#casket spray

[candycasketspray]

[farehamflorist]

Another beautiful full casket spray - this one was over 60" in length - created for one of our customers this week.

The red roses (Monte Carlo) were a variety I have never used before and were absolutely stunning with large heads and a solid form. The green roses (Camouflage) were slightly smaller but were always intended to take a back seat. Interspersed with them were green santini & a red chrysant, green lisianthus, white single chrysant, red carnations and a mix of foliages including eucalyptus.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

GUINEA PIG ───

jonathan crane ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I think we most fully understood each other when once I tried to kill him with a kitchen knife.” — ‘South and West’, Joan Didion

pairing. switch!jonathan crane x professor!reader

summary. you and your dear friend, jonathan crane, have an odd relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. one day, you experiment your aphrodisiac on him.

warnings. swearing, use of aphrodisiac & fear toxin, oral sex (m), unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, mention of death, murder, drugs, multiple orgasms, slight breeding kink, face fucking, dubcon(?) SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 6.1k

a/n. the enemies to friends to fucking pipeline is sooo real and i love it. BTW! this is really self indulgent and again, i’m a beginner to writing smut so pls don’t judge😭 the beginning is also oddly plotty, so i apologize for that.

You and your colleague, Jonathan Crane, have a harmonious, albeit slightly sick and twisted, relationship. 

Your repertoires, opposite in every way, complete one another like you were made to match. You are messy, frenzied, intimate; he is neat, calculated, distant. He is impatient, histrionic, stubborn. You are tolerant, deadpan, submissive. 

This is an odd, good-cop bad-cop dynamic you’ve built, but it works. Your traits uphold the order you’ve built around yourselves; you allow each other to function. 

Who ever said something so codependent, so parasitic, would fall apart? That it was dangerous, destructive? Everyone, but in your case, it has been anything but. 

These are the simple rules of your relationship: he experiments on you, you experiment on him. This partnership came to bloom when, after years of competing to be the “better” psychology professor at Gotham University, he sent you a gift that sprayed with you with fear toxin, and you baked him a cake that knocked him out for 24 hours following, heart rate so low he could’ve been mistaken as dead. 

“Fucking - hell,” You murmured under your breath, stumbling halfway across Gotham City to locate Crane’s absurdly lavish condo in the Diamond District, barely able to keep yourself upright. 

You were being visually assaulted by dozens of images, all your phobias no matter big or small, dancing across your senses. Spiders crawled all over your body, you saw yourself about to step off a steep, snowy cliff, you felt yourself suffocate as you were buried to death in a casket. It was utter torture, and you would have to endure it until you found Crane. 

You must’ve looked like one of those tweaking drug addicts from down in the Narrows, shivering, sweating, and rubbing all over your body to remove some of the “spiders” taking over your body. The terror was settling into you, into your spine like a terribly malignant disease. 

At last, you found the apartment building, blearily snuck in behind a drunk couple, and scanned the mail boxes until you found J. CRANE: 525. 

You headed up the elevator, grasping at the walls for dear life, feeling that growing, unmistakable sense of dread start to take over your mind. You felt like you were going mad, now, not just afflicted with something that made you look like it. 

When you finally got to his door, it was left open a crack, and you welcomed the small mercy of Crane’s overarching narcissism: he didn’t lock his door, often, because most days he felt more invincible than fucking god. 

“Crane!” You shouted, clutching at your head and staggering into his large apartment. “Crane!” you repeated, this time more desperate, more fearful than anything. 

However, your deepest fear, at the moment, had come true. You stepped into his kitchen, and found the man laying on the floor unresponsive. 

“Fuck me,” you cursed. You’d sent the man home with the cake twelve hours ago, when he took the half-day off from GSU, and you came home from your after-class tutoring hours just moments ago. 

You’d opened the mystery package on your front porch promptly, and you found yourself having been gassed with a compound that made you see every little thing you were afraid of. Immediately, you’d known it was Crane; the man’s pet specialty was fear. 

As for you, you wanted your�� gift, to serve a reminder to him that he should not overstep your boundaries, your territory, as the psychology professor who was there first. If knocking him out was a little bit mad, he was bordering insanity for the toxin he poisoned you with. 

Even so, your threat was an empty one. You weren’t counting on the man to even eat the cake - hell, you’d never seen the man consume anything but straight black coffee. 

You couldn’t judge a book by its cover, you know now, and laid there on the couch of his apartment, waiting for the twelve hours to be over. Waiting for Crane, the fucking madman, to wake the hell up, blaming him for the predicament despite your very obvious involvement in it.

You breathed in and out, harried and rapid fire as you tried to focus, tried to block out the horrific things you were seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting. 

(Your eyes are swarmed, viscerally, by a grotesque hallucination of your family burning to death; you hear them cry out, voices interrupted when they’re fire gets to their lungs; you smell their death, the smell of flesh burning, how the smoke chokes you — you taste their blood on your tongue, how tender a raging fire makes charred flesh. 

Tender, you think on your choice of words again, and almost throw up.

What have you done, you think, and what is going through that fucked up head of yours, Crane?)

You tried to ground yourself, tether your lost mind back to Earth. You’re sitting in a field in Northwestern Ireland, you said to yourself, inhaling. Up ahead is the beach; water is crashing on the rocks. You exhaled, the wind tastes like salt, and it is just you and I, here together. It is only I and you, here, together. 

Like so, 12 hours passed. Not so much passed — that word gave the connotation the hours slipped past you, the way a peaceful stream of water does; no, more accurately, it dragged by, like when an arm slips out of the ambulance cot on its way to the emergency vehicle, and drags on the concrete. The EMT’s don’t notice what’s making their trip so hard, so slow, until the hand is rubbed raw and bloody. 

You repeated that mantra so many times you were starting to get queasy when you thought the words “you’re sitting in a field..” but nonetheless, the string of words kept you sane. 

Sane enough, at least - you weren’t sure you’d be the same blissful person you were yesterday. Sure, you were always a little bit… unorthodox? Petty? Competitive enough to bake so many drugs into a cake your opposing professor knocks out? 

But, with this — this being drugged by Crane — made you feel a piece of yourself break away. There would be no more of your life lived without knowing how fearful, well, fear, is. It's like discovering the Boogeyman and never being able to stop checking under your bed; the paranoia moves into your head and never leaves. 

Crane began stirring, and your eyes opened as soon as you heard the noise. Surprisingly enough, however, you were no longer being hammered with the hallucinations that had been distressing you just half a day ago. 

Had it been the mantra? The near-prayer you now swore was etched on your heart? 

“Fucking…” Crane said, getting up off the floor. He was clutching his head, eyes squinted, body hunched and tense. Looks like spending half a day on the floor wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but you didn’t give a fuck — atleast he was sleeping. If you had to be mentally destroyed by his toxin, you’d best believe you were taking the couch. 

“Why - why are you here? What the hell did you do to me?” He said after noticing you, voice raspy. He hadn’t had anything to drink or eat in a while, after all. 

“I could say the fucking same for you,” You muttered, giving him a pointed look. “You - what the fuck did you spray me with?”

Immediately, a twisted grin was bared on Crane’s lips, despite his fatigued demeanor. “Did you like it? My fear-toxin,” he preened, like the winning kid at a school science fair.

You rolled your eyes, and before you could control your tendencies, you’d swung back and then socked him straight in the face. 

Crane double-backed, looking terribly affronted, as if he hadn’t sent you the gas knowing how it would affect you. “Ow,” is all he said, face contorting oddly around the pain. 

“Yeah, “ow”. Fuck you, Crane.”

Crane raised a brow. “You’re acting like you didn’t feed me a poisoned cake!” He said incredulously.

“It wasn’t that poisoned,” you bit out, teeth gritted. “Not so poisoned I was hallucinating my family dying for twelve hours straight.”

“Ah, thanatophobia, not really one of my favourites—“ Crane started, like he was losing himself in a romantic daydream, before snapping back to reality. “Did you just say twelve hours?”

“Twelve hours for me. Twenty-four for you.” You said, reveling in how panicked he looked. 

“I — that’s long enough for me to be killed a hundred times over,” he mumbled under his breath. “What the fuck did you put in that cake?”

“I never expected you to eat it, Crane. You’re fucking skin and bones, I thought you’d just throw it out.”

“What did you put in the cake?” he repeated. 

“Ugh,” you sunk into the couch, “some amytal, zolpidem. Some melatonin. I didn’t measure, okay, and again, I wasn’t counting on you eating it.” You didn’t know why you had this urging feeling to respond to him, to humor his jabs, his dumb fucking theatrics, but you did anyway. 

“Some amytal? Some zolpidem? Some melatonin? Jesus fucking christ - is that what you wanted? To kill me?” He was leaning down, face inches away from yours now. 

You pushed him away, disgust on your features clear as day. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not some sociopathic fear-freak like you, Crane. I don’t mix compounds in my creepy little office with the thought of drugging out my fellow professor in mind. It was just an empty threat.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh, “Mixing barbiturates and medications into a cake sounds like an empty threat to you?”

“You know what?” You said brightly, getting up off the couch, “I don’t have to argue with you. I came to get my cure, woke up having cured myself.” Then, you burst out the door, fury rolling off you in waves, and you left.

There was something about the incident, however, that seemed to intrigue Crane to no end. Soon enough, he began entering your office during your breaks, asking to have a chat. Or, he’d walk in during your lessons, forcing you two in the hall alone. Sometimes, he’d even wait for you after school, dozing off in front of your classroom and waiting for you to exit your office. 

You couldn’t tell what was making Crane so interested, but he was hanging off you and your every word like some lovesick puppy.

You, on the other hand, also couldn’t get Crane out of your head. Certainly not for some weird, fucked up reason like his, but because of what he had created. A lot of people doubted his intelligence, mostly because of his obsession on things nobody really cared about, but that obsession made way to the destructive fear-toxin you’d inhaled, and it was seriously unlike anything you’d ever experienced, hell, even read about. It was a brand new creation, and downright deadly. 

Your interest in the man was more so on… keeping him in check. As rivals did. But his was on how you’d breezed past the effects of his toxin in just twelve hours. He’s expected you to go half mad, honestly. Your threat was empty… his was, decidedly, not. 

By the end of the next week following the incident, you two began eating lunch together, asking for joint classes, and spending nights over at each other's places. Not in that way, of course — your way was like a group of scientists having a forever eureka, because your minds fit like perfect puzzle pieces. 

Your intrigue had met his intrigue, and it felt natural, coming to a united front like that. You found you had more in common than you thought, something you should’ve found out about a long time ago, 3 ½ years kind of long time ago. Apart, you two were volatile; angry, spewing threats, attempting murder on the other. Together, however, you were absolute perfection: productive, well-mannered, motivated. 

Now, fast-forward coming on two years since the incident. You and Crane - now, Jonathan, have been inseparable since that time. You two were close, closer than siblings or children and parents or couples; you felt like the same person that had been split into two. Being together was the only thing that felt right, being back at the origin, like being at home. 

Fuck’s sakes, you did have the same home — you’d moved in together. Not to his, nor yours, but to a big house you bought on the outskirts of Gotham, with a big yard and an even bigger lab in the basement. It was like a scientist's amusement park. 

Maybe it - this relationship of yours - was codependency. But maybe it was utter genius: your careers had both never seen so many accomplishments until you and Jonathan came together. Partly because you had a greater inspiration when coupled with the other, but, mostly because you had a body to test on during preliminary trials. 

Creating things, like the fear-toxin, required human testing, and finding a way to get that done always slowed Jonathan down. Since finding you, however, it’d been a breeze. 

You offered yourself up readily, given Jonathan would do the same. And, besides, Jonathan had never been worried about you and his toxin very much — after that first time you took the toxin, you could easily find yourself out of its effects. You were the only person he’d ever encountered who could do this, and it was downright fascinating. He wanted to keep you, see how that strong little mind of yours worked overtime to fight his toxin off. 

You, on the other hand, rarely tested anything like that on Jonathan. Your interests lied elsewhere: what smells activate the human mind to recall memories, what are ways to accurately fight off drugs like GHB — all mental stimulation. 

That, however, changed one evening, when you had been brewing up a serum for the past few weeks. You’d gotten to the point in creation where you needed to test on someone, and observe the effects. 

“Jonathan,” you called out, looking down at your notes. The man in question was grading assignments for the psychology class you taught — now, in joint lessons more often than not — sitting at a desk a few metres away from you in the lab. 

“Jonathan!” you repeated louder this time, looking up from your notes. 

“What?” He shouted back, still hunched over on the ungodly amount of assignments he needed to mark. 

“Come here. I need to test something on you.” You said, nonchalant. 

That, however, piqued Jonathan’s interest to no end: you hadn’t tested anything on him in nearly a year. It hurt, a little, to test you endlessly and have nothing to give in return - so this, no matter what it was, Jonathan would take in stride.

Jonathan nodded vehemently, “Okay.” He then dropped all he’d been doing on the desk and made his way over, before sitting in the chair next to you. You made quick work, tying his arms and legs to the chair like he’d done to you so many times before. He watched you work, completely enraptured in how you looked while experimenting. 

“So,” He said, tearing his sticky gaze off of you, “what’re you pumping me full of?”

You sat back in your desk chair and scratched your cheek, a little unsure how to say this. “Well, I created a serum that, once injected, would lower or lose all inhibitions of the victim. They’d be completely malleable, agreeable, if you just, um,” you fanned yourself, feeling a little too close to the man in front of you, room feeling incredibly warm.

“Just what?” He pried, leaning back in his chair. 

You exhaled shakily, “if you just promise to - to provide relief to them. Sexual - relief.”

Jonathan let out an incredulous laugh. “You made a working aphrodisiac?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t exactly — I don’t even know if it works, for sure. If you don’t want to- take it, then you don’t have to.” You offered up weakly. 

“How d’you get it out of the system?” He said instead, ignoring your words and picking up the needle you had ready for him on your worktable, which was filled with a thick, pink liquid. 

You flushed. “You, um, help the victim relieve themselves, until the feeling is gone.” 

Jonathan looked up at you, a sly smirk on his lips. “And you were going to give this to me?” 

You turned away, face red, exasperated. “I told you, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.”

“And let you pleasure some random guy you snatched off the street? No way,” he said, before you heard a familiar prick, small whine leaving Jonathan’s mouth.

You spun back around so fast you thought you got whiplash. “Jonathan, wait—“ you said, alarmed. You were really, seriously, considering not giving the aphrodisiac to him — it would disrupt the careful balance you and he had built over the past years. 

You were afraid that if he took the serum, and let you, for lack of a better word, get him off, you wouldn’t be able to look at him without remembering him needy, hot and bothered, calling your name out like it was the only word he knew. 

He’d done it anyway, though. And now, you both just had to get through this… experiment. 

Quickly, you grabbed your pen and notebook, ready to approach this scenario as detached and clinically as possible, ignoring the pulsing need in your insides as you saw Jonathan’s face slowly contort into a warm, heavy-lidded lustful one. 

“How do you feel, Jonathan?” You said, standing further away from him so he couldn’t so much as feel your body heat on him. 

“I…” Jonathan blinked rapidly, licking his lips, looking you up and down. “Warm. I just feel… warm.” He readjusted in the seat, unable to sit still. “And - kind of, tingly? Like I - well, I don’t know…”

You noted his words, as well as some of your own observations: his pupils were dilated, so much so the crystalline blue of his eyes were merely slivers, his lips were pursed, plump, and he was pink all over; pink cheeks, pink ears, pink neck. He was talkative, loose-lipped and a little out of it.

You inhaled, then exhaled, before starting the next phase of the experiment. “Jonathan, how do you feel when I touch you here?” You said, raising the back of your hand to caress his cheek. 

Jonathan was affected almost immediately, eyes shutting tight. “It feels,” he said breathily, leaning into your touch, “ah… nice. Good.”

You nodded, promptly pulling away as soon as he’d finished his sentence. Subject enjoys physical touch. Jonathan then peered up at you, looking slightly… disappointed? 

You shook yourself, getting back on task. “How do you feel now?” You pried, noticing he looked far more affected than before. 

Beads of sweat were dripping from his forehead, making his wavy brown hair stick to his skin. He was breathing heavily, and, when you had touched him, he was extremely warm, like he had a fever. 

“I’m, I…” Jonathan trailed off, eyes shutting, shaking his head. “Mmm… my head feels — fuzzy,” he bit out raspily. 

“Okay. Good. It's exactly as I thought,” you murmured, continuing to scratch down notes. 

You ignored him for a few minutes, writing up a list of side effects and observed results of the aphrodisiac. Then, your gaze drew back to him, who had been focussing intently on you the whole time. 

“Jonathan?” you called out quietly, seeing his dazed expression. “Talk to me.”

Jonathan shuddered, leaning forward in the chair, head hanging low, “My - my body’s, hnngh… it feels— feels weird.” He bit his lip, face screwed up and tense. “I’m warm all over…”

His shoulders were hunched in, and he was trembling. You lifted a hand up to his head, petting him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“Ah…” Jonathan squeaked out at your touch, face going slack, “I feel like I need you to - to…” he sighed exasperatedly, “I need you.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek conflictedly. On one hand, you needed to finish up a few more tests, meaning Jonathan would be teased - or tortured, depending on how fast the aphrodisiac was affecting him - a little longer. On the other hand, he was already a breathy mess, begging for your touch. For you. 

“Fuck,” you murmured, turning away from the man who’s eyes were practically rolling into the back of his head at the way you tugged at his locks. “No, no,” you fought your internal struggle. You would not give in to his pleas - you would finish this experiment. 

“Okay. Okay.” you said to no-one but yourself, extracting your hand from his velvet soft hair. “Let’s be professional about this. Jonathan, I’m going to take your clothes off, but you can’t move, and you can’t touch me, okay?”

Jonathan’s breathing became more labored as you spoke, and you swore you could see desperate tears filling his eyes. “I can’t- I can’t touch you? But… but why not?” He was practically whining for you.

“Because, Jonathan, it wouldn’t be beneficial to the experiment.” You didn’t look your partner in the eye, because his complete and total change in behavior had you feeling, quite frankly, as warm as him. 

You continued by undoing the restraints on his arms and legs, and his sharp intakes of breath as your fingers brushed past his skin didn’t slip past you. Not at all. 

Firstly, you undid the man’s white button-up shirt slipping it past his flushed torso. Jonathan’s skin was actually pink and warm all over, and he was breathing heavily now, gripping the chair so tight his knuckles were white. 

“Are you okay, Jonathan?” you asked absently, as you began unbuckling his belt and slipping down his fly. 

Jonathan’s breath hitched in his throat, and he didn’t answer you, biting down on his lower lip to stop any desperate moans from escaping him. 

You finally finished undressing your partner, then redid his restraints, before you stepped back to see him fully. Jonathan was shivering, faint tear tracks on his pink cheeks, head cocked back. 

“It’s just - one, or two more tests, Jonathan.” You murmured quietly, kneeling down in front of him. 

Your hands pressed flat on his thighs, rubbing him up and down, grazing your fingers lightly on his feverish skin. You had to regularly ground yourself, stop yourself from inching up to the poor, untouched tent in his boxer shorts. 

Above you, you could hear Jonathan let out a low groan, “Ah, hnng— please,” he called out to no-one in particular.

“Does that - feel good, Jonathan?” You ask, getting back up on your feet. His desperate groans were getting to you now, how needy his little keens were. 

“So - good,” he panted. “Your— you, I want— need, I need…” he trailed off, babbling, lost to the pleasure of your touch. 

“Jonathan, if I… touched you more, would you do anything for me?” You said finally. The invention of the aphrodisiac was intended to sway someone's motivations, make them bend to your will. Sure, there was that added sexual aspect, but it was created with less… pleasurable intentions. 

“Anything, anything at all,” he said deliriously, rolling his head around. “Jus’… just need you to- touch me.”

“Would you give yourself fear-toxin, Jonathan?”

“Yes! Yes, just — please… please! Stop asking me— questions… I need you so fucking bad, ah…”

“Jesus,” you said. Your aphrodisiac was stronger than you thought. You were satisfied, however, with the results of it. The first trial was a success, and you saw how you could use this on anyone - even people in particular positions of power, and get them to do your bidding. Quite helpful, indeed. 

Now, you needed to… get Jonathan out of this state. By, ah, relieving him.

You had decided to do this, to test him, so you had to be responsible and help ease him out of this experiment. Quickly, you stripped your own clothing, even your underwear, before undoing the restraints on his arms and legs. 

Jonathan’s eyes widened as he watched you undress. “Are you - are you… gonna t—touch me? Now? Please?” He practically begged, almost drooling at the sight of your naked body. 

“Mhm,” you said, a tremble in your voice. “Gon’ help you get out of this.”

Then, you climbed onto Jonathan’s lap, shutting your eyes as you felt his hard cock within his boxer shorts slide between your legs deliciously. 

He let out a guttural groan as your weight pressed down on him, feeling your wetness soak his shorts. That measly piece of fabric was all that was keeping him from entering your plush, velvet folds, and he was going practically insane at the feeling. 

“M’god,” Jonathan whined out, leaning his sweaty head on your shoulder. “Y’feel so, a—ah, good…”

You couldn’t help the breezy laugh that made its way out of you. “I haven’t even touched you yet, Jonathan, and you’re already so worked up,” you whispered in his ear, hot breath fanning on his warm skin.

“P-pleeeease,” He begged, slowly grinding into you. Jonathan was barely coherent, mind just focussed on chasing the release he so desperately needed.

You raised a brow, but complied, slipping your warm hands down his boxer shorts and pulling his thick length out. You pumped him lazy, feeling how he writhed under you, tasteful whimpers slipping out of his mouth. 

After another second of you stroking him lightly, your thumb grazing past the tip and collected a decent amount of precum, he actually did come, wet hot load spurting upwards on his chest and your face. “Ah - hnngh, oh my — oh my god,” he drooled, jutting into your hand. 

It dripped down from your cheek onto your lips, and Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut, losing himself in the pleasure. You swiped a handful of his cream off your face, before covering his still hard, curved cock with it. 

“You’re not done, aren’t you?” You said to him quietly, his hips stuttering as you artfully smeared his come on himself. Jonathan was arching into your touch, completely putty in your hands. 

“Nuh- no, m’still— still need you, need you so bad.” he whimpered shamefully, hands stuck to your waist.

“Look at you go,” you found yourself cooing, dragging a creamy hand down his equally as creamy chest, your fingernails grazing him. “Let me take care of you.”

Then, you lifted yourself up off his lap, and carefully situated your slit on the tip of his head. “Christ,” you called out as you slid down, “you’re fucking big,” 

Inch by inch, you took him, and Jonathan’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head, a string of senseless groans and whines leaving his mouth. “Feels so warm, so so warm,” he choked out at last, looking at you adoringly. 

You started to lift out of him, your cunt stinging slightly at the sheer size of his cock, when you felt a heated liquid shoot through you, Jonathan’s knees buckling under your ass. 

He’d come, again, even before you could get started. You shook your head incredulously at the terribly horny man beneath you, eyes glazed over in the pure ecstasy he was feeling. 

“Stop, fucking — coming,” you scolded, bottoming his cock into you once more, “you’re gonna get me so — ah— fucking - pregnant if you keep coming.”

“Sorry,” Jonathan said sheepishly, burying his head into the crook of your neck. “Can’t help it— you feel so — hnngh — feel so good.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, then focussed on getting a good pace of sliding in and out, your hips rolling deeper and deeper into his own. You were bouncing quickly on his cock, dick-riding him like you’d never done before. 

With all other sexual partners you had, they wanted to be all vanilla, always just missionary, going slow until they were close, no sense of creativity or any other wishes that just feeling you. With Jonathan - especially in the state he was in now - you could do whatever you wanted, as long as his cock was in your cunt. 

“Good — god,” you screamed out, when Jonathan suddenly gained control over himself and snapped into you, rough hands pinching the flesh of your hips. He rutted into you, hard and fast, for a moment like that continually, before his control melted once more into nothingness, and all he could do was let you take the reins. 

“Please— how’re you so — ah, how does your pussy feel so good…” he murmured, trailing off into a high-pitched moan when you pulled out, then just as fast sunk down on him. 

Jonathan’s fingers trailed up your body, rubbing at your soft flesh, before they found your breasts, kneading you tenderly. He chanced several licks on both your erect nipples, and you shuddered, tightening around him. Your cunt was sucking him in, devouring his length no matter how big he was, and he could feel how his length was stretching your walls wide open. 

“So fucking big.” You panted, arms wrapping around his neck, “fat fucking cock all needy, just me.”

“Jus’… just for you! All - ah, all for you,” Jonathan repeated with a squeak, lips bitten delicately between his teeth. 

Your hands trailed all over his body, and as the pleasure was getting to you, making your head dizzy and your thoughts foggy, you bounced down on him and your nails scratched up his back, surely leaving small wounds. 

This miniscule amount of pain seemed to amplify Jonathan’s endless pleasure, and you could feel him pumping you full of his come once again, the tip of his dick pressed flush against your cervix. His come made you feel so full, fuller than you already did with his monstrous cock nestled into you, continually rubbing up on the toe-curlingly spongy spot in your cunt every time you pushed him back in. 

“Mmf,” Jonathan groaned, pleasure muffling whatever he was was going to say, “m’gonna… gonna get you pregnant,”

“Yeah?” You breathed out, squeezing your eyes shut, “Is that what this needy cock wants? To get my wet cunt full and me pregnant?”

“Yes, yes, hnngh, please, wanna come - wanna come more,” Jonathan cried out. 

“‘kay, okay,” you nodded vehemently, “then make this pussy feel good.” 

Then, you slid out with a whimper, two loads worth of come spilling out of your worn-out cunt, turning around so your ass would face him, before you sunk back down on him. You were chasing your own pleasure now, the unmistakable feeling rumbling within your lower stomach. 

Jonathan was completely fucked out, just a shaking, hot and bothered mess on the sticky wooden chair you’d both occupied, but he still welcomed your warm pussy back on him with open arms. Your folds beat any other cunt he’d ever been in, and he knew nothing, not even his own hand, could match up to how addicting you were, how delectably you took him. 

The new angle had you reeling, your hands gripping Jonathan’s thighs for some much-needed support. You were buckling, getting weaker with every bounce, but were still desperate for release. It affected Jonathan too, and he was pressing his face up against your hair, biting down lightly on your shoulder to collect himself despite the earth-shattering pleasure you were inflicting on him. 

Your fleshy cunt met his rock-solid cock every moment perfectly, and soon enough your back was arching, head leaning back on Jonathan’s shoulder. That knot in your stomach was tightening, a fire burning within you and begging you not to stop.

Jonathan’s needy hands were coursing all over your body, rubbing on you in all the right places, and when his calloused fingers began pinching and twisting at your sensitive nipples, you saw white. That burning feeling dragged across your entire body, your jaw tensing, and you felt positively fuzzy, pure pleasure destroying all coherent thoughts you’d been having, your mind now focussed on the insane way he made you orgasm. 

There was nothing that could compare to how you felt now, this being the hardest you’d orgasmed in your entire life. There was just something about Jonathan — be it how unbelievably big he was, or perhaps the odd tension that surrounded you two for the past few years — that made this experience ten times, no, a hundred times, better.

It was like his dick had been artfully crafted to stretch you out and stuff you full; that thick cock, made just for you. 

In place of your weakening strength, Jonathan kept his hand tweaking your breast, and his other hand gripped your hip tightly, helping you bounce up and down on his cock. Thus, the pleasure was maximized by his touch, and you rode out your high like that for a few more long moments. 

You stayed there, on his lap panting and drooling, for a few more seconds, before you climbed off of him, grimacing at the loss of his sweet cock in you. 

You stood shakily, feeling his come ooze out of your sticky hole, and you were surprised to see that Jonathan was still hard. He was panting, head leaning against the chair, hands and legs trembling, but his dick could probably still pump out another round of come. 

You did always wondering how he’d taste, and after seeing how long and thick he was, you wanted to know if his dick could make you cry, too. So, you kneeled down on the cold floor, pulling him by the ankles a little further off the chair, so you could get better access to him, and buried your pretty little head between his shaking thighs. 

“What’re you— doing?” Jonathan said blearily, but before he could continue, your soft lips wrapped around him, and your tongue began artfully swiveling his sensitive head.

The loudest moan you’d heard so far was drawn out of Jonathan, and more, similar noises came out of him. It was nonsensical, and unintelligible, but you could tell he was having the time of his life — as if he hadn’t just orgasmed three times prior. 

You started slowly, mouth taking his cock until you felt like you couldn’t anymore, before forcing past that point and making yourself take him to the back of your throat. Tears lined the rims of your eyes, your head swimming from lack of oxygen, but you couldn’t help how badly you wanted to hear him whimper and whine out from how good you were servicing him, his pretty groans reaching your ears like music. 

You pulled his cock out of your mouth when you felt like you were going to pass out, and then you began lapping up at his cock, sucking and curving your tongue around his long length. You sucked him hard and fast, and then, his hands grappled at your hair. 

At this point, you believed the aphrodisiac was wearing off, and Jonathan, now a little more clearheaded, began face fucking you, filling your sweet mouth full with his filthy cock. He couldn’t resist doing so, especially with you looking up at him through your tear-stained lashes, hollowing out your cheeks and gripping his thighs like your life depended on it. 

You gagged on him, several times, but he didn’t care, and with a jolted thrust past your swollen lips, he came, squirting all he had left down your throat. You sucked and swallowed every drop of him into your mouth, loving the taste of his salty liquid. 

Now, you were both fucked out, beyond tired, the strain on your muscles settling in. Your core had been properly exercised, what with how many times you rutted into Jonathan, and he, similarly, had a strained back with how much he arched into your touch, his aphrodisiac-clouded mind wanting nothing more but to be touched by you. 

“Good god, woman,” Jonathan said, collapsing into the wooden chair, which was sticky with sweat, come and your cunt’s soaking wetness. “You could’ve just said you wanted to fuck,”

You panted, dropping down onto the cold floor beneath you and wincing. “We’re — we were, just friends.”

He waved away your words, “We live together, darling. Not quite sure if that's “just” friends.”

You looked up at him, before laughing agreeably. “Felt good though, didn’t it?” A smug grin made its way on your lips, remembering how submissive Jonathan had been, how desperate he’d been just for the slightest bit of touch. 

“Amazing,” he said exasperatedly. “But next time, you’re not topping.”

“Next time, huh?” You said brightly, shakily getting up. Jonathan helped you, both of you limping exhaustedly up the stairs to your actual house, where you really should’ve been fucking, instead of the clinical environment of your large basement lab.

Jonathan’s hands found your ass, pulling you flush against him and kneading the flesh roughly. “Why not? Don’t you wanna know how I fuck?” he whispered suggestively into your ear, nibbling at the lobe. 

“I think, you’ve still got some aphrodisiac in you, Jon.” you said, laughing breezily. 

[kazbrekkerscrutches]

Xavier Thorpe - Take my hands

Warnings: Mention of burial, dark humor(like at one place), overall fluff, scratches

Words: 1.8k

GN PRONOUNS

Trope/Context: Reader is antisocial, not related to Wednesday Addams, but is the MC (storyline modified), Childhood friends to lovers <3, slowburn (A/N: One of my favorite tropes lmao, enjoy!)

Black settled into my room. Not the usual morning sunshine.

Rain and clouds.

Ever since I got to this school, nature has been turning darker and darker everyday. My own room, shared with dear Enid feels even more hollow than usual.

“You have to wake up, Y/N!”

“Yes Enid, you could wake up the dead with that perfume you spray on everyday.” I replied snarky.

“Rude.” I watched her get out of the room after I took off the covers from me.

I liked her, maybe it was a secret to anyone in my life, but I do like her. She is nice. Probably the nicest person you could ever meet that doesn’t kill people for fun.

My visions have been more intense recently. Anything I touch makes me afraid that I will discover something about it. It is scary; that pleasant feeling of being touched by a live wire, but not every minute of everyday.

For some obscure reason, I could not get a certain person out of my head.

Not Enid, you may ask, but a certain seer.

Xavier.

It is not for the usual teenage gossip type of thinking. He is my prime suspect as of whom the beast may be. The Hyde. The hidden Jekyll.

Everything about his behaviour, timing, thinking seems to fit so perfectly. Too perfectly.

“Thing. Please write something to you know who. Don’t make it cheesy. Make it brief.”

I turned my head to look at Thing only to ear a thumbs up from him. Well, that may be good enough to talk to a hand.

As I walked to go to class, that darkness felt even more closer. Like it was following me from behind my back. It felt like a tick was tickling my brain, to try and tell me something.

I arrived in class, only to find Xavier sketching something in his book. I approached silently only to find him adding shading to a cello.

My cello.

My instrument.

My brain cannot deal with this right now.

“Hi Y/N, always a pleasure seeing you around.” Xavier turned around, offering me a warm smile. That turned something in a stomach. Good? Bad? Weird?

I’ll take weird.

“Felt inspired by my serenade?” I offered him my signature glare, looking over his shoulder to see his drawing.

“Truly inspiring.” He turned back to his drawing, leaving me behind him.

Those scratches on his neck, so curious. No wonder he is my primary subject.

“Stop glaring and sit down. I don’t bite.” He whispered. I snapped out of my mind, sat down besides him.

“I do like biting.” He looked up from his drawing, my Y/E/C eyes. His beautiful green eyes. He smirked a little bit before Ms. Thornhill started her class.

I don’t know what I was supposed to feel. How I was supposed to feel. Yes, he is my prime suspect but he saved me from Rowan. He was always somewhere, lurking in the shadows. My shadow not longer felt like one.

[Flashback]

“Help! Please someone help!” I heard screams coming from the casket. Hell, did that boy’s godmother come back from hell?

That thing did not sound like a women. More like a boy. I moved around the purgatory only to find a big red button with STOP on it.

“Ridiculous.”  I pressed on it; the coffin stopped its way into the pit of fire. I opened the coffin only to find the boy. We were supposed to play hide and seek.  

“What are you doing in here? This isn’t a place to hide” Xavier looked up at me with weary eyes.

“I thought it was original. Thank you though.” He got out of the coffin, still towering me with his height.

“You lost.” A smirk appeared on my face and we both walked away to back out there.   

[Present, time skip]

I was wondering where Xavier had run to. He always abandons me for some random artistic calling of his. Thing appeared before me, updating me with some desperate news.

He handed me the note I had mention to give to Xavier.

Awn, Y/N Y/L/N has feelings for me.

Cute, though I know Thing wrote that.

Meet me in the cabin. 9 p.m.

Xavier

Weirdly, I felt my heart beat way faster than it normally should. I feel ill, not in a pleasant way, terrible ill way.

“I will end you, Thing.” He apologized immensely before pointing to something around the place.

He pointed the note, which looked like it was covered in some kind of dust. I did not look like dry paint or led dust. Ashes. How thoughtful.

He must know that I am suspicious of him; that I think he is the Hyde.

The darkness settled again, as if it was telling me that I was wrong; that my track was far from where I was headed. I pushed it away, snapped a glace at my clock only to find the time running fast. 8:51 p.m.

I have to go. Hopefully I make it out alive, and sane.

[Xavier’s art studio]

I knocked two times.

I’m hilarious, I’m aware.

“My favorite dead body has arrived!” He almost screamed as he opened the door.

He was wearing a red shirt, hair still damp and sweatpants low on his hips. As much as I hated to admit it, he had some sort of effect on me. I suddenly felt hot, uncomfortable in my own skin. I almost felt a smile creep up on my face.

“Tad bit dramatic.” I snarked, passing through him and the door. “I hope those weren’t you godmother’s ashes you sent.” His clean and fresh scent filled my head. Comforting.

He turned to me, closing the door behind him. He leaned on the door frame, crossed his thin long arms around his chest.

“Maybe, maybe not.” He looked at me dead in the eye. “What did you want to talk about?” The paintings surrounding me were dark and were all filled with the Hyde’s face. I had never actually been in here before but he caught me trying to get in.

“What is it of the Hyde that captivates you so, Xavier?” I turned around every wall to have a better look at his artistry.  

“I keep having dreams about it. The only way I can get it out is by drawing it, even if it ends up with me getting scratched by my own drawing.” I snapped around to look at him rubbing his neck. There were three long scratches along it. I had noticed.

“Do they hurt?” Is a question I never thought I would’ve asked in my entire life. He tilted his head, approached me softly. He towered me even more than I would’ve thought.

He bent down to whisper in my ear. “Why aren’t you asking if I did this to myself?” He bent a little; looking at me dead in the eye.

“You have no reason to do this to yourself. I know you.” His gaze softened.

“You don’t think I’m the Hyde, then?” Shoot. He figured it out.

He stayed right where he was and I did not give him the satisfaction of fear or yet defeat in my eyes.

“Prove me you're not the Hyde, Xavier. Tell me I’m wrong.” I almost pleated, blinking endlessly.

“How can I prove this to you, Y/N? You are stubborn yet so deep into your theories.”

“Where were you when Eugene was attacked? If you tell me, you were here, and not wondering in the middle of the forest, I will believe you and drop this.” I sighted. “Please, tell me you weren’t out there.”

He stared almost blankly into my eyes. He stood up straight, passed his hands into his long hair and turned back to face me. “Take my hands, seek your answers.”

I could tell he was disappointed that I had asked him that. I dropped my bag on the floor, approaching him as slowly as he was.

His touch felt comforting and warm against my feverish skin. My head pulled back as I felt myself going under.

…

I woke up only to find Xavier hold me in his lap, passing his fingers in my hair softly, still holding one of my hands with his.

“Did you get your answers?” I nodded, proving to myself that he was not the Hyde.

“I’m… I’m sorry I doubted you. I shouldn’t have. You were the only person loyal to me, maybe except Thing.” I sat up from his lap, looking at him, both of us sitting on the floor of his Art space.

“Don’t be. We aren’t ten anymore. You know I’m innocent and I would’ve never, on my godmother’s grave have hurt all of those people and I think you may know that better than anyone.” Thunder roared behind us, I still felt his hand on mine but I did not pull away.

His Adam’s apple bobbed down a couple of times, as he looked at me deeply in the eyes.

“What did Thing tell you, in the note?” I nervously swallowed, his presence making me feel like a hormonal teenager.

“He told me that you, missy, have the biggest crush on me but is way too shy and antisocial to tell me. Is that true?” He tilted his head a little, making his hair brush his cheek.

I felt my own heart rush out of my chest. Thing was not lying.

“Thing isn’t lying.” I whispered lowly, tilting my head down. He reached his hand to tilt it back towards him.

As we were still close, he bent down to reach my ear, breathed in, and out making shivers run down my back.

“I hope you liked my godmother’s ashes or shall I say charcoal powder in the reply note.” He paused. I smirked slightly against his fiery skin.

“I like you too, Y/N.” He didn’t pull away but tilted my head once again towards him; making me look at his lips, green eyes, soft yet strong features.

I breathed shakily and leaned towards him. I felt his lips brush my own before he softly placed his lips upon mine. Electricity ran through me, with the satisfying after burn which was my heart heating up.

The darkness I had felt slowly pulled away, leaving my soul, and leaving at a certain state of peace.

His hand was soft against the skin of my cheeks, his lips soft yet delicate and passionate felt incredible on mine. He pulled away only to do it again, and again, and again.

I pulled away after a few second, feeling my heart flying like a hummingbird. “Not so bad?”

“Not bad at all, incredible if I must.” His gaze lightened, as he pulled me to kiss him again.

Two teenagers kissing on the floor of an art studio, two childhood best friends turned into…

Lovers.  

[nevadancitizen]

-> YOU'RE OUT OF TOUCH – I'VE BEEN OUTTA TIME

synopsis: you died six months ago, but you've come back to haunt johnny. not as a ghost, no – as some twisted version of you that johnny still loves. too bad you don't still love johnny, or remember him in any capacity.

word count: 4k

characters: john "soap" mactavish, resurrected! reader

trigger warnings: talk of canon-typical violence, temporal weirdness, hurt + damn near no comfort

notes: first soap fic.. hopefully i've written him well!! also i couldn't resist incorporating madness combat in this somehow lol it's taking over my life (you don't need to know anything about madcom to read this, don't worry). also tumblr user nevadancitizen using the amnesia trope again? it's more likely than you think.

Somewhere in Nevada, a battered body is denied death, so that it may be granted, en masse…

And six months ago, somewhere in Russia, you were killed in action. 

It was a single shot through the skull – nice, clean. You didn’t suffer. Despite your killer more than likely being a terrorist (or working for one), they did you right. It was probably unintentional, but they still did you right. 

Johnny couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed, even to piss, for weeks after. He was completely numb to almost everything. The world passed by while he stood completely still, laying on his side in your shared bed, spooning a pillow that was rapidly losing your scent. 

(He even tried spraying it with your perfume or cologne, but it didn’t work. It was too strong – it didn’t smell like when you wore it.)

Johnny thought all-too-often about what happened after death. He was ready to die, always has been, but he never really thought about what would happen if (or, more accurately, when) you died. He always cast those thoughts away, because he was done losing people. He was done with grief and screaming, pleading to God, and crying so hard he threw up. 

But he eventually returned to his job. He eventually put you to rest. He prayed for the first time in damn near two decades that, if there was really an afterlife, that you were in Heaven.

(He just hoped that, whatever Heaven there was, it was good enough for you.)

But again, six months ago, somewhere in Nevada, a battered body was denied death, so that it may be granted, en masse.

It is a land without sun, without warmth unless you could find it in another body. It is a land without rules, without remorse, without regret. 

It is a land of violence. It is a land that fits you well.

Despite being dead, you were sewed back together and cursed to live once more. Someone put a gun in your hands and told you, “Listen bozo, I don’t care where you’re from – just shoot!”

Of course, Johnny didn’t know this. How could he? He watched your casket be lowered into the ground. He knew it wasn’t empty – he had to confirm your identity in the morgue. 

But he can’t help but feel his stomach drop when Kyle comes rushing into his office, pointing behind him and, in a panting breath, says your name. 

Johnny immediately springs up from behind his desk and almost pushes past Kyle to get out the door. He turns down the hallway to the left, where he knows it leads to the hospital ward. 

“No, Soap – Soap!” Kyle sprints after him, just barely catching his wrist. “Wrong way, man.”

Johnny stops and, in his stunned state, lets Kyle lead him down the hallway to the right, away from the medbay, away from where you were surely waiting for him, recovering.

Kyle leads him into an elevator, scans his keycard, and presses the button for -3. They’re both uncharacteristically quiet. It just faintly registers in Johnny’s mind that the floor -3 is below the parking garages, past where anyone typically goes. 

(Past where anyone can hear screams ripped from tortured throats, really.)

When the elevator doors open, Soap’s greeted by a familiar sight. It’s a grey concrete hallway, with two soldiers on either side, guarding the way in. Doors line the hall, each one steel with a keypad to unlock it.

Gaz leads Soap down the hall and doesn’t stop for a while. Eventually, he stops in front of the last door and takes a deep, almost shuddering, breath.

Gaz inputs the code into the keypad and opens the door, nodding at the inside. “Come on.”

Soap, almost so quick he clips his shoulder on the doorframe, goes into the room. It overlooks an interrogation room, and it’s fit with a double-sided mirror, recording tech, everything.

Soap freezes when he looks into the interrogation room. It – it’s you, but… not you. You’re pacing, and Johnny can only stare. There’s a grey flush to your skin – no, your skin is actually grey – and bandages cover the back of your head, dirty and frayed, like you haven’t changed them in a while. 

You’re angry, a far cry from the person Johnny knew you to be. Sure, you could be angry, and Johnny’s seen you angry, but this…

You’re panting as you pace, fists clenching and unclenching as your eyes dart around the room. Soft mutters and expletives leave your mouth as you look around, surely looking for a way to escape. 

Johnny just keeps staring. You’re… alive? Yes, you’re not what Johnny remembers you to be, but you’re still alive. 

“Fucking – goddamnit!” You bang your fist on the steel table, causing it to rattle. “I don’t have anything to tell you! You’re all cowards –” you turn to the double-sided mirror and point at it “– especially you, Sheriff! Don’t tell me you’re not back there!”

You immediately turn away, your hands coming to clutch at the sides of your head, your fingers digging into the bandages, almost ripping them. “I swear, when I get my hands on you…!” 

“We don’t know what to do,” Kyle says softly. He looks over at Soap, his gaze obviously sad and sympathetic. “Do you want to try ‘n talk ‘em? Even if they’re feelin’ a tad… neurotic.”

Johnny can’t rip his gaze from you as you throw a steel chair at the wall, still cursing out someone named Sheriff and his lackeys. The chair bounces off the wall and one of the legs hits your shin, causing you to curse it out, too.

“Yes,” Johnny says quickly, decisively. 

Soap shifts on his feet, oddly impatient, as he waits for Kyle to unlock the door to the interrogation room. As soon as he does, Johnny shoulders past him and into the room. He hears a faint click as Gaz closes it behind him. 

You immediately whirl on Johnny, your eyes wide and your breath labored. 

“You!” You point at Johnny like it’s meant to be some offensive gesture. “What do you want?”

You move closer, and Johnny catches sight of the dogtags hanging from your neck. You were buried with one, and he kept the other. He even gave you one of his own because, on that day, a part of him died with you. But… instead of two, you have four hanging from the metal chain. 

You shove your finger in Johnny’s chest, your fingernail digging through the thin fabric of his fatigues. “Answer me!”

Soap immediately takes your wrist and cradles your hand to his chest. “Bonnie, please, calm down.”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!” you bark, ripping your hand away from him. “I just lost one of my team and you’re telling me to calm down?!”

“Your team?” Soap echoes.

“Deimos!” you snap. “You – you killed Deimos.”

You take a step back, your fists still clenched and your eyes still angry. “I saw your stupid fucking Engineer murder him. He was dead from the first five bullets, and you know he knew that! But oh, let’s just make sure he’s dead by unloading clip after clip into him.”

You heave a breath, almost growling. “Let’s desecrate his corpse. All because he’s a dissenter. Let’s make it oh-so-hard to bring him back.”

Johnny steps forward, just barely moving his foot, and you jump back like he took out a knife. 

He breathes out your name, soft and unbelieving. “Are… is it really you?”

“Of course it’s me!” You turn and rest your hands on the steel table, obviously resisting the urge to bring your fists down against it. “Always has been, always will be. It’s always me.”

Johnny circles around the table and leans down a little, taking in your face. The grey makes you look dirty and unwashed, like you’ve got a layer of dirt on you that you couldn’t wash away.

You look up at him through your eyelashes. “I know you.”

Johnny’s heart leaps into his throat and, for a hopeful moment, thinks that you remember him, that this is all some sort of stupid trick, that you went MIA instead of being KIA, that this is really you. The you Johnny knows, the you Johnny loves. But his heart is crushed beneath your boot when you speak next. 

“I know soldiers like you,” you say softly. “Soldiers, produced en masse, told to shoot first and die quietly. We’re both clones, you know? But there’s a difference in what we want.”

You stand up straight, glancing at the double-sided mirror before turning your eyes back to Soap. “You follow orders. When they say jump, you ask how high. But I…” you laugh beneath your breath. “I am fighting for change. Normality. You’re comfortable living in this… this chaos.”

“Bonnie, what are you on about?” Johnny reaches across the table, trying to take your hand. You snatch it away before he even comes close.

Gaz slides into the room, holding a tablet. You whip your head around and glare at him. 

His eyebrows lift a little, and he raises the tablet, as if in a defensive manner. “Your tablet. It –”

You snatch it from Gaz’s hands before he can talk again. You set it down on the table and stare at it, waiting.

Johnny can just barely see the interface. The top of the screen reads COMBASIC .9(beta). It looks like some sort of chat room. A few messages pop up in quick succession.

FellowD9: GOTEM FellowD9: YOU WERE RIGHT FellowD9: HE WAS COMPLIANT 2BDamned: Neat FellowD9: CHECK MY SECTOR FellowD9: ANCHOR HIM NOW [user:FellowD9 IS OFFLINE]

The messages seem to relax you, even if Johnny has no idea what they’re talking about. You bring a hand to your forehead and laugh breathlessly, then set to typing.

CrosshairF6: lol hey im still alive CrosshairF6: aahw assholes gave me my tablet idk why CrosshairF6: check my sector & get me back 2BDamned: Getting Deimos right now, I’ll get back to you CrosshairF6: better do it right CrosshairF6: saw his corpse, looks like he ran through traffic [user:2BDamned IS OFFLINE]

Johnny watches as you tuck your tablet back in one of the inner pockets of your jacket, casting a suspicious glance at Gaz, like you expect him to take it back. 

Gaz raises his hands and slips back out of the room, leaving you and Johnny.

“So.” You look at Johnny. “Why are you trying to act all buddy-buddy with me?”

“You’re… you were…” Johnny sighs, an overwhelming feeling settling in his chest. “Do you remember… dying?”

“Of course,” you say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “2B brought me back.”

“2B?” Johnny echoes. “Like, the one you were talkin’ to? 2BDamned?”

“Yeah.” You move and lean back against the wall, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s all doctor-like, y’know? Brings us back when we need it.”

“And he’s… on your team?” Johnny asks. He feels a deep pang of… something in his chest when the thought of you actually being on another team, separate from him, settles in his mind.

You nod. “Yeah. 2B, Hank, Sanford, Deimos.” You tap the dog tags resting against your chest. “We’re a team. Some of us are on a subteam, but still. We’re a team.”

Johnny blinks hard, shaking the thought from his head. “Do you remember anything before you died?”

“Some, but… not a lot. Just blips of fighting, some soldiers, then Nevada.” You shrug. “2B says that happens sometimes.”

Johnny feels his tense shoulders relax, if only a little. “Any one specific soldier, bonnie?”

“No,” you say. You look away and fiddle with your dogtags. “But I’ve got the dogtag of someone named John.”

“John?” Johnny echoes, his heart picking up in his chest. “John ‘Soap’ MacTavish?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze fixes on him again, immediately suspicious. “How do you know that?”

“That’s me, bonnie.” Johnny laughs breathlessly, moving towards you. He makes sure to stay slow and cautious, just in case. “I’m Johnny. Your Johnny.”

You move along the wall, away from him, just slightly. You seem to bristle a little, and bring your shoulders up a bit. “You’re not mine. I don’t own anyone.”

“Not in the literal sense, bonnie,” Johnny laughs, resisting the urge to trail after you. “I’m yours, romantically.”

You bring yourself off the wall, taking a step back. It’s like you’re repulsed by the idea. “I’ve never been romantically involved with anyone. You think I’ve got time for that?”

It’s like Johnny’s been punched in the gut. Tears well in his eyes and he suddenly feels so fucking sick. His feet almost come out from under him as he stumbles to the door, shaking hands putting in the code before slipping out. 

He could take the idea of you maybe not remembering him, sure. He could just re-introduce himself. He could take the idea of you forgetting the time you’ve spent together, because you’d remember, right? But the way you were disgusted by the idea of romance, the vitriol in your voice as you spoke…

Johnny doesn’t like the word ‘relapse’ because he thinks it holds too heavy of a connotation, but that’s the best way to describe what he did for the rest of the day, and into the early hours of tomorrow. He rotted in your shared bed, but instead of feeling numb, he felt his heart being wrenched by your hand, by your words. 

He just laid there, looking at his sketchbook – a good one with thick paper. The one you’d gifted him for your six-month anniversary. It’s filled with drawings of you: candid ones, ones where he had you pose (even though you were embarrassed), ones of you and him, together, doing couple-y things. 

He could only mourn what was lost, because you seemed to have absolutely no interest in recovering it. 

A week passes before you’re able to be let out of your cell. You slowly lost the fire and brimstone that filled your heart as you realized that the 141 really did want to help you. You feel better now that you have a few people by your side, fresh bandages, and a renewed sense of comfort.

(But you forgave yourself for acting like that in the beginning because, in Nevada, no one is nice. Not without an ulterior motive, at least.)

You’re practically on a leash as Ghost leads you throughout the base. He doesn’t talk as he guides you through winding hallways and up an exhaustive amount of flights of stairs. 

Eventually, he opens a door labeled ‘ROOF EXIT.’ He tilts his head towards the door.

“Someone waitin’ for you,” Ghost says gruffly. “And…”

He fishes around in his pocket and pulls out a carton of cigarettes. Your cigarettes. 

Ghost takes your hand and puts it in your palm. “Don’t set anything on fire.”

You close your fingers around it and nod. “Got it, boss.”

Ghost starts back down the stairs, leaving you and the open door to the roof. You move through it and look around. 

Johnny’s sitting, cross-legged, on the concrete roof, facing away from you. It’s dark – obviously, it’s night. You look up and take in the stars, and…

“You have a moon,” you say softly.

Johnny looks back at you, a tentative smile on his face. Like he’s scared to be too hopeful. “Yeah. We do.”

You hum and look at Johnny. 

“Do you…” Johnny glances at the floor, then back up at you. “Do you wanna sit with me, bonnie?”

You slowly move over to Johnny and sit by him. You keep a healthy distance, but you’re still closer than you’ve ever been to him before. 

“Those fags for sharin’?” Johnny asks, a teasing smile on his face. 

You look down at the carton of cigarettes in your hand. You grip them a little tighter, causing the thin carton to crumple a bit. “Sure. Don’t know if you’ll like them, though.”

“Nonsense, bonnie.” Johnny bumps his shoulder against yours. “Let’s give ‘em a go.”

You smile and take out two cigarettes. You hand one over to Johnny. They’re hand-rolled and don’t have a filter, so they look more like joints, but the overwhelming smell of raw tobacco quickly quells that thought.

“Got a light?” you ask.

“‘Course.” Johnny reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small lighter. He lights his own cigarette, then pulls it away with a sputtering cough. 

“Steamin’ Jesus, what is that?” He asks in between coughs. 

You laugh, hitting your knee as Johnny reels from the taste. “It’s good, yeah?”

“Hell no!” Johnny wipes tears from his eyes and looks over at you. Despite his coughing, a soft smile spreads across his face at the way you’re laughing – loud, unabashed. Just like before.

You swipe Johnny’s lighter from his hand and light your cigarette, the cherry basking your face in a soft, warm glow. “Welcome to Nevada.”

“Let’s see that thing.” Johnny reaches over and takes the carton from your hand.

He turns it over, looking at it. The carton is worn, like it’s been refilled many times. There’s no warning about nicotine being an addictive chemical, just a grey box with a simple brand: G01 Choice. There’s a name scribbled on the back – Deimos, in all capital letters. 

“Deimos,” Johnny says aloud. “The man died and you stole his cigs?”

“He’s not dead.” You take the carton back and tuck it into your jacket pocket. “Not anymore. Well, he’s died lotsa times, so I guess he’s an... honorary corpse.”

“An honorary corpse,” Johnny echoes, looking down at the cigarette in his hand. He puts it out on the concrete. “Just like you, yeah?”

You take a drag off your cigarette and blow out the smoke in a single, smooth stream. “Just like me.”

A silence settles as you look up at the moon. You can feel Johnny’s eyes occasionally flitting to you, then back up at the night sky. 

“Your dogtags.” Johnny points in your direction. “Whose are they?”

You look down and tug on the metal chain, causing them to clink together. “Mine, yours, and my team’s.”

“Your team?” Johnny asks softly. “You never told me about them.”

“Yeah.” You look over at him. “I’m part of an extraction team. My partners are Sanford and Deimos.”

A pain, almost so real he thought he was actually injured, runs through Johnny when you say partners. The logical side of his brain chides him a few moments later because you obviously meant it in a militaristic sense, not a romantic sense.

“Can I see them?” Johnny asks.

You nod and take off the chain, then hand them to Johnny. He looks at the dogtags – he recognizes his and yours as being standard military dogtags, but Sanford and Deimos’ are much more… odd.

Sanford’s reads SANFORD / MELEE + EXPLOSIVES / G02 (NEG) / RETURN TO FAMILY. Deimos’ reads DEIMOS / FIREARMS + TECH / G02 (POS) / NO FAMILY. 

Johnny tilts the dogtags so that you can see them and runs a finger along the lettering. “What do these mean, bonnie?” 

You move a bit closer and lean in. “The first lines are their names, obviously. The second is what they’re proficient in. The third is what generation clone they are, and their blood types – there are only two blood types for second generation clones. And the last one is what to do with their bodies if they can’t be revived.”

“Wait, bonnie.” Johnny laughs breathlessly. “Clones?”

“Yeah, clones.” You tilt your head a little to the side. “What, you don’t have cloning technology here?”

“Of course not!” Johnny laughs.

You laugh and bump your shoulder against his. “You people are so primitive.”

Johnny smiles back at you and it’s like nothing is wrong. You both go quiet as you stare at each other until you look away.

“I, uh…” you clear your throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry for being so… abrasive. Earlier, I mean.”

“It’s alright,” Johnny says, almost too quickly. 

You scratch your cheek and glance over at Johnny, then away. “But it’s not, is it? I should’ve handled things better.”

“Someone you know died right before we talked.” Johnny reaches over and, cautiously, puts his hand over yours where it rests on your knee. “It’s expected that you don’t act like yourself.”

Your breath hitches, and Johnny squeezes your hand reassuringly in response. 

“But that’s the thing,” you say. “I’ve seen so many awful things before. People getting shot, stabbed, beaten, Hank tearing people apart with his bare hands. But, Maker…”

You drag a hand down your face, rubbing your jaw. “Deimos is young. So young. He’s only twenty-seven, and he always has a smile like he’s just tied your shoelaces together and is waiting for you to trip. And he’s so smart, even if everyone calls him a bit stupid. Yeah, he’s got a slower reaction time, but that’s what me and Sanford are for, y’know? He…”

You blink hard, trying to will your tears away. A soft, frustrated groan leaves your mouth as you duck your head and put your cigarette to your lips. “Don’t look at me.”

Johnny starts to pull his hand away, but stops when you squeeze his hand. Instead, he squeezes your hand back, averting his gaze.

To Johnny, it again almost feels like nothing ever happened. Like there’s no Russia, no Nevada, nothing besides you and him on this roof, together. But he’s no fool. He knows things have changed – that Nevada has changed you. 

You breathe out a shaky plume of cigarette smoke. “I just want to go back.”

“But you’re here now, bonnie,” Johnny says. He tries to ignore the crushing feeling in his chest, tries to keep his composure for you. “Aren’t you glad you’re back?”

“I don’t know this place.” You look over at Johnny, your eyes rimmed with unshed tears. “You keep saying that we’re together, that – that this is my home. But how can this be my home if I don’t remember a thing about it? How can you be my boyfriend if I don’t remember a thing about you?”

Johnny exhales sharply, like he’s just got the wind knocked out of him. “Bonnie, please don’t say that. Please.”

“I know violence, and I know bloodshed,” you say softly. “I know Nevada. This place, this world…” You gesture vaguely with your cigarette still in your hand. “It’s not mine.”

“But there is violence here, there is bloodshed here,” Johnny insists. “Here, we fought together.”

“But I don’t remember us being together, in any capacity!” you snap. You take a breath and try your best to soften your words. “All I remember from before is just flashes. I didn’t remember your face. I just had your dogtag and a weird, empty feeling.”

Johnny sighs and feels tears welling up in his eyes. He can’t tear his gaze away from you. 

“You really expected me to trace the bullet and sift through fleeting memories when there was an entire agency playing Pinkertons knocking down our door?” you ask softly. “2B was bandaging my head ‘cause he just finished playing around in my brains and Sanford was shoving a gun in my hands. They pointed me in a direction and told me to shoot. I didn’t have the time to remember you.

“I’m sorry, but I just didn’t.” You squeeze his hand before letting it go.

Johnny immediately scrambles to catch your hand in both of his, holding on desperately. “No, bonnie, please.”

A few tears slip down Johnny’s cheeks as he looks at you. Your face is a mirror of his own, just in greyscale. Your cheeks are stained with tears and your eyes are just beginning to get a bit puffy. 

“If you know you’re gonna be leaving again, then just let me hold your hand,” Johnny says softly, his voice wavering. “Just for a few more minutes.”

You nod and, when you blink, a tear rolls down your already-wet cheek. “Okay.”

Johnny slowly moves so that you’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder to him. He hesitates before resting his head on your shoulder. You smell just like how he remembers, albeit tinged with the acrid tang of G01 Choice cigarette smoke. You’re just as beautiful as the day he lost you.

“Okay.”

[lokis-army-77]

Left behind

Eddie Munson x female reader

Word Count: 1884

After a funeral, Eddie feels he's being left alone and says some hurtful things to the reader. After some time apart at home, he comes to apologize and is assured by the reader that she will never leave him.

Warning: Talk of death, at a funeral, angst, fluff, Eddie says some mean things.

A/N: I'm so sorry..

Masterlist

The wind whipped around us and the chill it brought stung like ice. My cheeks had already started to turn pink from the cold, my nose numb and as red as could be. A December afternoon in Indiana is a dreary thing, put a funeral on top of it and it's the physical manifestation of Depression. 

I stood just behind Eddie, who was dressed in his only suit with his long hair pulled back in a bun out of his face. My own black dress clung to me in the wind, the bottom hem whipping around at my knees. 

The pastor provided by the funeral home spoke in a bored and monotonous tone, by this point I had drowned him out. I was too concerned for Eddie right now to worry about being led to christ while we buried a loved one. 

He was hiding it well. No emotion showing on his beautiful face. His eyes almost glazed over as he bored a hole into the casket. 

It was a simple thing, the cheapest we could afford. Grey aluminum with the smallest casket spray on top. Those flowers weren't even the nicest and the wind was doing a number on the soft white petals. 

Quietly, I placed my hand on Eddie's shoulder, letting him know I was there for him. I felt him stiffen before reluctantly pulling my hand away. 

Looking around us, only a hand full of people were gathered. A few guys who worked at the plant and a waitress from the diner we visited almost every Saturday morning. 

They all gave me sad smiles when they caught my eye. I gave them one back. 

I hadn’t noticed the preacher had stopped talking until a hand was cupping my own. Turning around it was the waitress. 

"Saturday mornings sure aren't gonna be the same without him." She squeezed my hand. "I've got a casserole with your name on it, just come on by the diner and I'll bring it out to you." 

I shook my head. "No, no, Mrs. Janice, that's too much. You didn't have to do that." 

"Oh Hun, you shouldn't have to worry about cooking or finding food when you're going through a loss." She pouted. "Come on by and I'll give it to you and if you need any more, just give me a call." 

"Yes ma'am. Thank you."  I gave her a tight smile and she left. 

Next were the three plant workers who introduced themselves as, Randy, Carl, and Jimmy. They gave their condolences as they shook my hand before taking off. 

The Pastor was last. "Mrs. Munson," he started. I only nodded not wanting to correct him on the fact that I wasn't married to Eddie yet, only engaged. "They are going to start lowering the casket. I don't know if you want to watch that but you can if you would like." 

"Thank you, I think we might." 

"Well then, I'll be on my way. I'm very sorry for your loss." He turned on his heel and followed the others through the cemetery to where all the vehicles had been parked. 

I went back to Eddie, who hadn’t moved to talk to anyone. 

"Eddie, sweetheart, why don't we go? Hum?" I linked my arm with his. 

He didn't budge when I pulled on his arm so I stood there with him as he stared and I watched the men begin to lower the casket into the ground and shovel the mound of dirt back into the hole. 

Once they were finished and gone we still stayed standing, looking at the grave with the casket spray decorating the dirt. It was getting colder by the minute since the sun was starting to set and Eddie still hadn't given any sign that he wasn't a statue. 

"Eddie?" I question, going to stand in front of him, eyes searching his face. "Eddie please, I need you to say something, move, anything." I couldn’t hide the wobble of worry coming through in my voice. 

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it, then closed it again. 

"Want me to give you a minute alone?" He nodded. "Okay. I'll be in the car when you're ready to go." 

Slowly I let go of him and braced myself against the wind towards the car. Slipping into the passenger seat, I hurriedly turned the key and started the ignition, thankful for the heater. 

Ten minutes later, Eddie opens the driver's side door. The rush of cold air taking away the warmth had me shivering once again. 

He sat quietly for a few seconds before suddenly slamming his hand shown onto the steering wheel. 

"Fuck!" 

I jumped, startled at his outburst. That was the only sign of emotion he had shown since this morning. 

"Fuck! fuck! fuck!" Each shout was emphasized by him hitting the wheel. 

"Eds, be careful, don't want you hurting yourself." 

I reached over pushing his hands down into his lap. His breathing had become rapid and his eyes were no longer glossed over. The haze cleared up and nothing but anger shone through. 

"Why do I keep being left alone?" 

I place my hand on his shoulder and rub my thumb into the tissue. "What do you mean, baby?" 

"Everyone fucking leaves me all alone at some point or another. First, it was my old man, then mom died, and now Wayne." His words were warped with anger and frustration. "You'll probably leave me too. You might at well go now while I'm already in pain. Rip my heart out while it's already broken, it would be better than leading me on." 

I shook my head at his words. "Eddie, what are you saying? I'm not going to leave you, ever." 

He looks up at me, eyes rimmed in red as tears he's been holding in for days begin to pour. 

"Didn't you fucking hear me? Everyone always leaves me." The crack in his voice was only the beginning of Eddie’s breakdown. "I'm just a worthless kid from a worthless family and if you knew any better you would run like hell." 

"Eddie don't say that, please. I know it's hard right now but we'll get through this." I tried to comfort him but I didn't know what to say. 

"That's easy for you to say, Wayne wasn't your Uncle. He didn't take care of you when you were dropped off at his doorstep because your dad was an abusive asshole and your mother had you get you away from him. He didn't struggle, morning, day, and night just to keep you fed and let himself starve. He wasn’t yours then and he’s not yours now." 

Eddies hand came up to swat mine away from him and when he did I placed it in my lap. Too stunned by his words to speak I just sat quietly. 

I thought to myself, He doesn't mean to be rude. The man who raised him just died. He needs time and space. He doesn't mean it. 

We sit in silence while Eddie drives us back to our apartment. I fiddle my thumbs and sneak careful glances over at him. Silent tears streamed down his face and my fingers itched to wipe them from his cheeks. My heart ached at the sight of him barely holding it together.

“Eddie, maybe I should drive?” The statement came out more as a question as I watched him struggle to stay on one side of the road. 

“No.” It came out in a rasp then he cleared his throat. “No, I’m fine. I always drive.” 

He wiped the tears from his eyes and stepped on the gas more. After that, the drive went more smoothly. No more veering into the other lane or stopping too long at a red light turned green. 

Finally home we went inside. The darkness added to the somber mood and the quietness rang in my ears. 

“I’m gonna heat up some dinner, okay?” I spoke, heading into the kitchen to take the leftovers out of the fridge. 

Eddie only grunted in response, kicking off his nice shoes and languidly undoing his tie. I listened to him slowly walking to our room before the door clicked shut. 

As I stood there, the refrigerator door wide open, I let the slip. A choked cry erupted from my chest and my hands came up suddenly to cover my mouth. I had wanted to be strong for Eddie, a shoulder he could come cry on if he needed, a support for him to fall on.  But honestly, I was almost as broken as he was. 

Wayne might not have been related to me but when Eddie and I became the best of friends in Junior High, he took me right in. He had looked after me like I had wanted my own father too. He’s the one that finally talked some sense into Eddie and I, separately, and made us realize we liked one another. 

None of that was equivalent to what he had with Eddie but what Eddie had said to me in the car had stung and although I knew it was coming from a place of grief, I couldn’t help but cry. 

Staggering back into the counter, I slid down them to the floor, head hanging into my knees as I let myself weep, body shaking. It felt good to cry even if my face began to feel puffy and my throat had a huge lump in it. 

I don’t know how long I stayed like that, but when the fridge door finally closed and a warm body sat next to me on the kitchen floor, I realized that my body ached from being there and my tears had all but dried up. 

Eddie slung his arm over my back, pulling me in closer to him, his other hand smoothed back my hair, fingers catching in the knots. 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” He apologized. 

“It’s okay,” I mumbled into my legs. “You were just letting out your emotions.” 

“Even so, I shouldn't have said what I did. It was unfair of me.” He sniffled. 

Looking up my puffy swollen face met his and I gave him a short sorrowful smile. He gave me one back. 

“Eddie, truly, you don't have to apologize.” I sit up and lean into him. “I should have just given you some space.” 

He shook his head but didn’t reply, I think he knew arguing with me would yield nothing. We held each other on the floor for a while longer before finally I stood to my feet, reached down for his hand, and pulled him up. 

“I love you Eddie Munson and I promise I will never leave you.” I gently lace my fingers in the hair at the base of his neck, he had let it down from its bun at some point, and pulled him down to my lips. Kissing him like this, soft and sweet and full of all the love I could give, felt wonderful. Like being cleansed of all your worry and strife with white-hot fire. 

“God, you’re too good for me Sweetheart. I really don’t know what I would do without you.” He pulled away, cupping my face in his hands. 

“You won’t ever have to find out.”

[kreerain]

I have a crack idea now where Danny became like Pariah dark like Ward like you know teaching him to be the future King of the Infinite Realms.

Pariah dark's idea is to continuous his legacy just in case he is ever defeated again after Danny's defeat him the first time

Put whatever magical reason you want to for Pariah Dark being out of the casket of forever sleep

But in my own opinion Danny's parents dissect him and now Danny is now being forced to living with Pariah in the Ghost Zone which in his own opinion is so much better than being with the fruitloop

Pariah's holding of trying turning him into his Prince to continue the legacy Danny decides to play along cuz you know what it's fun let him be the villain for once but Danny decides the entirely do it in a different way

Fighting outfit is a pink crop top with the words cute on it and a pair of leather pants with pink hearts on the side of them he is practically channeling his dressing of Harley Quinn like he wears two different color clips in his hair and he uses a chainsaw as a weapon with the words DP spraying on to them just because he can

Danny also 100% like every chance he can comments on the fact that Pariah dresses so old like imagine fighting the ghost tyrannical leader standing around but shopping bags in hand while his son is walking around shopping

Also Danny and Klarion are totally dating because Teekl Klarion's cat accidentally met Danny and a whole lot of shenanigans happened ever since Danny and Klarion have been dating

But the main point is I've just been imagining the ghost King showing up to the DC dimension and demanding for the Justice League to tell him where the Mall is at in this dimension and then walking himself and the skeleton army all the way to Hot topic are any other clothing store that sells pastel clothing in the mall

Pariah Dark: Daniel you went all the way to this dimension to go shopping. When you could have done that and the ghost Zone.

There stands a boy with black hair that has White highlights, unhumanly bright blue eyes that seems to be wearing a green jacket, a black crop top, and a pair of bright pink pastel pants broken with black hearts all over them rolling his eyes at the ghost king of all people and answering with the most sarcastic teenage tone voice

Danny : yeah old man not all of us can dress like it's medieval Royal times plus what are these matching shirts be amazing for us

One of the shirts is a pink crop top that say disappointment and the other a normal t-shirt that says The Father Of The Disappointment

Pariah Dark: Daniel I don't consider you to be a disappointment that boy you call your boyfriend is a disappointment but not you

Danny: thanks Dad anyhoo a few more things and then we can go back home I heard this place has a froyo that absolutely sounds amazing

Pariah dark: and if it's is not as good as the mortal say we'll take over the dimension just for displeasing your taste buds my son

The froyo is actually really good for the sake of the dimension Pariah Dark does not end up taking it over but his son Danny will be visiting

This the entire time the Justice League is in the background shocked and terrified about realizing the entire time they had a mini God living in this dimension.

I just see Pariah being a really caring and loving parent to Danny while also trying to being a tyrant most of the time Danny does keep him from the tyrant part though but it's even funnier if Danny goes to School in Gotham just imagine having the ghost tyrant show up to a parent-teacher conference.

Sorry I just have lots of time to write out these prompts I'm not a good writer but I love to share my ideas.

That does sound like a lot of fun. This idea sounds more like something I'd read, than something I'd write though. I might try to write something for it, but it will be a little while.

[pwlanier]

THE ROTHSCHILD CHINOISERIE NECESSAIRE

A GEORGE III JEWELLED GOLD AND HARDSTONE NECESSAIRE AND WATCH

The rectangular upright casket set with panels of banded grey agate, overlaid with chased foliate and architectural gold cagework, applied with silver and gold-mounted vari-colour diamond and ruby-set floral sprays and emerald-set foliage, the double pagoda cover chased with foliage, flowers, scale and diaper-work and applied with alternating rows of diamonds, emeralds and rubies, each corner hung with pendant single stones, the hinged top of the pagoda cover opening to reveal a fitted interior containing various gold implements including, a bodkin, a cotton spool, an ear-spoon, a pen, a burin and a brush, the front door of the base inset with a fitted mirror and opening to reveal a red velvet-lined fitted interior with two rock-crystal scent-bottles overlaid with gold cagework, a gold cup with applied chinoiserie decoration and scroll handle, marked with maker's mark AH probably for Andrew Hogg, two gold sablé drawers chased with chinoiserie landscapes containing a gold ink-well and powder-box, the gold base on four bracket feet and mounted with diamond and emerald-set chased scrolling cartouches, with original gold door key, in later fitted black leather travelling case stamped ‘Bulgari’

Diamonds: 374 stones, approx. 31 cts.

Rubies: 109 stones, approx. 14 cts.

Emeralds: 125 stones, approx. 9 cts.

The Watch: White enamel with Roman and Arabic numerals, with winding aperture at 10 o’clock, pierced gold hands, the watch movement gilt-brass, full-plate with cylindrical pillars, fusee with chain, verge escapement, plain brass three-arm balance with flat spring and regulator, gilt brass cock, signed ‘Robert Allam London, No 396’

Christie’s

[bassguitarinablackt-shirt]

January 7th, 2024

I stand here today to pay tribute to a kind soul, a stubborn heart, and a genshin impact addict; my best friend Ash.

I knew Ash for around two years.The first time we met, I was stealing dandelions from his world. Never did I know that I would soon be stealing OCs from his house.

He didn't like Madds Buckley at all. As I learned soon after we met, Zhongli was his favorite genshin character, so I placed a body pillow next to him in the casket today, so they may be together forevermore. He was the most straight person I knew, however, so it’s a genderbent pillow, so no homo. It has huge bazonkers, can confirm.

Everyone agreed that he was the gingeriest ginger to ever ginger, the swiftest swiftie to ever swiftie, and the weezeriest weezer fan to ever weezer. To say that he resembled Childe from Genshin Impact would be an understatement.

He absolutely hated the gays. Most homophobic and transphobic person l've ever met. Thought neopronouns were the most stupid shit ever.

Ash was also a very passionate writer. His primary work was PDGG. The main relationships were very straight. Matthew's girlfriend was Salveria and Alex was canonically dating Aria. All of his OCs were also, cis and straight. His OC Orion was the most empathetic, kind character he ever created. And definitely not inspired off of his ex who doesn't exist because Ash was very very straight and homophobic, not to mention transphobic. He spent his Sundays at Floridian Trump rallies yelling at little gay children.

The only man he felt more than straight fondness towards was Donald Trump, whose spray tan he adored. If a show gave off any queer vibes, and if there were any short, depressed, pretty male characters, he would automatically despise them.

He loved the Mike/El relationship and hated Will. Ningguang/Zhongli was his favorite Genshin ship, and he also self-shipped himself with Taylor Swift. He was also part of a band called Corrupted Virtue, which was composed of people who shared his homophobic, transphobic views. Fuck them gays, amiright?

Now, onto a slideshow of women that his best friend Ara found hot. Afterwards, we will be listening to a eulogy given by his beloved father, to whom Ash was very close. Rest in Peace, and your ocs are now mine. <3

OH MY FUCKING GOD. I CANT.

you have succeeded. if this is my funeral im coming back to smite you.

DONT BRING INNOCENT SIN INTO THIS.

THE LAST PART. NO THAT WAS NOT IN MY WILL YOU ARE NOT GETTING MY OCS >:((((

this has prematurely killed me.

[candycasketspray]

[farehamflorist]

They may take an age and cause a lot of grey hairs when it comes to getting them open, but I have to admit an all lily spray looks beautiful once created.

[circle-with-me]

‘tis the damn season - part 3

Pairing: Will Ramos x OFC (Gen/Viv/Vivvy)

Content Warning: hurt/comfort, more hurt/no comfort, angst, fluff, mentions of death, funerals, mentions of alcohol,

Word Count: 2.7k

Tag list: @concretenoah @deathblacksmoke @midnight-eternals @bngurngheart @malice-ov-mercy @witchyweeb34 @lyschko666 @cookiesupplier @lilrubles @meekahy @lacktoesandtoddlerants

If you would like to be added to my tag list for this series or my other works, please sign up here.

Author’s Note: Hey guys. I’m so sorry this part took so long! Getting sick really threw me for a loop but I’m back at it now. Thanks for being so patient! I promise we’re getting into the cute stuff soon! I won’t make you suffer much longer 😂 Thank you all for reading 🫶

The funeral home didn’t look as mundane with all of the flowers decorating it. A pleasant floral scent was doing its best to cover up the previously musty one, but it still lingered in the air. Gen observes each arrangement quietly. Recognizing some names, others she didn’t. She appreciated the gesture but didn’t have a clue what she was going to do with all of these flowers after the funeral was over.

She walks further into the visitation room avoiding the open casket. The casket spray lying on the closed end looked better than the photos. A mix of red rose and white carnations on top of green ivy and salal. A variety of standing sprays and tabletop bouquets with the same arrangement were scattered around the room. It was all part of a decor package the funeral home offered that Gen hastily picked to make the experience as painless as possible. It all turned out much better than she expected.

“Ms. Taylor?” The man’s voice startles her as she whips around to see Mr. Akins, the funeral director.

Gen smiles at the man. “Morning, Mr. Akins.” He smiles back. “I hope everything is placed to your liking.”

“Everything looks great, thank you.”

“Do you have any other family members coming for the preview?” He asks. Gen shakes her head. “Well, would you like to have a moment alone with your father?”

“I’ve had plenty of time already, thank you.”

Mr. Akins smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Very good, ma’am. There are already guests waiting in the lobby. I’ll let them know the visitation has begun.”

Nearly two hours later and her head was pounding. Her cheeks were hurting from faking smiles. If she had to listen to one more person tell her how much Gabriel had missed her and how they couldn’t believe she had stayed gone so long she was going to blow her brains out.

The line finally starts to thin out and Gen feels herself relax a little. She spots a mess of blonde curls a few people back and tenses again. She avoids his gaze until he’s right in front of her, his eyes soft as he peers down at her. It wasn’t a look of pity but of understanding. Despite their years apart, no one in the room knew how she felt in this moment better than he did.

“What are you doing here?” Gen asks quietly.

Will shoves his hands into his dress pants pockets and bounces on the balls of his feet. He shrugs and smiles. “What else do I have to do on a weekend other than attend my ex-girlfriend’s estranged father’s funeral?”

Gen laughs. “Literally anything else sounds better than this. You shouldn’t torture yourself at my expense.”

Will bobs his head from one side to the other. “Maybe not, but I figure I at least owe you a drink or something after I showed my ass yesterday.”

Maybe it was the sweetness of the gesture. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was how good he looked in those dress clothes. Or maybe she was just desperate to get out of that damn funeral home, but she decides to take Will up on his offer.

It was just a drink. That was all. An “I’m sorry for being a jerk” drink. She owes him one of those by her count, as well.

Luckily, the funeral went by quickly with no complications. There was no graveside service and Gen was thankful she had made that decision. She wasn’t sure she could sit through another fake speech about the man.

“Hmph.”

Gen turns to see Will leaning against a pew toying with the knot of his tie. A look of discomfort was plastered across his face. She smirks and walks up to him. Loosening the tie she raises it over his head and hands it to him.

“I practically had to threaten you to wear a tie on our prom night and you wear one willingly to my father’s funeral? You really are sucking up.”

Will chuckles. “I’ll have you know I wear ties to all major occasions now, thank you.”

“Mmm. How very grown up of you, William.” Gen says, smiling.

“Yeah, I’ve done a bit of that.” He says it so plainly Gen couldn’t quite catch the meaning behind it. The look on his face didn’t give anything away either. He certainly didn’t appear angry so she didn’t overthink it.

“You ready to get out of here?” Gen asks. He nods. “Where are we going?”

“We can always go to Gabriel’s. I’m staying there as of this morning until I can get it sold. To no one’s surprise, there is plenty of liquor there.”

“Hell yeah, I’m down. He always bought the good shit.”

Gen places a hand on his shoulder as she starts to walk out of the room. “Great, you can also help me start to clean some of his shit out while you’re there.”

Will’s mouth drops open as he follows her outside. “Uh-uh, that’s bullshit! I didn’t sign up for that!

Will helps Gen bring her bags into the home, the floors creaking as he sits them down in the foyer.

“Fuck.” They say in unison.

Gen definitely had her work cut out for her. Hundreds of newspapers, magazines, and books were in stacks all over the house. Some of the stacks were nearly as tall as she was. The kitchen was a disaster. She didn’t even dare to open the refrigerator and she was pretty sure the mold in one of the bowls in the sink had developed its own space program. Every surface of the home was covered in a thick layer of dust and it clearly hadn’t been cleaned at all in years.

She’s seen worse episodes of Hoarders. She could handle this.

Her biggest concern was somewhere to sleep. She avoids her father’s room because fuck that. She wasn’t quite ready to go into her childhood room yet. So that left the guest room. She opens the door and it appears to be perfectly intact. Thank God for that.

Gen shut the door quickly.

“Well, the good news is, I have a place to sleep.” she says loudly.

“I have better news.” Will yells from across the house. “I found the good shit!” His head pokes out from around the corner as he raises a bottle of liquor in his hands.

“The couch is still in good condition too. Get your ass in here.”

“Okay, so you’re telling me that’s you?”

Will grins and nods. “That’s me.”

Gen blinks rapidly and points at his phone where the song was playing. “That is you? It sounds like an animal!”

Will threw his head back laughing. “They’re called pig squeals, Vivvy.” Gen starts to say something about the nickname but was too occupied by the smile on his face. It was a smile that spread across his whole face causing his cheeks to crease, showing his dimples. Her favorite part was his scrunched nose and how his eyes crinkled around the corners.

A warmth that she had not felt in years carves its way into her chest and spreads through her. The temptation to let it consume her was strong, but she shakes her head, almost as if she was telling her body no, and pushes it away.

“That’s definitely a sound I have not heard in music before.”

“Oh come on.. none of the artists you work with do pig squeals?” Will nudges her with his elbow.

Gen looks at Will and snorts, causing him to laugh again.

“Not quite. Most of the music I mix is indie pop or sickeningly sweet bubblegum pop that makes you want to shove the nearest sharp object into your ear drums.” She explains with a sarcastic smile.

Will sucks in a breath. “Yeah, I don’t envy you at all.”

“It’s not all bad. The pay is great and I love L.A. Everything I could ever want is there.”

Will scoffs and takes a swig of his drink.

“What?”

Will shook his head. “Nothing.” He was quiet and refusing to look at her now. A crack on the coffee table had suddenly become very interesting to him. Gen watches him run his index finger over it a few times before looking at his face. His left eyebrow was cocked and his jaw was working overtime. He was definitely upset.

She doesn’t get a chance to pry again because her phone starts to ring. Natalie’s name shows up on the screen and Gen groans at the bad timing. She knew if she didn’t answer that Natalie would call her incessantly.

“Hey, Nat, now’s not the best time. Can you ca-“

“GEEEEENNNNNNNN!!!!!” She hears both Natalie and Ezra yell on the other end. They were obviously plastered. Perfect.

“Guys this is no-“ She tries, once again.

“Gen Taylor! When are you coming home?! We miss you!” Ezra yells.

“I’m not sure yet, Ez.” She says, leaning back against the couch. “I’m gonna have to stay longer than I thought.”

“Boooooo!” There was Natalie. “It should be illegal to keep you in that horrible town, Gen. You need to come back home where you belong!” She says it so loud it makes Gen wince. She silently hopes Will didn’t hear it.

Evidently it was loud enough for Will to hear because he pushes himself off the couch in a huff and stalks to the kitchen. She hears him throw his ice in the sink and fill his glass with water.

“It’s not a big deal, Natalie. I’ll take care of everything and be home soon.”

This time she hears the glass being thrown in the sink.

“Listen, I really have to go. I’ll call you guys later.”

“BYE GEEEEEEN-“ She cuts them off before they can continue. She sighs and gets up from her seat. Guess she was going to have to deal with this sooner or later.

Gen steps quietly around the corner of the kitchen to see Will at the sink, his back facing her. His hands rest on the counter, head lulling between his shoulders. She stands there, fidgeting and trying to come up with something to say. Will beats her by breaking the silence first.

“So, Los Angeles is your home now, huh?”

Gen sighs. “It’s where I live, Will.”

“That’s not what I asked.” He turns around and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You consider Los Angeles to be your home?”

Gen gazes at him momentarily. “It’s where I live. It’s where my job is. All of my friends live there. So, yeah, I consider it to be my home.”

“What happened to New York?”

“It was great, but I got a promotion. So, they sent me to Los Angeles.” She pauses to consider her next comment. “Clearly I’m not as weak as you thought I was.”

“Viv, I never said you were weak.” Will scoffs.

“I believe your exact words were ‘You’ll never make it in New York. They’ll eat you alive.’ Am I wrong?”

“I didn’t say that because I thought you were weak.”

“Then why did you say it?!” Gen yells

“Because you didn’t belong in New York!” Will yells back. “Just like you don’t belong in Los Angeles!”

“Yeah, because I belong here in Westwood? Suffocating here…. with you? Working at a shitty studio while we’re barely able to pay our bills. Giving up my dreams to make you happy while I’m dying inside?”

Will’s face twists in pain at her words. Gen has never wanted to disappear more than she did at this moment. She did feel suffocated when she was here but it wasn’t his fault. Why the fuck was she like this?

“I- I thought we were happy.” Will stutters, looking down at his feet.

Gen sighs and runs her hand through her hair. “We were, Will. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I just don’t understand why you wanted to leave so badly.”

“Jesus Christ, don’t you get it? I didn’t want to leave you, I wanted to leave here. I wanted to get away from all the fucking memories of my parents, and start over somewhere new. I wanted our life together to be more than some tiny town in New Jersey where we were constantly living paycheck to paycheck. I wanted to stop having to look over my shoulder to make sure my asshole father wasn’t behind me everywhere I went. I wanted to be able to start a career and get comfortable financially so you could start a band and do what you love, too. All of my plans involved you. I tried to explain this but you couldn’t see past me leaving.”

“Viv- I..”

“When you told me I couldn’t go, I was devastated. It made me feel like you didn’t believe in me. What made it worse was that you just watched me leave. You didn’t even try to stop me.”

“Baby, I was angry. I was so angry for a long time. I was an idiot and waited too long. I tried calling you several months later but you had already changed your number. I couldn’t find your name or address anywhere. It was like you disappeared.”

Gen laughs humorlessly, “Yeah, Will, I did that on purpose. Mostly because of Gabriel but also because I was angry too. I changed my last name and now everyone calls me Gen even though I fucking hate it. And you wanna know why?”

Will gazes at her but doesn't respond. She walks closer to him with tears in her eyes. As soon as he sees them, he inhales sharply.

“It’s because I couldn’t fucking stand the thought of anyone but you calling me Viv. Or Vivvy. It made my fucking skin crawl.” Gen pushes a finger into his chest. “And you stand there and call me both as soon as you lay eyes on me. They just roll off your tongue like you never stopped saying them and I hate it because I can’t let you back in my head. I can’t.”

Will grabs her wrist gently and brings her hand to his face. Gen attempts to pull it back but his grip tightens. He leans into her touch and kisses the palm of her hand. A quiet sob leaves her and he shushes her gently, kissing his way up her arm and to her face. He kisses away the tears falling down her cheeks. His lips ghost over hers as he cups her face. They stare at each other for a moment, both trying to determine if the moment was real.

Will decides he had waited long enough. He had been dying to taste her again for so long. Pressing his lips gently against hers, he feels her go rigid then relax. Her body melts into his as one of his hands makes its way into her hair. He swipes his tongue against her bottom lip and she gives him access.

She tastes even better than he remembers. The mixture of peppermint and whiskey invades his senses. He could kiss her forever and never get tired of it. He never wants the moment to end. She was here. She was perfect. She was his, again.

At least, so he thought.

He feels her tense again, her grip around his waist loosens slightly. He wraps his arm around her waist hoping to keep her close but she was already separating their lips. She stares at him, panting.

“We can’t do this. I’m sorry.” She says as she takes a few steps back.

“What do you mean?” He asks, confused.

“I mean we can’t do this. It’s not a good idea. I’m only here to get this house cleaned up and sold and then I'm going back home. I’m not interested in whatever this is.”

Will stares at her in stunned silence. She won’t even look at him.

“Baby...”

“Will, just… Please leave.” Gen says sternly, she turns slightly and points in the direction of the door.

He starts towards the door and stops in front of her. Turning to face her, she still avoids his gaze.

“Just so you know. This is your home. Not this house but this ‘horrible town’ you’re in right now. Not a single one of those people in L.A. will ever care about you the way that I do.”

Will storms out the door, slamming it shut as he leaves.

Part Four

[oskea93]

Keep it to Yourself (1)

✶ Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x OC ✶

Warning: This story will contain scenes of drug/alcohol use, sexual content, mentions of death, overdose, physical and emotional abuse. Please read at your own risk. I do not own rights to Motley Crue or any other famous person mentioned. Portions of this story will be pulled from Motley's book and film The Dirt as well as The Heroin Diaries. There will be parts that are complete fiction as well.

Taglist: @fancywasmyname1, @kaitieskidmore1, @xxisxxisxxis, @sparxx27,  @cruecifymesixx, @tempt-ress, @a-sia-san, @x-xinenas, @casualcomputerarbiter-blog​, @makaelahdelvalle

Author's note: Hello everybody! It's been a while since I thought about this story but now I want to bring it back to life. I think I rewatched The Dirt about 20 times in the past couple of days (Thanks snowstorm!) and i've been thinking about this story and all the other amazing Crue stories that are on Tumblr. So, with that being said - I have decided to rewrite Keep it to Yourself. I went back and read the original version and I want to revamp it in a way. I've changed a couple things and I hope to make it better than before. If you were tagged in the original version, I went ahead and just tagged you for this new update. If you would like to be removed, just let me know and I will take you off. If you aren't a part of the taglist and would like to be, just let me know and I will get you added. I hope you enjoy the new and improved Keep it to Yourself!

“Bryant –“ He paused. “I know I’m probably the last voice you wanna hear on your answering machine, but I desperately need your help right now.” A breathy sigh blew through the speaker. “I’m at my wits end and I have no idea what to do with him.”

I stared at the device – my hand curled against my mouth as his words flowed through my living room. “The drugs are constant – he’s high 24/7 – Half the time I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead when I get into his room. It’s not just him – they’re all fucked – but he’s the only one with one foot in the casket.”

How he got my number remained a mystery. They made him millions of dollars – more money than the man could even count – yet he was calling me about his issue. From the beginning, I told him that it would only get worse. The guy had issues way before he formed Motley – way before the money and fame came into the picture. Sure - he dabbled in drugs before hitting peak stardom, but the money was there, and he was a kid in a candy store.

“I know the two of you ended on such a sour note, but I feel like you’re the only one that can truly help him get out of this fucking mess. He needs you – I – we all need you, Bryant.” He went on to leave the number to the hotel they were staying at for the night. Begging one last time for my help. I must’ve played the damn message 10 times – each time making my anger rise. Doc was the one who let it get to this point – he fueled the fire when it should’ve been sprayed out years ago. He pushed the drugs in their direction – Nikki was always a step ahead though. He attracted the slime that had the harder, faster drugs. The drugs that would make him feel nothing when in reality his whole fucking world was crumbling down…

I continued to move the spoon around the cup, the sugar long dissolved by now. I was so lost in my own thought – Doc’s words swirling around in my brain.

“You’re thinking about going, aren’t you?” The brunette in front of me asked. “I know that look and that look tells me that you’re giving in.”

Hannah Hastings was the first person I met when I moved to South Carolina. She was an event planner – a free spirit in a Dynasty like world. She would spend hours on my couch, a bottle of wine being shared, as I spilled my entire life story into her lap. She knew all about my history with Nikki – how we met – our marriage – and the demise of our relationship.

I let out a sigh, “I don’t wanna go but something’s telling me that if I don’t –“ I paused. “If I don’t go, he’s gonna end up dead and then I’ll be blaming myself. At least if I go and say I tried and I don’t succeed, I won’t beat myself up if something does happen to him. Like – It’s not even a matter of if – it’s a matter of when.”  

“He was such an asshole though, Bryant. The man was toxic to you-“She reached across the table taking my hand in hers. “I don’t want to see you get hurt or worse. You know how drug addicts are – he could get violent and not even realize it until it’s too late.”

During the three years we were together, he never laid a hand on me. I was the one who had the heavy touch. Sure, we had awful arguments that pushed me to the point of slapping and pushing him away, but he always stormed off before touching me. The drugs at the time weren’t as hardcore as they are now though. I could walk in his house and come back out with a bullet hole this time. Hannah was right – drugs fucked with people’s brain – I’m sure Nikki was already there.

“Are you gonna tell Wyatt?”

I slumped back in my seat at the thought of telling my Uncle Wyatt. To say he hated Nikki would be an understatement. He warned me from the beginning that Nikki Sixx would be nothing but trouble, but I didn’t listen. He was used to guys like Nikki – being a kid from the wrong side of the tracks himself. He made a promise that he would do everything he could to protect me from men like Nikki. We only had each other and when Nikki came into the picture, the worst type of thoughts ran through his head. He knew what guys like Nikki did to girls like me – innocent until proven insane. It happened to my mother – her infatuation sending her straight to the grave.

“I figured I would just call him when I got to California-“Her eyes growing large. “You know so he can’t talk me out of it or worse come and get me.”

She shook her head in disbelief, “You know I love you and I’ll support you in any way –“I felt a “but” coming along. “But –“She smiled. “This is one decision I’m very wary about, Bryant.”

I felt the same way. I had multiple scenarios playing like film reels over and over in my head. Some pretty good while others resembled horror movies. Even I knew that Nikki’s reaction to seeing me would not be a good one. He broke my heart, and I broke his even worse. Besides the band, I was his only true constant. He barely had any family – his grandparents living states away – not even aware of their grandson’s antics. Sure, the art of touring and going to different states brought about groupies and so-called friends but he didn’t have anyone to call or return home to. I was that person for him.

“You and me both, sister…”

I waited for the line to connect – the operator being nice enough to connect me straight to his room. Doc and I didn’t really have a relationship. He was Motley’s manager and at the time I was just a wife. I was glad the guys had him at first – their success was growing like a wildfire but that was because of their drive for stardom – Doc was just there lending a helping hand. He was extremely pissed when I ended things with Nikki. His own mouth spewing curse words my way once Nikki was served with divorce papers.

It makes the band look bad when a member gets divorced.

Nikki refuses to get out of bed and it’s all your fucking fault.

Girls all over the world would stay with Nikki no matter what – cheating, drugs – Learn to turn a blind eye.

“Hello?” I sat straighter as Doc’s voice sounded – my thoughts suddenly escaping me. “Hello?”

“It’s me.” My voice cracking. “I – uh – I got your message.”

“Oh, thank God, Bryant.” He sounded relieved. “I was worried that I would miss your call –“He paused. “Or if you would even call at all.”

I stayed silent – not really up for conversation.

“Listen, I know this is a bit of a tall ask, but I really do need your help. Nikki – hell all the guys for that matter – are ticking fucking time bombs. Nikki’s clock is etching closer to midnight ever second the fucker breaths – and I pray every night that he’s still doing so. He’s high ever second of every day. He shoots up when he wakes and right before he passes out for the night. I have no idea what he’s even taking anymore. Shooting up, snorting, smoking – he’s the walking picture of Nancy Reagan’s campaign.”

My grip on the phone tightened as he spoke – realizing that he was more far gone than thought.

“I need you to come out here and help us deal with him. I think Doug and Fred can deal with the other three, but we can’t get through to Nikki. Fuck, it’s not even Nikki anymore that we’re dealing with. He’s so mean and terrible to be around. His moods go from zero to sixty – it’s even worse when he’s coming down. Poor Tommy’s getting married, and I can’t even imagine Nikki standing up there with him when he’s high off his ass. You’re the only one that I think can get through to him – he still loves you, Bryant.”

He still loves you, Bryant.

Maybe the old version of Nikki was still in love, but I can assure you the drugged-up version was only in love with his high. That was Doc’s way of trying to lure me in – telling me that Nikki still loved and cared about me. I still loved and cared for the guy too – the Nikki I met at a 7-Eleven almost 6 years ago. Pre-Motley Crue – before the fame, drugs, egos, and women.

“I’ll pay for your ticket out here and everything if you agree, Bryant.” He stressed. “I’m desperate – he’s gonna die if we don’t do something.”

I let out a sigh, closing my eyes, asking myself if I really wanted to do this. It was a constant battle with my head and my heart. My brain was yelling at me to tell Doc to fuck off, but my heart couldn’t deal with the thought of Nikki no longer being here. “You think seeing me will snap him out of this spiral?”

“I think seeing you will probably piss him off more but at least I know you’ll be there and have the chance to stop him.”

My brows furrowed at his comment, “You’re making it sound like I’m gonna be with him at all times?”

His silence confirming my question. “You can’t expect me to stay in the same house, hotel room, or wherever with Nikki –“

“That’s exactly what you’re going to do, Bryant.” He cut me off. “I need that man to have constant surveillance – can’t put a bodyguard in there with him. He needs to have someone that he’s familiar with – someone that’s gonna remain sober and not give into his advances.”

“Then why don’t you stay with him then?” My attitude starting to come out.

“I’d end up killing him and then all of this would be for nothing.”

I shook my head as I pulled the phone away from my ear. I could hear Doc’s voice as he continued to talk. “Listen-“ I spoke up, cutting his sentence off. “I will come out there but I’m only there for a week. Once that week is up, whether he’s getting help or not, I’m going back home.”

“That’s not gonna work, Bryant.” He huffed. “He gets more fucked up when he’s out on the road than he does at home. These fuckers waiting in back alleys and backstage – knowing that he’s looking to score – that’s where I need you the most.

I’d been on tour with Motley when they were first getting their feet wet. I watched as they performed their first gig at the Starwood and then when they were opening for bigger acts like Ozzy. Going on tour with four men – the four Motley men was not for the faint of heart. I saw more body parts than I cared to see. Drugs, alcohol, and women were being pushed in their direction – more so as their popularity grew than before. Nikki and I shared a bunk and even that got old after a while. Living with four men for months on end would cause any woman to eventually lose it. Nikki and I were constantly fighting. Hell, I was fighting with everyone, even Mick at times. This was their dream, and it was my absolute living hell.

“I don’t th-“

“What do I need to do so you will say yes? Walk on water – swallow arsenic? Please, Bryant. I have never been so desperate in all of my life.” His voice wavering. “You were in love with this man at one point – I believe you may still love him. Just remember the reason why you fell in love with Nikki and do it for that reason."

[lost-onpurpose]

The last month has felt like a badly scripted soap opera.

1/22: Sister passed out at the store. ER found no cause.

1/23: Sister called from school bathroom floor because too dizzy to stand. She went to different ER and they determined migraine/dehydration. IV fluids helped.

1/24-1/26: Residual migraine. Missed school.

2/4: Mom got diagnosed with pneumonia. Started meds.

2/7: J called and said Mammaw's oxygen had dropped into the 70s/80s and they were starting her on supplemental oxygen. She wasn't very coherent but she was alert. The only coherent thing she said was making me and sister promise to take care of Mom. My Aunt S came down to sit with her that night. Alerted her son and the close relatives who live out of state.

2/8: Mammaw fell asleep. Could not wake up. Still breathing. Still had pulse and blood pressure. Called local family and updated our of state family. Stayed with her until 6 pm. Aunt S called at 6:30 pm and told us that Mammaw's breathing had gotten raspy. We went back. She had the death rattle. Called family again. Held Mammaw's hands and talked to her. Told her we'd be okay and it was okay.

2/9: 12:22 am. Hospice nurse called time of death. Called Mammaw's son Uncle J, cousin J, brother, dad, and other Uncle J (didn't realize we had so many J names in the family). 4:00 pm met with the funeral director to start planning. Called Y at the florist and got the casket spray and standing sprays ordered.

2/10-2/13: Helped family find hotels and plane tickets to attend funeral on 2/16.

2/14: Sister did Mammaw's makeup for the services.

2/15: We had private family viewing before services on 2/16. Had dinner with family that we hadn't seen in a while.

2/16: Visitation. Funeral (I spoke some). Graveside service. After service meal.

2/17: Had therapy at 9 am. Cried on my therapist's couch. Went to Barnes and Noble, Five Below, Bath & Body Works, and the mall as an attempt at distraction. Didn't help. Saw family before they left.

2/18: Last of family left to go home. Cried again.

2/20: Mom goes to ER with chest pain (started during funeral planning week but thought it was anxiety). Admitted to hospital with fluid on right lung (lower lobe collapsed, middle lobe collapsing).

2/22: Going to drain lung but she had too much eliquis in her system

2/23: Drained lung. Lidocaine didn't help. She felt it all. 1.4 liters of fluid pulled off. Chest X-ray showed it was almost all of the fluid and lung was reinflating.

2/24: Mom discharged from hospital.

[wandamaximoffbaewrites]

Lilacs

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: After Wanda passed away, you can still smell her perfume, lilacs

Warnings: hurt, angst, flashbacks will be italicized, au where Wanda is dead

A/n: good ol' Wanda angst inspired by the lilac bush outside my home. Also Wanda dies of an specified terminal illness and flashbacks will be italicized

Four months. That's how long that light purple perfume bottle has sat in the bathroom, unmoved. It's also how long it's been since Wanda died. Four agony-filled Wanda-less months. You could have sworn that it was just four days since you had sat by her hospital bed.

"Please, Wanda" You held her hand to your lips, your tears slowly trickling and wetting her thin, pale hand. She had been here for a week, with no signs of getting better. The doctors had classified her case as 'terminal.'

As soon as the hospital called (You were her emergency contact) you rushed over. The process at the front desk seemed to take far too long. Relationship to patient? Wife. Are you comfortable with making debt collection calls? Yes, that's fine, can I please just see my wife? Yes, ma'am, go ahead. You walk to room 6B, as stated by the nurse. Knocking softly, you push the door open slowly, peering in at your dozing wife, filled with tubes and surrounded by machines. Just the sight fills your eyes with tears as you walk over to sit next to her. You knew she had been sick, but this seemed to have happened in a flash.

One day she was complaining of a headache and chills, the next she was sleeping in a sterile white room with you crying next to her bed. You kept holding her hand, but jumped back when monitors started beeping loud, alerting that doctors. Subconsciously, you knew. You were rushed out of the room, sobbing and panicking. Fifteen minutes. Thirty minutes. An hour. Two. Three. How can time fly by so fast, yet drag on so slowly? At exactly three fourteen and 57 seconds, you were let into the room, and the tears burst forth from your chest like water from a dam the moment the doctor said the words 'I'm sorry Mrs. Y/L/N...' You choked on your sobs, heaving guttural breaths as you collapsed to the ground.

Two weeks later was the funeral. You didn't remember anything, just remember that you watched as they lowered the shiny, deep brown casket into the damp earth. They piled the dirt back up, and you tenderly brushed excess dirt off of your now late-wife's headstone. You couldn't bring yourself to leave. You sat down next to it, as if it were she beside you. You opened your phone, sobbing as you looked through pictures of you and a happy, healthy, fully alive Wanda. You turned off the screen as the first drops of rain began to splatter. 'Rain.' you thought. 'how cliche.' You heaved yourself up, barely being able to leave. As you passed the large iron gates, tears leaking from your eyes, you passed a lilac bush.

Bringing yourself back to the present, you sank to the floor, cradling the bottle in your hands. You tentatively removed the glass top and spritzed a bit onto your clothes. Just the small waft of scent brought tears to your eyes. You stood up and began to walk around the house, spraying a small bit of perfume on Wanda's favorite places in the house. Her pillow on the couch. The book she never got to finish. Her apron. Her side of the bed. You carefully placed the bottle back on the shelf, inhaling deeply the scent of her throughout the house.

[skz317cb97]

Teasing Poppy

Lee Minho x Thick reader

Word count: 7.3k

Synopsis: Your beloved grandfathers death triggers a downward spiral in your life that your new neighbor Minho seemes intent on fueling. Lines get crossed that shouldn't be and you start to avoid him at all costs, until you run into a little problem and Minho is the only one you can ask for help.

A/N: 18+ only! This is the 6th installment of the thick reader series. I cried SO much writing this! I honestly don't know if it's because it's just that sad or #trauma from my childhood✌️Also I don't know shit about plants or the study of them, anything in this was googled or gardening jargon i was familiar with so if its not accurate (shhh yes it is) Anywho! I hope you all like this one! If you do, like, comment, reblog, send an ask, LET ME KNOW! I love hearing from you all and the reaction to this series has been amazing! As always warnings and smut below the cut!

Warnings: MDNI 18+ONLY! Strong language/swearing, mentions of cancer and death, oral (m&f receiving), fingering/jacking off, "dry" humping, protected piv sex (use your head and condoms please!), praise/pet names (beautiful, kitten of course), slight Minho dom/MC sub dynamic if you squint. I think that's everything but if I missed anything at all please let me know and I'll add it to the warnings immediately.

It was so easy being ten. Walking through your grandfather’s greenhouse, looking at the beautiful blooms of all the different flowers as he watered his plants, sprayed leaves, checked soil pH.

He was a botanist by passion and profession, the top in his field, and you were his little assistant, you had been since you could say flower. If you weren’t in school, or doing homework, you were with your grandfather in the dirt. Learning about *magnoliophyta and *tracheophyta.

You didn’t really have any friends. You were an awkward kid. Chubby and kind of nerdy. While other kids rode bikes, had sleep overs, and played video games, you would much rather be learning about the classification and proper soil drainage for a California poppy with your grandfather.

Any poppy in fact, all poppies. They were your favorite; your grandfather knew and that’s why he called you Poppy, his little poppy plant. He adored you, tended to you like you were another beautiful flower in his garden, helping you grow. He was everything to you, your whole world.

Being ten was easy. This, this was hell. Standing at your grandfather’s casket, completely covered and surrounded by flowers from friends and family sending their condolences. Flowers that usually would bring you a sense of comfort but no longer did because your whole world was crumbling.

Your mom and dad, they were there and did their best to console you but it didn’t really matter. You had been on auto pilot through the whole ordeal, just numb, still in shock that he was actually gone. The cancer had spread so quickly, he had deteriorated so fast. You thought you still had time. You thought you would see it coming, you'd get to say goodbye and hold his hand.

You had been out of town. Speaking at a college to an auditorium full of hopeful youths wanting to be the next great scientists in your field, botany, like your grandfather of course. He was so proud that you had gotten asked to speak. He hadn’t been feeling well just before the trip and you told him you weren’t going to go but he would let you do no such thing.

So, you went. You could still hear the applause as you walked off stage finally able to check your phone. When you saw dozens of missed calls from your mother, you knew.

When you got home from the funeral that day you took every poppy plant you had in your little apartment, which was a surprising number really, and donated them to a nearby nursery. The first day back from your trip after your grandfather had died you wanted to smash them all in a rage but you knew how he was and he would be disappointed in you if you took a beautiful healthy plant and destroyed it. So instead, you cried yourself to sleep that night. The night after the funeral too. Most nights really.

About two weeks after your grandfather’s funeral a new neighbor moved in on your floor. When you saw him carrying boxes into his apartment your first impression was based solely on appearance and he was extremely handsome, like ridiculously so. His eyes and nose were sharp and yet there seemed to be a softness about him, you weren’t sure why, maybe because of the three cats you saw him take in to his place in carriers.

Not much had changed from your childhood, you were still awkward and chubby and with your grandfather gone, now more than ever, you preferred solitude. You didn’t stop to say hi or introduce yourself as you walked past the new neighbor to leave to see your parents.

Your mother had insisted you start coming once a week for dinner with her and your father. Your grandfather’s passing had reminded her that you only get so much time with your family and she wanted to see you more often. Your mother had never asked for much from you, always letting you run off with your granfather doing this and that, because of that you agreed.

So, you were leaving to go to her weekly dinner and walking past your new neighbor who you refused to even look at the closer you got. He looked over the boxes he was carrying and saw you just as you were passing him.

“Oh heyyy.” You stopped and hesitated to turn around because; why would he be talking to you? You didn’t know each other and the color beige is more noticeable than you.

“You live up that way yea?” You faced him this time when he spoke and pointed at yourself.

“Me?” He scoffed and laughed.

“No, the supermodel behind you, yes you.” Your second impression of him was that he was snarky and rude. You shook your head answering him that yes you did.

“Great! Should I be over for dinner when I’m done unpacking then?” Your eyebrows scrunched together.

“Excuse me?” He smirked, cocking one of his sharp eyebrows at you.

“Well, you seem like the type that cooks well. I’ll be hungry. I like pasta or chicken would be oka-...” Was... was he making fun of your weight?! He hadn’t even introduced himself! What an ass! You thought to yourself. You turned and walked away unwilling to let him finish his teasing remarks.

“Is that a no?!” He called after you and laughed a little as he took the boxes he had into his new apartment and you continued on with your dinner plans, thoroughly irritated by the first meeting with your arrogant new neighbor.

Your next run in with him didn’t fare much better or any other after for that matter. You had managed to learn that his name was Minho and he had cats. That was all you knew and honestly all you wanted to know. Every time you saw him, he always had a smart-ass remark or teased you. It got under your skin which seemed to just fuel him. You didn’t know why he had zeroed in on you but he was relentless.

It had been a particularly rough morning for you. Everything you saw reminded you of your grandfather that day. You decided to put on a floral printed dress that you didn’t wear often for just that reason, it was one of your grandfather’s favorites but it reminded you of fond memories so, you decided to wear it to run your errands for the day.

When you were on your way out you ran into Minho in the hall yet again. It was like he staked you out or something. You were always coming or going at the same time it seemed. If you were on your way in, he was leaving, you were heading out, he was just getting home. ALWAYS! This day was no different apparently. You were just going to ignore him and walk past when he called out to you.

“Hey y/n?!” You stopped and turned to him against your better judgement.

“Yes?” You spoke flatly. The way your morning had been you didn’t have the energy to fake pleasantries, especially not with Minho.

“Nice dress.” You were shocked. That was the first time Minho had ever said anything that wasn’t sarcastic or borderline insulting. He complimented you, actually complimented you! You wouldn never tell him but you were glad to hear the compliment from him, you really needed it after how the morning had been. Then his eye brow quirked and that smirk crept onto his face.

“Very Little House on the Prairie chic.” He laughed at his own joke and you could feel the beginning of tears prick your eyes. You weren’t giving him the satisfaction of seeing you cry that was for damn sure. You turned and walked away from him while he called after you.

“Come on! y/n! That was...” The stairwell door slammed closed behind you, cutting Minho off.

“A joke...” Minho said, even though you were long out of ear shot. It was just a joke. When you walked past him that day you looked great in your dress but you also looked upset, well you always looked down but especially so that day. So, he tried to make you laugh.

That’s all Minho ever tried doing. Getting you to loosen up and laugh a little, you always looked so serious. When he had first seen you the day he moved in, his attempt at flirting and asking your out for dinner had epically failed. Minho had a weird sense of humor and tended to deliver his jokes rather dryly so, sometimes they came off as rude or his genuine thoughts when they were not.

Minho decided maybe it was time to try a different approach, he needed to find out something you did or you liked so he could bring that up instead of trying to land jokes that clearly, failed. He sought out the help of the old lady that lived on the same floor as the two of you. She had practically fallen in love with Minho and his three cats as soon as he had moved in.

The next time he saw her he managed to casually bring you up in conversation and she mentioned a couple of things. She knew you liked gardening with your grandfather and that he called you Poppy because it was your favorite flower. She knew you worked from home quite a bit but traveled from time to time also but she wasn’t sure what exactly you did for a living and you stuck to yourself mostly. She’d never seen any friends coming or going only your grandfather mostly and your parents on occasion.

Perfect that was the in Minho needed. The flowers. Minho did some research and found a nearby nursery that happened to have a bunch of different poppies in stock. He asked if they would set one aside for him and he left immediately to pick it up.

It was a Himalayan blue poppy apparently from what the owner of the nursery said. Minho thought it was pretty. He could see why it was your favorite. He saw a pretty blue pot that matched the color of the flower and decided to get that along with some potting soil. He would put it in the new pot and figure out a subtle way to give it to you.

When Minho got back home, he got started on transferring the plant into the new pot immediately. He had just gotten a little dirt in the pot and taken the poppy plant out of the old planter when you came walking out of the building.

You saw Minho and tried to ignore his presence as you walked past him making some kind of mess. As you started to pass him, he didn’t say anything to you. He always had a little quip to throw at you but today was the first time he didn’t. You chanced accidently getting his attention by glancing over and saw your Meconopsis Betonicifolia you had gotten rid of in his hands as he started to put it in a pot with zero drainage holes in the bottom.

You remembered exactly when you had gotten Blue, your Himalayan poppy. It was a graduation gift from your grandfather when you had finished high school and announced you would be going to university and majoring in plant biology, just like him.

When you saw Minho go to throw more dirt into the pot you walked over stopping him.

“No, no, no do you have any idea what you're doing?” Minho hadn’t heard you come out so when you walked up behind him, you caught him off guard. He wasn’t ready for you to see the plant yet and he definitely wasn’t ready for you to know it was for you.

“Wha-” You cut him off.

“There are no drainage holes in that pot, do you even have any rocks in the bottom to prevent over saturated soil and root rot? You want moist but well drained soil for that kind of plant and the soil should be acidic to neutral. You should really do your research on a plant before committing to buying one especially one as temperamental as Meconopsis Betonicifolia.” Minho looked at you absolutely gob smacked. The way you just rattled off all that information was impressive and the way you talked about plants like they were pets was endearing. Clearly gardening wasn’t just a light hobby for you.

“Holy shit what are you THE plant nerd of the whole fucking universe!?” Your face contorted, then turned into a frown and you scoffed.

“You’re such an asshole all the time, whatever, just don’t plant it in that, you’ll kill it.” You mumbled, rolled your eyes and walked away. Minho wanted to say something but everything he said always seemed to be wrong, so he just let you go. You decided you were going to do everything in your power to avoid Minho at all costs from then on. He was just so crass and teased you all the time. It was like he couldn’t be serious, or nice for that matter.

You had been successful at avoiding Minho for a whole week. Well into your second Minho free week you had been doing well. Still not great but not tormented on top of being miserable. You were doing well until your mom’s weekly dinner. Apparently a little before he had passed away, your grandfather had written you a letter. Your mother wanted to wait to give it to you until you seemed better and that night at dinner was when she decided it was time.

The letter sat on your counter, unopened. You weren’t sure if you could open it. You didn’t know if it would ever be time. It sat there for days after your mother had given it to you, taunting you.

At the end of your second Minho free week, you got a knock at your door. When you opened it, you found Blue on your door step; in the same blue pot you had told Minho wasn’t right for the plant the last day you had seen him. Had he not listened to a word you said about this pot? This plant? Or did he do it on purpose to get at you for ignoring him? It made your blood boil. You avoided him and he still managed to taunt and tease you.

You picked up the plant and brought it inside. You wanted to go over to his apartment and tell him off but you knew all that would happen is you would lose it on him and he’d get the satisfaction of seeing all his hard work pay off. No way.

You sat the plant on the counter by the letter from your grandfather and went to get in the shower. You had hoped a nice hot shower would relax you, calm the anger bubbling inside but what it did was give you more time to think, stew, and get angrier. By the time you got out of the shower you had convinced yourself you had to confront Minho RIGHT then.

You put on your kimono robe, grabbed the plant, and stormed out of your apartment to give him the ass chewing he deserved. By the time you got to his door ready to pound on it, the haze of anger had already started to lift and you stopped yourself before your fist made contact with his door.

You looked down at yourself, still half wet from your shower, in a floral silk kimono that didn’t do much to hide your... assets, holding a potted plant like a baby on your hip. You came to your senses and quickly made your way back to your own apartment. When you grabbed the handle of your door it wouldn’t turn.

“You. Have. GOT! To be SHITTING ME!” You, in the midst of your blind rage, walked out of your locked apartment with no keys and there was only one thing you could do about it without calling the super or a locksmith, both of which were timely and a head ache you didn’t want to deal with.

You walked back down to Minho’s door and knocked, still holding Blue. When Minho opened the door and saw you standing there in a little silk robe, towel dried hair, fresh faced and a little flushed from your hot shower still, his eyes went wide. When his mouth fell open to say something you put up your hand and interrupted whatever insult you were sure he was priming.

“I don’t want to hear whatever little dig you have. I’m locked out of my apartment. My patio door is unlocked I just need to climb over from yours. So please will you let me on your patio so I can get inside my apartment?” Minho kept his mouth shut while you explained. It had been two weeks since he’d seen you.

He didn’t really get to see you much to begin with and he had missed the small interactions he’d gotten with you from time to time when you started avoiding him. When you explained the situation, he didn’t hesitate to help. No matter what you had knocked on his door for he would have helped but he still tried to make a joke, make light of the situation, to break the tension.

“There is no way in hell I’m letting YOU use MY balcony.” Your face scrunched up into a disgusted look and you were just about to tell him exactly what you thought of him when he gave you that sharp eyebrow and smirk that made your blood pressure rise.

“You’re in that little robe and it’s not safe. I’m not letting YOU climb my balcony. I will climb over and unlock your door for you.” He stood there like some knight in shining armor and you pressed your lips together tightly, letting out a heavy breath through your nose.

“Okay fine, will you please just do it quickly?” Minho nodded and gave you a little salute.

“Right away Chloris.” Before you could even ask, he turned on his heels and headed towards his patio. Once you saw him climbing over you checked to make sure his door was unlocked, not about to make that mistake twice, pulled it closed and waited by your own door. Just a few seconds later you heard footsteps and then your door opened. Minho leaned against the frame, blocking the way in, looking down at you with that god damn smirk again.

“Sorry no solicitors Chloris, thank you.” He went to shut the door but stopped and opened it letting you into your apartment, grinning like the Cheshire cat. You took a deep breath trying to be nice since he just helped let you into your apartment.

“Chloris?” You asked with a disgusted look,

"What kind of name is that? It sounds like a venereal disease." Minho laughed he'd never heard you talk like that.

“Not up on your Greek mythology I see? Yes Chloris, otherwise known as Flora? The goddess of flowers?” You failed to realize he was trying to call you a goddess, only hearing snark as usual. You shrugged, wanting the interaction that had already lasted too long, in your opinion, to end.

“Alright well thanks Minho, won’t happen again.” He shut the door standing on the wrong side of it and started walking in to your apartment behind you. You set the poppy plant down on the counter by your grandfather’s note again and turned facing Minho as he stopped in front of you.

“It’s no problem if it does, happy to help, but you don’t think it’s unsafe keeping your balcony door unlocked? You know weirdos?” He wiggled his fingers at you and you rolled your eyes.

“You're the only weirdo with access so, I think I’m safe.” Minho smiled shrugging his shoulders and nodding his head back and forth in agreement. You started to walk towards your room so that you could finish drying off and put some clothes on hoping Minho would get the hit and leave with out you having to be rude.

“Well thanks agai-” Minho interrupted with a question.

“How did you get locked out in the hall with that plant again?” You froze.

“Cause see earlier after I left it on your door step, I took my garbage out and saw that you’d taken it in. So, I’m just wondering if you had already brought it inside why were you out in the hall with it?” You turned facing him again and tried to think of a quick excuse but you are a terrible liar and Minho was answering for you before you could come up with one anyway.

“You were coming to give the flower back?” Your mouth fell open a little, ready to deny the accusation but stopped. Minho looked down at the plant on the counter and saw the letter signed To Poppy from your grandfather. He picked up the letter and held it up.

“So, what’s up with all this, Poppy? Why’d you want to give the plant back? What’s the deal?” The use of your grandfather’s nickname set you off. The last bit of patience you had with Minho was now gone. The explosion that you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing was rearing its ugly head. You snatched the letter from him.

“WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM! Why are you SUCH a dick to me ALL THE TIME!?” Tears were welling up in your eyes and Minho stood there stunned and speechless.

“You want to know the deal, Minho?! FINE! Poppies are my favorite fucking flower, okay?! But you already guessed that huh? You got the plant! You want the real headline of the story yea?! Poppy is the nick name my grandfather gave me, my HERO! AND HE’S DEAD NOW! So yes, Minho I was bringing the plant back, the exact same plant my grandfather gave me as a gift! The plant that I TOLD you were going to kill and you proceeded to plant it in the wrong pot anyway! Yes, I was bringing back the exact same fucking plant that I already donated to a nursery ONCE! I brought it back because I don’t want to see poppies! I don’t want to hear the word, poppy! AND NO ONE GETS TO CALL ME POPPY BUT MY GRANDFATHER! ESPECIALLY NOT YOU!” You broke down crying into your hands uncontrollably and Minho felt horrible. He hadn’t realized. He was too busy trying to tease and flirt, trying to get you to loosen up.

He didn’t know you well enough to know you weren't just kind if serious and grumpy, to see that you were actually struggling, that you were grieving, that you always looked so sad because you were.

The old lady had told him were close with your grandfather and that she would see him visiting you. Only now did Minho think about the fact that, all this time, he had never once seen your grandfather visiting you. You had been on the edge, in danger of falling, and Minho had been nudging you closer and closer over that edge until you jumped.

“I’m so sorry y/n. I crossed a line, several, unknowingly but that doesn’t make it alright. I apologize. There is no excuse for it. I’m truly sorry for what I said and for hurting you and I’m... I’m sorry about your grandfather also.” You lifted your face from your hands, tears still welling in your eyes and streaking your face.

You looked up and saw Minho looking directly at you, his face was set like stone, you had never seen him so serious. The look on his face, you knew there was no teasing remark coming next, no sarcasm. He was well and truly sorry.

As mad as he had made you the last couple of months you knew it would do no good to hold a grudge with the next-door neighbor, especially when he was genuinely apologetic. You wiped you face with your hands and took a deep breath, calming yourself.

“Okay Minho. Your apology is accepted but from here on out don’t just act and talk any kind of way. Don’t make fun of the chubby nerdy neighbor girl about her weight and clothes. Just enough is enough with teasing me. Okay?” Minho frowned.

“I... my teasing was never meant to be malicious, I just wanted to make you laugh. You always look so down. I wasn’t trying to make fun of your weight or the way you dress. There’s not a thing wrong with the size you are or your clothes. I got you the poppy plant as an olive branch when I realized that I was not getting anywhere with my ‘humor’. If you look,” He picked up Blue and held it up a bit for you to see.

“After you gave me all the information about potting that plant, I drilled holes in the bottom of the pot and added a mixture of pebbles and bigger rocks for better drainage. I ordered a treatment for the soil pH too. When I had it all done, I was going to give it to you the next time I saw you, but then you started avoiding me. So, I put it on your door step. Anyway, I am clearly very bad at humor and even worse at flirting.” Your tears had completely subsided by then and you raised an eyebrow at the last part of his statement.

“Flirting?” Minho nodded and you scoffed rolling your eyes.

“Give me a break I just admitted I’m bad at it.” He pleaded. You shook your head in agreement to that statement.

“Yea I’d say telling a bigger girl that she looks like she can cook well, is probably a fairly shitty way to flirt, or telling her she looks like a pilgrim or whatever, or asking if she the biggest fucking nerd in the universe...” Minho nodded again and again putting up his hands in defeat.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of it like that but in hindsight I can see how it all came across that way. I’m sorry I made you feel poorly about yourself. I think you’re really beautiful y/n.” You shook your head.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing Mi-what?” Minho walked towards you and grabbed one of your hands slotting his fingers between yours.

“I think you’re beautiful y/n and I’d like to spend more time with you, aside from our run ins in the hall, and get to know you better.” You gave him a small smile and considered it before squeezing his hand gently.

“Okay. But no more teasing. Alright?” Minho gave you that eyebrow smirk combo he did when he was about to say something stupid and you braced yourself. He leaned in close to your ear, his breath fanning across your neck making goosebumps prickle your skin.

“No teasing?” He asked, his free hand played with the edge of the opening of your silk robe, his fingers gently grazing the soft skin on your chest as he looked down at you with lust filled eyes. You started blushing profusely and took your bottom lip between your teeth before you moved even closer, putting your arms around Minho’s neck.

“Well maybe a little teasing wouldn’t hurt.” Minho gave you a sly smile, leaned down and kissed you. It was a sweet soft kiss, just feeling each other out at first but when Minho’s hands weaved through your hair, tilting your head for better access to your lips, things heated up quickly.

When he finally pulled away you were breathless, blush now painting your cheeks, neck and chest. His fingers toyed with the closure of you robe, slightly pulling to untie it.

“Is... is this okay? Tell me to stop if-” You cut him off.

“Don’t stop Minho.” You kissed him as he pulled more firmly on the silk tie until it totally came undone. He dropped the thin strap and ran his fingers under the fabric, sliding the shoulders of your robe down, letting it fall and pool on the floor. His fingertips ghosted your skin as he traced them down your arms, his dark eyes soaking in every curve of your full figure.

“Fuck.” He managed to finally breath out and you smiled as he held your face and kissed you again. You lead Minho to your bedroom attached to your lips the entire time his hands gripping and caressing soft supple flesh.

When you crossed the threshold to your room it was like a fire ignited in you. You pushed Minho gently and he fell down on your bed laughing. You climbed on top of him and straddled his waist as you unbuttoned his shirt before gently running your nails down his chest.

Minho’s eyes scrunched closed and he bit his lips. Every touch from you made his cock swell. You started peppering kisses down his chest as you made your way to the waist of his pants. You started to undo the button and zipper and looked up at him.

“Can I...” Minho couldn’t wait for the rest of the question before he was answering you.

“YES! FUCK YES! Whatever it is YES!” You gave him a smirk that was very similar to the one he always gave you and pulled his pants and underwear down freeing his painfully hard dick as he tossed his shirt aside and leveled the playing field, leaving him just as naked as you were.

“Tell me what you want Minho.” He looked down at you and the sight of your thick thighs straddling his body was enough to make his cock twitch.

“Oh god, fuck, suck me off beautiful. Please!” You licked your palm and wrapped your fingers around his hard on.

“Suck on this?” You asked as you blew air on his cock and watched him twitch in your hands. Minho nodded with his eyes closed, gripping his hair with both hands.

“Please.” You took him into your mouth and he let out heavy breath.

“Fuck.” You sucked and slid up and down his length taking more into your mouth each time. Minho pushed your hair to the other side of your face so that his view wasn’t obstructed and he could see you suck him off.

“So pretty, feels so good y/n.” You hummed around Minho’s cock in appreciation of his praise and he groaned letting his head fall back into the sheets.

He looked back down at you and cupped the side of your neck, running his thumb along your cheek as you continued bobbing up and down his cock. You started stroking what you couldn’t take, sucking and licking Minho’s dick while you did.

“Fuck baby I’m gonna cum, don’t stop.” You hummed and started rotating your wrist as you jerked him off and focused on sucking the tip of his cock and teasing it with your tongue.

“That’s it! Yes! Fuck can I cum on your lips gorgeous?” You puckered your lips and rubbed the head of his cock against them as you stroked him faster. You felt his warm seed covering your lips as he climaxed, his cum dripping off them, down your chin, back on to Minho’s crotch and thighs.

“Holy... oh my god. How are you so good at that?!” He laughed and huffed out deep breaths coming down from his orgasm. You grabbed some tissue from your night stand and wiped your chin off, laying down next to Minho and handing him some tissue as well so he could clean himself up. Tissues were tossed in the trash and suddenly Minho was on you kissing you again, groping you.

“Time to return the favor kitten.” You melted into the bed as Minho left a wake of kisses down your soft tummy towards your dripping cunt.

“So wet, all for me.” Were his only words before sliding his tongue between your folds making sure to get a good taste of you. He started with light teasing flicks of his tongue against your clit, then his tongue, flat, lapped at you like a thirsty animal.

“Mmm right there Minho, mm yes harder.” Minho pressed his face into your pussy and slurped and licked at you, taking two of his fingers and sliding them inside you as he did.

“FUCK Min-Minho! God please just fuck me already!” Minho hummed and pulled away still curling and pumping his fingers in and out of you.

“Cum for me first kitten, wanna taste you, cum on my face and I’ll fuck you so good baby.” He attacked your clit with firm quick flicks of his tongue, the tips of his fingers hitting your g-spot with precision. It was the groan and humming against your cunt that sent you reeling into another galaxy.

“OH My god! I’m coming Min fuck! I’m coming!” He gently kitten licked you through the tremors and aftershocks of your orgasm before placing a gentle kiss on your pussy and crawling back up to kiss your lips.

“Such a good kitty coming just like I said, God my cock is so hard right now hearing your pretty moans. Are you ready for it kitten?” You pulled him down into another passionate kiss and whispered against his lips.

“There’s condoms in my bed side table.” Minho leaned over and pulled the drawer open, fishing around blindly until he felt the box of condoms. He took one out ripped the package and rolled the rubber down his shaft before slotting himself between your thick thighs again.

“God this pussy is so pretty baby, so wet, can’t wait to fill it up.” You bit your bottom lip and spread your legs more for him. Minho took his cock and ran it up and down your slit, collecting your juices. He rubbed the tip over your clit that was still a sensitive from your last orgasm, making you clench around nothing.

“Please Min stick it in, fuck, I need you.” Minho cooed at you and leaned down to kiss you as he slid his cock inside you making you moan out as he filled you.

“Ohohoh fuck kitten, you’re soft all over, god...fuck!” Minho sat up, gripped your cushy hips and started to slowly sink into you deeper until his cock was buried deep in you.

“Please move Minho! Fuck me baby!” He would do anything you asked to stay locked inside your warm soft walls. He slowly started sliding his cock in and out of you, rolling his hips trying to hit that one spot inside you that made you crazy, make you melt on his cock.

“So sexy underneath me like this kitten, taking all of me. ” He started fucking you harder

“Fuck your tits look so good bouncing every time I pound into you.” He grabbed both of your full breasts, squeezing gently. Minho’s hands slid back down your sides to your waist, then under you. He pulled you up into a kneeling position, his cock still inside you, now impossibly deep.

“Oh Min-fuck so big... gah! So good, feels so good!” One of Minho’s arms stayed wrapped around your waist holding your plush body against his as the other cupped your jaw, making you look him in the eyes while you took his cock deeper than you thought possible.

“Go on kitty, move for me.” You did as you were told and started rotating your hips as you slid back and forth on Minho’s dick.

“Good kitten, fuck yes just like that. Ride me.” The position you were in made it so Minho’s cock never stopped rubbing against your g spot and you thought your body might combust.

“Minho kiss me.” He could never deny you or resist your lips. He pulled you in and kissed you, his tongue sliding against yours, messy and wet, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before gently pulling at it with his little front bunny teeth.

He pushed his forehead against yours and his free hand, not holding you against him, gripped your squishy hip tightly making you grind on his cock faster.

“I’m gonna cum Min fuuuck please, make me cum baby.” Minho grunted as he started matching your rhythm giving you small deep thrusts as you rode him hard. A roll of Minho’s hips and your body was lit on fire with ecstasy. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your body went lip as you came hard on his cock.

Both his arms wrapped around you pulling you in, your soft breasts pressed against his firm chest, your sweat mingling as he worked you through your climax. You started coming down slowly, rolling your hips against his still. He threaded his hands through your hair and pulled you in for a sweet kiss. Plump lips pushed together and then pecked again and again.

“You’re so fucking sexy y/n god damn. Coming like that just... FUCK! I didn’t think I could get any harder. You look like you just ascended and came back a blushing angel.” You wrapped your arms around Minho trying to pull him closer although it didn’t seem possible and kissed him.

“Can I cum on you beautiful?” He kissed you so sweetly considering what he just asked while being buried balls deep inside you.

“Where do you want to cum baby?” Minho licked his lips at the ideas of where he’d cum on you going through his head but only had one in mind right then.

“Your tummy? I want you to keep sliding your wet pussy against my cock until I cum all over your sexy soft tummy.” You lifted your hips up enough allowing Minho’s dick to slide out of you.

You grabbed it, slid the condom off him, and pressed the tip of his cock up against your cunt, your hand pressing it firmly against you causing the most delicious friction for not just Minho but you too.

Minho pulled you close again your bodies pressed together. You held onto him tightly both arms wrapped around his neck fingers tugging the hair at his nape as his cock was pressed between you both.

“Fuck kitten I’m gonna cum.” You were panting rubbing yourself against Minho harder.

“God me to Min fuck! Fuck!” Minho could feel your pussy clenching even though he wasn’t inside you and you came the third time that night.

You felt warm spurts of thick cum start to paint your belly as Minho came on you, the way your cunt quivered around him being too much for him and finally pushing him over the edge. More streaks of cum shot from the tip of his cock across your belly and landing on his.

His seed kept leaking from his tip and dripped down your stomach. Once you were covered in Minho’s cum you fell back on your bed breathing heavy and laughing. Minho rolled and fell on his back next to you laughing as well.

“That was so much cum Minho look at me I’m covered.” Minho snaked his arms around you and pulled you close.

“I’ve got some on me too. We should probably shower.” He suggested as he nibbled your ear and neck. You giggled and shook your head, jumping up from the bed and racing to the bathroom, Minho fast on your heels.

You and Minho laid in your bed holding each other after washing each other and fucking in the shower again. You laid in the dark in a comfortable silence, soothed by each other's slow deep breaths. Suddenly a question hit Minho that he had to know the answer to.

“Oh yeah! How the hell do you know so much about poppies?” You laughed at the sudden question.

“I’m a botanist but poppy plants are my specific field of study. I wrote the book on it.” Minho laughed this time.

“I’d say so the way you rattled off all that info!” You shook your head laughing even harder and Minho looked like a confused kitty cat.

“No Minho I literally wrote the book on it. The current textbook used for plant science courses was written by me.” Minho quickly grabbed his cell phone and pulled up Google. When he typed in your name and saw all the awards and honors you had received in your field as well as the book you wrote, his jaw dropped.

“Damn so you really ARE THE plant nerd of the whole fucking universe.” You pinched Minho’s arm and he laughed tossing his phone and pulling you close again, kissing you and relaxing back.

That little google search sparked a slew of questions from the both of you. You carried on talking about anything and everything like two kids at a slumber party until you drifted off to sleep. You’d never had anything like that before with someone.

In the middle of the night, you woke up and couldn’t get yourself to fall back asleep. You sat up and looked over at Minho who was still sleeping peacefully and you couldn’t help but shake your head at the turn of events and how you had ended up there.

Even though it definitely didn’t start the best, in the end, you were happy that everything with Minho happened because it led you to where the two of you were now. As you sat there in your dark room you thought of the unopened letter your grandfather left you sitting on the counter.

You got up and walked into the kitchen, grabbed it and went back to your bed. When you crawled back in you sat crossed legged and Minho shifted, turned over towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist squeezing your soft body, sound asleep. You looked at the letter in your hands. You were still apprehensive but if now wasn’t the time, it never would be.

You turned on the small reading lamp by your bed and tore open the envelope that held the last words your grandfather left for you before dying. You took a deep breath preparing yourself and read.

Dear Poppy,

My sweet little poppy plant. I am so proud of you and the amazingly talented and beautiful woman you have grown to be. You are by far the most precious flower I tended to in my garden. I found the radio station for the college you’re speaking at. They’re going to broadcast your lecture and I’m going to listen to you while I lay here and maybe I’ll learn something from the smartest scientist I know.

I know you don’t want to hear this next part Poppy but you have to and I hope you won’t be too angry with me but, I knew. I knew today would happen while you were gone. I could feel it coming. The selfish part of me wants you here with me now but I’m glad you’re not here Poppy plant, because I want you to remember us in the green house and in the garden. I didn’t want this to be your last memory with me.

You had to go, speak, and show everyone else what I already know. That you are brilliant, amazing and beautiful. y/n, promise you’ll try to be happy. Your happiness is all I want. So, think of me when you see the poppies, think of me when you see Blue. I’ll always be with you my little Poppy plant.

Love always,

Your Pop

You choked back a sob as tears streamed down your face. Your body shuddered as you cried and it woke Minho. He sat up quickly holding your face gently in his hands.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” You held up the opened letter and he understood immediately. Minho held you and let you cry it all out.

When you were done you explained what you had read in the letter to him. How your grandfather had listened to you on the radio up until the moment he passed and how he told you he wanted you to remember him.

You thanked Minho for saving Blue from the nursery, even if he hadn’t known what it meant to you when he did it, because it meant you still had that piece of your grandfather. You both laid back in bed. Minho holding you, your head resting against his chest listening to his beating heart and it was the first time you really felt okay since your grandfather had died.

“Minho?” He squeezed you, kissed the top of your head and hummed.

“You can call me Poppy.”

*magnoliophyta- a division of plants comprising flowing plants that produce seeds enclosed in an ovary.

@caroline-ds-world @jquellen27 @chansynie @ughbehavior @hyunelixies @fixation-dump @lachinitaaaaa @rinrinndou @bangchans-angel @laylasbunbunny

*tracheophyta- a division of plants comprising green plants with a vascular system that contains tracheids or tracheary.

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