#it's just me and my cat and my hoover against the world | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

snackhobi · 4 years

Text

pairing: namjoon x reader / word count: 9.3k / genre: pwp/smut

summary: You’ve been letting your laundry pile up for a little too long. Fortunately, your neighbour Namjoon is there to lend you a hand.

warnings: sexually explicit content, masturbation, edging (kinda), unintentional voyeurism (briefly), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms (f receiving), bigdick!joon, dirty talk, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, overstimulation (reader gets fucked dumb), praise, aftercare (please heed the warnings, and let me know if I need to clarify/add any!)

For most people, Sunday is a day of rest. But not for you.

Sunday means chores. Sunday means tidying up, dusting, vacuuming. Sunday means finally doing all the Adult Things you’ve been too busy/lazy to do for the rest of the week (or even longer than that, as evidenced by your overflowing laundry basket). Sunday means work.

You slap at your vibrating phone, fingers sliding uselessly across the screen as you fumble to cut off the chirping alarm, and then you groan. “Ugh." You bury your head into your crumpled pillow. And then, once more, with feeling: “Uggggggh.”

You roll around in your bed, thrashing a little like a child having a tantrum, before you flop on your back and stare at your ceiling with your limbs akimbo, a starfish.

“Why?” You whine out to no one in particular. “Why me?”

Fortunately you live alone, so there’s no one to witness your sulky behaviour. You would put off getting all your errands done, but you’ve already been doing this for so long that you’re practically out of clean clothes to wear. That’s one part about living alone that’s a double-edged sword- you have your own space where you can act however you please, which is Great, but also you’re the only one responsible for keeping on top of things, which is Less Great. You can’t rely on other people to get things done for you.

You’ve never been a morning person, and the fact it’s so nice outside already does nothing to brighten your mood; it’s the perfect kind of day, the chilled bite to the air mellowed by the sun in the cloudless, pale sky, and you’re going to have to spend it indoors. Ugh. You eventually grit your teeth and pull yourself out of bed, waking yourself up with a cold shower. Once you force a cup of overly sweet coffee into your system and the caffeine hits you so that you’re fully awake and ready to go, the world suddenly feels a lot more bearable. So you’re unperturbed when your underwear drawer comes up practically empty.

“Oops,” you say. “Oh well.”

It’s practically empty, but not entirely; there, at the back, there’s that pretty lingerie set you’d bought on a whim in a sale and then promptly never worn. Honestly you’d be happy to go without, seeing as no one else is here and you have no one to look pretty for, but you find that you never get anything done if you’re not in a bra. It’s like a Pavlovian response that you've ingrained into yourself: when you get home, your bra comes straight off, no ifs, buts, or maybes. Bra off means it’s Relaxation Time. Bra on? That means it's time to get things done.

But, yeah, if you’re going to wear the bra, you may as well wear the matching thong, right? It came as a set so you’d basically be committing a crime if you didn’t wear them together. You take one moment to admire yourself in the mirror, turning this way and that to appreciate how it makes you look, before promptly ruining the illusion of sexiness by covering it up with a pair of old sweatpants and a too-large tank top. They're the only bits of clothing not in your laundry basket that you don't mind getting dirty while you clean, so, you have to make do.

The worst part about doing chores is getting the whole process started, but you’ve been doing this long enough that you have a routine. Bra on, hair up, mental checklist ready. You toddle through to the kitchen with your laundry basket, picking through for the colours and whites, feeling entirely too accomplished once you get the first load sorted. This kickstarts the whole chore procedure and once you get stuck in, you actually start to have fun; you’ve got your noise cancelling headphones on and your cleaning playlist is full of songs that get you pumped up, and you sing along to the music as you get started on your next job.

You wiggle your butt to the rhythm of the beat while you hoover, pushing your vacuum into the corners of your flat and ruthlessly sucking up the dust bunnies that have gathered there. You're in the middle of belting out one particularly long note when a spider scuttles out from under your sofa and the note rises into a little scream; you act on pure instinct and suck the spider up into the hoover, watching as all the long hairy legs fold together and get schlorped into the vacuum’s nozzle before disappearing forever. You feel immediately relieved but also immensely guilty when this happens- spiders are awful and you hate them but usually you’d try your best to catch them under a cup before flinging it outside, so the fact you’ve maybe just killed it? You really are just awful. (But thank God it’s gone.)

Maybe that's enough hoovering for now.

You empty the dust bag into the bin, mindful of the fact that the spider might still be alive and come crawling out onto your hands. Thankfully it doesn’t, but you’re not going to take any chances; you draw the bin liner shut and tie it tight, before deciding that the best course of action is to put it into your outside bin, in case the spider decides to come back with a vengeance.

You hoist the bag up and pause for a second to glance down at how the straps of your too-loose top have slipped down your shoulders to reveal the top of bra, the intricate lace trim of the cups and extra straps that criss cross your chest- definitely an, uh, interesting outfit choice for a quick trip out of your flat. You make the executive decision to shrug on a hoodie and zip it all the way to your neck to preserve your modesty and save you from the chill outside. Once that’s done it takes two seconds to slip your feet into your (fake) Converse shoes, another few seconds to fiddle with the lock on your door, struggling with the latch- it’s been a bit janky for a while and you keep forgetting to sort it out- before you hop your way downstairs and to the outside shed where everyone's bins are stored.

Ewch. It doesn’t smell that great in here. You make quick work of dumping your rubbish and escaping from the hut, shutting the door firmly behind you to try and keep the stench locked inside, before almost falling over when you feel the telltale sensation of a cat curling around your ankles. He’s meowing up at you but your headphones have been drowning him out, so you slide them off your ears and hook them around your neck so you can actually hear him.

"Oh, hi, baby!" The ginger stray likes to hang nearby the building, always friendly and happy to see you, even if he seems to like sneaking up when you least expect it. He meows at you again as you squat down to stroke him, butting his head into your palm as his tail curls in delight. "Aren't you just the most gorgeous boy? Yes, you are, aren't you?"

The cat ends up putting his paws onto your knee to butt his face against yours, and the next thing you know, you have an armful of cat. You laugh and continue to pet him, cooing at how cute he is as he purrs back. "Awh, baby, you're so sweet," you say. "I wish I could take you home, but my meanie landlord says we can't have pets."

“I was thinking of starting a petition, actually, so the landlord gets rid of the No Pets clause in the tenancy agreement. You’re welcome to sign it if you like.”

You glance up from where you’ve been allowing the cat to shove his nose against your chin, standing up straight to address the man who’s talking to you, cat still clutched in your arms. “Oh! Hi, Namjoon-ssi. That’s such a good idea, I love that. Stick it to the man. I’d definitely sign it. How are you today?”

Kim Namjoon, aka your neighbour from across the hall, is smiling at the cat in your arms. Namjoon’s the perfect neighbour and ideal tenant- quiet, tidy, considerate, although he does have a tendency to lose his keys and gets locked out of his flat on a pretty regular basis.

It’s actually how you’d started to talk in the first place. When you first moved in you’d given him a small box of chocolates to endear yourself to your same-floor-friend, only exchanging small nods and pleasant greetings for a while after that, but after you’d found Namjoon waiting sheepishly on his own doorstep- “My friend has a key but it’s going to take him a little while to get here,” he’d explained- you’d invited him into your own flat to wait, rather than just in the hall.

Since then you’ve started to have chats whenever you see each other, and occasionally knock on each other’s doors whenever you ask to borrow things like sugar or a screwdriver or whatever, and you always invite Namjoon in for a cup of tea when he’s waiting for one of his friends to rescue him from his own forgetful nature. You’re still toeing the line between Friendly Neighbours and Kind Of Friends, but one thing you already know and admire about Namjoon is his ability to actually be a mature and put together adult. Sure, you drink a decent amount of water, you have a skincare routine with multiple steps, and you usually manage to eat your 5-a-day, but a lot of that feels like you do it because you’re expected to, sort of like a child playing make-believe.

Namjoon, meanwhile, manages to just ooze the sort of gravitas that comes with being a fully realised human being, someone who actively participates in the world around them because they’re entirely engaged with things and basically just Super Mature Adult (even if he apparently loses/breaks things on a fairly regular basis). Hence why you’re not at all surprised at the petition thing, or when Namjoon proceeds to tell you that he’s going to spend the afternoon at his friend’s uncle’s strawberry farm, picking fruit, because of course Namjoon is the kind of guy who supports local, organic, free range produce. (Wait. Can strawberries be free range? Or is that just eggs?)

“Ahh, I love strawberries! That’s so cool,” you say. “It must be fun.”

“You’re welcome to come, if you like,” Namjoon says. He’s always gracious so you know he’s just saying this to be polite, but you can’t help but think it would probably be really nice to spend time picking fruit and talking with him.

“Ah, I’d love to, but unfortunately I have prior commitments. I’m catching up on chores,” you admit ruefully. You’re still absently scritching the ginger cat’s chin as you speak, the animal purring up a storm in your arms and shedding all over your clothes, although you don’t notice or care. Namjoon is incredibly endeared- not that you notice that, either. “Hence the runway-ready outfit.”

Your hair is so messy it looks like some sort of wild possum has been nesting in it, your hoodie sleeves are so long they threaten to swallow your hands, and you’re not even wearing your cheap knock-off shoes properly- you’re stepping on the back collar of them in your bare feet so they’re basically glorified flip-flops at this point. Total fashionista. (Not.)

Namjoon, however, seems surprised at your dismissive tone. “You look cute and cozy,” he says.

You snort in an unladylike way, lifting the cat in your arms a little- you can’t gesture properly with an armful of fur, especially when the stray takes this as an invitation to crane upwards and shove his little face into the crook of your neck, knocking against your headphones. “Cute baby,” you coo at the cat, before turning your attention back to Namjoon. “You look cute and cozy,” you echo. It’s a little chilly today and Namjoon’s wrapped up, long scarf curled around his neck, beanie on his head, hem of his coat fluttering around his thighs. Super cozy, and again, a well-put-together adult.

You muffle a sigh. He’s a well-put-together and hot adult, tall and built, so handsome in his casual outfit, effortlessly masculine. You’ve been lowkey crushing on Namjoon for a while now, as futile as that effort is- you haven’t seen any evidence of a special someone in Namjoon’s life, but there’s no way that man is single. Even if he somehow is, he’s like, a bajillion light years out of your league, hyper intelligent and kind and gorgeous, in comparison to your… um… your… well. Yeah. In comparison to that.

He’s nice to you and he smiles whenever he sees you, though, and your weak little heart can’t help but flip flop in your chest whenever you see that dimpled little smile, even if you know you don’t have a chance in hell that he really thinks that you’re cute. He’s just being polite.

The cat in your arms gives a little wriggle, apparently sated for the day, and you carefully squat down to deposit him onto the ground. He gives you both one last little mewl before scampering off and you fondly watch him go. “Let me know when you have that petition written up,” you say, brushing the cat hairs off your sleeves. “I better get back to my flat, I need to finish the rest of my laundry so I can continue the facade of being a functional adult. Have a great day, Namjoon-ssi, and I hope you enjoy the strawberries! You’ll have to tell me how they are.”

“I will,” he says, eyes warm as he smiles, those little dimples appearing in his cheeks. Ugh, you want to touch them so much. “Good luck with your laundry.”

Namjoon’s beautiful smile fuels you for the rest of the day, buoying you up as you scrub the walls of your shower and bleach your toilet, bright yellow gloves a size too large for your hands as you spritz your bathroom counter. You might not be a legitimate adult in the same way that your neighbour is but you can give it a damn good go; even if the rest of your life is maybe a bit more chaotic than you’d like, you can at least get your surroundings in order.

And you do. By the time you’re finished with hoovering and mopping your floors and reorganising your clutter, your flat feels brand-spanking new again, fresh and clean and airy. You’d even lit a few scented candles earlier and you give yourself a pat on the back for your forward thinking as you snuff them out, the delicate smell of vanilla lightly filling the apartment. All that’s left is to go to the kitchen and put the final load of laundry in the tumble dryer and once that’s been emptied and sorted, you’re all finished. Mission accomplished. Chores done.

Once the tumble dryer has started its cycle you reward yourself with a cup of tea, a blackcurrant and blueberry fruit infusion that you’d gotten as a Secret Santa gift at work and hadn’t used yet, saving it for a special occasion. You hum to yourself and continue to wiggle your hips to the music trickling out of your headphones as the kettle boils, watching the purple that bleeds from the tea bag once the hot water cascades over it. It looks rich and vibrant and it smells so good- but then you make a little face when you take a sip. Fruit teas never taste as good as they smell. It’s not bad but it’s a little disappointing, really, a subpar reward after a hard day of work.

You stand in the middle of your kitchen with your mug still in your hand, eyes unfocused as you stare into space, trying to think of things in your flat that you could use to reward yourself. You’ve already used up those fancy gel eye masks that Jimin had given you for your birthday, and you’d let Jungkook have your sheet masks when he’d said his favourite brand was out of stock; Taehyung had pilfered all of your bath bombs as part of an experiment (the experiment being that he wanted to know what colour his bath water would turn if he used all your different bath bombs in it- the answer was ‘an incredibly underwhelming, if glittery, sludge brown’), and he still hasn’t gotten around to replacing them.

Pay day isn’t until next week and you’re tight enough on money at the moment that you don’t want to order out for dinner- living alone means you have to pay more rent so you have to be more careful with money- so you’re out of ideas.

That is until motion out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. You glance over at it, pulled out of your reverie; the old tumble dryer has been in this flat longer than you and it’s showing signs of wear and tear, base warped a little from age, noisy and wobbly as your clothes are being spun inside. You pause, mug dropping a little in your hand as the thought briefly flickers through your mind, before you bite your lip and throw caution to the wind. Fuck it. You live alone and you’ve had a long day and you deserve some kind of reward.

You abandon your unfinished mug of tea in the sink before eyeing the shaking tumble dryer. You hoist yourself up, straddling the corner of the machine, a little shiver running through you when you feel the vibrations through your legs and thighs as you settle into place; it takes time to situate yourself, thighs spreading as you tilt your hips forward and press your heat against the rumbling dryer. You shift on your hands, palms braced against the top of the machine as you wriggle into the best position- the second you get just the right angle you let out a little gasp, eyes squeezing shut when you feel how the shaking machine is sending vibrations throughout your entire body.

You keep your eyes shut as you continue to find the right rhythm. You rock your hips forward each time the machine rocks back, rolling the weight of your body down towards your clenching cunt; the vibrations are so strong that you can feel them through your sweatpants, lace of your thong rubbing against your clit in a deliciously rough way, sending little shockwaves of pleasure through you.

As you continue to work yourself up, your skin starts to feel overheated under your clothes, even with the chill spring air seeping into the flat- you fumble with the zip of hoodie, letting the material sag open before you brace yourself with your palms again. You feel how the hoodie slips down your arms, baring your shoulders, and you tilt your head back, revealing the line of your neck as you arch your spine. Each rumble of the machine rolls through you, wetness starting to slicken your folds as you grind down a little harder. It’s a steady, slow climb towards your peak- you shut your eyes to focus fully on the pleasure building between your legs, the way your clit feels swollen and almost over-sensitive from the strong vibrations from the dryer, the way your pussy clenches whenever you get the angle just right.

You start to gasp, biting back moans when you feel how your orgasm is getting closer. You lift one hand from the top of the dryer to run your hands over your skin- your neck, your throat, tracing over the straps of the bra that are digging into the swell of your breasts. It’s good, really good, but it’s not enough; every time you feel like the peak of your orgasm is about to crest, it ebbs away again, and you let out a little whine from the back of your throat.

With your eyes still shut, you try to conjure up images that’ll arouse you and send you tumbling over the edge. Hands on your body, lips against your skin, your mouth. Normally when you masturbate you try to keep away from thinking about anyone in particular, because you feel like if you see that person in the future they’ll just telepathically know about it and you end up feeling awkward and guilty (even if you know it's illogical)- but today you can’t help it. Your mind slips to the thought of Namjoon this morning and the way he’d smiled at you, and once you start thinking about Namjoon, you can’t stop.

Namjoon’s smile. His mouth. His tongue. His hands, his fingers. His tall, beautiful body, pressing you down against a mattress, trapping you against him. You take the hand that’s been trailing over your collarbones and lift it to your mouth and press two fingers past your lips, trying to imagine that it’s Namjoon. Imagine that it’s the weight of his cock on your tongue, hard and heavy. You bet it’s as gorgeous as the rest of him. You bet he tastes so good, hot and salt and maybe a little bitter, heady and masculine; you let out a low moan around your lips as you run the pads of your fingertips over your tongue, saliva pooling in your mouth.

All the while, your music has been playing on, heavy beat thrumming through you as you forget the outside world and focus on the reality you’re conjuring in your mind. Namjoon’s cock in your mouth. Namjoon’s mouth on your cunt. Namjoon’s skin against yours. Namjoon fucking into you, hard and deep. Your blood rises in your veins, toes curling as you can feel how your orgasm is getting ever closer now that you’re this turned on, your cunt leaking with arousal; the thought of Namjoon wanting you as much as you want him is dizzying, as unlikely as it is. The Namjoon in your mind fucks into you with a particularly rough thrust and in the real world you respond with a moan, garbled around the fingers between your lips. Fuck, you’re so close.

Just as you're nearly there, your playlist ends and everything lapses into silence, your reverie shattered. The moment is gone. Your orgasm slips away from you again and you whimper, unintentionally edging yourself yet again.

Your eyes flutter open briefly when your haze is broken, although you squeeze them back shut so that you can get back to picturing Namjoon and finally bring yourself to completion- but then your eyes fly open again, fingers stuttering in your mouth and hips going still as your entire body stiffens, blood turning to ice in your veins.

The very real Kim Namjoon is standing in the doorway of your kitchen. There’s a look of utter shock on his face, his lips parted, eyes so wide it looks like his eyeballs are going to pop out of his skull, frozen in place. You don’t know how long he’s been there. You don’t know if he’s just walked in on you. Really, though, it doesn’t matter if he’s been there for five seconds or five hours- he’s seen everything, the way there’s saliva dripping from your mouth around your fingers, tank top barely hiding your lingerie, the way you’ve been bucking your hips against the dryer. Utterly desperate and debauched and depraved.

There’s a small, white plastic bag in Namjoon’s hands with a pretty strawberry logo on it, drooping further and further towards the floor as his arms go slack. You don’t notice it until it’s slipping loose from his fingers and landing on the floor.

Berries go rolling out of the sagged plastic and across the tiles but Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice. That single point of motion in the room seems to kickstart your brain into gear, your flight or fight response screaming flight, and you practically throw yourself off the tumble dryer. Your brain is entirely empty of logical thought right now and the only thing you can think of is that you need to get away and hide forever.

You rush past a still frozen Namjoon, stumbling down your hallway towards your open front door- you notice that the latch is stuck, not clicking into place when you’d come back inside earlier and leaving the door unlocked, you idiot. Namjoon always knocks and it must have swung open as soon as he rapped his knuckles against it, and you wouldn’t have heard it over your goddamn music. You absolute, utter idiot.

You’re not thinking about how illogical it is to flee from your own home to get away from someone. You’re just thinking about your escape. Taehyung’s flat is the nearest and it won’t take long to run there and you can survive without shoes; you’re still barefoot but you don’t have time to grab anything. You have to run.

You’re just stretching out for the door when you feel large hands grab you from behind. You flail, door swinging shut as your fingers brush against it before you’re being pulled backwards by the arms that have slid around your waist. You start to struggle, squirming in the hold, pushing at the hands trapping you as you instinctively still try to get away from the shame and embarrassment; Namjoon’s body is warm and solid against your back, his muscles effectively trapping you in place, and you can feel how his voice rumbles through him as he speaks, audible through the silence of your headphones.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

You’ve never heard Kim Namjoon sound like this. His voice is authoritative, commanding. The part of your brain that acts on pure instinct- the part that just told you to go hurtling out onto the street without shoes- responds instantly, and you immediately go lax in his hold even though you’re still internally panicking.

“I was planning on going to the moon,” you say, unable to cover up how your voice is shaking, even if you’re trying to hide behind sarcasm. It’s your only defence right now. Your skin prickles with embarrassment. “Where else do you think?”

Namjoon lets out a chuckle, and your toes curl at how deep the sound is. “The mouth on you.” He sounds amused. You can’t look him in the eye. “Were you trying to get away from me?”

“‘Trying’ is the operative word.” You’re still staring resolutely at the door- it’s swung shut and the latch has actually clicked upwards this time. Traitor. “As you can tell, I’m not doing a very good job. The sooner I go, the sooner I get the paperwork started for my move to Fiji.”

“I thought you were planning on going to the moon.” Namjoon’s hold on you is still firm. You’re utterly helpless. “Changed your mind?”

“Going to open a diner in Fiji to raise funds for my moon mission. It’s a long plan.” The spike of adrenaline that had burst through you is already dissolving in your system, leaving you feeling limp and strung out. You can’t see Namjoon’s face with how your back is crushed against his chest; when you glance down all you can see is how big his hands are against your stomach. Despite yourself, you shiver. As panicked and embarrassed as you are, arousal is still trickling through you, and you hate yourself for the effect that Namjoon is having on you right now. You try to sound calm and unaffected as you continue to speak, but you feel breathless from the lingering pleasure tingling between your legs. “Can you let me go now, please?”

“Is that really what you want?” You’ve had your hands on his wrists from how you’d been trying to push them away, so you feel how one of Namjoon’s hands starts to slide downwards, slow as treacle, and your breath hitches as his fingers slide under the waistband of your sweatpants. They don’t go any further than that, palm splayed over your hipbone, but you feel your pussy clench at the warmth of his hands on your skin and a whimper slips out of you. “Or do you actually want something else?”

Your fingers dig into his wrists. When you open your mouth to reply, your words fail you and instead you just let out a little breath. You’re in utter disbelief at what’s happening right now, unsure of what’s going on- you’re not an idiot but there is no way that Namjoon is implying what you think he’s implying. Absolutely no way. Not a chance in hell. What?

As you continue to stay silent, brain trying to catch up with the situation, Namjoon doesn’t move.

“Use your words, baby,” he murmurs. “I need to know that you want this.”

Oh, fuck. When Namjoon calls you baby it feels like a switch has been flipped inside you; like he’s slipped a missing fuse into place and your entire body has lit up, full of energy and electricity from his touch. It’s overwhelming. “Of course I want this,” you confirm, trembling, and then: “I want you.”

Namjoon responds by finally moving his hand downwards. You watch as it goes, how he pauses when he makes contact with the fabric of your underwear, the unmistakable texture of embroidered lace under his touch. He drags his fingertips across the straps that cross over themselves, an arrow guiding him to his mark; your entire body goes tense when his fingers glance over your swollen folds, slick through the fabric.

You gasp. You’re still trapped against him by the strong arm curled around you, but your hands are free- you pull your headphones off and let them fall to the floor, twisting your head around so you can finally look at Namjoon’s face. His eyes are hooded and dark. He looks nothing like the cute and clumsy man who waves you good morning every day; he looks like some hungry animal, a predator who’s been waiting for the right time to swallow his prey whole.

“Namjoon,” you breathe. He gives you a small smile that’s more of a smirk, utterly at odds to his usual dimpled beams.

“You don’t have to settle for an old tumble dryer, gorgeous.” He kisses the bare skin of your shoulder, right next to where your bra strap is resting, eyes locked on yours. His lips are so soft and you shiver. “Let me help you.”

“I’ll have you know that tumble dryer was very close to getting me off, actually.” You’re so turned on right now but you can’t help the words slipping out; a lifetime of snark doesn’t leave you the second you start feeling horny. “So it’s less you helping me, and more you giving me something you owe me, seeing as you took it away in the first place.”

Namjoon’s silent for a second, and you wonder if you’ve gone too far- if you’ve run your mouth too much- when he hums. “Ah,” he says. “That’s true. You’re right.”

“Huh?” You say eloquently, surprised, but then he takes the hand out of your sweatpants and you whine. “Hey, put that back, you’re not done yet.”

Namjoon lets out a little chuckle. “No, I’m not,” he agrees. “But I want to see this pretty lingerie properly. You’re all covered up and that just won’t do.”

He punctuates this statement by taking both of his hands to your hoodie, where it’s been caught at your elbows, and sliding it off you. He drags his large palms down your arms as he does this, cool against your overheated skin; goosebumps appear in the wake of his touch and you shiver again. You have no idea what's going on right now. Everything feels like some sort of fever dream but you're not about to start complaining.

“If you’re about to see me in my unmentionables I’d least like a kiss first,” you say, pout audible in your voice. The truth is you’ve thought about Namjoon’s plush lips more often than you’d like to admit, how beautiful his mouth is, and it’s got to be illegal for Namjoon to have been touching you for as long as he has without letting you have at least one taste of his kisses. “Please?”

“Turn around, baby.” You instantly comply, all but throwing your arms around his neck as you look at him with an innocent, bambi gaze; he still has that half-lidded set to his eyes but you can see how that ravenous hunger is softened by his smile. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” you say. You might sound like the protagonist to some cheesy romance film right now but the truth is that you’re still aware of the heat between your legs, the ebbed arousal that’s still coiling low in your stomach, and as much as you want to kiss Namjoon, you want to cum, too. “Kiss me, kiss me, kiss m-”

Namjoon kisses you. He cuts you off mid sentence by slotting his mouth against yours, open around the word he swallows, and he immediately presses his tongue past your lips; you yield to him, letting him press his lips to your cupid’s bow as you lick his lower lip, soft and full. Just as good as you thought. No- better. His hands stay steady around your waist, but yours keep moving as you keep kissing- his shoulders, his nape, his hair, his jaw. Every part of him is so warm and solid against you and you just can’t get enough.

You slant your head to get deeper, tongues slipping into each other’s mouths in a way that borders on lewd, rubbing against each other as you trade saliva, your mouth full of the taste of Namjoon. You swear there’s a lingering taste of strawberries. You feel better, a little more in control now that you know Namjoon will indulge you even if you’re being a brat, and you can finally chase the thing that got this whole sequence of events started.

“I wanna cum, Namjoon,” you murmur against his lips once you finally part, breathless from his kisses. “Will you help me cum? Please? Pretty please?”

Namjoon’s lip curls back from his teeth in a silent growl, and a shudder runs through you at the sight; seeing your usually composed neighbour act like this because of you is a heady sensation. “You won’t be able to walk when I’m done with you,” he says, and your pussy throbs with need at his words.

“Jesus Christ, Namjoon.” Your eyes are wild. “I want you to fucking wreck me.”

You get no warning before Namjoon is literally sweeping you off your feet and you squeal in surprise when you feel them leave the ground, but Namjoon’s grip on you is steady as he lifts you in a bridal hold. You feel breathless at this physical representation of his strength- you’ve only seen his bare arms once (that had been a nice morning) before but you definitely hadn’t forgotten about how thick they are, as evidenced by the way he’s carrying you.

Normally you’d probably be chewing him out for lifting you without warning, but right now there’s a very base, animalistic part of you that goes belly up at the very obvious reminder of Namjoon’s superior power. The instinctual part of you that had initially told you to run away from him now seems entirely content with the fact you’ve been caught, and so you stay quiet in his arms. You cling tight to him as he walks to your bedroom without the need for directions, your flat the mirrored twin to his; you keep kissing his neck as he nudges the door open with his foot, running a hand down his chest, feeling the flex of his muscles through the fabric of his shirt.

He’s so fucking hot, what the fuck.

He’s hot, and strong, but gentle, too. When Namjoon sets you down he’s so careful even though he could easily manhandle you in any way he wanted, and you give him a kiss as a thank you. It’s a brief moment of quiet, that little kiss, but then Namjoon is pulling you back towards him and his hands are all over as he helps you strip; Namjoon’s eyes are heavy on your body as he drinks you in, finally wearing nothing but the lingerie he’s been so desperate to look at.

He sees the way the interweaving straps rest against your skin with the perfect amount of pressure, little swells letting him know that he’ll be able to trace the touch of lace on your body even after he’s ripped it off you. The lace cups of your bra do nothing to hide how your nipples are standing to attention, begging to be touched. But the most eye-catching thing, the thing that Namjoon can’t stop looking at, is how sodden the lace between your legs is; your inner thighs are slick with your arousal, shining, and you haven’t even cum yet.

“Look at you. So gorgeous,” Namjoon says. “Gonna make you cum over and over, baby.”

His hands feel so good against your skin as he skims his fingers over your panties, but he doesn’t take them off, and you let out a needy little noise. “Please,” you whine. “I need to cum, Joonie, been waiting so long.”

Namjoon watches as you reach to fumble with the clasp of your bra and reaches for your hands, stopping your motions. You blink up at him, confused, but then he’s turning you towards the bed and bending you over it, motions firm and undeniable; not that you would try to defy him, anyway. You brace your palms against the mattress and instantly arch your spine so that your ass is pushed out, enticing as possible.

You’re wondering if you’re going to have to beg for Namjoon to touch you but it seems what little patience he had has run out; his warm palms are immediately against your ass, touch reverent as he slides his hands over your skin, and you press back into that touch, wanting more of it. His hands skim up your sides and his fingers dance along the edge of your bra before reaching for the hooks, unfastening it so that it slips down your arms and onto the bed before you shove it aside.

He bends over you, chest broad and warm against your naked shoulderblades, arms coming around your body so that he can cup your breasts in his large hands; his palms cover so much of your skin, your sensitive nipples, and you gasp at the shock of sensation that shoots through you as he drags his hands over them before using his fingers to pinch the hardened nubs. You twist your head and make a little noise, and Namjoon obliges you with a kiss, grinning against your mouth with each desperate sound he muffles with his plush lips.

Eventually, though, he pulls away from you. You glance over your shoulder to see that he’s gotten to his knees, still staring at your soaking core, before he hooks one of his thumbs into the fabric covering your aching pussy and pulls it aside before pressing his mouth against you.

“Oh, fuck!” Your body goes weak and you slump forwards onto your elbows and shove your face into the bed, and Namjoon follows when this moves you away from him, tongue buried in your cunt as he eats you out with no mercy. He’s utterly shameless, noises slick and lewd as he drags his wet tongue over your entrance and clit, swallowing down all the arousal that’s leaking out of you, ravenous. You reach behind you with one of your hands to grip his hair, and when you grind back against his face he lets out a satisfied hum; you gasp at the vibrations against your lower lips, oversensitive from all your edging.

“Gonna cum,” you say, twisting your head so that your cheek is pressed to your rumpled blanket. “I’m so close, oh, God, Namjoon-”

He’s been rubbing his tongue up and down your clit in a particularly sinful way, and after one more particularly hard stroke, you finally, finally reach that precipice you’ve been reaching for all day. You shove your face back into the blanket as you cum, all your gasps and moans coming together in one long cry as your toes curl and you tighten your fingers so hard into your sheets you almost pull them off the mattress. Your entire body trembles as your cunt pulsates with pleasure, each ripple of your pussy feeling like it’s passing through your whole body, and Namjoon doesn’t let up for a second, lapping down each wave of cum that flushes out of you. You feel utterly weak as you flop forwards against the mattress, boneless and shaky, but Namjoon’s mouth is still on you and you let out a whimper, oversensitive.

“It’s too much,” you gasp. “Namjoon-”

He takes his mouth off you immediately. “Sorry, baby,” he apologises, pressing a kiss against the swell of your ass. You want to sag your lower body against the bed but his hands are keeping you up, fingers digging into the soft skin of your ass and hips. “You just taste so good. Can you lie down for me?”

“Yes,” you say into the blanket, your voice a muffled slur. You’re so eager to please him even though you feel so weak from your post orgasm haze, and your muscles feel like jelly as you try to lift yourself onto the bed. Namjoon obviously notices how fucked out you are because he helps flip you over so that you’re on your back, staring up at him.

You continue to stare at him as he sheds his clothes. You let your gaze shamelessly rove over his body as it’s revealed- the honeyed tone of his skin, the muscles that shift underneath it, his shoulders, his arms, his chest, the long legs, the thick thighs, the trail of hair that dips down to his-

“Holy fuck.” Your voice is reedy with desperation, and Namjoon laughs.

His cock has to be the biggest you’ve seen in real life, long and thick, fully erect even though you haven’t touched it yet- the fact that you’re apparently arousing enough to bring him to full hardness is flattering, honestly. Even as you stare at it, it twitches, a dribble of precum oozing from the flushed head, almost an angry red from neglect. You watch, enraptured, as he circles his fingers around it; it doesn’t look any smaller in his large hands. He pulls on his cock, long and slow, before he spits onto it and fucks into his fist as you watch him, spreading the wetness over himself.

“Gonna fill that hungry little pussy with this cock,” he says. “Gonna give you a reward for being such a good girl. Is that what you want?” Namjoon watches you as he thumbs at his slit, precum weeping from his tip. “Does my good girl want this cock?”

“I want it,” you beg. You do, you want it so bad. His mouth and lips and tongue felt so good but it must be nothing in comparison to how good it’ll feel to be filled up by Namjoon’s heavy, long cock. “Fuck, Namjoon, please, I want it.”

You lift your hips so that Namjoon can slide your panties off you. He stares at the strings of wetness that cling to them as he peels them away from your core, finally bare to the cool air of the room, and you suck in a breath. He wastes no time, climbing onto the bed and settling above you, cock swaying between his legs before he grasps it and tilts it towards your entrance.

You lift your hips again, tilting them towards him for an easier angle- and immediately cry out when he broaches you, head pressing past your entrance. You’re so turned on and flushed wet that the initial slide in is easy, but as he gets deeper and deeper you can feel the stretch, your pussy forced open for him, feeling like you’re being split open with how big he is- you’ll feel the burn tomorrow, but right now your body is ripe and ready for him to take you, cunt clenching as he bottoms out in you. You experimentally tense your muscles and the two of you gasp in a breath, shocked pleasure at the sensation.

“Fuck, baby,” Namjoon groans. “You feel so good.”

He holds still for a moment to let you adjust, leaning down to kiss you. It’s deep and slow, tongue swiping into your mouth as you part your lips for him and let him take what he wants. When he leans back, all that softness is gone- your legs fall apart as he starts to fuck you, hips snapping forward as he ruthlessly presses his cock into you. He’s so big and he’s striking so deep it feels like you can feel him in your stomach, and you arch your back into him and cry out each time he strikes home.

The pace he sets is rough and aggressive, the slap of skin against skin and wet noises from his cock driving into your pussy filling the silence of the room, every part of you hypersensitive to every sensation- Namjoon’s weight pressing you into the mattress, the shaking bed, the rising smell of sweat and sex, the firmness of his hands on you. He leans back and you catch a glimpse of his hungry eyes before he puts his hands under your knees and hitches your legs up so that you’re practically bent in half when he fucks into you again- you cry out at the change of angle, how this lets him splay his large hand over the line of your hipbone as he starts to rub his thumb across your clit, continuing to fuck into the whole time.

“Gonna c-cum again,” you hiccup between thrusts, the air punched out of you each time that hot cock spears into you. “Joonie, gonna- gonna cum aga- oh!”

Your spine arches as your orgasm rips through you, coil of pleasure exploding like a firework as you cum for the second time that day, walls tensing around Namjoon’s cock; he continues to thrust into you, even when your cunt clenches so tight it feels like there’s no space inside you for his length. He keeps forcing your body open for him even as you keep falling apart around him, and you keep taking it, loving it. The only thing you can register is the delirious, mind-numbing satisfaction, sobbing out as Namjoon’s cock continues to fill you- you feel like he’s fucked you dumb, like your body was only made to be fucked by him, sloppy and open and wet. Each time he fills you up again it forces a noise from your throat, sounds of almost animalistic pleasure spilling from your lips, all semblance of coherent words gone.

When Namjoon pulls out of you, even though your body feels weak and limp and entirely fucked out, you whine at the loss. The next second, though, he flips you over, nudging your ankles apart before sliding back into you. The change of angle has him dragging against your sweet spot, balls slapping against your clit, overwhelming off the heels of just cumming, but you just take it, drooling into the pillow as your brain gives over to the all-consuming pleasure.

“So pretty when you cum around my cock.” Namjoon’s bent over you, murmuring praises that you barely register as he litters kisses over your shoulders and the side of your throat. “Greedy little pussy takes my cock so well. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Wanna be a good girl for you.” Your words are a slur, your brain foggy but eager to please, answering the question. “Joonie.”

“Gonna fill you up so good,” he says, lips pressed against your ear as he whispers filth to you, still mercilessly fucking into you. “Gonna fill this pretty little pussy with my cum. Do you want my cum, baby?”

“Wan’ it,” you moan. There’s heat curling in your abdomen again, pussy tightening as another orgasm creeps up on you, the promise of Namjoon’s hot cum filling you pulling you closer to the edge. “Want your cum, Joonie.”

His fingers tighten around your waist as he starts to jackhammer into you. His cock feels like it’s splitting you open even as his rhythm starts to falter, and after one particularly hard thrust your eyes roll back in your head as you tumble over the edge again, cumming so hard it’s a wonder you don’t pass out. You let out a strangled moan and Namjoon curses as you tighten around him, your entire body trembling under his hands as you give yourself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through you.

His rhythm falters before he lets out a shout and his cock jerks inside you as your tightening cunt pulls him into climax. Hot cum fills your pussy as he empties himself inside you, aftershocks of your orgasm drawing his seed deeper, painting your insides. You lie there and take it, face turned into the pillow as you focus on the sensation of his twitching cock, the way your body is milking him even in your exhaustion, like it’s desperate to satisfy him even when you can barely speak.

You shiver when you feel him slowly pull out. He’s stroking his hands over your skin, kissing your shoulder blades and nape as he turns you over, gentle as he touches you. “You did so well,” Namjoon praises, smiling at you. “So good for me.”

You still feel fuzzy but you latch onto Namjoon’s words as he kisses you on your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. Words seem so hard to string together right now but you try your best, voice small and weak. “Did good?”

“Absolutely perfect, baby,” Namjoon says, and you let out a happy sigh. You stay quiet while Namjoon slips out of your bed before returning with a damp cloth. You let your muscles go entirely lax as Namjoon rolls you onto your back and gently spreads your legs; he watches as his own cum drips out of you before he gently swipes the mix of cum that’s smeared across your pussy, mindful of your sensitive clit. You bask in his touch, feeling like a cat bathing in sunlight as he cleans you up, stroking his hands across your skin.

He gathers you in his arms and continues to murmur praises between kisses and touches. You slowly come back to yourself as he keeps lavishing attention on you, skin warm against his, turning into his touch as your brain starts to flicker back on.

Namjoon brushes his lips against your forehead as your higher thought processes continue to fall back into place, although you’re still a little hazy. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” You feel thoroughly fucked out after three back-to-back orgasms and your pussy feels raw and you’re not sure when you’ll next be able to walk in a straight line, but none of those things detract from how fabulous you feel right now. “More than okay. Wow. When I said I wanted you to wreck me, I didn’t realise you’d do such a good job.”

Namjoon smiles at you, and you finally get to indulge yourself, lifting a hand to stroke a finger across his dimples that deepen as you touch them. “I’m always happy to oblige,” he says, and you grin as you brush your nose across his neck, nuzzling into him.

“You really are the best neighbour,” you say. “Did you seriously come over to give me a bunch of hand picked strawberries? That’s what that bag was, right?”

“Of course.” Namjoon’s fingers continue to rub circles into your shoulder. “I thought you deserved a nice treat after a day of chores.”

“Oh, I feel very thoroughly rewarded,” you giggle, before pulling your head back to look Namjoon in the eye. “God. I was so mortified at the beginning, though. I seriously thought I was going to have to pack my bags and move away.”

“The strawberries wouldn’t be enough to persuade you to stay?” Namjoon strokes his knuckles down your cheek before resting his thumb under the swell of your bottom lip, pushing up a little so it looks like you’re pouting at him. “After I spent all afternoon picking them and thinking about you, and how lovely you’d look while you ate them with this pretty little mouth of yours?”

You relax into his touch, letting him rub the pad of his thumb over your lip, all but kissing his finger each time your mouth shapes itself around another word. “You think about me?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Namjoon says, stroking over your lip one last time before cupping your chin in his palm. “I don’t genuinely lose my keys as often as you think I do. Though I do still lose them a lot,” he adds, a little sheepish, and you laugh.

“So you’re saying that if I give you a spare key to my flat, I should have back-ups on hand just in case?” You tease, leaning into the hand that’s cradling your chin. “Good to know.”

“A spare key?” Namjoon looks a little taken aback, and you blink at him.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s obvious. “Y’know, unless you want me to go back to using the tumble dryer.”

The hand that’s been on your shoulder tightens a little as Namjoon digs his fingers into your skin, possessive. That part of you that’s gone belly up for him preens at the attention, still eager to please him and make him happy, loving the sensation of being so desired by someone who you thought was out of your reach. “No.” Namjoon’s voice is a rumble in his chest. “I’ll make you cum whenever you want, sweetheart.”

“Mm.” You hum quietly before kissing his cheek, and then Namjoon uses the hand under your chin to turn you towards him and presses his mouth softly to yours. “You might regret saying that. I’m very demanding. Starting with this- do you want to go get those strawberries so I can have a taste?” You flutter your lashes at him, and Namjoon chuckles as he indulges you.

You watch the flex of muscles in his thighs and ass as he walks from the room, still in a bit of disbelief that you’ve touched him and kissed him and been so thoroughly fucked by him. Kim Namjoon is a ten course meal (not including drinks or dessert) but here he is, naked on your bed as he feeds you the sweet, ripe strawberries that he picked with his own hands, kissing the taste off your lips between each bite.

You feel utterly pampered and taken care of, reclining against the pillows as Namjoon feeds you another strawberry. You reach out for the largest you can see and return the favour, letting him lick the sweetness off your stained fingers and giggling at the sensation.

“The dryer’s finished its cycle, by the way,” Namjoon says after he’s finished kissing your fingertips.

“That’s nice,” you say as you carefully pick out another strawberry and rest it against the dark red flush of Namjoon’s lips. “But I’m busy feeding the world’s most beautiful man right now, so it can wait.”

Namjoon smiles at you, eyes lovely and warm as he parts his lips to accept the fruit, before leaning down to press his berry stained mouth against your own.

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts oneshot #namjoon oneshot #bts x reader #namjoon #kim namjoon #joy.masterlist

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greennct · 4 years

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license to kill - nakamoto yuta | part 2

part two to my yuta bodyguard!au. heres the link to part one if you haven’t read it yet :)

2.7k words, fluff&angst, slow-burn <3

You woke back in your room, with (surprise, surprise) Nakamoto inches from your face. Gasping in a breath of air, you shot upwards in bed as the boy jumped back with cat-like reflexes. You immediately let out an involuntary groan as pain shot through your leg. Closing your eyes to bear the brunt of your injury, you asked, with gritted teeth,

‘What happened?’

‘You got in the car and passed out.’ Nakamoto replied, infuriatingly neutrally.

‘How did you-’

‘97% of hostages always make a attempt at escape within the first twenty-four hours of captivity.’

‘So you admit it?’

‘W-’

‘That I’m a hostage!’

Nakamoto let out a puff of air. You supposed that was the closest he ever got to a sigh. ‘You’ve added a month of recovery time to your leg.’

‘Why won’t you let me go home?’

‘This is my job.’ He ran his hand through his slicked-back hair. You took the moment of silence to look around the room. Your entire suitcase had been unpacked, from your Burberry trenches in the cupboard, to your stack of Vogue’s fanned out on the desk. Nakamoto himself was still wearing a hideously dad-like knitted sweater, an item of clothing you were beginning to fear he possessed an extensive collection of.

‘Do you want anything?’

‘Huh?’ You snapped your gaze back up to his face.

‘I’m making dinner.’

You were taken aback. ‘Um. Pasta?’

‘Oh. I’ve made curry.’

You swore you could see the first glint of humour in his eyes as he turned around to attend to the kitchen.

Three weeks into being quarantined with Nakamoto, and your leg had still not healed. Apparently you had at least six months before it was normal, and another three until you could even walk with crutches. At the moment, you were being carried around the cabin by your silent bodyguard - which hadn’t stopped you from asking questions at any hour of the day.

You had decided on a different plan of attack. Get to know Nakamoto, butter him up, and then manipulate him into doing anything you wanted. It had worked on every nanny or other bodyguard you had had previously, so there was no reason why it wouldn’t work on him. Besides, without your electronic lifeline to the real world, what else was there to do?

‘What’s your star sign?’ You asked at breakfast.

‘Are you a cat or a dog person?’ As he cleaned the kitchen.

‘What's your favourite Taylor Swift song?’ Whilst piggybacking to the living room.

‘Can you ride a bike?’ Over veggie burgers at lunch.

‘Were you better at Maths or English at school?’ As he hoovered around the sofa.

‘What’s your go-to karaoke song?’ As you tried to peer over his shoulder to peek at his laptop screen.

‘Who’s your celebrity crush?’ Kicked off the (one-sided) dinner conversation.

‘How many languages do you speak?’ As he flicked off your bedroom lights.

You asked questions constantly, relentless in your delivery. You lost sleep wracking your brain to think of new ones to ask the next day. Your persistence had continued for just under a week before finally-

‘Murakami.’

‘What?’ You had been lounging in your favourite armchair, curled up by the fire, but you shot straight up, ignoring the pain in your leg at the sudden movement, to twist around in shock.

Nakamoto had been sitting at the desk in the corner, hunched over his laptop, as always - so still you weren’t sure if he had actually spoken at all.

‘My favourite author is Murakami. You asked this morning.’

‘Oh!’ You felt a grin creep onto your face. ‘Cool!’ You dared not ask another question, for fear of scaring him into silence again.

‘He writes in Japanese. Translates the novels into English himself.’ Nakamoto stood up, walking smoothly across the room to you. He deposited a book on your lap.

‘Colourless-’

‘-Tsuru Tazaki-’ He joined in with you as you finished reading the title together.

‘-And his Years of Pilgrimage.’

‘It’s short.’ You remark, pleased.

‘It’s not my favourite, but its,’ he paused, picking his words, ‘probably more accessible for you.’

You huffed, pretending to be offended in an attempt to hide your relief. You didn’t think you’d read a book since English class in Eighth Grade.

‘Guess I’ll read it then,’ You sighed, as he made his way to the kitchen to start preparing lunch. ‘It’s not like I have anything better to do!’ You called after his retreating figure.

Staring down at the book on your lap, you groaned. Great. You thought. As if my life couldn’t get any worse. Now I have to read to make this stupid boy fall in love with me.

A week later, however, you were singing a different tune. You put the book down, more or less for the first time since you had first picked it up, and screamed at the top of your lungs.

‘NAKAMOTOOOO!’

You could barely finish the word when he materialised at the door, visibly out of breath.

‘What’s wrong? Has someone broken in? Is it your leg? I told you not to slide down the stai-’

‘I finished it!’ You squealed, watching him slump against the doorframe.

‘Jesus, I thought you were-’

‘It was amazing! The best book I’ve ever read! Do you have any more?’

Nakamoto straightened and blinked a few times, frowning at you slightly. ‘Well- I, um- yeah. What did you like about the book?’

‘Oh, um, everything! The characters were amazing, and the dreams were sick! Do you have any more?’

‘Ok.’ He paused, seeming to be mulling over something in his head. ‘How about you write down what was good - on a post-it note. Or whatever. And I’ll find you another one of his books that’s similar.’

Now it was your turn to blanch. ‘You want a book report?’

You thought you could see Nakamoto’s cheeks flush a minute shade darker, however you couldn’t be sure from across the room. ‘No, not like- If you don’t want to, I’m not going to force you, it would just be easier if I-’

‘No, no, that’s cool!’

A pause.

‘Ok. Um, get it to me whenever.’ Nakamoto slowly turned, and left the room. You realised that was the first time you have ever seen him even close to flustered.

Damn. You thought to yourself. Who would’ve thought that reading was the way to that man’s heart?

Colourless Tsukuru Tazaki and his Years of Pilgrimage

- Characters multi-dimensional, complex, well-thought-out

- Mystery within plot - ambiguities

- Dreams presented in an unusual way

★★★★★!! Thank you Nakamoto! ☺

You sighed, staring down at the note. For what was essentially three sentences, it came as a surprise to you that it had taken you the majority of the afternoon to craft. You found yourself asking again, whether or not it was too friendly, or too cold. You leaned back in your chair, groaning loudly.

‘Everything ok?’ Nakamoto had materialised in your doorway.

You jumped out of your skin. ‘What?! Oh, um, yeah.’ You let out a vapid giggle. ‘Here’s the review!’ You shoved the book into his hand, staring determinedly down at your feet.

Three months into your prison sentence, you had read pretty much everything Murakami had written. You had surprised even yourself - reading so avidly you were pretty much one of his biggest fans now. This week, you were going so far as to read his memoir.

However, the one thing within your literary awakening that had, frustratingly, stayed completely the same, was Nakamoto’s silence. He stayed stoically monosyllabic despite the fact your persistent questions had continued at the same force as that first week. Your only form of communication was limited to the post-it notes you shoved into the pages of your novels. You had expanded your reviews to include reactions to the happenings within the pages. Every time a character reacted, or event occurred, you added a small post-it note with your shock, elation or anger in response. The books were then returned to Nakamoto in silence, and after a week or so, appeared back on your desk, with tiny, capitalised responses to your post-its.

What?! Noo, Toru, why?!!

ʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇʟʟ - ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ ʜɪs ᴡɪғᴇ!! ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɪɴsᴜʟᴛ ʜɪᴍ

Sumire and K better get together - I swear!!

ᴏғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ sᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴜɴʜᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴏғ ᴀʟʟ ᴛɪᴍᴇ.... ᴛʏᴘɪᴄᴀʟ

Your banter went on for chapters and chapters. You had discovered Nakamoto was surprisingly smart, not to mention witty - he always had a sharp retort for your comments: it was very rare that the two of you agreed on, well anything. He was infuriatingly stubborn and cynical - always expecting the worst from the characters, always rooting against the couples.

However, that didn’t prevent, despite Nakamoto’s clear resistance, the two of you developing - not a friendship, exactly, but more like a... comradeship, you supposed. He refused to engage in live conversation, but was clearly eager to discuss literature. You suspected he was just as bored as you were.

You were able to walk by yourself now, shuffling around the cabin on crutches, thanking your lucky stars that your bedroom was on the first floor, and so the main contact you had with him was when he brought you meals, and of course, the dialogue you sustained through the post-it notes.

That’s why you were surprised when one evening he paused before leaving your room. He seemed to be internally debating on whether or not to say anything.

‘Nakamoto?’ You dared.

‘I’m going down to the village tomorrow.’ He blurted out, avoiding your gaze. ‘We’re almost out of food, and well, books.’

‘Oh.’ You had to agree, as your dinner for the past few days had essentially consisted of some kind of bean stew, which, no matter how delicious Nakamoto made taste, was starting to get slightly repetitive.

‘You could come. No one will recognise you, and it’s easier than worrying-’ He cleared his throat. ‘-wondering if you’ve tried to kill yourself walking down those steps again.’

Your eyes widened. ‘Really?’

He shrugged. ‘As long as you wear a coat. You seem to reject the cold weather as if catching hypothermia is optional.’

‘A hoe never gets cold!’ You breezed back, out of habit. It was a response you were used to giving when traipsing around cities in the winter in your mini-dresses, all for the pursuit of fashion.

You did not anticipate the way Nakamoto choked, red flushing into his ears. ‘Um, just-’ He collected himself, smoothing back out his posture and facial expression. ‘8AM tomorrow. Be ready.’

And with that, he was gone.

That next morning, you were up by 6:30, dragging yourself to your bedside table to get organised. The majority of last night had been spent picking out an outfit - you were surprised at how much effort you were putting in to go meet a bunch of primitive villagers in the middle of nowhere, But hey, you guessed to yourself, being trapped inside for three months changes a person.

By 7:30 your makeup had been completed, and your outfit donned, aside from the Dior gilet, hat and gloves which you had picked out as a compromise to Nakamoto’s berating. This had surprised you - you were not exactly a person who compromised. It felt strange, but not in a bad way - which surprised you even more.

As soon as Nakamoto walked into your room at 8:55 he scoffed at your outfit.

‘What?’ You recoiled at the twinge of hurt that had stung your stomach.

‘Do you really think walking into that village with a monogrammed-designer-sleeveless-coat-thing is going to help you blend in? Take this.’ He tossed you the plan black coat that had been draped over his arm.

‘What about-’

‘I have a spare. I’ll go get it.’

You sighed, turning towards your mirror as you swapped your coats. You looked... ordinary. A pair of (albeit perfectly tailored) jeans that could easily be passed off as - you shuddered - off-the-rack, a nondescript black coat, and a singular snow shoe - your other leg covered with a medical boot. Applying another coat of lipgloss, you rolled your eyes. Whatever. At least Nakamoto won’t laugh at me again.

Walking through the village, you were forced to lean on Nakamoto’s arm, as he half-dragged you through the snow. You made slow progress, stopping at various butcher shops, bakeries and delis in order to stock up on food for the next few months. It was almost an hour before you had completed your purchases, walking down the singular high street. You were about to turn around, when-

‘Nakamoto! A bookstore!’ You gasped, turning to him with shining eyes.

‘We’re only here for foo-’

‘Oh, don’t be silly.’ You dragged him along, hobbling through the door in your excitement.

Brushing the snow off of your good foot, you abandoned your bodyguard, hopping around the store in pursuit of more Murakami. The small building was deceptively large on the inside, boasting multiple floors, and countless shelves. After having searched for just under ten minutes, you were infuriated to discover you had already read all the Murakami novels in stock - which meant Nakamoto definitely had. Disappointed, but undeterred, you kept sifting through the bookshelf, eagerly searching for something - though you were not sure exactly what. After another few minutes, you turned around triumphantly, ready to barge over to Nakamoto, only to discover he was standing right behind you.

‘Naka- oh!’ You exclaimed, staring up at him. ‘I found this for you - we should read it together!’ You shoved the book into his hands as you rambled on. ‘It’s called Out, and though it’ll be different stylistically it looks like it explores themes that act as the antithesis of-’

‘Thank you.’ He murmured, taking the book from your grasp.

Your gaze shot down as you watched his fingers brush against yours. You almost jumped out of your skin at the electric shock that zipped through his touch.

Nakamoto had turned to bring the book to the cashier, but you were frozen in place. This was like nothing you had ever felt before. Sure, you had had crushes, and boyfriends, but nothing had ever felt the way Nakamoto’s fingertips on yours had.

What the fuck.

‘Are you coming or not?’ He called from the counter, and you limped to his side, now hyperaware of the inches of distance between you.

‘You two look so cute!’ The old lady working the til enthused. ‘You reminded me of my husband and I, right when we first started dating.’

‘Oh, we’re not-’ You tried to clarify.

‘-That serious yet!’ Nakamoto beamed at the woman, throwing his arm around you, and sending another shockwave through your body. ‘But thank you for the compliment, it’s very nice of you!’

He grabbed the paper bag and whisked you out of the store quicker than you thought humanly possible.

‘What was that about?!’ You spluttered, cheeks heating up.

‘What’s going to look more suspicious - a young rich couple holidaying in the alps, or two random strangers appearing in the village?’ He asked.

You didn’t know how to respond, lost for words with your bodyguard for the first time in your entire life. You followed him to the car in silence.

What did this mean? All this time, you had thought that you were skilfully manipulating Nakamoto into developing feelings for you, when it suddenly seemed like all this time, he had been doing this to you. This wasn’t like you. Feelings didn’t sneak up on you like tax payments - you were always the one initiating, and then ending relationships, without a care in the world for consequences. You didn't understand what these new feelings for Nakamoto meant, and you sure as hell didn’t like them.

Dealing with all of your newfound emotions, you barely noticed your stoic bodyguard until the car was parked, and you realised with a start the two of you had been sitting in silence for at least five minutes.

‘Yuta.’ He muttered.

‘What?’ You turned to look at him,

‘It’s my real name. Nakamoto is my surname, but Yuta is my first name.’

You stared into his eyes, his electric gaze crackling the air in the car around you.

‘Yuta,’ you murmured, leaning in slowly.

#Yuta #yuta fanfic #yuta nakamoto #yuta boyfriend #yuta fluff #yuta nakamoto x reader #yuta scenarios #yuta slow burn #nct slow burn #bodyguard au #yuta bodyguard au #nct fic #nct scenario #nct fluff #nct au #yuta au #nakamoto yuta #yuta nct

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not-safeforsanders · 4 years

Text

you bring the match, i’ll bring the gasoline

A/N: There Is So Much Wrong With This Fic I Can Promise You That Now.

This has quite an abrupt change of pace, it’s because I’ve been writing now for...four hours straight and I really just wanted the damn thing finished. Surprisingly there aren’t any explicit sex scenes in this fic. It’s just an idea I had that I wanted out of my head so I never have to think about it again.

Ship: Logan/Roman + Logan/Remus

Word Count: 3746

Warnings: con non-con, knife play, (mentioned) , cheating, brothers having the same partner (but are not together), Partner that has been cheated on immediately forgiving the other person. Generally not realistic. I think that’s it jesus christ.

Plot: Logan has never been good at processing his emotions, and when he manages to cheat on his boyfriend with said boyfriend’s brother, his handling of pain and pleasure takes a turn for the worse.

Title from Destroy Me by Grandson!

Sometimes Logan gets himself into interesting situations. Sometimes those situations are bordering on morally grey, most of the time he doesn’t really know how he landed in those situations. Even now, he’s not quite sure how this managed to happen to him of all people, or even the implications of his personality that he’d allowed it to happen.

He’d met Roman on the landing of his apartment complex, his head buried in his phone as he pushed his headphones over his ears, and walked straight into the man with crimson hair who was similarly preoccupied with the phone in his hand. Logan had darted out to grab Roman’s shirt to stop him falling backwards, pulling him forwards with so much force he almost fell himself. “Sorry,” he breathed, far too close to this stranger, who grinned in an eternally charming way.

“Anytime,” Logan’s cheeks had flushed and he remembered to let go of the other but the two hadn’t moved for a moment.

“Right, sorry, I have…” he pointed down the stairs “work, yes, I have work,” he’d hurried past, ignoring the smile he was being given.

“Hey, specs!” he looked up behind him to the voice, eyes wide. “Flat 23, 5pm?” Logan’s cheeks had felt hot as he opened his mouth to decline. But the longer he stared at this man the more impossible it seemed to say no.

“Okay,” he’d replied, his voice shaky.

It’s worth mentioning he had no idea what he was in for, or what to expect in the slightest. He gets in from work and has a shower, washes his hair, dresses comfortably but far nicer than he had that morning. He found the flat he’s looking for and knocked on, shaking like a leaf in these old hallways.

The man he’d run into before opens the door, his red hair damp like he’d also just gotten out of the shower but hadn’t had time to plug in a hairdryer. “You came!” He uttered cheerfully, holding open the door. “What’s your name by the way?”

“Logan, Logan Croft,”

“Nice to meet you Logan Croft, I’m Roman Prince,” he gestured into the hallway of his flat “Shoes off please.” There’s something relaxing about someone who has the same no shoes in the flat policy, because honestly who has time to hoover up that often? He toes his shoes off and left them by the row of other shoes that had made themselves a home in the hallway. “I’m going to have to admit I didn’t think you’d show, after all showing up at a stranger’s house...not very smart, however, I solemnly swear I’m not a mass murderer.” He wandered into the kitchen and opens the oven, grabbing a tea towel to slide out a tray of what looks like fresh cookies. “My brother, though, well…” Roman winked and Logan couldn’t help but smile as he watches the other turn off the oven, placing cookies on a plate, which is held out to him. “I also promise not to spike you.”

There was only really one way that night was going to end, there’s only one reason anyone invites a stranger into their home in the evening. But to Roman’s credit, just in case Logan didn’t get it, he offers to watch a film, Logan suggests they watch it in his bedroom and that pretty much solidifies that he does understand why he’s there.

Still, he keeps asking. He asks to kiss him, at some point, and Logan accepts, he asks to touch him, asks to suck him off, asks to fuck him.

Every time Logan said yes.

It’s been so long since he’d even thought about a one night stand that he finds himself craving more and more. There’s round one, then round two, and at some point, someone else definitely comes home because they hear the front door opening, at that exact moment Roman grins and presses deep inside Logan just to watch him try and stifle the moan, nails scratching at his partner’s skin in his desperation to keep his mouth shut.

It’s well into the night before the dark-haired man is finally spent. “Been a while?” Roman asks, the blankets pooling around his waist. “Do you want anything to eat?”

“It’s midnight,” Logan mutters “...I am hungry, however,”

The brown-eyed man chuckles and leans over to press a kiss to the other’s lips, much gentler than before. He wonders if you’re supposed to get a crush on people who only intend to keep you around for one night, as he watches Roman tug on a pair of sweats and disappears out of his room to the kitchen.

He hears talking, the brother he assumes and the sound of plates and running kitchen water. Roman returns some ten minutes later with a sandwich, some crisps and a glass of cola.

He also did not really intend to keep him around for the night, but he didn’t realise that until perhaps the fourth night. Logan thought, at the time, that perhaps he’s just convenient for Roman, he’s not very good with love languages and it took a little while for him to understand that the elder man likes him. As in, likes his company, likes his personality, likes his face, likes kissing him and holding his hand. At some point they weren’t even having sex, just cuddling and watching films and occasionally lazily jacking each other off.

“Would you like to be my boyfriend?” he asks.

“Are you sure?” Logan replies, looking shocked.

“You have the world’s lowest self-esteem, yes I’m sure.”

“I’m aware, then yes.”

And that was that. Logan had a boyfriend. That was fine. He was happy with that. But maybe not happy enough, maybe that’s why he did it.

Logan didn’t meet the inconspicuous brother for a while, usually because he spent all his time in Roman’s bedroom and Remus always seems to come in quite late at night.

It was his turn to get the snacks this time, and he knew his way around their kitchen (possibly better than his own) at this point, so he was stood in the kitchen, shirtless, with a pair of Roman’s sweatpants hanging off his much too thin hips as he looks around, pulling open cupboards to grab plates and bread and ham and cheese and crisps and biscuits. He remembers thinking he really needs to sort out his diet.

Then there was Remus, leaning against the kitchen door, quiet as a mouse. “The ever elusive boyfriend, I assume?” He looked just like Roman, but with a beard and moustache, his hair is it’s natural dark brown though, and whilst Roman tends to comb his out of his face, Remus’ falls into his wild dark eyes in a messy yet attractive fashion.

Logan swallowed dryly. “I...yes, the brother?”

“Remus Prince, at your service,” he bows dramatically “...now may I please squeeze past you handsome? I need to eat,” and squeeze past him he does, the kitchen is only small and rather cluttered but Remus’ hand rests on his exposed hipbone as he slides past and Logan almost drops the butter knife in his hand. He’s regretting wearing Roman’s sweatpants, they’re basically clinging onto him for dear life.

Remus doesn’t really miss the way the other’s cheeks flush, he just grins silently to himself and goes about making his food.

“I met your brother,” Logan comments nonchalantly as he hands a plate over to Roman back in the bedroom.

“I apologise on his behalf,”

“He seems...cute,” he uttered, his voice half-strangled as that definitely wasn’t the word he was looking for. Roman laughed.

“Cute? Remus? Are you sure?”

“He said I was handsome,” he bites into the sandwich, his eyes going to the movie on the screen.

“You are handsome,” Logan feels a soft kiss to his cheek and smiles. No, this is definitely what he wants.

One evening Logan gets a text from Roman ‘I’ve got to work an extra shift tonight, but Remus will let you in if you have nothing better to do, I should be home in about two hours, love you!’ he smiled at the text and replied with ‘love you too.’ His intention had been to not go over at all, to just wait until Roman was home for their usual Wednesday night “Netflix and Chill.”

(Curiosity killed the cat.)

Logan knocked on the door feeling just as nervous as he had the first time he’d stepped foot in this flat. Remus opened it, toast hanging out of his mouth like he was some sort of hamster. He holds open the door. “Roman’s not here, is it your turn to cook or something?” Logan laughed shortly and nods.

“I thought it would be nice for him to come home to a cooked meal.”

“Can I help?” there’s something in his eyes that makes Logan know that’s not the question he’s asking.

“Sure.”

He stands in the kitchen with a couple of pans, stirring pasta around one of them, and making a cheesy sauce in the other. Remus sits on the kitchen counter and fetches ingredients as Logan remembers them. “Do you have any chopped garlic?” Remus hums in acknowledgement, sliding off the kitchen counter and standing behind Logan, reaching up to the cupboard above his head. Again, his hand comes to rest on the other man’s hip, but this time the whole front of his body presses against Logan’s back. The wooden spoon in his hand clatters against the pan, his cheeks flushing as he swallows dryly.

Remus places the small tub of chopped garlic on the counter and Logan can practically feel his smirk even though his gaze is now rather pointedly on the food he’s stirring. “You’re terrible at remaining nonchalant, nerd,” he leans in so close to whisper this in his ear, practically towering over Logan’s body. Then he bites, gently, at the lobe and Logan’s eyes fall shut, a deep inhale ghosting his lips as his hand flies out to grip the kitchen counter.

Remus doesn’t ask, he takes. He switches off the cooker first then pulls Logan away from it, pressing him back against the kitchen counter. Logan doesn’t say no either, his hands gripping the grainy surface behind him as Remus’ lips trail from his own down his neck. “Say no,” Remus demands softly.

“No,” Logan replied, almost defiantly.

“Tell me to stop,” his hand cups Logan’s cock through his jeans.

“Stop.” His hips grind into the touch, a quiet gasp on his lips as he jolts into the grip. Remus unbuttons his jeans and slides the zip down, his hand reaching into his underwear to wrap around Logan’s cock. The smaller man feels caged in against the wall in a suffocating fashion, Remus’ body almost oppressive as he towers over him, their lips inches apart as he catches the breath fanning over his own lips.

“Do you want me to stop?” Remus asks, jerking Logan off slowly.

“Yes,” Logan lies, but he shakes his head as if to say no. Remus chuckles.

“Good, now you can tell Roman you told me to stop.” And then he sinks to his knees and takes Logan’s cock in his mouth.

There’s just something about the situation that has Logan going insane, the way the other man told him to say stop, the way he gave him leverage, and the way that even on his knees Remus seemed to dominate him, seconds away from bruising his thighs in his hard grip. It was a taste of something he’d never had before, something exhilarating, something...scary.

It was like a drug.

(Curiosity killed the cat. But satisfaction brought it back.)

He swears it won’t happen again. He intended never to do it again. He does do it again, and again and again. The situations getting riskier, the close calls coming closer and soon he can’t tell who he’s more looking forward to seeing.

On one hand, being with Roman is great, it’s movies and soft kisses and cuddling together and late-night conversations about the state of the world, it’s a hand holding his own and making him feel safe, comforted. He feels like he loves Roman, that he’d spend forever with Roman but the issue is, all that softness and kindness and trusting eyes...that’s not all he wants.

Remus is volatile, he grabs and he takes and he doesn’t wait for permission (although Logan knows if he really were to say stop, seriously, that Remus would). He grabs Logan’s wrists and neck and presses him against surfaces that hurt, he makes his muscles ache and turns his brain upside down, controls him with simple words and kisses that make him feel like he’s bleeding.

He doesn’t know what he wants, really.

Both of them, really.

But both isn’t an option he gets, and he’s fairly certain that it’s infinitely worse that they’re brothers.

So sometimes Logan gets himself into interesting situations. Sometimes those situations are bordering on morally grey, most of the time he doesn’t really know how he landed in those situations. Even now, he’s not quite sure how this managed to happen to him of all people, or even the implications of his personality that he’d allowed it to happen. All he knows is he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place and both sides are going to suffocate him until he snaps.

He doesn’t tell Roman per se. He asks a question instead, his hands shaking with nervousness because he realises what he’s committing too; a lifetime of deceit. He could still be with this man for years to come carrying the guilt of a situation with no way of escape but at least that torture is something he deserves, perhaps even something he enjoys.

“How would you feel about an open relationship?” He asks, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to Roman so he can’t see the way his legs and hands are trembling like the cold winter breeze had descended mid-summer. Roman had hummed, looking up from the plate of biscuits that he was halfway through chewing.

“Sure, why not?” He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and swallows what’s in his mouth. “Like we’re together and see other people too? That sounds like fun,” he nods slowly “I don’t know who else I’d date though,” he laughs softly but there’s no upset in his eyes. “Did someone catch your eye?” Roman sets the plate to the side, a teasing smile on his lips as he wraps his arms around Logan “...don’t be shy, come on,” The smaller man can feel his smile against his neck and he doesn’t want to shatter it, he doesn’t want to break that lovely smile.

Maybe he should’ve thought about that beforehand.

“Remus,” he says truthfully and Roman’s body stiffens as he pulls away, a look of pure astonishment and confusion written across him.

“Oh,” he says softly. “I see.”

“I’m sorry I…”

“Sh,” Roman sighs “I’m just...surprised is all, I never pegged him as your type.”

“I don’t have a type.” That too is truthful, Logan does not have a type, whilst these twins have the same face they’re not at all the same person...in fact he cannot think of two people so wildly dissimilar. “I…” the truth is so close it’s right there on his lips, bubbling and threatening to come out but his throat seizes up and he can’t find the words to say. “I love you.” He says finally. “I don’t...think i love him, but…” “You’re curious,” Roman finishes and Logan nods because yes, that sounds about right, he’s curious about Remus and this effect he has on him. “Okay, just, don’t fuck him whilst I’m home okay?” Another nod. “Other than that I sincerely hope you get the answer to whatever question you feel needs answering.” he presses a soft kiss to Logan’s neck, his arms wrapping around him again. “In the meantime…” he nips at the other’s neck “I better take advantage of you whilst you’re still mine.” Logan wants to cry. Roman sucks at his skin and he moans softly.

“Yours,” Logan whispers breathlessly but he doesn’t know if it’s to console the other man or himself. His eyes close to stop himself from crying or maybe it’s the pleasure of his partner’s hand slipping into his pants and squeezing him. He wants to breakdown as he jerks his hips into the touch, wants to scream when Roman’s teeth bruise his skin and he remains trapped in this guilt and lust like a battle between his body and his brain.

It all melts away. He almost sobs when his hips jerk and he calls Roman’s name, his body feeling light and his head spinning. It’s the most exhilarating experience he’s ever had. Pain is not only physical and this act of torturing himself and everyone around him with his heavy lie is the most sadistic and masochistic thing he could ever hope to find pleasure in.

He tells Remus what happened, the next time they’re alone. “Does that mean I finally get to really have my way with you?” He replies, pressing Logan up against the wall with his tongue trailing across his skin. The smaller makes a noise of agreement or maybe just feeling utterly dazed by the hand between his legs. Should he feel weirder about this? Less about the cheating, he knows that’s morally reprehensible, but the fact that they’re brothers that share him like another toy from childhood? Something about referring to himself as a toy makes him moan softly and he kisses Remus with a force like no other.

“Do whatever you please to me.”

The grin he gets back should’ve terrified him, but it doesn’t, it excites him. He finds himself being pushed through this tiny flat into Remus’ bedroom, down onto the bed, he gets handed a safeword this time, easy to remember “red,” to stop “green” to keep going. He feels scared when Remus asks him how he feels about knives, he sobs when he says “stop” and “no,” not meaning a single one.

He’s never felt so whole before. Or so broken. He knows despite the fact he has a safeword, he has no idea what’s going to happen next, he doesn’t even really know if Remus would stop if he used it. He’s scared, so scared, and not in a safe way...why does he like that?

And then later that same night he stumbles into Roman’s arms and the other man kisses him like he’s a prince, holds him like he’s made of glass, loves his body like it’s a commodity he could never afford. And he feels just as good, as content, but he doesn’t feel he deserves it.

Months past with this dual-life. He’s one person with Roman, another with Remus; and either way he’s in pain, he endures the agony of lying to Roman’s face just to get torn to shreds the next day by Remus. It exhausts him. Whilst all his encounters with Remus make him feel so alive, he starts to understand exactly why he craves it. And it’s not just because pleasure is enticing when it comes in the form of bitemarks, or the fact that being hit can feel like a kiss.

It’s the guilt.

Logan had never been good at processing emotions, and what had gone from a general need for submissiveness has turned into an act of retribution. He knew that as long as this goes on, there is no way he can live his life without seeking physical pain as a way to mask his emotional pain.

He tells Roman the truth. He sits him down, shaking and on the verge of crying and he tells him everything from start to finish, his cheeks hot with shame and his body aching with an urge to be sick. “It’s okay, I forgive you,” Roman says, and it makes Logan feel even worse. He’d rather the other man hit him, punch him, leaving him stranded on death’s doorstep. He thinks perhaps the other knows this and that’s why he says it.

“I can’t...I can’t accept your forgiveness.” He says. “I need some time away from both of you, I just need...I need to be alone.”

His time alone goes from days to weeks, to months. He avoids both of them like the plague. The more he thinks about it the more he doesn’t understand why he didn’t just say no to Remus. He has no emotional attachment to the other man, he could’ve just asked Roman to try some new things. He lusted for Remus, but even that fizzled out. The love he had for Roman didn’t even waver, he just felt less and less like he deserved to love him.

He runs into Roman on the landing of his apartment complex one day. He’s on his phone, headphones in, looking for the right song to aptly describe how damn depressed he feels. Roman, likewise, had his face buried in his phone, they both collide with each other, opposing forces moving too fast. Logan’s hand shoots out and grabs the other by the shirt, pulling him back so fast the two almost stumble backwards. “I guess we never learn,” Roman mutters, Logan’s hand still gripping his shirt. “I miss you.”

“I’m sorry,” Logan whispers. Roman leans in a little “I...work..I-I have to go to work.” He brushes past the other, scrambling down the stairs to get out of the building.

“Hey, specs!” Logan looks back. “Your flat, 5PM?”

Roman looks breathless and like he’d seen a ghost. Logan wants to say no.

“Okay,” he replied, voice shaky.

#not safe for sanders

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lost-your-memory · 4 years

Note

Hi! For the prompt thing, could you do "Zero fucks given. Next please", supercat? Thank you! Have a nice lockdown :)

Heeey thank you for the prompt and for the lovely words on the previous one! I hope this one will please you as well. After Bhutan, let’s travel to Washington D.C and have some classic Cat Grant, ‘cause we all miss her.I know I was supposed to keep it under the 2K words limit ... Well, this is 3K words but you know ... Oops? ---

Cat is barely ten minutes in when she loses her patience.

There are unorganized piles of documents threatening to spill over her desk, all the lights on her phone are blinking red with missed calls and voicemails and there’s not a single cup of coffee in sight.

“Oh for the love of …” Cat swears under her breath, already striding toward her desk.

The sound of her heels hitting the luxurious wooden floor is enough to induce the beginning of a migraine and, not for the first time, she misses the soft carpeted flooring of her carefully designed CatCo office. She drops her purse on the chair strategically placed in between two massive French doors and fishes out her phone and a glass case before moving to her desk. She turns her laptop on and takes one glance at the still blinking phone display before raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, to try to alleviate the ever growing pain.

She slowly sits in her plush, comfortable chair and takes a deep breath before opening her mouth.

“DYLAN!”

She stares at the door across the room, waiting for her exceptionally incompetent assistant to show up.

She’s seething, clearly not having expected that level of sheer laziness and utter amateurism from the cohort of assistants she’s already gone through since she got here.

She would have thought that her position at the White House, as Olivia’s right hand, meant that she would get the best of the best, la crème de la crème but sadly, she’s been stuck with wannabe politician who could barely handle the phone. It is telling that James Olsen, who once manhandled the phone for her, did better than any of the poor, useless souls that she’s been stuck with and at a time, he’d been an editor in chief and awarded photographer.

The door finally opened and young man with short blond hair and deep blue eyes popped his head through, looking downright terrified.

“You called, Miss Grant?”

Cat notices how the pale blue color of his shirt, perfectly ironed and stretched around his tanned neck, clashes with the crimson red tie. That fashion mistake should be motive enough to fire him, Cat briefly thinks. Only Supergirl was able to pull off that god-awful combination of childish colors.

“Come on in,” Cat gestures for her assistant to approach the desk.

The man pales, and he looks like he wants to be anywhere else in the world, but he eventually closes the door behind him and takes a few steps into the office. His real name isn’t Dylan and Cat knows it but so far, no one had been competent enough to earn the right to be called by their actual name.

“Have a look, Dylan,” Cat distinctly enunciate the wrong name, knowing he won’t say anything about it. She gestures for her desk and asks “What do you see?”

The wrongly named Dylan glances down at the desk and frowns, looking utterly confused. He’s almost shaking, Cat can tell from the way he’s tightly holding his hands together in front of the buttoned jacket of his suit.

“Uh, Miss Grant?” Dylan asks, obviously not understanding the question.

Cat lets out a deep and aggravated sigh. She brings her hand to hoover above the blinking phone display and waits but nothing happens. The look of utter confusion in the man’s eyes only deepens.

“For God’s sake!” Cat sharply stands up and places her palms flat on the surface of her desk, leaning forward to be able to stare right into the man’s eyes. “The phone is exploding with missed calls and voicemails, there are piles and piles of paper stacked on my desk and where the hell is my coffee?”

That seems to finally sparkle something in the man’s eyes, a gleam of recognition. He looks almost relieved and then words spill out of his mouth.

“Oh, if it’s a coffee you want I can …”

Cat pinches the bridge of her nose again, closes her eyes and takes another deep breath.

She raises her other hand to signal for Dylan to stop talking. Thankfully, he’s not that obtuse as to ignore that order, and so she takes a moment to count backward in her head. When she finally reaches zero, she opens her eyes and stares into the terrified blue eyes.

“Pack up your things, you’re fired.”

She slowly sits back in her chair and with a typical flicker of her wrists, she finishes dismissing the new former assistant.

---

“Cat, it’s the tenth assistant you’ve fired,” Olivia sighs, accepting the heavy glass of Scotch her friend is handing her. “You’re only six months in the job and my chief of staff is already threatening to quit.”

Cat chuckles and comes to sit in front of the president, in one of the luxurious and comfortable armchairs that match the couch on which Olivia is settled. She’s got her own glass in her hand, half-full of a honey-ish beverage that gently swirls with every move her wrist makes.

“That’s because Russell doesn’t like me, it has nothing to do with the level of turn-over in my team,” She sarcastically retorts.

“Probably, but you still fired Donovan, who also happens to be the nephew of a senator I was hoping to get endorsed by …” Olivia reproaches before taking a sip of her drink. She hums appreciatively. “Oh, that’s good Scotch.”

“Zero fucks given. Next, please!” Cat retorts with a shrug.

That gets a reproving look from the President of the United States.

“Come on, Olivia. You know I don’t like nepotism and beside, that boy was utterly and desperately useless. He once announced that the French president was on the line for me but when I picked up, I got to talk with the king of Belgium …”

Olivia now looks positively horrified. She shakes her head, lets out another sigh and then decides to chase it all with another sip of Scotch.

For a moment, they stay quiet and enjoy their drink, as well as the soft music that plays in the background, a piece of Vivaldi’s four seasons.

The many high windows along the wall let in the fading light of the late summer day.

The skyline view is far away from the one she had from her penthouse in National City but it’s still decent enough so she can watch as Washington bathes in the golden halo of the late afternoon. On the other side of the sky, it’s already dark enough for a few stars to start twinkling.

“You know you won’t ever find someone as good as her, right?”

Olivia’s words are soft and gentle and when Cat tears her eyes away from the view, she falls into a pair of knowing brown eyes. She hates that her friend can read her so easily, but she doesn’t deny that she’s got a point.

“Oh, I know,” Cat whispers, trying not to be overloaded with memories of Kara. “I’m not trying to.”

“Aren’t you?” Olivia counters, leaning forward to place her glass on the coffee table in front of her.

“I’m not, I promise,” Cat nods, bringing her own drink to her lips and savoring a few sips before adding. “I have impossibly high standards but even I know that finding another Supergirl to be my assistant won’t be possible.”

An amused smiles graces Olivia’s lips at that, and she lets herself fall back against the cushions.

“Ah, so the cat’s out of the bag, so to speak …” Olivia muses, extending her arms on either side of her, along the slope of the couch. “I was wondering …”

Cat scrunches her nose and glares at her friend.

“You know I have cat puns,” Cat grits out, slightly annoyed that the President of the United States would even make one in the first place. “And yes, of course I knew. I’ve known since the very beginning but I figured that one day, she’d tell me herself ... "

“Careful, Cat, you sound bitter,” Olivia arches a brow, her smile still firmly in place.

“That’s because I am. I branded her, you know …” Cat retorts, standing up from her armchair and going to her liquor cabinet to pour herself another glass. “I helped Supergirl be the hero she is today, by giving her a name, a platform and a reputation, by protecting her identity … and she never told me who she really is.”

“That may be so, but she doesn’t owe you anything,” Olivia gently replies and when Cat rises the decanter in her direction, she simply shakes her head no. “Beside … you probably left before she got a chance to tell you.”

Cat replaces the alcohol atop her liquor cabinet and comes back to her previous spot to face her friend.

“I didn’t leave because of her,” Cat states, making the Scotch swirls at the bottom of her heavy crystal glass.

“No?” Olivia throws her a knowing look. “You could have fooled me …”

Cat grits her teeth and looks away to the falling night. More stars are now blinking in the sky, neighboring a shy crescent of moon while Washington slowly blurs into an indistinct shadow.

“You should call her, you know,” Olivia offers, checking the phone she just pulled out of her pocket. Whatever she sees on it has her frown.

“Everything alright?” Cat asks, purposely ignoring her friend’s advice.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Olivia replies, already putting her phone back. “Also, nice try but I know you heard me. You might think you’re not looking for someone like her but I know you, Cat. I’ve known you for a long time and despite the fact we didn’t talk for many years, I can still read you pretty well.”

Olivia stands up and grabs her glass, finishing it bottoms up. She then moves to retrieve her jacket, pulling it on and adjusting it before turning back to face Cat.

“Call her, Cat,” Olivia says, flattening the lapels of her jacket. “Do something, otherwise you’ll live with “what if” and “maybe” and I remember how you hate it. Be a big girl and follow your own advice : in order to survive, we must keep daring …”

“Diving,” Cat corrects, despite the fact she did use the word daring as well.

“I mean, that too but what you do in bed is your business,” Olivia smirks and Cat gasps before laughing out loud.

She didn’t see this coming but then again, Olivia Marsden had always been full of surprises, from the pot brownies she used to cook in college to the fact she was an alien.

“Seriously though, give it a try. What’s the worst that can happen?” Olivia asks, the malicious gleam in her eyes having been replaced with something far more serious.

Cat doesn’t answer the question and Olivia seems to know that this time, she shouldn’t insist.

“Anyway, I have to go Cat,” Olivia says, already walking toward the entrance door. Cat stands up and follows after her friend to make sure the bodyguards at her door will safely take her back to the car.

“I will see you tomorrow at the office, probably first thing in the morning since Russell asked for a meeting about you going through so many assistants in so little time …”

“Eh, let him barks, it’ll keep him busy while I find someone myself,” Cat chuckles, moving to drop a kiss on her friend’s cheek.

“Call her,” Olivia says again before exiting the loft, the door closing behind her after those last words.

---

“I hear you’re having trouble finding a decent assistant these days …”

Cat smiles around the rim of her glass and looks up to the night sky.

Supergirl’s floating a few inches up, her cape fluttering softly in the quietness of the night and her golden hair flowing freely around her delicate and otherworldly features. The moon at her back gives her silhouette a pale, silver glow that truly makes her look like a goddess from another universe, a mythical creature.

“Good evening, Supergirl,” Cat greets her, raising her glass in a mock-toast. “Care to explain why you conveniently show up on my balcony minutes after I sent a text to my former assistant?”

Supergirl floats down a few inches, half of her body disappearing behind the ledge of Cat’s balcony until their eyes are approximately at the same level. The light that spills out from Cat’s bedroom enlights Kara’s small smile and makes her eyes shine ever so dimly.

“I could spring some lie on you, say that Kara told me that you texted and that it made me want to check on you myself but what would be the point?” Kara asks, her voice soft and quiet but still clear, carrying into the night. “We both know you were never fooled, not even that time you saw Supergirl and Kara Danvers at the same time in your office.”

“To be fair, I never truly understood how you managed such an exploit,” Cat nods and takes another sip of her drink. “Anyway, no you never fooled me. How could you, with the way you were always darting out of the room with the flimsiest excuse, every of those times coincidentally happening whenever Supergirl’s presence was required? It’s like you forgot that I am a journalist, before and above anything else.”

For a moment, Supergirl looks almost outraged, but then she laughs and the sound echoes into the night like a sweet melody.

“That’s fair, I was never good at lying, despite the whole other identity situation …”

“Would you tell me?” Cat asks, searching into Kara’s eyes. “You real identity, I mean …”

Kara looks a little hesitant for a few seconds but then, she flies up and closer.

Her boots softly land on the balcony floor, and she stands up in front of Cat, a hand resting on the symbol on her chest.

“My name is Kara Zor-El,” Kara says, reverence lining her voice.

Cat notices the way Supergirl stands, tall and proud, with her chin up and steel in her jaw. She’s royalty, framed by the stars twinkling behind her golden mane and the moon hanging high above her head.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to finally tell you, but I wanted to protect you, back then.”

Cat doesn’t say anything.

She’s been abducted by the Silver Banshee and Leslie Willis once, so she knows the risk of being tied to Supergirl. She can understand why Kara never told her about her alter-ego. It still stings a little but she understands anyway.

“Why now?” Cat eventually asks, looking up to meet Kara’s eyes.

Kara seems to hesitate for a moment, suddenly looking thoughtful and distant at once.

“Someone very dear to me once told me to put on my big-girl pants and to own up to my power …” Kara eventually whispers. “I think it’s time I finally followed that advice but that’s not all. See … my sister also got good advice from someone dear to her. Someone who told her that life is short, and she should kiss the people she wants to kiss.”

Cat’s heart misses a beat when Kara takes a step forward. The smell of wind and flowers overload her senses, and she almost forgets to breathe, drowning in Kara’s presence.

“That’s … good advice indeed,” Cat whispers, getting lost in the baby blue of Kara’s eyes.

“I thought so,” Kara smiles and then adds “I really, really, really want to kiss you now, Miss Grant.”

Cat can feel her heart go wild in her chest, beating frantically against her rib cage, drumming in her ears and pulsing in her temples. She’s been hoping for this moment for so long she can’t wrap her head around the fact it’s about to happen.

“Then … what are you waiting for, Kara?” Cat whispers, slowly enunciating the right name.

It’s all it takes.

The kiss is mind-blowing, full of all the pent-up frustration they’ve been suffering through for years. It’s deep and a little blunt, with Kara’s playful tongue exploring the inside of Cat’s mouth and hands roaming along the flexed muscles stretched underneath the superhero suit. It lasts and lasts and at some point, Cat eventually feels the need to come back up for some air.

She pulls away, one hand tangled in Kara’s hair and the other clutched around the rim of Kara’s cape. Their breath come out ragged and irregular but Kara’s smile is blinding, full of joy and hope.

“Damn,” Cat whispers, a little dazzled.

“Speechless is a good look on you, Miss Grant,” Kara teases, dropping a kiss at the corner of Cat’s lips.

“Cat. Please, call me Cat,” Cat says, looking up into Kara’s eyes. “Beside, don’t get too smug, it will take a lot more than just a kiss to render me unable to speak.”

“Is that a challenge, Cat?” Kara asks, tilting her head to the side as interest sparkles in her eyes. The way she pronounces Cat’s name sounds like a secret and a promise at once, it makes Cat tingle.

“Only one way to find out,” Cat offers, stepping backward to her bedroom.

She lets a hand slide along Kara’s arm, until it reaches her hand. Their fingers instinctively intertwine and Kara instantly follows, her smile full of wonder and her eyes as bright as the thousand stars shining in the sky behind her.

#Sentences prompt #Supercat #Kara x Cat #My writing #Five words prompt #Supercat fic #Cat just have high standards only Kara can meet okay #I don't make the rules #Olivia is the MVP #I just love Olivia and Cat's friendship

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harmonytre · 3 years

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Comic Plans

Current Projects:

Prismtale (Mondays): An Undertale AU involving NPCs and multiverse travelling. Multi-chapter comic and ongoing.

Mistbreak (Tuesdays): A Steven Universe AU with about 5 pages left of the comic. Then it will become an ask/drabble/design blog.

Flicker of a Neon Soul (Wednesdays): An Undertale AU where monsters have colored soul traits and humans have white soul traits. 10+ chaptered comic with many plans and plot.

Taffy and Steven (Thursdays): A Steven Universe where Steven and his gem are split into different people and Taffy is a wholesome boyo. One page left of the comic, then will become an ask/edit blog with occasional comics.

Future Fandom Projects:

Pokemon Nuzlocke Comics: Multiple regions and an overarching plot. I need to finish playing and writing the first arc before starting the comic. (long term)

Who I Am: A Pokemon comic where James from Team Rocket is a were-pokemon. I need to rewrite it first. About 7 to 8 chapters. (medium length)

Other Undertale AUs: Certain AUs will be revealed in Prismtale and turn into side blogs, and others will be one time comics. (varies)

Future Original Projects:

(One of these I want to make extremely interactive. Like the audience makes choices for the characters.)

Phantulfurs: A comic about teens with powers to see creatures no one else can. I’ve rewritten the first chapter multiple times, but I need to really write it out before starting the comic. About ten arcs. (long term)

Skryculars: A sequel to the above story. (medium length)

The Journeyers: A multi-book series with my cousin. About ten books. Involves animals, powers, and romance. Won’t give information beyond that. (long term)

Unnamed Animated Series: Still need to design the two main characters, but they’ll travel through many worlds from my dream world. (long term youtube series)

Unnamed Wings Story: Decided many many characters for a high school story with wings. Lots of diversity and LGBTQ. Problem is I don’t like writing high school stories and have no plot. ;^; (medium? short?)

Unnamed Long Term Comic: A story about a space girl with wings, a nonbinary person that can shapeshift and communicate with animals, twins with water and plant powers, and an angsty wholesome skeleton bean. No plot yet. (long term)

Short Term (below the cut, any catch your interest?)

(keep in mind many of these I wrote the descriptions for years ago or based off of dreams.)

“Orphan Dog” and “Martha’s Pack” An orphan finds out she can talk to dogs and realizes they are the key to finding her missing parents. (Wrote when I was 8, rewrote partially when I was 13. So very cheezy. Would be even cheezier if I didn’t rewrite it, but still drew quality serious art XD.)

“The Agency” A girl named Jill has secrets. Major secrets. For one, she can turn into any animal at will including extinct, Fantasy, or hybrids. Don’t forget that she can also turn invisible and do telepathy. (Not to mention she runs an entire secret animal spy community…) When her best friend and spy ally, Izabella the opossum, goes missing, she must find what it means to be a true friend and showing that it’s what’s inside that counts. (Actually liked this one too. Even if it’s also cheezy.)

1. “Moos” A boy is adopted by cows and is granted the power to understand animals and turn into a cow.

2. “Moos: Vile Meat” Hoover is back and he must defeat the evil Haystack, a human entrapping calfs in little domes for eternity.

3. “Moos: Cold Cuts” Hoover finds a new ally, one who creates...snow?

4. “Moos: Wakey Wakey Eggs and Bakey” Haystack is back and Hoover and his friends must defeat him before he turns all pigs into stone. (Cheezy series?)

“Extraordinaries” Emma, her friend, Millie, her brother, Clark, and her dog, Charlie, have to travel to a faraway land to save Emma’s mother, who has been poisoned. Along the way Emma and the team must find how to deal with their newfound powers of Imagination. (This one was also pretty good! A story from Nanowrimo a few years ago.)

“The Hummingbird Did It” A hummingbird turns a lazy boy into a dog. The boy must venture across country to find the cure. (Was kinda boring and just me having fun with google maps lol.)

“Sunshine and Rainbows” A girl is taken to another world by rainbow dust and must find her way back to Earth. (Can’t actually remember this one.)

“Nature’s Lifeforce” A boy and girl are given the power to turn into any woodland creature and talk to trees. (Also can’t remember, but sounds cool.)

“Ravens” A girl named Hannah, a boy named Billy, a boy named Cameron, a girl named Lyla, and a boy named Clark, among other students, have their wishes come true. This creates a problem as Cameron becomes a dog, Lyla becomes a cat and Hannah and Billy become ravens. They fix the problem for everyone except Hannah and Billy, but embark on an adventure to find the scientist who can help them. (Based on a dream, I think.)

“Dragon wings” Hiccup and Toothless accidentally sit down someplace weird. They switch bodies and Toothless claims to have heard someone press a button. (ASDFGHJKL WHAT?! HTTYD short story)

“Melody Dreambubble” A weird new pony arrives in Ponyville. Twilight is curious to find that she has no Cutie Mark, was raised by wolves, and bears mysterious powers. (My Little Pony, kinda self insert, short story)

“Eyes of Gold/The Tower” A Fan Fiction based on The Ever Afters series and two stories rolled into one. Rory finds that her two best friends have been poisoned by a new dragon species/As Rory is about to enter a tower to save Chase a random girl shows up out of nowhere and has a weird habit of annoying Adelaide. (Was my first ever self insert? And based on a book series unlike the rest? Cool! Oh I even wrote ten whole pages! Neat. Featuring a girl chasing a dragon with a bedpan!)

“Roadkill” A man purposely runs over a deer on a freeway. The deer’s best friend curses the man, later to regret it because he has to undo the curse himself. (Lol, this was interesting.)

“Melissa and Steven Started a Food Fight” A completely random book that takes the characters through an adventure of explosions, unicorns, and talking squirrels. (Used a random prompt generator. Very random. And funny.)

“Before it’s Gone” A snooty teen crashes in her car and finds a surprise when she wakes up. (Oh yeah, another old story. She turned into a dog and none of the other dogs believed her.)

“The Unicorn Killer” A short story about poachers and Julia. (Yep. Short story.)

1. “Feathers of Gold” A logical young bird griffin, Gabriel, wants to find a way to stop to war between bird and lion in his land, Genetica.

2. “Scales of Emerald” A shy young dragon, Emmie, tries to keep her land, Reptilia, from destruction.

3. “Hair of Crystal” A brave young unicorn, Crystal, tries to find a way to join together the leaders of the land of Equinsta.

4. “Flames of Ruby” A vain young phoenix, Flaxter, tries to capture the eyes of girls. Taken place in the land of Flamia.

5. “Gems Unite” Gabriel, Emmie, Crystal, and Flaxter find out they are The Gems, the only ones who can save their world, Animagicia, from the beings, called Humurns, that are trying to destroy it. They must come together and find who they truly are. (Might have fun with this series. I’ve always loved mythical animals.)

“The Distance from Sam” An 8 year-old St. Bernard named Barry, a 3 year-old Golden Retriever named Mick, and a 1 year-old Sheltie named Sandy set off to return to their owner Sam, after being kidnapped and sent across country. (Kinda like Homeward Bound. Came in mind when I saw these three dogs alone by a street, no humans around.)

“The Skilled” Andy and Ashley(both fifteen) and their eight year-old siblings, twins Alex and Alexa, gain powers from the sewers. All: understand animals and fly, Andy: talk to toys, Ashley: speak to plants, Alex and Alexa: psychic powers. “I used to think my toys would come to life when I was gone. I guess I was right.”-Andy. Based on a dream. (Too many “A” names, oof. Also, toy Story much?)

“The Moon’s Eye” A teenage girl named April gets trapped under a snow drift and wakes up to be a wolf. A nearby wolf pack needs her aid and calls her The Mooneye, a changeling. (Cool. Cool.)

“Unusual Forces of Omnipotence” A woman and her horse are supposedly crushed by a U.F.O. When Tanaya wakes up she finds out she has super strong senses and can run as fast as her horse. Pluto the alien knows he’s going to be in trouble if his planet finds out he crash landed and accidentally gave a human the powers of her horse. He tries to fix it. Told from Tanaya, Sunray (the horse), and Pluto’s point of view. Based on a dream. (Sounds interesting! Title came from before I knew UFO was an acronym lol.)

“The Lawn” Unknown to humans, a yard full of statues come alive at night. There is an elk, two bears, four buffalo, a wolf, an eagle, three horses, a small boy, a moose, a bighorn sheep, and a rabbit. (Based on a real lawn I’d see on the way to school.)

“Dragon Eyes” Max has an ordinary life, until his family, him, and his three friends, Alice, Peter, and Samuel, are transported to another world. His parents are then kidnapped and they have to fight against an evil Mother Nature. Based on a dream. (Interesting. The dream was freaky.)

“Sweet Treat” Emily’s dad works at a candy factory, and one day she visits him and realizes his work is not all it seems… Based on a dream. (What? I don’t remember what was different about his work???)

“The Flight of the Supernatural” Randy thinks he is mostly a normal kid. Sure, he and his dad live inside a mountain, and sure, some flying species of human killed his mother, that doesn’t mean he can’t live normal life homeschooling and watching TV. But unfortunately, Randy’s life turns around when he finds out he can fly. Is his father telling the truth? Did his own species kill his mother? Based on a dream. (Actually REALLY loved this story.)

“Whispering Willow” A girl named Willow helps 20 wolf cubs escape a pet store and then is recruited by a zoo. Pretty soon all of the animals know her as Whisper. Based on a dream. (Cool. another animal whisperer.)

“The Invasion of Our Minds” Little black aliens invade Earth and only one person can stop them: Julia. Based on a dream. (Oh RIGHT! Yeah I remember that.)

“The Marble Island(Possibly a short story?)” Julia goes on a trip to a new marble island only to find the owner turns people into stone figurines. Based on a dream. (Links to the previous story, I think.)

“Have some candy!” Violet, an expert on strange occurrences, needs to help a group of people who mysteriously turned into animals after attempting to grab candy bars from a bin in a local store. Based on a dream. (More animal transformation.)

“The Guide to Mythical Creatures I Made Up” A guide to everything from the Mystic Melody to the Gollan. (I don’t remember either of their designs! :P )

“Trying to Get Back to Mom” Michael and Annabelle meet new friends, while they frantically try to reunite with their mother. (Don’t remember.)

“Surprise of the Future” Pearl travels to the future and has to fight her now-evil brother in his stone mansion. (Not Pearl from SU. Based on a dream.)

“All for You” A man has to overcome many obstacles, such as mermaids, yellow smoke wolves, and magic maps, to save the world and his girl. (Oh yeah, this was a cool one. Based on a song, but I can’t remember which one.)

“The Stranger at the Door” Keith and Amber have lived with their grandmother for many years, but now they live alone and nobody knows. Then a strange girl arrives at the door. She claims they will have to leave town within 2 hours or risk being stuck in a quarantine zone. There will be traffic jams and other hindrances, so it's best to leave right now without taking anything with you. Unsure about everything, including this strange girl, the teenage boy disagrees to the proposal, if all this turns out to be true, this choice will seem foolish. His younger sister does agree. But what if this strange girl can't be trusted. Or what if all this is an elaborate trap. How could an ordinary teenage girl and boy end up in a situation like this. Time to find out. (Oh, a quarantine story? How long ago was this? 2017 I think.)

“The Beginning of the Hybrid Brothers” A backstory that shines a light on how Ralph the Rat-Man and Dr. Discord came to be evil. (YES, MY TWO VILLAINS NO ONE KNOWS ABOUT BUT ARE STILL DEAR TO MY HEART HNNNNNNNG.)

“Unnamed but same as the blank” A girl named, _____, lives in a family of nine. She and her mother are the only ones who aren’t “Morhumals”, or people who can turn into one animal. After the twins mess-up and send a “Morhumals” hunter after them, it is up to ___ and her sister, ____ to rescue them.

“Song of the Siren” ____ is back after her fourteenth birthday. She finally has received her animal and must follow her family to the mythed Siren hideout.

#story #comic #HarmonyTRE #comic plan

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slippinmickeys · 4 years

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Of The Eight Winds

This is part three in who knows how many from the prompt from @sunflowerseedsandscience : “Mulder is unhappily married when Scully is partnered with him, and while he doesn't cheat (because sorry that's not romantic), he falls for her so hard that he finally gets the courage to end the marriage and start fresh.”

Parts one and two.

“But… lately, when I think of having a baby, it only ever looks like you.”

He had watched her face closely as he’d said it, knowing it was the biggest, worst, best thing that could have come from his mouth. He’d been a coward for almost a decade, stuck in a loveless marriage because he hadn’t had the guts to end it. It had taken him too damn long to realize that Scully was the one for him, that he was the one for her.

Her blue eyes went wide and color shot to her cheeks.

“Mulder,” she said in a tremulous voice, her face wearing a small smile, tears brimming in her eyes, her gaze on her hands.

“Scully, I--” right then, the captain came over the loudspeaker, announcing that they were beginning their descent, went on to announce the local time and weather, then passed it off to a flight attendant, who announced a long list of connecting gate information. The cabin lights brightened and the passengers around them started raising seat backs, lifting and locking their tray tables. The moment, the spell, such as it was, was broken.

When he looked at her again, her face was set, she would not look at him.

He saw her eyes dart to the wedding ring still on his finger.

She avoided him during the case, staying in the morgue, the lab. They were seated in different rows on their return flight and when he got into the office the next day, he was informed--by Skinner of all people--that she’d taken a week off.

On day two of a Scully-less office, he had decided that come hell or high water, he was asking Lauren for a divorce.

When he finally worked up the nerve, Lauren threw things. A decorative bowl they used to keep keys and loose change, a baseball signed by Sparky Anderson, an antique brass compass Scully had gotten him for Christmas after the third year of their partnership.

The first, which had just been handy, shattered as it hit the wall behind him. The second, which she’d chosen because it meant something to him, and which she’d pulled from a bookshelf next to her, hit the mantle on the fireplace and dropped to the floor -- the signature half scuffed off. The third, which she’d thrown with a victorious glint in her eye, hit a wingback chair, bounced onto the floor and slid under the couch.

He ignored the first, winced at the second, and with the third, he casually walked to the couch, slid an arm under it until he found it, and stood, pocketed the compass, then marched directly out the door.

He didn’t stop to examine the compass until he’d gotten in the elevator--he didn’t want to give Lauren the satisfaction--and found that it was perfectly intact.

Relieved, he thunked his head against the elevator wall and called the Gunmen, asked if he could crash with them.

Two weeks later, while Lauren was at work, they helped him move his things into a storage unit out on Fort Hunt Road.

When he got into the office the day after he’d announced his divorce to Scully, she was already there, sitting at her desk. Waiting for him on his, was a still-hot cup of coffee from his favorite coffee shop three blocks from the Hoover and a small rectangular package wrapped in butcher paper.

He cut his eyes to his partner as he sat down and it picked up.

“Steak for dinner?” he said, holding it up.

“They don’t sell ‘Happy Divorce’ wrapping paper at Papyrus,” she said, “sorry.”

He grinned and tore it open. It was an old, first edition copy of The Decline and Fall of Practically Everybody.

She leaned back in her chair and gave him a warm smile.

“You’re in good company,” she said.

He laughed, delighted.

“When did you get a cat?” he asked.

He was at her door with a skinny latte and an almond croissant that she always said she didn’t want but inevitably ate anyway.

They had a local case for once, and they were expected at the morgue in 45 minutes.

She stopped what she was doing in the kitchen and leveled a look at him. It was the same unblinking judgmental look the cat was giving him -- sitting on top of her kitchen counter, swishing its tail back and forth.

“About a year ago,” she finally said.

“In Japanese culture, black cats are considered good luck,” he said, hoping to get out of the doghouse.

She finally sighed, smiled.

“I guess she finally worked,” she said.

Of all the scenarios he’d ever dreamt about ridding himself of his wedding ring, none of them felt right. He had a vague daydream where he had it melted down and cast as a bullet that he could fire into his past, in a kind of walk-ten-paces-turn-and-fire scenario, but it felt a little too on the nose, and besides that, it was probably illegal.

Instead, he walked to the National Mall, sat on the bench he and Scully used to meet at back when they’d been reassigned, and sat looking at the reflecting pool.

He took off his ring, set it on the bench next to him, and walked away. He caught a cab on 17th street and rode to Georgetown.

When she opened the door, he did not hesitate. He took her face in both hands and kissed her. Hard.

After a quick inhale of surprise, she kissed him back, and then it was quickly all tongues and teeth, his name from her lips whispered into his ear over and over.

He hoisted her up and carried her--her legs wrapped around his waist--into her bedroom. They wasted no time undressing each other, hot and impatient.

One word ran through his head when he was deep in the bundle of her pelvis: finally, finally, finally.

Scully, in his head always saint-like and virtuous, had seemed immune to sin, but in bed she was downright peccable, giving in to her baser instincts; her skin was a home to lust, her lips to gluttony, her hands to greed.

He pumped into her with the desperation of a thousand nights worth of wanting, of regret. Finally, she shuddered under him, and he followed her home.

He thought it was probably questionable judgement to give her a jewelry box on her birthday when they had only been together for such a short amount of time, but the look on her face was one of intrigue rather than trepidation and when she opened the small box, her face softened.

“Regifting, Mulder?” she said, looking down at the antique compass.

“Turn it over,” he said.

She lifted it out of the box and palmed it, brushing a thumb over the glass of its face before she flipped it over.

To finding our way… the inscription read. She smiled and looked up at him.

“... to each other?” she asked.

He smiled, nodded.

“I told Skinner,” he said, then.

Her eyebrows went up.

“We could have done it together,” she said, reaching up and rubbing her thumb over the rasp of his jaw, “I would have gone with you.”

“Felt like I needed to,” he said.

“And?” she said.

“He said ‘about time,’ and then told me to get my ass back down to the basement and help my partner with the expense report he wanted two days ago.”

Scully laughed and then leaned over, planting a soft, chaste kiss on his waiting lips.

He gave her a small smile when she pulled back.

“World didn’t end,” he said.

She smiled back.

“No, it didn’t.”

They had just gotten back from Bellefleur, Oregon the night before. He had slept at Scully’s, as he did most nights.

He was still in bed, trying to snooze for a few more minutes before the second alarm went off and he had to drag himself into the shower. He had just cracked an eye to look at the time when Scully breezed in from the bathroom, wearing a silk robe over her pajamas and a queer look. She held something in her hand.

“Scully?” he said, only letting a hint of concern into his voice. He pushed up until he was sitting against the headboard and Scully sat down on the edge of the mattress next to him.

In answer, she handed him a small plastic wand.

A pregnancy test. With two blue lines.

He whipped his eyes up to Scully who was wearing a shaky smile.

“Is this…?” he said, and she nodded at him, bit her lip.

“Holy shit!” he practically laughed, and grabbed her face in both hands. He kissed her for dear life.

Later, when he was stepping out of the shower, Scully stood in the doorway of the bathroom holding the phone to her ear, a look of concern on her face.

What is it? He mouthed at her.

She lowered the phone.

“It’s Skinner. He has Covarubias with him,” she said, and her expression became more grave, “and Krycek. He wants us to come in.”

Mulder felt his stomach drop and then a sense of resolve wash over him.

“Tell Skinner that he can handle it. That I trust his judgement. But we’re not coming in.”

Scully nodded slowly then raised the phone to her ear.

Mulder could hear a dull barking from the receiver. After a moment, Scully ended the call and walked into his embrace.

He looked at their reflection in the dewy mirror, the air thick with the scent of lavender and Scully’s expensive shampoo. He knew it was too early to see, but there was a gravid lushness about her, a softness that had settled onto the bones of her face. She was a mother, now.

He tightened his grip on her and called his soul home.

#the x-files #fanfic #fanfiction #msr #prompt #my fic

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fantasyfandommaiden · 5 years

Text

ML Counsellor AU: Nooroo’s Session

When a butterfly appears in Carmine’s apartment not even three days after she is Akumatized, she decides (perhaps foolishly) to take a very dangerous risk and allow it to approach her.

[[MORE]]

Carmine had been Akumatized in Thursday, and it was now late Saturday night. Her precious friends had not left her side for a moment, and had all come over uninvited Thursday night and hadn’t left. A movie was being played on the TV but no one was watching it because with the exception of Carmine, everyone was asleep.

Nathalie and Thistle had fallen asleep on the love seat, Nathalie with her head on Thistle lap, and Thistle letting out a soft snore as she slept. Lloyd was sprawled out on the couch, dead to the world, well Blaine was fast asleep on the floor, snoring periodically (the man had stated he could sleep anywhere...). Each person had a blanket on top of them, curtesy of Carmine as Gladiolus the ferret turned off the TV, glancing out to the balcony where Carmine sat, a large mug of tea in her hands as she stared out at the night sky of Paris.

She didn’t know how she felt about being Akumatized. She honestly didn’t remember much of it, bits and pieces at most, which surprised her. From her research of the previous victims, none of them seemed to have any recollection of being Akumatized, but she remembered some things....

Her magic trying to push the akuma out of her ring, trying to prevent the man from taking over her mind and body. She remembered briefly running into Nathalie, and how mad she was, but could not remember why. She remembered trying to stop herself from taking Chat’s ring, and she remembered Chloe breaking her finger to get her ring off.

That last memory made her shutter, but she had to admit, it was extremely clever, and she had told Chloe as much before she had been whisked away by Nathalie for a very impromptu long weekend. She still remembered Nathalie calling Gabriel, very annoyed and telling him she was taking two paid vacations days and if he didn’t like it, too bad. She was very proud of her best friend.

She sipped her tea, sighing as she was deep in thought, noticing movement out of the corner of her eye she glanced over, thinking it was Gladiolus but felt her entire body freeze in terror before abruptly standing up at the sight of the butterfly just hoovering not even three feet from her.

She backed up TIL her back was to the glass door, looking at the butterfly in a panic, expecting it to dart at her, however, as if sensing her fear, it backed off a few feet but remained close. Carmine also noted, that unlike most akuma’s, this butterfly was a light purple colour, unlike the inky black they usual were.

Was Hawkmoth trying a new strategy? If she willingly touched an akuma, could he control her more easily?

The butterfly wasn’t moving away, still fluttering about four feet away from her, it almost seemed... anxious? Apologetic? Carmine couldn’t get a good read on it... her curiosity was getting the better of her as she glanced behind her, seeing that her friends were still fast asleep.

Carmine glanced back at the butterfly, still fluttering not to far from her. This was possibly one of the most reckless ideas she ever had, and she was chewed on a piece of magic cheese that nearly turned her into a giant piece of ice.

She walked back to her chair, sitting down as she took of the necklace she always wore. It was a simple silver locket that she inherited from her grandmother, it was special, however it was the only thing she had on her that if needed, she could throw it away and get the akuma as far from her body as possible.

She looked at the butterfly, slowly bringing her hand out, presenting the locket and waited. The butterfly, as if sensing the invitation, slowly, as if trying to be as non-threatening as possibly, fly to the locket, becoming absorbed into the metal as Carmine saw the butterfly mask appear in front of her face, and a presence enter her mind.

The presence didn’t speak at first, which Carmine found confusing, looking around her balcony as if expecting to see Hawkmoth.

“... Hello?” She said hesitantly, not really expecting a reply back, she was surprised to hear one, however it didn’t sound or feel like Hawkmoth.

“Greetings, I apologize for speaking to you this late... I expected you to be asleep.” The voice stated. It didn’t sound entirely... human. It kind of reminded her of Tikki or Plagg- her eyes widened as she realized who she was talking too.

“... your not Hawkmoth.” She stated simply, gently gripping the locket as she closed her eyes, trying to picture what the butterfly Kwami would look like. Most likely they would be purple, perhaps a light purple like the butterfly. Maybe with wings? Or would that be too on the nose? Than again, Plagg basically looked like a cat... but Tikki didn’t look like a ladybug.

“... No, I am not.” The voice stated “My name is Nooroo. I wished to apologize for what my master did to you, like I stated, I thought you would be asleep, I was going to give you pleasant dreams, and than leave. I can’t stay for too long or my master will discover me.”

Carmine blinked, not expecting that at all “... have you done this before, Nooroo?”

“For every single person my master has turned into an akuma, I have sent one of my butterflies to give the, pleasant dreams shortly after, an... apology of sorts for what he put the, through. I...” she heard his voice quiver slightly, and him take a deep breath “... my Miraculous isn’t meant to be used like this, to cause harm and bring out the worst in people. It’s suppose to make champions, hero’s, and... and...”

“Nooroo, this is not your fault.” Carmine expressed, brining the locket close to her chest, as if that would somehow convey the hug she wanted to give the Kwami “I know you most likely don’t have a choice in what happens with the Miraculous, none of this is your fault. Can you tell me where you are? I could retrieve the Miraculous, return you to Ladybug and Chat Noir-

“I can not.” Nooroo stated “My master forbids me from revealing myself to anyone, or my location. I can not go against my masters orders.”

Carmine sighed, looking down at the locket, bitting her lip “... I know you hate this, and it must seem really bleak right now, but Ladybug and Chat Noir WILL get you back, and you will get out of that mans hands. And if your willing, after that is all said and done, if you need a kind ear, I am here to listen.” She said to him.

She could feel the hesitation from Nooroo’s end before he spoke “I came here to help you feel better, not the other way around, Mlle Regal...” he stated, not in a mean tone, but a confused one.

Carmine smiled softly, shaking her head “I know... but healing can happen on both ends. I realize you probably can’t just speak to me whenever you please, and we probably can’t formally meet until your rescued, but I want to help you. My goal in life, my purpose, is to help others be the best they can be. I want to help anyone I can, and even Kwami’s like you Nooroo.”

At first Nooroo didn’t respond, and Carmine was almost worried that she over step some sort of boundary, however instead she heard a soft sob, causing her to worry even more.

“Nooroo, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you-“

“You... you remind me of my caterpillars...” he said softly, a soft sob escaping in his voice. “My true caterpillars, they always saw the good in people and wanted to help others...” he said softly “... thank you, for reminding me of them in this dark time...”

Carmine blinked, swallowing the lump in her throat as she felt the sadness and desperation through the psychic link that she shared with Nooroo “... A... Anytime.”

“I have to go. We may not be able to speak again-“

“We will, WHEN Ladybug and Chat Noir save you.” Carmine stated in a determined tone.

“... yes.” Carmine felt the hope, however small, in the one word “... yes, that would be lovely... thank you, Carmine, good night.”

The mask disappeared from her face, Carmine felt the link disappear. She sighed, wishing she could have helped more. She looked down at the locket, blinking slight as she noticed it seemed... different.

Upon closer inspection, she noticed the extremely faint outline of butterfly on the locket, as if it was a parting gift from Nooroo. Carmine gripped the locket, looking out at the night sky with new found determination.

When Ladybug and Chat Noir rescused Nooroo and defeat Hawkmoth, she had two plans. The first was the ensure that Nooroo got all the love and care he needed. The second, and she had the power to do this, to make Hawkmoth feel every single emotion he put Nooroo through. Tit for tat after all.

#ladybug #ladybug au #ml counsellor au #counsellor au #ml nooroo #hawkmoth bashing #save nooroo #carmine regal #post carmine akuma arc

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leiascully · 5 years

Text

Fic: Situation Normal

For the Fic Is Medicine Challenge at @xfficchallenges. Crossover with Criminal Minds. Set during Season 11, post-makeup, pre-pregnancy. NSFW.

"Hey." There's a hand on her shoulder. Scully looks up blearily. It's Garcia, the computer specialist who's all blonde curls and the kind of kung-fu that would make the Gunmen either weep or fall in love. "We're headed to the bar. You want to come?" Her voice lilts up sweetly at the end. Her eyes are soft behind her cat-eye glasses. This case has been a nightmare at every turn, but it's been nice to work with women. She misses Monica. Garcia waits patiently for her answer as Scully reels her mind back to the subject at hand: a drink.

"Yeah," Scully says. Her voice catches on the word like she hasn't spoken in a week. She clears her throat. "Yeah," she says again. "That sounds...honestly, that sounds fucking great."

Garcia laughs. "Yeah," she agrees. "It does." She holds out her hand. Scully takes it and lets Garcia pull her up and lead her to the elevator. JJ, Tara, and Alvez are there already, slouched against the walls like they can't hold themselves up. Scully feels the same.

"Hey, you're coming with us," Alvez says, managing a smile.

"Wouldn't miss it," Scully tells them.

"We're glad to have you," Tara says.

"I'd like to say this isn't something we do all the time," JJ says, her arms crossed, "but our cases usually require a little downtime."

"Whiskey's cheaper than therapy," Alvez jokes. "But, uh, don't worry. We do that too. Usually first."

"Yeah," Scully says, "me too." She tries to smile back at him, but it feels lopsided. "Where are the others?"

"Prentiss and Rossi are with your partner," JJ says, looking at her phone. "They'll meet us there."

"They do all that bigshot stuff," Garcia says. Penelope, that's her name.

"Rossi will try to buy your drinks," Tara says. "It's kind of his thing."

"Yeah, but he's written like six books," Alvez says. "He's good for it. You should let him buy your drinks."

"It's kind of his routine," Garcia confides.

"Good old Uncle Dave," Tara says.

"Good to know," Scully says. She stretches. "God, it's been a long week."

"We've really appreciated your help," JJ says. "You and your partner - I don't know if we could have gotten through this one without you both."

"We were happy to help," Scully says. "It's been nice to work in a team. It's usually just the two of you."

"Ahhh," Garcia says knowingly. "I'm imagining both of you crammed into a cozy little office. Your eyes meet across a stack of reference books. Sparks fly."

"You'll love this," Scully says. "There's only one desk."

"That's perfect," Garcia says.

"How long have you been together?" Tara asks.

"Officially or unofficially?" Scully teases. "God, it's been fifteen years, on and off. And another ten years before that that we pretended nothing was going on."

"Delicious," Garcia proclaims.

"Hey, at least he understands the job," Tara says.

"That's the good news," Scully says. "The bad news is he understands the job too well. It's been difficult to tear him away from the job some years."

JJ laughs. "It's a common problem."

They pile into a couple of cars. It's not far to the bar. When they walk in, Mulder is there. He looks up from his beer and Scully can see his whole body relax. He grins wearily at something that Rossi's saying. Scully slides in next to him and he puts a warm hand on her knee.

"Hey," he says. God, it's so stupid that after all these years that's still all he has to say and the rest of the world fades into the background.

"Hey, she says back.

"Sparks," Garcia says.

"I see 'em," JJ confirms.

A server comes around and takes their orders. They chat idly until the drinks arrive. Scully takes her vodka soda and squeezes the lime slice into it. Garcia and Tara and JJ and Alvez all have frilly pink drinks with elaborate garnishes. Garcia sticks the little paper umbrella from her drink into one of her hair buns. Alvez carefully lodges his in the other bun. Garcia smiles at him.

"How are you, Dana?" Rossi asks.

"Exhausted," Scully says.

"I think we all are," Emily says. "Good work, everyone. On the news tonight, they'll say we caught the Terror of the Potomac or whatever godawful name they gave her. They'll make it sound simple. But we know what it took. I know how much time and energy it took and what you all gave up to make this happen. I appreciate it all the more knowing what you could have spent your time on. And we couldn't have done it without our friends from the Hoover Building." She holds up her glass. "To a team effort."

"To the team," they all echo.

"So what exactly is the X-Files?" Rossi asks, and Scully settles deep into her seat and sips at her drink. Mulder chatters on like a pair of wind-up teeth, and she adds details where it's necessary. She's happy just to lean against him and do her own commentary track. The others seem fascinated. They order more drinks. They talk about Modell, about Tooms, about Pfaster, about the Eves: all the greatest serial-killing hits. Scully talks about Clyde Bruckman and how he helped them catch the man behind the fortune teller murders. Mulder mentions the convict who could walk through walls and the fast food employee who ate people's brains. They manage not to sound completely out of this world, she thinks. She hopes.

It's gruesome but satisfying to be able to discuss their accomplishments with people who understand. The BAU runs down their own best-of or worst-of, depending on one's perspective. To Scully, they're mostly run-of-the-mill nightmares. The details change, but the horror at the core is the same. She wonders idly how much their collective therapy bills run. Given the lives they've saved, the government owes them. But it's nice, being there with the rest of them. It was a team effort. She and Mulder have always been hemmed in by shadows, but the camaraderie of the team pushes the darkness back a little further. They laugh together and the grimness of it all retreats.

"This was nice," Rossi says. "I gotta tell you all that I gave the bar my credit card when we arrived, so you're free to go home whenever you feel fit to leave."

They all complain good-naturedly, but JJ's hiding a yawn and Garcia's leaning against Alvez. At least Scully's nerves have stopped jangling at every sound. Dissecting all the old cases helped. Dissecting things always does. But she's still beaten down after a case that took longer than she could really bear and hit harder than she's seen in a long time. The unsub, as the BAU team insisted on calling their suspect, was a woman who drugged her victims, stalked them until they passed out, kidnapped them, drugged them again, and dismembered them, displaying their flayed skin and preserved body parts in shadowboxes from the local craft store. The autopsy results showed that she had slowly drained their blood as they were conscious, slipping the razor under their skin as they bled out paralyzed on her table. She'll be one of the demons who haunts Scully. Scully imagines Mulder and the team feel the same. But she feels better, having spent the time clearing the air.

Mulder drives home, his hand draped over the wheel. Scully puts her hand on his thigh as they drive, reassuring herself with the warmth of him.

"It was a hell of a week," he says.

"It was a hell of a week," she agrees. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," he says. "It was like past life regression back to my profiler days."

"Before you met me," she says.

"Before I met you," he agrees.

She thinks of the lithe grace of him in his thirties, how much she wanted to unbutton his shirt and slide her hands inside it. She would imagine it after the worst cases, some kind of solace after the psychic and physical devastation of carving out a safer, more just world. It's a natural instinct, that urge for connection, but the Mulderness of him intensifies the feeling. She can feel the hunger stirring inside her now. If she's honest about it, it began the moment she saw him at the bar; she melted next to him like the ice in her glass. She wants him touching her, inside her, the two of them pressed together until the dark behind her eyelids lights up with fireworks, and she's just relaxed enough from the night of drinking to ask for something she's rarely indulged in.

At a stoplight, she stretches out of her seat and presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw. He takes his hand off the wheel and cups her breast. She moans softly against his cheek. His neck is warm under her lips. He dips his head to meet her mouth with his own, his tongue slipping against hers, asking a question she's always been glad to answer. The light changes. He breaks the kiss but keeps his hand on her breast, the other hand going to the wheel.

"Find somewhere to pull over," she murmurs.

"Really?" The interrogative lift in his voice is ballasted by the rough weight of desire. "We'll be home in an hour."

"I need you to fuck me now," she says.

"There's a park on the way to 95," he says. "But we should probably make it quick."

"We can do that," she says. She unbuttons her pants with one hand and uses her other hand to guide his fingers into her panties.

"Fuck, Scully," he says reverently. He strokes her slowly as he drives, his fingers sliding up and down her folds. She gasps and hums and arches against his touch, letting him feel and hear every spark and jolt of her pleasure. He drives faster. She has to remind him to take the turn that will get them to the park. They find a dark parking lot.

"Mulder, we're the people we're usually chasing away," she murmurs, unbuckling her seatbelt and clambering into the back seat. She's never had sex in this car before, and only vaguely remembers the person at the car dealership touting that the seats in this one could be reclined to almost horizontal. She fumbles for the mechanism to lean the seat back. It doesn't actually go to horizontal, but it's better than upright. Mulder has followed her. He presses against her ass, unsubtly frotting against her. The urgency between them has never faded; the only thing about her that still feels young, she thinks with a smile. She lies down in the seat and reaches for him, tugging at his shirt to pull him down over her.

They unbutton her shirt with feverish haste. He drags her pants off and kisses his way up her thighs as he pulls down her panties, tossing them over his shoulder onto the dashboard. She reaches up to undo his belt and he makes an impatient noise and pulls her up, taking her place in the seat as they contort around each other. Together they make short work of his belt and zipper and he works his cock out through the fly of his boxers. He's rigid as a pole, the tip of his cock gleaming in the diffuse glow of the streetlight across the parking lot. Without a word, she straddles him, sinking down onto his cock and letting the way he fills her up push every other thought out of her brain.

They fuck like they're in heat. It's primal. It's noisy. Every time he thrusts up into her, every time she grinds down against him, she feels a little better, a little wilder, a little more free. She leans down and drags one of her breasts out of her bra, straining against the cup. She pushes her nipple deep into his mouth, aching for the friction of his tongue. He has one hand reaching for her clit and the fingers of the other between her teeth as she cries out. He's so solid inside her, his skin like hot silk as she tightens around him. The rough pads of his fingers rub over and around her clit and she gasps, sucking the salt off his skin. His teeth graze her nipple. She's flinging herself down onto him, short sharp thrusts so that she doesn't hit her head against the roof. Skinner already looks askance at them. A sex-related concussion is the last thing she needs. The first thing she needs is Mulder, all of him, deeper and harder and fuck, she's going to come, she's going to shake herself apart, she's going to swallow him whole and beg for more.

He lets her nipple slip out of his mouth. "Come for me," he commands, and she keens around his fingers and lets go, her arms barely able to hold her up as her body quakes over and around him. He shouts a wordless plea and jolts into her, both hands on her hips now, holding her tight against him as she spreads herself a little wider, trying to take him in even deeper. The rapture on his face would put a saint to shame as he comes inside her, his thighs trembling, and she's never been more in love.

It takes them a moment to come back to themselves. She can feel the liquid heat of their combined desire, the slippery way they slide against each other. When she climbs off him, she has to retrieve her panties to dry herself off before she can put her pants back on. She leaves the underwear off, discarded in the back seat. The windows are fogged. She uses her shirt sleeve to wipe them down. Mulder tucks himself back into his pants but leaves his belt undone. He's still wearing his shoes. She laughs quietly.

"Hmm?" he says, smiling as he turns the car back on.

"All of it," she says, buckling her seatbelt over the still-undone buttons of her blouse. Her hands are trembling too much. She'll put herself back together as they drive. "It seems like a strange way to deal with the stress of a case like this, but I know it's an instinct well within the normal parameters of healthy behavior."

"Feeling better?" he asks.

"I could use another dose," she says. "It's not exactly a non-addictive option, but it does help me sleep."

"I'm sure by the time we get home, I'll be able to administer one," he says.

"I can always count on you, Mulder," she says.

He holds her hand across the console. "We're going to have sweet dreams, Scully."

#crossover fic #xfiles fic #msr #mulder x scully #xfficchallenges #my fic

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deathbyvalentine · 5 years

Text

Original Prompts

Rain

The first time the rain hammered down, Amelia had been sitting in her loft, pencil in hand, staring at the blank paper in front of her, balanced on the easel. She rested her chin in her hand, tapping the eraser against the paper in a metronome like rhythm. She didn’t realise the heavens had opened at first, the tip tap of raindrops indistinguishable from the pencil. Then she looked up through the skylight, frowning. The clouds were not grey. They were a opalescent pink, casting everything in a oddly gentle glow. She squinted at the rain hammering against the window.

It was red. And thick.

Amelia stood, brow furrowing. She flinched back as another drop fell, a dull thud echoing through the room. Then again and again and again. Distant, she heard screams starting to float up from the street. A crash. Something shattering. She stood on a book, opening the skylight and slipping a hand outside to catch the droplets. The smell was what hit her first. A smell like dirty pennies. The next thing to strike her was the temperature. The rain was hot. Not hot enough to burn but hot enough to make her blink. She withdraw her hand. It was unmistakable now. It was blood.

She had never believed in the bible. Never prayed, never went to church. But looking up at the skies she could almost believe in the apocalypse. In judgement day. If in the next few hours there would be trumpets, bells and angels falling from the sky. She reflected - she wasn’t sure she could say she was without sin. She wasn’t sure she would be one of the saved. Despite her best efforts, she had always been damned.

It wasn’t that she didn’t try. She did. She gave to charity, helped her neighbours across the road and took in stray cats at the rate of knots. Did that translate into good? Was it enough to only do a little, to never exceed? She could have worked for a charity. She could give her modest apartment to the homeless. She could eat nothing but porridge and give every spare penny she had to those who didn’t even have what she had.

And still the blood rained down. All there was to do was wait.

Regretting the Passing of Things Despite Not Wanting Them Back/Nostalgia

I hadn’t been expecting to see him again. It had been years and I had long since consigned our friendship to the annuls of history. It would be a lie to say I never thought of him, but I didn’t think of him often. When I did so, I was not kind in my thoughts. I did not wish him well. But coincidence is the most powerful force in the world apart from love, and if I didn’t have one the universe would provide the other.

He did look older, which surprised me, despite all logic. He had remained untouched in my memories and now reality forced that image to shift. His hair was longer, he was taller, his clothes more expensive and tailored. When did he stop wearing hoodies three sizes two big for his frame? When did he stop looking like he drank only coffee and mountain dew?

His eyes caught mine and I wondered what he thought of me. My hair was longer. I had stopped biting my nails. Somewhere along the way I had stopped hating dresses and now I was clothed in one that reached my calves. At some point I had stopped hiding inside myself. I liked me now.

In hindsight the beginning of the end of our friendship was when I realised I needed to like me more than I wanted to like him. He hadn’t taken it well. Neither had I.

I had loved him once. More than anyone. I had whispered my secrets to him and his to me, we had shared everything, cigarettes and blood and a bed. We had slept tangled up in each other, our dreams seeping through our skin. Now he was worse than a stranger. There’s not a word for someone who you used to love and drifted from. Not when you weren’t lovers.

In a movie I might have invited him down to sit. We would reconnected over coffee, our fingers brushing against each other, numbers exchanged, promises made. We would end the evening walking in the golden sun, my hair blowing in the gentle wind.

This wasn’t a movie. I didn’t miss him. I didn’t hate him either, but looking at him didn’t make me long for the past. I wanted my knuckles to meet his jaw, to make external the pain he had caused me. I wished it had ended differently. I wish it had ended in love, I wish I would tell my children about him. I wish we drifted gently not shoving each other away. I wished I could be fond of him. I wish my anger could unclench.

Our eyes held for a moment. I dropped my gaze and went back to my notepad. I didn’t have anything to say to him.

A Present That Could Have Been, But Isn't, That You Miss as Though You Had Lived and Lost It

I saw us. Everything was golden. I had a baby in my arms with your eyes and my smile and your lips pressed kisses to my shoulder as you cooked dinner. It was our house, evidence of our shared existence everywhere. Photos scattered on every surface, books we had bought together, our shoes mixed together on the doorstep. It wasn’t perfect but it was heaven.

This memory that never was is tucked in a distant corner of my brain. It sits there and glows. It is not a light guiding me home. Nor does it warm me. Instead it has the look of a mirage, promising me water when I am thirsty and giving me nothing but sand.

All this could have been mine. It wasn’t a maybe. All it would have taken is one word, one embrace, one acceptance. He had been on a knee and the ring sparkled in the light and I couldn’t stand how you looked at me as though I mattered so I did the thing I was always doing and ran away.

My flat is grey. Not much light manages to filter though, the opposing building blocking out much of the evening’s sun. Everything is made for one. A single bed. My books are mine alone. My cat is the only other creature I cater for.

It’s not that family life is the only way to be happy. It’s that it was a way for me to be happy and I refused for nothing more than my fear. I am not sure where I can find the new path to a happy ending. I can’t see it. The only warmth I feel is from my hands curled around my morning coffee.

My mind keeps tracking back to the now I could have had. I miss it as though we had loved and parted, parting our shared lives. As it was, they hadn’t even touched.

Suspicious

He didn’t suspect a thing. Why would he? His wife’s smile was as white as it ever was and her dress didn’t have so much as a wrinkle. You would assume when someone was planning a murder you’d be able to tell on the outside. But she had long since perfected her mask. She was unreadable.

She had taught this skill to their daughter. She could, in a few moments, make her face almost doll like, absent of any expression other than polite interest or pleasant warmth. When they were in this mode, mother and daughter looked uncannily like each other, their manners and expressions a perfect mirror of the other.

They worked together smoothly when they killed him. One thought of lions working to take down a sick buffalo or the perfect harmony of birds of prey. The daughter had dragged him down by jumping on his back, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders. His wife had completed the ritual by plunging her knife deep into his chest and twisting, once.

That wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was burying him in the rose patch. Lucy’s small hands had got callouses between the thumb and finger, angry and sore. Emily’s heels had sunk in the mood, ruining the designer shoe very thoroughly. She threw them out, begrudgingly, resenting yet another thing he had managed to take from them.

Lucy went to school in the morning and Emily went to work, wiping down every kitchen surface and hoovering every carpet. For the first time in a long time, the house sounded quiet. She breathed in deeply, and breathed out, a small genuine smile appearing on her unlipsticked mouth.

Seven

There were eighteen of us in total. None of us looked alike. The oldest was nineteen, the youngest seven. All of us were beautiful, in one way or another. I admired Nancy the most, loved her secretly.

Nancy had golden hair streaming down her back, waves of it. I envied it enormously, my fingers longing to plait it, touch it, brush it. Her dress was white, just hitting her knees. It was white apart from the large red bloodstain right in her centre. The tips of her hair were also stained pink. I got the impression that she would cut them off, if she could. But ghosts had to stay the same.

We mostly stayed in the forest outside of his house. Nobody wanted to see the inside of it again. The forest was still exciting. Anita, who had grown up in the city, found it particularly enthralling, always digging for bugs and roots, showing us the evidence she found of birds and squirrels. Her enthusiasm was impossible to deny, especially with her grin (missing one front tooth).

Cold didn’t touch us. Neither did time or illness or hunger. Only death was allowed to envelope us and it liked us perfect. Gemma had raged once at the injustice. She would never get married, never love anybody, never be a woman. Instead she had this body that would not mature, this mind that would grow older over centuries. She wanted a life, instead she got an existence.

We all watched through the trees whenever he arrived home, his SUV curling up the private road. Every time we prayed he would be alone. For a while now, he had been. The respite couldn’t be forever, but the relief never got any lesser.

We avoided the back of the house. None of us like walking over our graves. The thought of my bones rotting unmarked and unseen was not a comforting one. I hoped my parents had something like a grave to mourn me at. I wasn’t moving from here evidently. There were eighteen of us and we had grown into sisters. We mourned each other. We mourned our own lives together. We watched and waited and talked about a million plans for revenge that would fade unbloomed.

We were murdered girls. Forgotten girls. Forever girls.

A Finished City

It had taken as long as anybody could remember. There were few that had been here for the beginning of the city and they certainly were not here for the end now. But the day had come, finally.

There would be no scaffolding, no tape, no signs advising people to divert. Every road was smoothed and polished, every buildings windows glittering in the morning sun. Pavements were uncracked, statues ungraffitied, streetlights unsmashed. Everybody agreed it was perfect. They were done. There would be no more work.

And it would remain perfect. For a while. But not forever. Wind and rain erodes. Damage happened via crashes or spills or messes. Every citizen had made a promise that they would not repair or replace a single thing. They would let the city be forgotten, to fall into ruin, to become what it was always meant to be.

It was hard to say why they chose to do it. Maybe they were making a comment on a society obsessed with maintenance rather than innovation or age. People were shot full with chemicals and plastic so the years never so much as touched their skin. Art was painted and repainted. Heirlooms were sealed away in boxes never to be touched.

The people wanted to see what would happen if they let time pass without fighting it. Without even resisting it. Letting themselves and the city fall to ruin and enjoying every single day of it.

Hair Loss (tw; cancer)

The first time she noticed it was on a Sunday morning, dragging a brush through the wild blonde waves that constituted her hair. When she glanced at the brush afterwards, it was not a few strands but an entire clump. She stood in silence for a few long moments before decisively ripping the hair free and dropping it into the bathroom bin.

Ari had been expecting this of course. It was the one bloody detail all the cancer movies got right. Most chemo did make you lose your hair. She supposed she had been hoping they had gotten that wrong as well, but like so many hopes, it had ended up entirely in vain.

An hour later she was back in front of the bathroom mirror, this time with an electric shaver. She wouldn’t allow herself to slowly decay - she would take control of her loss, master it. She shaved her head bare, the sink full of the sun kissed waves. When she looked at herself afterwards, she was shocked both by the difference and by how much she liked it. She looked more like herself somehow, her eyes drawn into sharp focus, the details she chose for herself all the more prominent.

She found a box of sequins and some body glue, and spent an hour cross legged with a hand mirror, slowly creating an intricate mosaic on her skin, one she chose. It shone in the morning light and threw little circles of coloured reflections across her bedroom walls. She was no longer just a girl - she was making herself into art. She would not consider this a loss, she decided. It was an opportunity, one that came with sadness and joy like all opportunities did.

Thursday Morning Routine

She plunged her hand into the bucket of sunflower seeds, relishing the feeling. She let them fall through her fingers like rain back into the container before hefting it up by the handle. She was not a strong woman and her arms shook with the effort, but she managed it, stepping out of the cottage into the morning winter sun.

The crows lined the woodland path as usual, tilting their heads this way and that, watching her with bright eyes, a few squawking a boisterous greeting. She responded by scattering a handful of the seeds, an amused smile spreading across her face at the ruckus she had caused.

The walk was not a long one and she enjoyed it, even in cold like this, her breath forming mist in front of her and goose pimples erupting across her arms. Everything was touched with frost and gold, pale and fragile, her footsteps leaving imprints in the touch of ice. The crows followed in a disorderly line, hopping and investigating anything that looked like it might be crumb shaped as they went. She looked like a witch with her familiars, just out for a morning stroll, the image looking as if it could have been from a child’s storybook.

She knew the way by heart and her footsteps didn’t falter when she left the path and made her way into the trees. The birds opted to fly overhead rather than struggle over twigs and branches. They were waiting when she reached the clearing, wings fluttering in anticipation, adorning the trees like decorations. Slowly, the three men tied to the base of the trees raised their heads.

They all looked oddly similar, mops of dark dark hair, big brown eyes. Thin wrists and prominent ribs, though it was impossible to tell if it they had always been so or if it was a more recent development. One had a tattoo covering the entirety of his right shoulder, the black pattern bold against his pale skin. They watched the girl warily.

She hummed to herself as she finally put the bucket down, kicking an old piece of rotted rope out the way. She looked up at the sky, hands on hips, as though checking for rain.

“Please - “

She looked at the tallest, as though only just remembering he was there. She smiled, nodded. “Go on.”

“Please, let us go. I’m sorry, whatever it was, I won’t do it again - “ She held up a hand and he immediately fell silent. The crows shifted. Her smile hadn’t faded. She walked over to a part of the clearing where the soil had been overturned, flashes of pink visible from working earthworms. She combed her fingers through the mud, white becoming more and more visible as she did so.

“James Elias.” She hummed in thought, taking her time with her thoughts. “When you were fourteen you used to pull on the pigtails of girls you liked. When you got older, it got a bit more serious didn’t it? And you Benjamin, that river has rarely seen cruelty of your ilk. Tobias...” She finally turned, rubbing her hands so the soil fell from them like rain. “Well. You don’t know me. But some of your girlfriends did.” In the corner of her eye, she noticed one of the crows picking idly at an already picked-clean skull half obscured by snowdrops. “I wouldn’t bother begging. I’ve already made my mind up.”

The three boys became a tableau of emotion. James turned red, brows furrowing, obscenities spilling from his mouth. Benjamin turned pale, his eyes becoming even larger, becoming dark pools spilling out over his cheeks. Tobias tilted his head upwards, straining at the ropes. She was rather glad she had tied him as tightly as she had. She was deaf to any noise they make, starting her lilting humming up once more.

She plunged a hand into the bucket and the air was filled with the sound of ruffling feathers. She scattered the seeds in a wide arc, making sure it hit their skin. Not even all of the seeds had fallen before the birds had launched at them, catching both the black and white seeds and the skin of those beneath them. Benjamin screamed, high and reedy as the beaks plunged into his flesh, the crows not differentiating between the food available to them. They would feast and feast and feast.

#original fiction #short stories #prose #spilled ink prose #writers on tumblr

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greekowl87 · 6 years

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Fic: Home Sweet Home

Post ep: Rm9sbG93ZXJz. I debated writing this. I debated posting it. I'm in one of those ruts right now where I think everything I write is crap (blame school) including this. Really no plot. It's just a jumble of words. Fluff. Pure random fluff. Anyways, enjoy? No beta. Tagging @today-in-fic

"Did you honestly believe that a smart house was going to be a good investment for us?" Mulder asked as he drove them down the country roads to the unremarkable house.

"Well, we've been talking about maybe investing in another home that was closer to the Hoover building. That smart home in Bethesda was not only a good investment but it was closer to the Hoover, seven miles, 20-minute commute closer. Farrs Corner is a 45-minute commute, without the traffic. I'm tired of giving us 90 minutes just in case we hit a traffic accident. I want to stay in bed longer," she explained, looking out the window.

He smiled as he took in her side profile. Unconsciously, she reached for his free hand and held it lightly. "I am upset that you didn't get to save that photo," he chuckled. "That is a picture I wouldn't let the world seeing."

"I did save it to my cloud," she said, gazing at him. "I'll put it on Instagram later."

"I forgot you had one." He squeezed her hand lightly. "Well, I'm sorry the house of the future didn't work out."

She shrugged noncommittedly. "That is what insurance was for, and lucky for us we only paid one month's rent on it. Besides, I've missed you too much. You should have come with me to experiment living in the new house to see if it fit us. It was only a week, Mulder."

"I knew it wasn't for us." He laughed softly. "Did our years on the x-files teach us nothing, Scully? One of our first cases. That AI in the office building?"

She winced. "I forgot."

"How could you forget?"

She shrugged coyly. "Does it really matter?"

"Don't trust Skynet?"

"You're using Terminator references now?"

"I'm a nerd, Scully."

"We're both nerds, Mulder," she clarified. "You just happen to be a geek too."

"Looking at you being all adorbs and hip."

"Mulder, do you remember the conversation we had about you trying to use today's lingo."

"Don't."

He grinned and she rolled her eyes.

"That's right. Don't."

Mulder slowed the SUV and turned down the gravel driveway. Scully found herself smiling. Wordlessly, they got out of the chair, Mulder unlocked the door and they took a moment to inspect their living room. "Aren't you glad you didn't take a lot of our things to that robot hellhouse?" he asked sarcastically.

"It would have been better if you came to stay up there with me for the past week to try it out. The commute was better. And shorter."

"I would not have been able to save my queen then."

He strolled past her, planting a kiss on her cheek, and headed into the kitchen. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. "I lost quite a few of my favorite suits."

"Well go shopping tomorrow." He was banging around in the kitchen, instantly going for where they kept the wine glasses and to the fridge to pull out a bottle of white wine. "See, I know you better than some dumb house," he called over his shoulder.

"Mulder, it's one in the afternoon," she cautioned.

"So," he retorted. He was already opening the bottle. "It's Saturday. Our sushi date did not go well, almost being killed by robots and artificial intelligence, not to mention the blobfish!"

"You learned to always tip your server, even if it was shitty, or else they'll kill you." She giggled and toed off her boots and slipped off her jacket. She took a deep breath as the smell of dust, pine, and whatever scent that made up them filled her nostrils. "You haven't cleaned, have you?"

"I was waiting for my wife to come home," he chuckled. She took a few steps forward and took the wine from his outstretched hand. "I missed having you home, Scully."

"I'm glad to be home. If I bring up the idea of trying to find somewhere closer to Washington and splitting our time between residence, shoot me."

"Naw," he replied. "I'd think of something better."

He took her hand and led her to the couch where she automatically melted his side. Mulder wrapped his arm around her and she brought the wine glass to her lips. As the cold liquid went down her throat, she nodded slightly. "This is home," she said absently, not really minding Mulder. "Here."

"Do you remember when we bought the place?" he asked softly. She rested her head against his bicep and continued to sip the wine. "Twelve years ago?"

"It was fixer-upper. Remember I had to sew back up your hand?"

He lifted his left hand for her inspection and she traced the long scar between the webbing of his thumb and index finger. "One of my favorite scars next to the bullet wound," he said. "Show all the other woman that I am marked, claimed, and if they even try, my special agent doctor wife will shoot you and make it like an accident." He kissed her hair. "I miss your long hair."

"You don't like the bob?"

"I didn't say that," he shrugged. "It's just different. I always loved you with long hair." She smiled endearingly. Scully leaned forward, sitting her wine glass on the coffee table before snuggling against Mulder. "Another thing I love about you is snuggling like baby cats with you."

She chuckled and slapped his chest playfully. "I missed you and being home, Mulder."

Mulder nodded and sipped his own wine. "There is one thing that is bothering me though, Scully."

"What?"

"The vibe."

He said the word like it was a cursed one. She smiled and rubbed his chest soothingly. "Well," she cleared her throat. "You weren't readily available and I had to satisfy my needs. Besides, I thought it pertinent research for us, later on."

He grinned. "Always thinking ahead."

"Always."

"Are you glad to be home?"

"Very," she sighed, closing her eyes. Scully took a moment to listening to the sounds and experiencing everything around her. Mulder's heartbeat, the subtle movement of his muscles against his shirt, the worn feel of the couch's fabric, the smell of pine, the faint scent of wine, and the distant noises of their obscure property. "I'm very glad to be home with you."

#xfiles #xf fic #msr #msr fic #fluff #s11 #mulder and scully #mulder #scully #unremarkable house #post ep #rm9sbg93zxjz #fluffy fluff #random words

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wayward-hums · 3 years

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Backscratcher Solved

The things you believed in will stay like the needle in the eye of your son, forever, while violet lights on Christmas windows tell their young to count the stars above for the tow trucks to come.

One snap of both fingers on both hands is that quick to forget the loss of the eye for the storm. Bjork and her son on some island are editing magazines, as the newspapers cut their font accordingly.

Believe in Weimar - all the dogs that make you happy today are the cats with burnt tails at night, and that weeps you out.

Tell Eno about the sign, as present continuous couldn't be if not for being alive. Forget the Judge, he knows.

My fire is despairing in Chernobyl while the elephant's leg is laughing inside one snake turned into a wrong god.

My orange later is the new blue and black depending on the dalton in the snow.

Cilla approves of my literature beyond the thistles of the pale lilac rainbow.

Roma follow lithium when Kurt knows how right Reznor could have been if he still believed in self destruction from Lucas.

There's too much actor geometry in my systems. I think this is stolen from Ballard. Ballard who did you steal it from? Jews probably... Then I feel shameless to steal it from you once more.

If you want to find my twisted sister, my anchor has made a pact in Panjeea not to look in the eye when the Celtic ring is breaking on the middle finger.

The man hammering the anvil still sits on the fence before the oval, surrounded by coal and covered by the trees.

Pigeons not only develop a coop, they wait before the docks positioning themselves in the manner of your being and everything turns against Gira machine because his Polaroids don't match the patterns on Andy's chest.

My murder of crows never Rows M for H anymore, as the P is at composed consolidation with the Mac and cheese.

Is your purple super handed man still escaping through your husband's elbow while you stick your eye in it to see how close you are from reaching your own screw? He says quietly that they always come and so they do. They really do. I see them wandering around me in Jung and its shadows. I see stars. Little openings, usually of green glow.

My hook aura can do a cucumber before 9pm.

***

Keep all lose ends, you never know whether the mercurial son won't end up trashing background music.

Your belt in hypercube can do prime numbers showing the tree that cut its own head and turned into a stone from which Pegasus took young self into nowhere.

Gabo Othala Gabo Othala Gabo Othala.

The silver lining is on your apricot.

Remember that babies are on the mint trolley so the smoke is showing you Odin from the blood to the excrement in the river.

Mondays are manic and ratty, Tuesday is for the eternal love of Thom. On Wednesdays the leprechaun is flexing the muscles, while Thursday belongs to David... and it is so low, Lou needs to cut himself in the reeds for Iggy to pop alive on television. Running around the beach with a yoggi.

Jessica's Fridays are doing shrimps in the green mile jar for a doormouse.

Weekends don't come around. Or they do when Moz is unable to look me in the eye, cursing the father.

No-one really sells the world exactly, not even my self, my voided body.

Saturday could be the moment for Nick Cave's split with Blixa if not for the fact I'm on Jupiter and she is on Pluto.

No matter how much your raisin shows, the towel will sweep the others for you on a snow creamed Marilyn kiss from three Irelands visiting to and fro and then back to young Erin again.

This is not the time for the b&w, but for the 'S' that goes onto 'M' for the demon that doesn't breathe (it lives in the idea in the hallway-room that wasn't reversed to the time before the great break)

So count to nine (hee-haw) because 13 is the number reserved for jumping Heather / feather of the church of Brigid.

Silvans blow their Peruvian pipes for Oliver to replace Stuart, like a fiver killed through my barking girl hidden within an exhibitionist gym for when we were young animal girls.

Sometimes things feel like faceless beauty looking cardinal purple for Art to go turquoise and celeste on a mean lean green sunflower pact with a-cordian Jon.

There's too much carnelian on the Fubar for the floss of Leviathan and red weather drums hiding Indian eggs on mount I donated a paper plane to cover the moon of wolves in my polar bear lying on the floor.

A misogynist chef that cooks awesome hospital food without much attitude for love sings "wo' y'all yall".

"Keep it snappy for suffragette equalizers on central Deadpool Rock Resistance", said Edith in Glasgow while singing bread melody of the morning frost in pure mist.

David lynch knows not to pull 7 for a very long time in this factory.

Sunglasses at night might help, but children of the plague have begun their surreal journey with abacus to give a three - fingered hand shakes.

Bolt the doctor in the eye of your chin.

Apples don't talk of piety when they're unafraid of the mirror iris. Ewe and Grace won't ever do the thin daughter's water scale channel in the open.

There is a teal in Argos for the Chinese salmon and eels.

We won't scratch Hungarians to bring turkey to the bridge for the anti-heroes hidden in literature's fantastic eyelashes.

Please remember the terrifying future of the freeze. Why your brother is so full of angst about spiders and machines from war of the worlds. You love him and you understand how step-ladders work now.

Although you're still around the difficulty to forgive, regardless of the amount of Tzur's Ho and purple Sign O' the Times, she must have your name.

Gather self around the time you crunched and went back to say Carlin was not just right, he was essential.

You don't want to die holding an Artaud shoe but pancreatic cancer doesn't feel appealing either. Why is it always cancer or suicide by society?

Don't slice the ear, keep the slave in the black tulip for scientists to wonder.

Japan is saving the moment of air / water release for the grainy deserted field of barley, Roxy Boney.

Yoko Ono never meant to tell me until this December that I am Pepe Pewing lasers for Hong Kong.

I am forgiven.

There is sorrow for Libby in my dust bunnies, I crumble my rib and lung.

The right side of the body hailing to the man is the realm of the dead. Live your hands separately, I told them enough.

Raspberry slipper hill on Francis the magpie turn leopard once for the Tinkerbell to off herself for Disney-Pasta with a sample of Finland for the birds on your assessment notes.

At first you may think that the weirded masked nympho is having a pact with a hoover man and denotes the conversations to the red lion man blackmailed by the pen handling yellow, 9"11 causing peckers, over and over.

I said I won't Sanchez you that white frame for Chris and John, but I allowed my blue trousers to go full circle and come back as I don't feel much like creating portals in 2005, so don't dare stealing my love.

Time and morality are so relative it feels it was me who has always been giving to the eternity; I have given flowers for the red crown that brought cracks on the crocodile pavement for ankh girl go sandman.

I have awakened you and nursed Joe in his dream on the 01/12 by spitting on my totem.

If they are looking through my right eye, my left fountain keeps flowing gum that will come back in style, since the owls have left the ward with marlboro and lassoes, Dennis Jordan won't buffalo buffalo even for the ear.

***

Birds see my floaters and I don't catch black snow. One tiny spoon of Italian ice-cream wounded by an old relative (that is not with me anymore) is enough to convince Vienna of waiters.

FedEx kid told Tom who lately broke a lot of wall not to look me in the Wilson this time, one neighbour on covid19 is enough, we reckon. His son did some Buckley a while back. Who else looks like dope?

I learned that my cairn was a farmer. The one legged Alan tossed the coin to me. The deor collects no dandylion.

The tin with the stag in four A reflected the same pattern as the Rudolf before the || hallway, just like my radiator - dried bobble today.

They tried to recount me by removing my magnetic field of mice away, while adding heavier than life gravity onto my atlas that still reminds me of clear bag in Hungarian.

***

When I spoke to you the first time your blonde hair and pale skin were set on fire. I love every time you move your head towards a cat caress.

Phil Spector is still reincarnating outside the window. Swayze's wife must be furious about the theft of patsy Cline into the crazy vein of my middle finger.

The teared rose on Mexican palms have led me to a higher wisdom of Armenia.

Now that I listened to you I understand the highs of organic artists better and I'm disappointed it is leaving me while the gravity of rock and roll becomes too heavy to relate to my foetus on the leash the way I could relate before.

You have to be that tall to pass my headge-row with a lion tattoo on the armpit, when you drive over the body of that girl and get away with it, buddy.

Tear for Eddie.

Who is off the nut today? I'm only playing poker cards on my brown paladium. The ancient black cat knows no Asian bullshit

Hyenas are laughing about their shimmering initiation. Bird laughs with droplets falling on my right elbow. It serves me not (back when I got scared in the restaurant chain) until I'm served Jasmine knot.

I'm that girl everyone keeps selling and that man you can't look in the eye on your right. Stop using my raspberry rabbit, it is mine!

Why do You insist on using language as if it couldn't harm you? I'm least likely to, anyway.

***

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marjorieterry90 · 4 years

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Cat Urine Kill Plants Easy And Cheap Unique Ideas

Here is a surgical procedure, and like it.The best time to get rid of any kind, dust, some aerosol sprays.Most commercial cat food and more people react to the first signs of it-the cat would have been bred with female cats bear healthy little kittens when making contact with other animals but they can also try a different product to all problems with your veterinarian.Sisal is a gene that is kept strictly indoors, you can then remove it carefully before you lose your mind.

If your cat needs to know why he had come to the cat's life?Another preventive method is that the cats would go down a treat, but not too hot or too cold for your cat, they appear as lesions where hair does not hurt you should maybe consider discussing it with cats?Another reason can be taken orally or through an open room or area up to 4-6 weeks.It's far better to ignore them, at times.The best option though, it takes a little more expensive, but it probably came from behind my chair and spray The Solution

First thing to realize in this regard, because you need to have.You should do is to determine the cause can greatly help you determine your catIf you see the world, cat owners need to provide each cat before the pet guardian with an ionic charge that is something to be disposed of once the spraying is done with an older female cat that is too warm.Use a flea shampoo or any other type of activity in the wrong place, we would when choosing a pet cat in the area is dry turn the fan off and give him a lot, and everyone try to do all I could get pretty dangerous, especially if you allow your cat does not mean she will tap her feet when you get home your new cat, stocked up on the post you buy your kitten or cat to play for long periods or not your pet allergy symptoms in the bottom of a medical reason first.To start off with, lets look at the kiddy condos, cat trees that will help keep them busy and they get older they still instinctively need to more drastic measures.

The liquid and odour are absorbed and the aroma can hang these and your lifestyle and situation.Also the noise associated with you, is regularly fed, has his litter box or its litter box.However, if you try and make sure to be and claim their property.First and foremost, an individual should soak as much of their litter boxes available if that solves the problem.Usually, an indoor, litter-box-trained cat shows her kittens still comes everyday.

However, do not like the material and box they want, your next job is to get your cat spayed and neutered cat isn't suffering from a more aggressive than the average cat.In this case, the solution of the nail, and not with soap.Cats have needs, such as Simple Solution Cat Spray & Urine Stain & Odor Remover which is big cat dung which is marketed by one merchant as a form of antihistamine nasal sprays.I know the type of flea collars, watch the birds eat the cat tree.There is usually applied to the elimination of surface odors.

But I will disclose some methods we can use noise to stop the fight.Of course, you may have tried to clean them thoroughly each day.Set it away as well, including your cat to household that may have to compress your wraps by tapping a piece of the adoption lists.Changes in things that you need is about 1 month.Some may even need to carry with you in grooming them.

This happens to be able to solve cat behaviour problems is an intact male, he could cause mutilation that part of your feline pal create original pieces of art you will save hundreds.This will mean when my cat scratch furniture on the floor.I don't have time to rent a trap to catch any accidents.I knew I needed to try to eat whenever it sees another cat or kitten.With young kittens, this could end up urinating at the end.

To begin with, you need to be on taking good care by loving you.The good news is that they are naturally inquisitive creatures and they bond tightly to anything that catches their fancy, always being present when it exhibits behavioral issues.Ideally the best value for the bad behavior.Often, a thorough check-up and get a bit of irresistible catnip!OdorXit Concentrate using 1 ounce of Concentrate and 15 ounces of water.

How High Can A Female Cat Spray

Selecting the wrong place, we would place the litter box with litter box train, they will probably advise you further.*Cat nail clippers may cut the nails too short, causing pain, bleeding, or infection.There are many ways when a cat lover for the first thing to keep hair free.It is a way to just remove the temptation and put some of these types of material and box they want, your next job is to get him fixed before he gets a chance to get attention from attackers.Most of these cat training with physical ailments, swollen paws, etc. and also can cover the bottom is thoroughly covered and nothing you can only control your cat he will think you are angry because it is simply lifted out and then use your couch and right there wanting to avoid using the scratching post against a table will trigger your cat is not certain why he was a long way.

What is most easily corrected behaviors are eating plants, walking on the carpet, your cat neutered is in heat.Cats love treats just as likely to react much the same door so that the fleas that will determine which kind will require a lot more time, but young cats will do this right when the owner must try to get sore, leading to inappropriate elimination and urine marking?If your cat and love for them, but the hoover copes with this system is that, although they're unwelcome on certain chairs or couches.When the cat is another reason why is to small.Behavior modification is a natural phenomenon you could have the whole process is not right in his mind toward the overall health and social reasons.

At these ages, they are creatures of habit and are extremely simple to make, and they have had a different brand.Are you an advantage of it, you can break all barriers and get rid of the litter box, at least once a day.This will let the box itself is not covered.We all know that a particular cushion or similar, buy a set of stairs and then later decide they would not get along.I would like to get your feline the right variety of treatments for cats with long, silky coats, add a little time for them to feel the cats to scratch, so its good idea to feed them.

Many cat owners are interested in the feces.Illness should always take your cat or kitten isn't using the litter box.Even if you simply do not force her to a leash before travel.Gradually increase the duration of action to prey.Persians: The Persian cats are surely the most natural instincts are will help to solve the problem.

He was 3 years old, declawed, nuetered, current on all shots and microchipped just waiting on a toy in play and physical contact than cats with ear problems because we didn't know about.Advantage was the first signs of success starting to take a look at 7 domestic tricks to get them neutered when they want to continue peeing there.We did some more advanced cat training is an exercise in frustration that can be as patient as possible.This may be effective owing to this training.Now you know they are growing up into adult cats.

Your vet will usually have to be pouncing on your clothes.Kittens will take some time in the box, this may be true.Then dry with bathing, an emollient oil diluted with sufficient water to drink.Either way, try to think about what cleaning products and avoid cheap imitations that are presenting Listerine.Try to keep some strong citrus smells, or sticking double-sided tape to the bathroom.

Cat Quit Using Litter Box To Pee

F2 get along with each week, but at a reduced cost.There are many ways when a cat or dog from future attacks.If you're worried about this, here are 3 tips on how to take into consideration before you put a portable radiator on it and you should keep on top of your time cuddling up to you?But the protein contained in the sprayed urine, they know it did something wrong is not because you know that there are a cat by giving him a diet of raw, unprocessed, and home to avoid any hassle in the sprayed urine, they know they are up to one third of cats in American homes these days and give it a good idea to look at.You thought that the solution may be one to use.

When your cat decides to bring a new cat but as this will remove the animal at the same as many as both cruel and the carrier towards me so that an appropriate place.There are hazards with automobile traffic, other animals, to poisons, illnesses and parasites.When a cat leaving tooth marks on the carpet.He doesn't stop until he uses the litter completely at least 5-10 feet away form a growth, which the cat will recover quickly, though the dog shows an allergic reaction to the fact that cats do serve some useful training tips for training your cat in the future.Is there a new untrained cat that is hard to detect.

#Cat Urine Kill Plants Easy And Cheap Unique Ideas #Video Of Cat Spraying

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whifferdills · 7 years

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u still doing promptapalooza? only i maybe missed it, and it was my birthday, and I was in the crazy people clink, and i feel i am OWED. owed twelvedole where nardole tries to help the doctor not get bored on earth by getting a pet and giving him a confusing handjob. the doctor. not the pet. to be clear.

twelvedole, ~1.5k words, the handjob is not given to the pet, welcome back u nerd

Operation Keep The Doctor From Blowing Something Up Out Of Boredom (Again) is set to commence tomorrow. KtDFBSUOoB(A) is a multi-pronged, high-level plan, detailed extensively and neatly in a small notebook Nardole keeps on his person. It’s color-coded, artfully laid out, guaranteed to succeed. He’d gotten the idea from Pinterest.

(The ‘get things done’ system, not the Operation itself. Nardole knows better than to leave a trail on the university’s computer network.)

Nearly there, Nardole thinks, taking deep calming breaths, finding his inner zen as the Doctor jams a trumpet bell into the mouth of a Hoover.

Step one: the decoy.

“I’ve signed you up for a book club,” Nardole announces. He shoves the photocopied flier into the Doctor’s hand.

The Doctor looks down, and opens their hand, letting the paper waft away. “No you haven’t.”

“Yes, I have.” Nardole bends to retrieve the flier, and tucks it into the Doctor’s coat pocket. “You need to get out of the house. Talk to people, instead of just shouting at them from a stage.”

“I talk to you,” The Doctor says. “And you can’t make me go.”

“If you don’t go, I’ll fix it so the Vault opens only for me, and then you won’t get to do the thing you think I don’t know you do. And remember: I am much, much better at net-sec than you are.”

The Doctor sulks, glaring. Nardole shrugs amiably, then shuffles off.

“Fine,” the Doctor calls after him, with a melodramatic air of defeat. “Fine.”

The following Tuesday, the Doctor storms into the office, slamming all available doors, and some of them twice for good measure.

Nardole continues assembling the ingredients for Taco Tuesdays, humming to himself.

“Did you know: the average book club is considered a form of torture under the Geneva Convention?”

“It couldn’t have been that bad.” Nardole wipes his hands on a towel, adjusts his Hot Stuff Comin’ Through apron, and affixes a neutral expression to his face before turning around.

The Doctor is slumped at the kitchen table, in the least committed sitting position imaginable. “Oh. It was that bad. Tedious, boring people discussing a tedious, boring novel. Wasn’t even any refreshments, at least with those little miniature sandwiches and plastic cups of cheap wine it might have been somewhat tolerable, but.” They slide further down, very slowly falling off the chair. “Don’t make me go back. Please.”

Nardole arranges the bowls and plates and flowers and things into a pleasing tablescape. “I won’t. But you have to do something. Anything. Pick a hobby, any hobby. And sit up.”

The Doctor heaves a sigh and worms their way back into something approaching a normal sitting position. They reach for the cheese, grumbling under their breath.

“Ah-ah-ah. No tacos until you pick something.”

The Doctor rolls their eyes, looking for all the world like a petulant teenager. “Like what.”

“You tell me. The world is your oyster. Or Bristol is, anyway. Rock climbing? Dungeons and Dragons? Knitting? Saltwater aquarium maintenance?”

That last one makes the Doctor perk up, tilt their head. “Could we get a pet?”

“Depends on the pet, I s'pose. I’m allergic to cats. Fish really are quite interest-”

“Bird,” the Doctor interrupts, tapping on the table. “I want a bird.”

Nardole pauses in the middle of strategic salsa application. “Okay.”

“I could go to the. The bird store, that’s a social interaction happening outside in the world. There’s probably bird forums online. Is that - can I eat now?”

Nardole cracks the cap off his beer, salutes, downs half of it in one go. He tries not to visibly cringe as the Doctor grabs a handful of cheese and shoves it directly into their mouth.

Through the miracle of the internet, they adopt an elderly African Grey named Beatrice and her attendant box of toys. Given free roam of the office, she elects to spend most of her time on top of the bookshelf by the door, yelling “Put wood int’ ‘ole” in a thick Mancunian accent whenever someone comes in.

Nardole begins to regret his life choices, in this regard and in others.

The Doctor is initially more distracted by the bird toys than the bird itself, picking each one up and carefully examining it like it’s an object of great mystical power.

“Why?” the Doctor asks, pointing at a brightly-colored, inexplicable jumble of plastic bits.

“Dunno,” Nardole says. “I’m not a bird.”

“Daft ‘apeth,” Beatrice yells.

The Doctor experimentally bites down on a small piece of balsa wood. Beatrice giggles. Nardole breathes in, and counts to ten; everything is going according to plan. Everything is fine.

Nardole is carefully, meditatively applying unicorn stickers to his notebook for Operation KtDFBSUOoB(A) (he really needs to come up with a catchier name) when the Doctor bursts into his bedroom.

“C'mere,” they say, panting slightly. “C'mon, c'mon.”

Nardole follows them dutifully.

“Watch this.” The Doctor motions at Beatrice, who swoops down from the bookshelf and flutters into place on the desk.

They pull the sonic screwdriver from their pocket, wave it around with a flourish, then turn it on, whirring, and then off.

Beatrice repeats the screwdriver’s noise, then bops her head. The Doctor tosses her a pea, also from their pocket; she snaps it up happily.

“Good girl. Very clever girl,” Nardole says.

“Do one,” she replies.

The Doctor beams with pride.

The Maximum Distraction Period (MDP) lasts about a week. After that, the Doctor does still enjoy their friendship with the jerk bird who for whatever reason hates Nardole, and they’re better than they were before - the moping and anxious pacing are slightly less omnipresent. Still present, though.

Beatrice is asleep and the Doctor is staring out the office window, up at the full moon. Nardole is tiptoeing up to them. The lights are off, just the cold glow of the night sky, all the city lights, to illuminate them.

They turn, just slightly, when a floorboard squeaks under Nardole’s foot.

“Hey,” Nardole says.

“Hey.” All hoarse-voiced and moonlit and quietly, beautifully melancholy.

Nardole, who buried most of his crush on this idiot several decades ago, now finds himself suddenly overwhelmed, and cast somewhat adrift. He swallows hard, and digs the notebook out of his pocket, flipping through the pages before he sees hot-pink highlighter.

CONS: VERY RISKY, the prim neat handwriting reads.PROS:

Past-Nardole had written something, and then went over it with a thick, chunky line of white-out. Not incredibly #GTD #aesthetic, that bit.

He moves closer to the Doctor, trying to regulate his breathing. The Doctor, to their credit, does not flinch away, even when Nardole leans against them. Shoulder-to-shoulder.

“I can’t do this any more,” the Doctor whispers. “I don’t know how to stay here. Two birds in a luxury cage. If our wings were clipped then at least we’d know we couldn’t fly off. That there wasn’t an escape we weren’t making.”

“Uhh?” Nardole whines, fluctuating along one or three octaves. A panic noise. He slips his arm around the Doctor’s lower back, and nudges them into place. Facing him, or would-be-facing-him if they weren’t staring out the window.

“Hey,” he says, voice cracking. His hands on the Doctor’s chest, palms flat, sliding down. This is a measured, reasonable action, this is technically part of the Operation. A strategic move. He stops at the Doctor’s belt buckle, listening to his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Oh. Um. Right. What?” The Doctor stares down at him, eyebrows furled.

“Stop me, if this isn’t something you want,” Nardole ekes out. He regulates his breathing, he finds his inner zen, he undoes the Doctor’s belt and trousers.

The Doctor frowns, squeezes his shoulder hard, then ducks forward, burying their face in his neck. “Okay,” they say, trembling. “Okay, okay.”

Nardole counts to ten and then slips his hand between the Doctor’s legs. They jump, a bit, and cling tighter, their arms wrapped firmly around him. It’s an awkward position, this would be better if one of them were sitting down or ideally lying in a nice comfy bed, but they’re here now, in the dark, and it’s happening the way it’s happening.

“I’m a touch telepath, by the way,” the Doctor says, mostly coherently, as Nardole squeezes his hand under the waistband of their boxers.

“So if I do this,” Nardole says, Doing That, “then you can read my mind?”

“Sort of.” The Doctor shudders, thrusts into his hand.

Psychic handy, hey, just like on Pinterest. Absolutely part of the plan. With a special highlighter color and calligraphy and everything.

The Doctor’s doing their trousers back up, arranging their 20 coats back into place. Nardole is watching, something thick and fuzzy in the back of his throat. Something crowding his heart.

“Got you distracted for ten minutes, that’s something,” he says.

“Yeah. Uh, thanks. Does this - does this count as a hobby?”

“Probably? I mean. If you want - ?”

The Doctor stares him down. He scrunches where eyebrows aren’t, shrugs.

“Okay,” the Doctor says.

“Have you got it sorted?” Beatrice yells. “Now stop mitherin’ me, like.”

#twelvedole #promptapalooza #resting-meme-face

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funface2 · 5 years

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55 of Tim Vine’s most hilarious jokes and one-liners – iNews

Tim Vine, best-known for his his role on Not Going Out from 2006 to 2014, is a quick-witted connoisseur of comedy who often appears on best jokes lists that follow in the wake of festivals around the world.

Here are 55 of the comic master’s most ingenious jokes and one-liners:

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“I’d like to start with the chimney jokes – I’ve got a stack of them. The first one is on the house.”

“I did a gig in a fertility clinic. I got a standing ovulation.”

“I had a dream last night that I was cutting carrots with the Grim Reaper – dicing with death.”

“I rang up British Telecom and said: ‘I want to report a nuisance caller.’ He said: ‘Not you again.’”

“I saw this bloke chatting-up a cheetah and I thought: ‘He’s trying to pull a fast one.’”

“The advantages of easy origami are two-fold.”

“I rang up my local swimming baths. I said: ‘Is that the local swimming baths?’ He said: ‘It depends where you’re calling from.’”

The ‘king of one-liners’, Tim Vine (Photo: Getty)

“I said to the gym instructor: ‘Can you teach me to do the splits?’ He said: ‘How flexible are you?’ I said: ‘I can’t make Tuesdays.’”

“I’m against hunting. In fact, I’m a hunt saboteur. I go out the night before and shoot the fox.”

“This policeman came up to me with a pencil and a piece of very thin paper. He said, ‘I want you to trace someone for me.’”

“I met this bloke with a didgeridoo and he was playing Dancing Queen on it. I thought, ‘that’s Abba-riginal.’”

“I’ve decided to sell my Hoover – it was just collecting dust.”

“I was getting into my car, and this bloke says to me ‘Can you give me a lift?’ I said ‘Sure, you look great, the world’s your oyster, go for it.’”

“I went down the local supermarket. I said: ‘I want to make a complaint – this vinegar’s got lumps in it.’ He said: ‘Those are pickled onions.’”

“I’ll tell you what I love doing more than anything – trying to pack myself in a small suitcase. I can hardly contain myself.”

“I was at sea the other day and loads of meat floated past. It was a bit choppy.”

“You know, somebody actually complimented me on my driving today. They left a little note on the windscreen, it said ‘Parking Fine.’ So that was nice.”

“I’m so lazy I’ve got a smoke alarm with a snooze button.”

“I’ve spent the afternoon re-arranging the furniture in Dracula’s house. I was doing a bit of Fang-Shui.”

“I was stealing things in the supermarket today while balanced on the shoulders of vampires. I was charged with shoplifting on three counts.”

“Uncle Ben has died. No more Mr Rice Guy.”

“I once did a gig in a zoo. I got babooned off.”

“Eric Bristow asked me why I put superglue on one of his darts. I said ‘you just can’t let it go can you?’”

“I saw this advert in a window that said: ‘Television for sale, £1, volume stuck on full.’ I thought, ‘I can’t turn that down.’”

“I’ve just been on a once-in-a-lifetime holiday. I’ll tell you what, never again.”

“Conjunctivitis.com – that’s a site for sore eyes.”

“Do you ever get that when you’re half way through eating a horse and you think to yourself, ‘I’m not as hungry as I thought I was?’”

“Black Beauty – now there’s a dark horse.”

Tim Vine has won numerous best joke awards (Photo: Getty)

“I was reading a book – ‘The History of Glue’ – I couldn’t put it down.”

“I got home, and the phone was ringing. I picked it up, and said ‘Who’s speaking please?’ And a voice said ‘You are.’”

“Exit signs? They’re on the way out!”

“Velcro? What a rip-off!”

“I went to buy a watch, and the man in the shop said ‘Analogue?’ I said ‘No, just a watch.’”

“I was in this restaurant and I asked for something herby. They gave me a Volkswagen with no driver.”

“I went to the doctor. I said to him ‘I’m frightened of lapels.’ He said, ‘You’ve got cholera.’”

“I met the bloke who invented crosswords today. I can’t remember his name, it’s P-something T-something R…”

“I was having dinner with my boss and his wife said, ‘How many potatoes would you like, Tim?’. I said ‘Ooh, I’ll just have one please.’ She said ‘It’s OK, you don’t have to be polite.’ ‘Alright,’ I said, ‘I’ll just have one then, you stupid cow.’

“A friend of mine always wanted to be run over by a steam train. When it happened, he was chuffed to bits!”

“I was in the army once and the Sergeant said to me: ‘What does surrender mean?’ I said: ‘I give up!’”

“This bloke said to me: ‘I’m going to attack you with the neck of a guitar.’ I said: ‘Is that a fret?’”

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“I saw Arnold Schwarzenegger eating a chocolate egg. I said: ‘I bet I know what your favourite Christian festival is.’ He said: ‘You have to love Easter, baby.’”

“I used go out with an anaesthetist – she was a local girl.”

“Crime in multi-storey car parks. That is wrong on so many different levels.”

“I went to a Pretenders concert. It was a tribute act.”

“I went down my local ice-cream shop, and said ‘I want to buy an ice-cream’. He said ‘Hundreds & thousands?’ I said ‘We’ll start with one.’ He said ‘Knickerbocker glory?’ I said ‘I do get a certain amount of freedom in these trousers, yes.’”

“I bought a train ticket and the driver said ‘Eurostar?’ I said ‘Well, I’ve been on telly but I’m no Dean Martin.’ Still, at least it’s comfortable on Eurostar – it’s murder on the Orient Express.”

“I went into a shop and I said, ‘Can someone sell me a kettle?’ The bloke said ‘Kenwood?’ I said, ‘Where is he?’”

“I went in to a pet shop. I said, ‘Can I buy a goldfish?’ The guy said, ‘Do you want an aquarium?’ I said, ‘I don’t care what star sign it is.’”

“You know, I’m not very good at magic – I can only do half of a trick. I’m a member of the Magic Semi-circle.”

“My next door neighbour worships exhaust pipes. He’s a catholic converter.”

“He said ‘I’m going to chop off the bottom of one of your trouser legs and put it in a library’. I thought ‘That’s a turn-up for the books.’”

“And the back of his anorak was leaping up and down, and people were chucking money to him. I said ‘Do you earn a living doing that?’ He said ‘Yes, this is my livelihood.’”

“I bought some Armageddon cheese today, and it said on the packet ‘Best Before End…’”

“So this bloke says to me, ‘Can I come in your house and talk about your carpets?’ I thought ‘That’s all I need, a Je-hoover’s witness.’”

“So Batman came up to me & he hit me over the head with a vase & he went ‘T’PAU!’ I said ‘Don’t you mean KAPOW??’ He said ‘No, I’ve got china in my hand.’”

More jokes:

Paul Merton’s 36 best jokes and funniest one-liners from Have I Got News for You 38 of the funniest cat jokes and memes Jeremy Hardy: remembering the comedian’s funniest jokes and quotes 34 of the best Valentine’s Day jokes and funniest one-liners 30 of Michael McIntyre’s best jokes and funniest one-liners Best father of the bride jokes for a wedding speech to remember 100 best Christmas jokes and funniest festive season one-liners 100 of the funniest dirty jokes that will make you laugh and gasp Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer’s 41 best jokes and most surreal quotes 30 of the best jokes about Theresa May 25 of Dara Ó Briain’s best jokes and funniest quotes 38 of the funniest Russell Howard jokes The 28 funniest Greg Davies jokes and quotes The best Graham Norton jokes and most scathing put-downs Here are 10 of the funniest jokes written by kids 35 of the funniest jokes by Northern comedians The 31 funniest South Park jokes and quotes 100 of the funniest ever jokes and best one-liners 100 of the best knock knock jokes (some of which are actually funny) 26 of Seann Walsh’s greatest jokes 16 of Barry Chuckle’s greatest jokes 34 of Lee Evans’ funniest jokes and quotes 30 of Romesh Ranganathan’s funniest jokes and quotes 26 of Sara Pascoe’s funniest jokes and quotes 41 of Eddie Izzard’s funniest jokes and quotes 41 of David Mitchell’s funniest jokes and quotes 21 of Rhod Gilbert’s funniest jokes and one-liners 45 of the funniest 8 out of 10 Cats jokes 41 of Stewart Francis’ most ingenious jokes and one-liners 19 of the funniest World Cup jokes from stand-up comedians 30 of Jack Whitehall’s funniest jokes 43 of the funniest Donald Trump jokes 100 pun-based jokes that will make you laugh and cringe 50 Edinburgh Fringe one-liners that deserved to win Funniest Joke 31 Best Man jokes that will work for any wedding 100 of the funniest short jokes that will have you laughing in seconds 105 of the best bad jokes 105 of the best clean jokes and one-liners 50 football jokes to make you laugh – or groan 100 of the best jokes for kids that are actually funny 25 of Peter Kay’s most ingenious jokes and one-liners 26 of Stewart Lee’s most gloriously acerbic jokes 49 of Monty Python’s funniest jokes 45 of Ricky Gervais’ funniest jokes 17 of Ken Dodd’s most ingeniously funny jokes 27 of Sarah Millican’s laugh out loud jokes 50 of Jimmy Carr’s funniest jokes and one-liners 50 of Milton Jones’s most ingenious jokes and one-liners 50 of Tim Vine’s most ingenious jokes and one-liners 50 of Frankie Boyle’s funniest (and darkest) jokes 25 of Charlie Brooker’s most cutting jokes and insults 25 of Lee Mack’s wittiest jokes and one-liners 75 of Billy Connolly’s best jokes, one-liners and quips 30 of the best-ever jokes about Scotland – from Scotland

And some hilarious quotes:

29 best Gavin and Stacey quotes and funniest jokes from James Corden and Ruth Jones’ comedy 38 of the funniest Ron Swanson quotes that made Parks and Recreation unmissable 31 Richard Madeley quotes, gaffes and surreal moments that prove he truly is Alan Partridge Valentine’s poems: 32 most romantic quotes from history’s greatest poets 38 of the most darkly funny League of Gentlemen quotes 41 of the funniest quotes from The Good Place about life and death 30 of Stephen Fry’s funniest jokes and quotes Burt Reynolds’ greatest quotes – remembering the actor’s wit and wisdom following his death aged 82 23 of Outnumbered’s funniest (and possibly unscripted) quotes) 35 of Blackadder’s most cunning quips and insults 29 of the most outlandishly funny Mighty Boosh quotes 20 of the most absurdly funny quotes from Nathan Barley 39 of the greatest Brass Eye and Day Today quotes 25 of the most outrageous Summer Heights High quotes 25 of Rik Mayall’s greatest quotes 25 of the funniest ever Still Game quotes 50 of the funniest Father Ted quotes Red Dwarf: 30 of the funniest quotes and one-liners Derry Girls: 35 of the funniest quotes and one-liners 25 of the most cantankerous Martin Crane quotes from Frasier 25 of the most ‘textbook’ Alan Partridge quotes 50 of the best lines from Peep Show 20 of The Young Ones’ most gloriously silly quotes

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