingers through his hair.

“This one used to be my favorite. It’s all about compassion and mercy.”

“Gay.” Was all he said in response, and you had to muffle your laugh into the couch cushion. The caterpillar on the screen started to get angry with the asparagus.

“Has it ever occurred to you,” the caterpillar started, “that God loves everyone, and not just you? That maybe he wants to give everyone a second chance?”

The words hit Chucky like a ton of bricks. He wasn’t religious in the slightest, only claiming Catholicism when a more foreign religion came by. He didn’t like thinking about this stuff. The caterpillar continued, gesturing about how sometimes people do things they don’t know is wrong, and explaining that mercy is giving someone a second chance, even if they don’t deserve it.

“God wants to give everyone a second chance, and so should we.” He concluded, and Chucky looked down to see you sniffing a little. It was a moving speech, even to your thick as a brick boyfriend. He got quiet after, pulling you close and kissing your head before disappearing to shower, those words still ringing in his head.

When he’s showered and dressed in his tracksuit, he takes you out to Little Italy for some food, finding a street food joint and grabbing supplí and arancini for you to share as you walked. He enjoyed taking you places. Places he could impress you where he could. You liked when he spoke in that Brooklyn Italian dialect.

As you were walking, his hackles raised, and he noticed a young man staring at you. It pissed him off immediately. Fuck that guy.

“Hey, strunz’, eyes to yourself.” He called out. The man faltered but kept staring, kind of joking with his friends.

“Can’t move a piece of ass like that around here and not expect a few stares.” He called back, his friends laughing and joshing around him.

Now, Chucky was already pissed. Pissed someone dared look at his date, especially with him standing right next to you. His anger peaked, however, when he turned to you and saw you sort of shrink into yourself, becoming self conscious and small. It boiled his blood and made his fists instinctively curl. He let go of your hand, and started over to the man, whose friends all scattered in as many directions as they could go. The man wasn’t so lucky, taking a step back and holding out his hands.

“Sorry, man, it was just a joke!”

Chucky grabbed him by the collar and clocked him one right in the face. The man started to fall, but Chucky picked him up and went in for another blow, this time drawing blood. You start to panic. Chucky was out on parole. This could absolutely fuck you both.

“Chucky, it’s fine, I’m fine, let’s just go.”

Pancamo was seeing red. Anyone who fucked with you in any way had to be reduced to pulp, end of goddamn story.

“Got somethin’ else to say, wise guy?” Chucky asked before laying a punch in to the guy’s stomach.

“I’m sorry!” The man cried but Chucky went in for another punch, lining up the man’s face with his fist, feeling your hands on his bicep trying to pull him back. He doesn’t strike, but keeps trying to line up his shot despite your efforts to pull him off. The man kept apologizing as the blood gushed from his nose. Chucky was never good at knowing when to quit, and he didn’t usually stop until his target stopped moving. You kept desperately trying to pull him away, putting your full body weight on his arm to stop him, but doing little good. When Chucky found a good enough angle, he went to punch again when you said something that stopped him.

“Give him a chance!” You cried out, trying to get Chucky out of there before someone called the cops. It really did make him pause, his whole body turning to marble and stopping him in his tracks.

Mercy.

He lowered his raised arm, and let go of the man’s shirt, only stopping to grab him again when the man started to shrink and fall. He helped the man sit down, which turned into lying down. He snarled one last time.

“Watch your mouth next time.” He turned and grabbed your hand, going to leave. People were still watching, but people in Little Italy weren’t prone to grabbing cops unless a full murder was committed. He started walking away with you, eyes not meeting anyone else’s but not purposefully looking away either. You get a few blocks away before you try to talk. Your voice has a little tremor to it.

“You don’t need to go all Rambo every time someone makes a pass at me. You’re gonna get sent back to Oz.” Your voice broke a little towards the end. He felt a little guilt creep into his chest.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, amuruzzu.” He comforted in his own clumsy, ham handed way. You calmed a little, his Sicilian terms of endearment always buttering you up.

“You didn’t scare me. I mean, you did, but I was more scared for you. I don’t want to lose you to the system.” You keep walking, making nervous eye contact and staring over your shoulder to see if there were cops.

“I know.” He said, a little lamely.

“Thanks for stopping.” You offer. He nods, not making eye contact.

“Sure.”

“I mean it. I know you had no intentions of stopping before I grabbed you.”

“I really didn’t.”

“… so why did you?”

He sighed and centered you in front of him, pulling you into a hug and lining your head up with his heart so you could hear it beat. You ignored the blood on his knuckles.

“Mercy.” He said after a minute, before guiding your face up to his so he could kiss you, as softly as his overpowering self was able. “That’s giving someone a second chance, even if they don’t deserve it, in case you forgot.”

You chuckle a little at the last part, a slight tear of repeat falling from your face.

“He was a little right though.”

“How so?”

“I really can’t expect to bring a piece of ass like you to a place like this and not expect some stares.” He winked at you and you dissolved into relieved laughter.

“Jackass.” You punched his arm lightly and kiss his hand, going back to holding it and walking. You didn’t press your initial fears or chide him for losing control. You knew he barely knew right from wrong half the time, but underneath it all, he was trying. Not always successfully but always trying. So you gave him another chance too.

Mercy. It’s a wonderful thing.

[ozimagines]

@pilot-nobody thanks for the tag! You look cute btw ❤️

@postmoderntongues @mloo @lovesongforavampyre and @thisisjacklynn no pressure just curious

Tagged by @imposterzoe

No pressure tags: @ozimagines, @enbyman, @heffer-wen

[ozimagines]

@thisisjacklynn (just a brainwave off of your suggestion)

Sean Murphy x Reader (NSFW)

Roleplay

Sean had a long, long ass day. Some attempted shankings and contraband checks and someone even tried grabbing his nightstick today, which was not a euphemism as Lopresti had so immaturely pointed out. He arrived home with a long sigh, hung up his keys and tried putting on a happy face for you. Even though he told you to about your night without him, as he knew he was coming home later than usual, he knew you’d be sitting up, on the couch, reading a book and waiting for him. You weren’t, however, and it took him a little by surprise, heading up to the bedroom and expecting now to see you passed out on the bed with one of the lamps still on. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when he came in.

You were sitting on the bed, in red lingerie, surrounded by rose petals and a pink scarf over the lamp shade. He floundered.

“You’re up.” He said, lamely, not really knowing what else to say. You deflated a little but keep up the smile.

“You texted that you were having a rough day so I figured I’d try to make it better.” You explain, gesturing to your body. He smiles but he’s never been good at surprises. He gets sort of awkward and shifts from foot to foot.

“Give me a second to get out of this work stuff and I’ll join ya.” He starts to unbutton his CO gear and you shake your head, eyes flickering fiendishly.

“No, keep it on.” You say, making your voice sultry and irresistible. He sends you a questioning look, glancing at his uniform back to you.

“You want me to wear my work clothes?” He’s not getting the message, and you try to will the understanding into him with your eyes.

“You’re a correctional officer, right?” You crawl forward on the bed a little. “I want you to correct me.”

He’s completely fucking lost now. He looks down at his uniform, which he considers completely non-sexual, and back at you, like you’re insane.

“You know I still smell like work, right?” He informs you, still feeling very self consciously thick about what you wanted from him. Your eyes dull and you sit up, reaching for your robe.

“Fine.”

“Doesn’t sound like it’s fine.”

“It’s fine, Sean.” You shrug and go to get ready for bed. He feels shitty for having spoiled your mood but seriously? He works at a maximum security prison breaking up stabbings and assaults all day, it’s not exactly what he would consider attractive work. Still, his belly turned at your defeated expression. Sure, he understood a little what you were asking for, but he couldn’t treat you like a prisoner. You weren’t one of them. You were his.

You’re in the mirror, washing your face and readying for bed. He walks up behind you, a little awkwardly, struggling to find something to say. You don’t say anything. If he wants to say it he’s gonna have to say it, that’s just how it is. You concentrate completely on your reflection and lose him in the background. He places arms around your waist and his face into your neck. You blush a little but you don’t say anything. It’s a little late for romance now. That’s how you felt, until you heard what he had to say;

“Get on the bed.” He’s sill not looking at you, but he’s kissing the back of your neck now, a low sort of rumble in his chest. You flush but shake it off.

“It’s fine, Sean, let’s just go-“

You feel a smack on your behind, and a bite on the nape of your neck, sucking in your skin and leaving a red bruise in its wake. It was unsure, and a little pulled back towards the end, but it sent shivers down your spine.

“Wasn’t asking.” He growls, facing your body towards the bed and poking your back with his nightstick. “C’mon, let’s go.”

He kicks at your heels a little with his boots. You march towards the bed, and he pushes you down once you get there, pressing himself between your legs and holding the back of your head so that your neck was exposed to him, placing rough, biting kisses down to your chest. You’re not really sure how to respond, now that you were finally getting what you wanted, it was somehow better than you imagined and sending all your senses into overdrive. That Irish passion surfaced so rarely, but when it did it was a motherfucker to say the least.

“Robe off.” He commanded, and you go to say something. He smacks you lightly, chest aching a bit at having to until he sees that charged look in your eyes. He pushes you to the bed. “I didn’t say ‘mouth off’, I said ‘robe off’. The unsaid implication was; right fucking now.”

Honestly it made him a little uncomfortable, talking to you like you were one of the dinks in Oz, but he looked at your face to guide him and you seemed turned on enough. God help him if he knew why.

You shimmy off the robe and expose your lingerie again, and he starts to devour you with rapturous kisses, smacking and sucking your lips with each powerful smooch, nightstick pressing against your belly. It made you breathless, and you sighed into him, the commanding tone in his voice pressing all the right buttons within you. He pulled your hair and grabbed a fist full of your ass.

“Strip.” He downright demanded, and you put a coy smile on your face.

“Make me.” You say, leaning your body back on the bed and tossing your head back. Now that you got your bearings again, you were gonna make him earn it. He chuckled but tried to hide it with a snarl.

“You lookin’ to get your ass handed to ya?”

You smile and nod your head, eyes wide and inviting and he can’t help the laugh that follows.

“Ok, kid. Ok.”

He picked up your body, and you always seemed to forget the physical nature of his job, and how strong he had to be to do it, and flipped you over, reaching for the bottoms of your lingerie and yanking roughly. There was a soft rip, and you could feel the apology that was starting out of his mouth.

“Don’t worry about it keep going.” You said all in one breath. Again, he laughed. You had strange tastes to him but hell, he’d be happy enough to oblige. When you were good and exposed, he flipped you back over. Seeing what he did at work, he just couldn’t fuck you like these bastards fucked each other.

“Beg.” He commanded, and you paused, again, wanting him to drag the pleas out of you.

“Make-“

He cut you off with a grasp at your neck, squeezing with hands on either side, bringing you up to him so he could devour your words. His hands wandered, and the state of you took over, a ragged breath rushing from your lips and a slight gasp in your throat.

“Fuck me, Sean, baby, please.” You whined, and he made the ‘ahh there it is’ face, and proceeded to do just that, making you earn every syllable of your screams. You forgot how much of a beast in the sack he could be when he gave a shit. Blew your mind. As he was humping you into the box spring, dick aching and leaking inside you, he tried to keep the ‘macho correctional officer’ vibe going, asking from time to time;

“Who loves ya? Huh?”

And the occasional;

“Give it to me… fuck!”

He tears your orgasm from you, you squirting some of your excitement on his leg, a sensation he welcomes any day of the week, and he prays for after a rotten day like today. Your eyes go big, and he gives you a few extra thrusts for good measure after her empties into you. He collapses on you, stroking your hair as gently as his big hands are able. He rolls you onto him and reaches for a cigarette, pulling back for a minute after remembering he quit. Fine enough. You were fine just fine without nicotine. He kisses your head and whispers.

“Sorry I crapped on your excitement. We can do this again sometime.”

You nod your head and nuzzle against him. You think of something that quirks your brain, and you find yourself snickering into his neck. He asks what, and you’re unable to collect yourself. He asks what again, and you manage out;

“Guess this time you ended up in the hole. Geddit? The hole?” You giggle, and he feels himself break shortly after, losing himself in a fit of laughter, and being unable, the next day, to send anyone to ‘the hole’ without thinking of you.

[ozimagines]

😳 NSFW/SFW chucky pancamo alphabet please & thanks?

OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH! Ok slay💅 Love the variety of characters I get asks about. If you want some Pancamo x Reader fics too lmk. He’s got that steroid jacked Stallone charm

SFW Alphabet with Chucky “The Enforcer” Pamcamo

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Isn’t traditionally affectionate. Very much a “you wanna punch me in the arm?” guy when you’re sad. That said, and I’m only getting this based off of how he views Peter when he’s assaulted the second time, he’s got a very dull, but present heartbeat under all that meathead muscle.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Become his gym rat bestie or cook him some food he used to eat when he was a kid. A little something familiar makes him a lapdog.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Ehhhhhhh… doesn’t cuddle in the traditional sense of ‘c’mon baby I miss you’ but more like he silently pulls you onto his lap, not verbalizing the fact that he wants to be close to you.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Cooks and does dishes but pretty much nothing else. All the men in his family knew how to cook fairly well. Is used to a stovetop that heated the whole kitchen so when he cooks he instinctively takes off his shirt.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

*on your anniversary*

“Y’ever think maybe we don’t work?”

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Takes him a long time to fully commit. He can commit to marriage as a concept before he commits with his full heart.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Lol can ya guess? Is a bull in a china shop when it comes to emotions. “So you’re upset your aunt died? But like, she was sick.”

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Gives great big strong bear hugs. Almost crushed the life out of you type squeeze. He’s also incredibly warm bodied.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Meathead uses it even before he means it. It’s just a word to him. “Thanks for getting those snacks I like, I love you.”

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Big jealousy and will take it out on anyone in the vicinity. You, them, his own friends who happen to be standing nearby. Physical touches are how to reassure him.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Usually always open mouthed and breathy, and placed on your lips or cheek. He likes being kissed on his chest.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Knows fuck all about kids. Although they like climbing on him. He holds out his arms and they swing on him like a jungle gym.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Early riser and not by choice. Always wakes a little salty and hits the gym. Works out for a few hours and then comes home and absolutely devours his breakfast. Make him anything you want but he loves breakfast foods. Hates hates hates coffee. Tries to force it down because he’s Italian but really can’t be doing with it.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Night owl who forces himself to be a morning person so he can work out. Always ends up staying up a little too late and getting too little sleep. Likes liquor after meals. Amari and sambuca, but also has a quiet liking for amaretto, it’s just that he associates that with being softer, mostly because of Peter. Washes the dishes to music. He likes J-AX, Fedez, and sometimes Baby K. Can sing in Italian, he just never does.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

You’ll know the things he means for you to know, but he’s also somewhat of a meathead so he lets some things slip. Usually goes red afterwards and tells you to forget it. Accidentally reveals he knows the cast of Fiddler on the Roof. Denies it and goes about his day. You put it on the next night, wordlessly.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Zero or negative five patience at any given time. Can’t be bothered to spend more than five minutes trying to learn anything. Also can’t be arsed to guess your emotion. Tell him or don’t.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Forgets literally everything. Barely tries to remember in the first place. But when you get frustrated with him and begin to hate him, he’ll do or say something to let you know he’s listening.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

You went to work out with him. You didn’t do any of the working out, though, just watching him lift and stretch and do whatever. Sits you on his back as he does push ups or hang onto his legs while he does pull ups. It never gives him too much more to work off of. But spending that time with you meant everything to him. Just sharing a part of his life. He’ll never say it though. Too faggy 😂

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Will protect you with every fiber of his being, if for no other reason that you’re his and his alone. For forbid he ever sees anyone giving him a REASON to be protective and it’s all over for them.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Ehhh both doesn’t give a shit and will pull something out to make you realize he listens sometimes. It’s really a crapshoot.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Talks way too loud when he should be whispering. Like if you tell him someone is weird, he’ll see them in public and be like “IS THAT THEM?”

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Extra special vain. Super duper, from his muscles to his hair to his enormous ego. Cares very much how he’s perceived by others.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Lol I want to be like “oh he’d be desperately lost without you” but let’s face it, this meathead will live to fight another day no matter what😂

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Can cook fairly well. Mostly Italian American stuff; manicotti, chicken parm, stuffed shells, things like that. Can also cook some Italian meals, his most impressive being spaghetti frutto del mare.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

If you don’t like Italian food he won’t know how to interact with you. Like if you’re not a pasta person you’re not a him person, simples as that.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

CHAINSAW snorer. Wall shaker. He’s too vain for a sleep apnea machine too so you’ll just have to learn to deal with it

[ozimagines]

Gonna start taking quotes from my two year old students and attribute them to Oz guys;

Me/McManus: *points to the number 7* “What number is this?”

Emma/Wangler: “I don’t know, but it’s a good one.”

[ozimagines]

Hii, I found your blog not a long time ago and I'm delighted seeing so many amazing fics and AU ❤️ thank you for writing them! If/when you can, could you write something with Augustus Hill? He's my most beloved and I feel there are not a lot of works with him (Maybe even a NSFW alphabet? I read your SFW one and I loved it. Or something sweeter, you choose). XO from Brazil

You’re so sweet! I love writing for this page and enjoy filling requests even more. It’s nice to write stuff for myself but it’s so cool when other people get to read and enjoy it. Also bby I got you I LOVE me some Augustus. He’s emotionally mature, socially conscious, and so so fine.❤️ I had an idea for a ficklet of Augustus x Reader but until I can flesh it out, I’ll write SFW and NSFW alphabets for him.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

So so so affectionate. Not even a question. Always holds or kisses your hand, has his head leaned against you, or touches your knee under the table.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

So loyal. So funny. Kind of a drag when it comes to levity but in an interesting way, so C’amma fa? Always wants to hang out and just sits in silence or monologues for an hour straight, no in between.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Yes, and he doesn’t think for even a second that it’s not masculine to want to cuddle. He’s evolved, and incredibly secure in his masculinity, so doing soft or cuddly things doesn’t perturb him.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Think his house would be so minimalist -not stylistically, but rather at its core level- and he would do things on a need to basis. He washes dishes because he’s out. Same with laundry.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

*Calling Y/N*

“Hey, it’s me. I wanna talk. Unless you don’t. It’s not working for me. We can meet up and talk about it, or I can get lost forever, or some neutral combination of both. Just let me know and I’ll do what you need.”

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Sure of himself and his decisions. Doesn’t think because he loves you now that he always has to, but believes while he does, he better act like it. He’s less afraid of those big decisions that way.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Exceptionally gentle. Always seems to have the right words, always knows when to give you little touches all over, and always seems to understand what’s necessary in the moment. He can be what you need while still being true to himself.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Gives strong and sure hugs. One of those who doesn’t do anything half way so when he hugs you, it’s with a sturdiness. Always hangs on for a second when you pull away, smiling to himself after.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I love you.”

“I… oh.”

“You don’t feel the same?”

“I do, it’s just that… I just got out of bed, and I’m not super attractive right now.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I felt it so I said it. I love you.”

“…I… I love you too, Augustus.”

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

When you mention an old friend, and it turns out you have a lot in common, he watches you when you hang out, taking note of every smile and glance you stole your friend’s way. He’s maybe a little quiet afterwards, breaking down an hour last and asking to talk. He lays out his feelings for you, and you talk through it like mature adults.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Like his hugs, he gives kisses with some umfph behind them. Strong and a little coy. Often winks after. He likes to be kissed on his cheek. Those nice warm pecks that last a lifetime.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Talks to kids like they’re adults and they love every second of it. They don’t really understand, but they appreciate feeling older.

“I like trains.”

“The modern America has all but done away with public transport, and it’s taking a toll on our environments and therefore ourselves.”

“So you like trains too?”

“Guess so.”

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Pops out of bed in the morning, which is weird since he’s a night person but he always seems to have the same level of energy no matter how much or well he sleeps. Big fan of the morning crossword. Likes to stimulate his brain before starting the day, and loves doing them with someone. He’s a black coffee drinker and, if I’m honest, a little judgmental towards those who take lots of additives in theirs.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Stays up LATE. I’m talking goes to bed in the wee hours of the morning. One of the things he enjoyed before Oz was driving at 3 in the morning, watching the quiet, sleepy world creep on around him. He watches TV late as well, but only things that won’t rot his brain, like How Is It Made channels and history documentaries, but not The History Channel because he thinks it’s too full of speculative filler.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Oh he’s got no qualms letting you know who he is. Likes rapid fire sitting down and going over things about oneself. Like he’ll be sitting across from you and go;

“Favorite Ninja Turtle?”

You answer and ask him;

“Donatello. Favorite Beatles song?”

Again you answer and then ask him;

“Getting Better.”

That’s how you learn most things about him.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Easily angered but not easily provoked into doing something about it. Gets frustrated and irritated and all of the above, but doesn’t fly off the handle or deal with it like a douche.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Oh he’s remember everything. He’d remember things about you that you mentioned once. He’d even be able to list things about you that you don’t necessarily know about yourself. Things he just picked up on that you haven’t solidified in words.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

It was early on in the relationship. He was in a foul mood about the state of the world, rolling next to you and sitting in a loud silence. You look over.

“Somethin’ on your mind, hon?”

“I can’t believe the world we live in. The idea that most fools don’t give a shit about who they are or where they come from or where they’re going. This idea that what we see is all there is.”

“The most thought provoking thing in our thought provoking time is that we are not thinking.”

He pauses for a second and turns his head to you.

“It’s Martin Heidegger.”

“I know who it is.” He responds, eying you up and down. “Everything’s been figured out, except how to live.”

“Is that Sartre?”

“…yes.” He’s smiling big now, turned completely to you. “The cost of liberty is less than the cost of repression.”

“Du Bois?”

“Right again.” And he goes on and on questioning you on some of his favorite quotes and philosophies. You do this for at least an hour, smiling along with him. He’s not even thinking about anything but how happy you made him.

Life didn’t seem so shitty now that he had you.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Extremely protective. He doesn’t have to beat people up to take care of you, but don’t think because he’s in a wheelchair he can’t do that either. Because he’ll go to bat for you forever.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Like I said, Augustus doesn’t do anything half way. He takes you out often, or keeps you in, whatever you like. He thinks you’re lovely and so you deserve lovely things, and that includes a boyfriend who makes an effort.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He judges people a little quickly sometimes. Anyone he considers too mainstream or materialistic, and he gets on his soapbox. You have to remind him that some people aren’t so intense, and that’s okay lol

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Not vain at all. The gorgeousness comes naturally. He keeps himself hygienic and trim, but he doesn’t give lots of thoughts into his mortal shell.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He’s pretty self assured of himself. He’s self actualized. But when Annabella left him, he thought his life was over. He lost a part of himself. So I don’t think it would be too out of character to say that he becomes who he loves.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Big existentialist. If he had to put a finger in a religion, he’d probably be more Buddhist than anything. That said, he does believe in God, even if it’s an estranged relationship. Maybe Buddhist agnostic?

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Vapid people. Ignorant people. People who don’t give a shit about anything. Substance is a big deal for him, so if his partner lacks that then he soon lacks a partner.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Has to sleep with sound. Usually opens the windows of an apartment to hear the city sounds, rain, trains, or whatever might be around. Sleeps better when he knows life is going on around him. If you sing, he’d appreciate that too.

[ozimagines]

@lovesongforavampyre (still writing you SFW and NSFW alphabets as requested but I had a small brainwave while reading today and thought of you.❤️)

Augustus Hill x Reader

Impermanence and Non-self

Augustus had a thousand yard stare going. His eyes almost burned with how hard he was staring. His eyes bore straight through the wall he was in front of. It was his favorite coffee shop- the setting of his daily meditation. He had on his usual beatnik attire; a black shirt and a hoodie, no logos so as not to give the fatcat corporate shills any free advertising. He had a book in hand -Existentialism and Human Emotions by Jean Paul Sartre- but he wasn’t reading. No, he was just staring but not seeing. This particular coffee shop was home to poets and freethinkers and the general unbathed, joyless communists. It served only fair trade goods, payed only living wages, and was, as a whole, going out of business. It wasn’t about lasting. It was about mattering.

His eyes sensed movement and he broke from his stance to look directly into your eyes. A small blush crept onto his face.

“Can I help you?” His tone was harsher than he’d intended but he didn’t correct himself either. You didn’t break eye contact, staring at him from the seat across from him, a notepad in hand and a book open on the table. He could t see the title. Shame, he’d have liked to know a little about you just at a glance. You put down your pen -blue- and picked up a new one -red- and continued to sketch, making half eye contact with him.

“You’re helping as much as you can.” You grab your coffee and lift it for a sip, your face cracking a smile. “You’re my muse.”

“What?”

You turn your pad to him and he sees you’re sketching, but everything is a blur of crosshatched lines and colors, so much so that he couldn’t understand what was even supposed to be.

“A little abstract, no?”

“It’s your fault.”

“How’s that?”

“I change my pen color every time you move, and start from the new angle. You’ve shifted three times now, it’s bound to be a little busy.” You’re still smiling, and still sketching. He can’t help the grin that follows his initial skepticism in your motives.

“You want me to give you a new pose or stay still?”

“Still for a second I just started this color.”

He nods and stays as still as he cantor you, as he was doing much of that before.

“You sketch every stranger like this?”

“Not like this. Most people aren’t still enough for this game.” You continue sketching his face in every line, curve, and dot. “Where were you?”

“Beg pardon?” He asked, trying not to move as much as possible. You made a gesture to say ‘you can still drink your coffee’. He takes the hint and sips his brew.

“You were thinking of something. Something important. Where were you?”

“I don’t know if it was that important.”

“Try me.”

“It’s unpleasant. Ugly, even.”

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.” You quote the bard to him, knowing in your heart that he’ll receive the reference. He does, and feels that blushing grow ever stronger. He sighs and moves his head, not being able to stop the chuckle when you grab another pen- green.

“I was thinking I’m nothing else but my life, like Sartre says, but my life amounts to shit. I wasted a good portion of it smacked out of my head.” His smile falters, and he gets that timeless, placeless stare again. “How many years I wasted with drugs and crime and prison. If we are the meaning we give our lives, and existence precedes essence, the essence I’ve given my life is, to say the least, disappointing.”

“Big existentialist, huh?”

“At least a medium one.” He can’t help the joke. It breaks up the morose conversation and you bark a rather unattractive laugh. Could have fooled him; it warmed his heart.

“What sized Buddhist are you?”

“Fairly small; I know the basics. Meditation and suffering and mindfulness. All that jazz.”

“Is that a direct quote from the Buddha?” You smirk, and he returns it. “Are you familiar with the three Dharma Seals?”

“Anitya, anatman, and nirvana.”

“Gesundheit.”

“It means impermanence, nonself, and the extinction from ideas. For our purposes, the first two are most important.” You take another sip of your coffee, and he does the same, not taking his eyes off you for a second. You spoke in this strange, hypnotizing way. He wasn’t used to people who spoke like him. Burr told him he had a habit of speaking in slam poetry. He wondered if this is what he sounded like to other people.

“For our purposes, huh?”

“So to speak. Although you can’t practice or understand one without practicing or understanding them all. Impermanence. That is to say that nothing is everlasting. Nothing. Everything is changing all the time and in doing so, is always ending and beginning.”

“And that’s related to what I was saying… how?”

“You’re not the same person you were then. You can’t be. You’re not even the same person you were one minute ago. Who you were brought you to who you are, and you can be grateful to that version of yourself for carrying you to this point without feeling guilt that doesn’t reverse time.” He shifts a little uncomfortably and you switch to a pink pen. “What makes us suffer isn’t impermanence. What makes us suffer is the expectation of permanence. Impermanence is freeing.”

He thinks for a second, his mind always buzzing with new thoughts and you weee offering a real doozy.

“Freeing in that if you’re suffering, you know it won’t be forever, because nothing is.” He says, following your train of thought. “Freeing in that, when you understand that everything is impermanent, who you are at the moment won’t always be you, because you won’t always be you, or rather, you won’t always be this way.”

“Bingo.” You touch the tip of your nose with your pen and rub it a second after, having tickled yourself.

“And the nonself?”

“You’re not just defined by what you are, you’re defined by everything that you’re not as well.” You say as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. He wonders if you’ve always had such pretty eyes, or if they’ve just lit up as you started speaking. He believes everyone is a beautiful as their ideas and, baby, you’re a fucking treasure.

“How so?”

“We only know joy because we know all emotions that are not joy. The not-joy makes the joy what it is. Flowers are only possible because of non-flower elements, like rain and dirt and sunshine. Everything you’re not also makes you, you.” You shrug as if you’ve said something simple, and the gesture makes him laugh out loud. You switch to a purple pen.

“So the drugs?”

“A wave in the ocean is born in the sea and dies on the shore. It becomes and then it isn’t, only that’s not the case. It’s always water. You’re both always you and never the same. You’re a continuation of you, being as defined by what isn’t you as what is. You didn’t waste years, you became who you are by finding out who you weren’t. Impermanence and non-self are absolutely freeing.” You make the final mark on the page, turning your masterpiece to him and watching his eyes come alive with the movements and colors. It’s impossible to see the overall picture, and still he could recognize eyes and noses and mouths here and there. It was ever changing and still so familiar. He felt that blush reach a crescendo. He made terribly passionate eye contact with you.

“Let me take you out.” He laughed a little under his breath. “Or, I guess, let whoever I am tomorrow night at seven take you out.”

“You can have me. Everything you are and everything you aren’t.” You responded, going to pay your tab, and he sees you close the book on the table and pick it up. The Heart of the Buddha’s Teachings by Thich Nhat Hanh. He grabs your hand as you pass by him.

“It’s a sin.”

“What is?”

“Being that beautiful and wonderful and not doing something about it.” His eye contact is heated and strong. “Kiss me.”

He almost commands and it still sounded so sweet. You smile and without hesitating, press one small, large, short, long passionate, simple kiss to his lips. You pull away and start to walk off, calling back;

“Can’t wait to meet you tomorrow.”

[ozimagines]

Thank you @pilot-nobody you’re correct on both accounts ❤️

You seem like you own at least one medicinal crystal and are attracted to deeply misunderstood angsty angel babies/comic relief bisexual scrappy gremlins

@mloo @postmoderntongues @thisisjacklynn @heffer-wen @miguelryan @betelgo0ze @governmenth00k3r

reblog game guys I wanna start one I never have

what are your headcanons for the person that reblogged this? Like…do they get sad when their plushies fall off the bed, uhh do they like Nutella, do they have long brown hair, etc

@stoned-shark @trans-sharkb0y @sojirai @whereisyourb0ytonight @steele-clawss @tiredutaitenerd935 @bvnny-boi @ki-2-ur-heart @southerngothhorror

And anyone I missed!!

[ozimagines]

Oz’s character range:

Characters who are losers 🤣👍🏼

Characters who are losers 😭💔

Characters who are losers 🤢🤮🤬🤾🏻‍♂️🧱💥💥

[ozimagines]

Dialogue prompt!: "Don't be fucking stupid, this was never gonna work out."

Dead passion is a dangerous thing.

It reminds Ryan of embers. You could tell just by looking at it that it burned bright once. That the fire hadn't died that long ago. That if ignored, an all new kind of fire would roar to life.

Unchecked. Untamed. Deadly.

He could feel the fire burning out the day Beecher got paroled. He knew it was coming, of course. Word was McManus claimed some files were lost after the attack and subsequent decontamination to give the deserving a better chance at parole.

Beecher was definitely deserving and, on paper, he'd never broken a rule. The committee didn't think twice before setting him free and he didn't think twice before sprinting out the prison gates, determined not to fuck it up again. To never set foot in these walls again. And, unknowingly, to never see Ryan again.

They wrote and called but nothing he said could convince Beecher to actually come visit him. And jerking off in the phone room just wasn't doing it anymore.

And even if it was, Beecher was more interested in telling him all about Holly's latest recital and how exciting it was that Harry was coming home soon and how amazing it was to be free.

"I'm never gonna feel that," he found himself saying one day. He'd only been half listening and really hadn't meant to say anything.

"What?" Beecher was only half listening too. They'd never really been much for words but suddenly Ryan had a lot to say.

"I'm not gonna go free, Beecher," he leaned against the wall, the cold concrete wall that made up his tomb. "McManus didn't lose one sheet in my file. I'm in here til the day I die. Never getting out. Never gonna feel what you're feeling and I'm getting fucking sick of hearing about it."

He could almost see the look on Beecher's face. That hurt, confused look he always had when someone called him on his shit.

"Ryan..." he said softly.

"Don't fucking 'Ryan' me, man. You wanna call me Ryan? Come fucking see me."

"I told you I-"

"Either visit or don't call me."

A sharp inhale rang through the receiver and it really wasn't clear which one of them it can't from.

Didn't mean to say that. Didn't mean to say that. his brain panicked.

Welp can't take it back now, his heart said bitterly.

"You don't- You can't mean that." Tears were already clogging Beecher's throat and a sick part of Ryan takes comfort in that.

"You visited Keller."

"And where the fuck did that get me? Back in that hellhole. Never again, Ryan. Never again."

Realization settled on his shoulders like a thousand pound weight. "You think I'll do the same thing? You think I'd fucking do that to you?"

He wasn't Keller. He'd never be Keller. Why was that always the problem?

Beecher took a deep breath, exhaustion ringing in his ears. "No I just... I can't go back there Ryan. I thought you understood that."

Rage flared in his chest and his words leave with a bite. "Understand this, prag. Don't call me. Don't write me. Don't even ask anyone about me unless you drag your ass to that visiting room. You hear me?"

"Don't do that. Ryan, please don't do that. Let's work this out. Can we try to work this out?"

"Don't be fucking stupid. This was never gonna work out." He slammed the receiver and stormed out of the phone room.

He didn't get any letters that week.

Or the next.

Or the next.

[ozimagines]

Also just to add on to my last request I mean like a real southern hillbilly woman not a sweet one lol. I'm kinda trashy

Really excited for this one too. It’s self indulgent on my part but I think he’d dig a good southern gal with an accent and no sense of shame lol

Chico Guerra dating a Southern!Redneck!Reader would include…

To say Chico had no experience with the south would be an understatement.

He at BBQ infrequently and thought that counted. To you that was a sin.

He was dicking around outside, stealing some tomatoes from his neighbor’s terrace garden.

“Chil’, if I considered that a real garden I’d be callin’ the law.” You call over from your fire escape. His head pops up and even though he barely understands what you said, he pops a wink your way.

“Yer silence is much obliged.” He parodies your accent to you and you laugh. “What’s your name, precious?”

“Y/N Extraordinaire. What might yer name be, tomato thief?”

“Chico Guerra.”

“Guerra?” You ask as if the name rings a bell. He tries to think of where he knows you from, when you add; “of the vast ‘Guerra’ fortune?”

He snorts.

“Smartass.”

“Gonna take this smartass to dinner or what?”

“Bet.” He hops over to your fire escape and gives you his digits. He eagerly offers you one of the tomatoes as he leaves as a kind of calling card.

You text the number immediately.

What time ya free, pretty boy -Y/N

For you? Any time any day -Chico

You set up the date, and he offers to take you to the only southern food place in town, some place called Southern Comforts. You get in there and.. it’s bad. Real bad. The cornbread is basically white bread with kernels of corn dispersed throughout. The bbq is basically boiled meat with bbq sauce on it. You try to force it down, but it’s a struggle to pretend like you like it. Chico catches on.

“It sucks, doesn’t it?”

You nod emphatically.

“I knew it’d be trouble findin’ southern cookin’ in the city but even so, this is… not great.”

“I really don’t know what it’s supposed to taste like, if I’m honest.” He pokes at the food he didn’t think was half bad.

“Let me do a little research and I’ll come up with a more authentic place.”

It takes you a week, but the week takes you to Fat Tuesday, and you’re able to find a festival making great opportunity for some Cajun food.

You take him to the festival in the park, Zydeco music blaring and spicy smells wafting all over. You’re genuinely so happy to see something so close to home. You look over at Chico… and he’s horrified.

“What?”

He gestures to the ground that you didn’t even notice. It’s all red from crawfish heads and shells. You’ve been crunching over it the whole time. 😂

The realization makes you laugh.

You find a good boil stand and get a plate. The man at the stand heaps on corn and potatoes and crawfish and crab and shrimp and sausage. You go to mix your southern cocktail sauce; ketchup, mayo, and horseradish. You add a little Tony’s to yours. You go to the next stand and get fried okra to top it all off and a sweet tea with enough sugar to send you both into a diabetic coma.

You both sit down, and Chico’s a little overstimulated and doesn’t know where to start.

You reach for a crawfish, rip the head off, and suck it enthusiastically.

Chico’s watching you the whole time, an amused smile on his face. You explain.

“It’s to get the spicy broth out.”

“I assumed there was a reason.” He follows your lead and does the same. His mouth springs to life with the flavors. You show him how to get the meat out and dip it in the cocktail sauce.

Shit he might have just found his new favorite meal.

Everything is so flavorful and alive. He realizes the place he took you too was plain dogshit.

Chico finds he really loves seafood boils. Even the zydeco music finds him well.

“Goodbye Joe, me gotta go, me oh, my oh /Me gotta go pole the pirogue down the Bayou /My Yvonne, the sweetest one, me oh, my oh / Son of a gun we gonna have big fun on the bayou”

“This wasn’t nearly as boring or shitty as I thought it would be” -Chico being about as sentimental as you’d come to expect from him

It makes you laugh

“Makes me happy; plus it’s nice celebratin’ Mardi Gras when it’s not hotter ‘n blazes outside. Gonna make the parades real nice.”

He admits he’s always heard of Mardi Gras but never celebrated it. You smile and grab his hand, taking him over to the floats and getting in the crowd.

“Throw me somethin’ mister!” You shout, and get a handful of beads thrown your way. Chico’s all smiles. He starts shouting and waving his hands right next to you.

He’s immersed, trying to catch as many of those cheap necklaces as he can for you, it being a point of honor like winning the biggest stuffy at the fair.

He catches something out of the corner of his eye; you putting your shirt down. It catches him off guard that you would flash for these cheapo necklaces and so loses himself in laughter. To your credit you did get some big ass beads tossed your way after that.

He’s laughing the whole way home, arm around your waist and kissing your neck.

“I was expecting to be served alligator and shit.”

“We do eat gator meat too, y’know.”

“Then I’ll go to the swamp and shoot you the biggest alligator. That ought to be enough of a dowry right?”

“Choot ‘em, cher.” You laugh and he looks at you oddly. You pronounce ‘Cher’ as ‘Shah’. “You ain’t ever seen Swamp People?”

He shakes his head no and you laugh.

“We gotta rectify that.”

You stay up half the night watching Swamp People, Chico laughing his goddamn ass off.

It’s just so foreign to him that it tickles him every time they speak or gesture.

You introduced him to another southern fast food staple; Waffle House

“If you like churches and Waffle Houses, Alabama’s for you.”

He likes a good shitty fast food place as much as the next guy, so Waffle House is right up his alley.

You call him “cher”, “dumplin’”, and “sweet pea” whenever you can.

Normally he hates these cutesy names but in your mouth it sounds so lovely he acts mad but can’t force himself to actually be frustrated.

Some of your saying start to rub off on him.

“Nah, man, that dog just won’t hunt”

First time he says that and you’re in hysterics for a solid ten minutes.

He doesn’t understand some of the phrases though

“Love, you’re hotter than all get out.”

“…thank you but that’s not how you use that” lol

He doesn’t really get grits tho

Like he tastes it and it just tastes like corn paste to him. He doesn’t say that though, not after the fit you threw the last time

You take him to the south one day

He’s amused by all of it

You take him to this small shop you know with alligator jam and preserves and such.

He gets really into jerky’s that you find him. Tasting the gauntlet of animals in the south.

He can’t do Brad Paisley type country music though

No matter how much he tries it just all sounds like shit to him

His favorite saying of yours is “y’all”. He doesn’t know why. It’s just he never hears that up north so whenever you use it, he gives you a goofy smile.

He made you speak in bed, trying to hear the music of your voice.

“Yeah, baby, just like that, don’t stop…”

All in all, Chico really liked dating someone who to him was so foreign. It was an otherworldly experience.

“I dig you, country kid.”