hate when youre gone

Complications

 Warnings: Smut (kind of, not really), angst (kind of, not really), language

You.

“Gotdammit.” 

You cackled as you drunkenly tried to hold Christian up, failing miserably, and sending the both of you staggering to the ground of the bar’s parking lot. Your body felt heavy, too heavy, as you tried to roll yourself on to your knees. “Gotdammit.” He wheezed again, laughing loudly as he too, tried to get up. “Fuck, I gotta piss.” You stated suddenly, taking off in the direction of the field next to the parking lot, “_________! For fuck’s sake, don’t pee in the grass!” Christian called after you, stumbling after you. You stopped walking when you reached the middle of the field, out far enough that no one would see you if you squat down. You hurriedly undid the button of your black jeans, shimmying them down your hips. Christian crashed into you, knocking you backward before you could get your underwear down. You laughed out loud, almost peeing on yourself as he rolled off of you. “If you….pee…then I have to pee….here too.” He cackled. There were long blades of grass sticking in places that they shouldn’t as you struggled to pull your jeans back up. 

“C’mon, ____________. We gotta go.” He pulled you to your feet, brushing loose grass, dirt, and tiny rocks from your jeans. You stumbled towards the cab waiting in the parking lot, leaning heavily against the side as he tried to open the door. “You’re so useless!” You giggled as you pushed him aside, pulling the door open yourself. You collapsed into the backseat, Christian right behind you. You slid to the other side, allowing him to lay on your shoulder. “If you throw up on me…” You trailed off, falling into a drunken sleep as the cab sped towards Christian’s apartment building.


You giggled into the back of your hand as he leaned against you, trying to find his keys in the pockets of his leather jacket. The tips of his messily styled hair tickled your chin and you fought to keep from laughing again. You really had to pee, and laughing wasn’t helping you in the slightest.

Keep reading

Hating your breasts when they start to grow in and wanting them gone, disliking aspects of your body, and being scared/disgusted/repulsed by your period are almost universal aspects of growing up female, and I’m so tired of hearing them framed as being trans-specific. Like… if I had been on tumblr while I was going through puberty, some online “activist” would have definitely told me that I was “really” trans or nonbinary, and I probably would have believed them, because children are super impressionable and vulnerable.

The Wrong Kind of Quiet

I’m beyond exhausted and sleepy ideas of Harry are now and forever will be my weakness. So I wrote some up and I feel cozy and snuggly now, and I hope you do, too. x. 

It’s quiet. But it’s the wrong kind of quiet. It’s the kind of quiet that tells you Harry’s not here, and you hate that.

It’s quiet when he’s gone, but it’s almost quieter when he’s back home. Mornings are a little lazier in an attempt to cling to sleep, and nights are a little longer when you doze on the couch and he pulls your legs onto his.

You hate it when he’s gone as a rule, because your mornings always drag a little bit more for you when he’s away on tour. You miss the warm, snuggly body that you can cuddle against even when your alarm is going off, you miss his arm flopping over to slam the snooze button, and you miss him nosing against your forehead like a puppy before planting a kiss on it.

You miss the smell of his shampoo, and the touch of his skin, and the way he’ll sleepily try to rouse you with a voice that is far more conducive to drifting back to dreams.

You miss him especially when he’s not here but he’s supposed to be here. Your forehead crinkles to a degree that could rival his with your frown and you all but throw yourself across the valley between your pillows so you land on his. It’s cool to your cheek, and a quick swipe of your hand over the bedclothes does nothing but confirm it. He’s gone, and he’s been gone for awhile. You whine in your throat and burrow into it, breathing in deeply and trying to get whatever bit of him you can.

It’s still orange and pink outside with the rising sun – you can’t keep your eyes open for long, but what you can see through the closed blinds tells you the sun is still in its own process of waking up. You know he keeps a schedule that has him awake at all hours of the day and night, sometimes simultaneously depending on the change in the time zones and how jetlagged he is, but you, for one, are sleepily, selfishly disappointed that he’d run off to do God knows what at who knows what kind of hour.

A door slams shut in the apartment and you hear locks twist. You groan softly but your eyes stay closed. Let the robbers take his things, you think. It would serve him right for leaving them unattended.

In this state of delirium, you wonder how sorry he’d be if they took you. That would teach him, you think, ever the dramatic when you’re not quite awake.

There’s a laziness to the way the intruder walks, though, and you recognize the pattern of the footfalls as his. Moments later the bedroom door opens and you hear him creep quietly in. There’s rustling, and you realize he’s shedding some clothes. You peek through your lashes just in times to catch a flash of a full moon quite unusual for this time of the morning before he’s in the master bathroom and the shower turns on.

He isn’t in there for long – or maybe you’d nodded off – before it’s turned off and he pads out of the room. He flits around the bedroom for a few moments and you can’t help your impatient exhale. You think you hear him laugh quietly but maybe you’re imagining it; regardless, when the sheets are pulled back your eyes pop open and you look up at him with bleary eyes.

His hair is pulled back into a bun and its damp around the edges and his skin is pink from being scrubbed clean. He’s got a t-shirt and boxer shorts on and he grins softly at you.

“’Lo, love,” he says, sounding exactly like honey that’s been spread over sandpaper.

You whine in offense when he gets into bed and gently shifts you off his pillow.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he shushes you quietly in that same smooth tone that’s just rough around the edges. “G’back to sleep.”

“Where’d you go?” you croak to him in a morning voice.

“Jus’ for a run,” he tells you while pulling the blankets up around the both of you again. “Thought I could get it done before you got up, sorry.”

You don’t have the energy to move your mouth the way it needs to in order to say, thought wrong, didn’t you, buddy?

Harry pulls you in and you hum and snuggle close into his chest, allowed to be the little spoon to his big one for once. You don’t think he minds, though, because after so long away and so little time left, he’ll happily take you on however he can. He’d probably absorb you if he could if it means he gets to have your quiet reassurance with him when he’s tired in some strange hotel bed at night.

You don’t have the energy to get out a missed you, either, but with his nose and mouth buried in the top of your head and his breathing slowing to match yours, you think he understands just fine.

Neighbor Calum

Hiya sooo this has been in my drafts for a few days now and I have no idea why I haven’t posted it yet? But this is the first part to my neighbor!calum mini series and it’s not very interesting but I promise it’ll get better and a lot more cuter! :-)

You watch from your porch as the moving truck pulls up to the house next door. You’ve already decided before hand when the ‘sold’ sign had gone up that you’d hate your new neighbors, no one could possibly beat having your best friend just one house down. Obviously someone was bound to move in and maybe it wasn’t necessarily the new peoples fault that your best friend’s dad got a better job somewhere else but it sure was a lot easier to blame them.

You try not to watch, distracting yourself with your dog, throwing his toy every time he’d bring it back but when he seems to get distracted himself you have to look, your dog running over to an over-excited teenage boy.

The boy clad in a ripped t-shirt and black skinny jeans immediately sits on the ground, your dog happily licking his face as he pets him. And because you promised yourself you weren’t going to like these peope, even if the teenage boy petting your dog looks absolutely adorable right now, you stand to your feet, calling your dog over and only briefly catching the boy’s eye.

-

You wake to the sound of music blaring from across the way, you’re almost ready to shout about the stupid neighbors and why the hell they are playing music so god damn loud so god damn early - as you check the time seeing its just gone past 3 - but something stops you. You know the song. It’s your song. One you’ve heard so many times you’re sure it’s running through your blood flow.

And that’s not fair because now how are you supposed to be mad when it’s your song?

You get up, wrapping your blanket around you and going over to sit at your window seat. His shades are open, giving you a view of the boy sprawled out across the floor in no better state than you, in joggers and a tee, hair an absolute mess with his window wide open, music flowing freely through the chilly early morning.

You open your window up as well to get a better listen, your curtains managing to block you from sight but he happens to glance your way the exact time your window decides to be unnecessarily loud with a creak. You’re quick to shut the curtains back up, his eyes darting back toward the door when a woman; probably his mother, calls out what you assume is his name.

The music stops shortly after and you can his under-the-breath grumbling in the quiet before his windows being closed and the shades are being drawn. You just pray that he hadn’t seen you or is too sleepy to put together what you were doing.

-

You go about your life, learning your lesson and ignoring a few of your favorite bands blasting from the neighbor’s house and the absolutely rowdy bunch of boys that always seem to be out in the yard, you don’t even bother to come down to meet the family once they’ve settled and wanted to introduce themselves.

Somewhere in you, you know you’re being incredibly rude and unfair and you’re sure if you’d just talked to the boy that was your age - according to your mom - that you’d get along quite nicely. Still, you swore you were going to hate these people no matter how many times you hear the boy in the bedroom across from yours singing along to one of your favorite songs.

-

You don’t actually talk to the boy until nearly two months after they’ve moved in. You’re just getting home from being out all day, he and his friends making their way into his own house. Because you’ve been trying your hardest to ignore them all, you’ve only ever heard them and though it’s a bit dark out you can see the tall lot and god of course they were all attractive because one wasn’t enough.

The boy brown eyed boy smiles at you and sends you a wave with a polite hi and because you’re you and all four cute boys are stood staring at you, you panic a bit and just end up grumbling an annoyed, “Can you not play your music so loud?” Even if you secretly kind of liked it being loud. It was almost like he knew you liked the same music and you two were in a way listening to it together.

You especially liked the days he’d play something new because those days it’d play louder as he familiarized himself with the song and you could just picture him sprawled across his flo- “Sorry, we’ll keep it down,” he replies sweetly even if the other boys are in a cross between snickering and giggling.

You nod and hurry inside cursing yourself because that was your first impression and now he thinks you don’t like hearing his music - not that you care - and they’ll all probably have a laugh at the loser neighbor girl who asks people to keep it down like some sort of old person.

-

The next time you see your neighbor is when you’re out in your backyard for no particular reason other than it being a nice day out and you being completely bored. You’re laid out on the grass, earphones in and shades on when your dog gets up, tail already wagging like crazy as he starts barking toward the little fence separating your yard from your neighbors.

You peek over and catch sight of the dark haired boy whose name you now know is Calum with all the times you’ve heard various people calling or talking to him but still, you refuse to even call him by his name; he took your best friend’s house.

From what you can see he’s got a tank top on and a soccer ball in his hand which he drops to pet your dog, settling him down. Shaking your head, you look back up at the sky. You were out here first, he should have to be the one to go back outside is what you tell yourself is the reason for you staying laid out on the grass.

After a few minutes you can’t help it, you have to look. You’re musics been on pause since he’s been out, playing his music that you’re sure would have eventually played through your own headphones.

He’s not wearing a shirt anymore, his tan skin glistening with a single coat of sweat and shit you should’ve never looked because now you can’t look away. He’s kicking the ball around and doing various tricks and crannies you’d see from a professional soccer player.

The staring isn’t really a problem except for when the ball goes over the fence and he inevitably catches you, a small smirk playing at his lips. You’re not really sure what to do so you just sort of sit there, staring between the ball and the boy.

“Could you uh..” he trails off gesturing to the soccer ball a few inches to your right. “Right,” you shake your head, getting to your feet and tossing the ball back over to him. “Thanks,” he sends you a nod and smile with wary eyes. You nod acknowledging and go back over to your spot on the grass. Not even a few minutes later the music is gone and his back door is sliding shut.

And great now you’ve added creep to your ongoing list of impressions.. not that it mattered.

anonymous asked:

ok so u know the song wake me up by ed sheeran? (if not go listen to it its so good) anyway if u listen to the song its basically like a love letter to the person the song is about & talks about their little quirks and what he loves about them, etc but my headcanon is that h&l have a song like wake me up that theyve written about each other that talks about stuff we could never possibly know and they cant put it on an album or anything because its too specific but they sing it to each other ahhh

Maybe like…

I count your lashes when you sleep
I trace my fingers against your cheek
I have all your Grease songs on my phone
Is it too much that I wear your socks when I’m home alone
The bill from our first date, a picture of your 21st birthday cake, kissing on our balcony at dawn, the handwritten lyrics from Strong

And

I can’t believe I’m even fond of your teeth
When you’re gone I hate to change the sheets
I know you nick my favorite cereal and pretend you don’t
Every night before I go to sleep I write you a love note
I’ve got the first autograph, a ring tone of your silly laugh, a ring I wear when its just you and me, I’m always going to call you baby

Something to Live For...(Clint Barton/Reader)

Having trouble writing what I want to write and my notebook is not with me so I’m pulling the first request in my inbox to inspire something…

FYI for this request Clint’s family does not exist I’m afraid. Going comic book Clint, no fam lol.

Can I request one Clint x Reader? Where Clint has feelings for the reader (she doesn’t know) and is completely torn when she says she’s teaming with Tony (she’s extremely loyal to him, but she does have feelings for Clint), and he’s sided with Cap.

Originally posted by imaginesforlifetime

Clint stood there staring at you, “You’re staying? After everything that’s been going on these last few weeks? After what happened to Peter when he came out as Spiderman.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, “Tony’s done a lot for me. I owe him this.”

“But do you believe in what he’s saying?” Clint looked at you confused, “Seriously giving up our identities so everyone knows who we are. Everyone.”

“It won’t be so bad…” You frowned looking at him, “I don’t understand what the big idea is?”

“Our families will be at risk, Y/N.” He told you, “Your mom…your sister! They will know who you are and anyone who hated you could go after them.”

“Clint…Peter has made a lot of enemies…” You sighed looking down as you try to justify the incident that happened to his family.

“No!” Clint swallowed down his rage getting it in check, “Y/N… I don’t have family…my brothers dead…we were orphans…but I’ve gotten to know yours and if anything happened to them…if anything happened to you…”

You looked at him at his mention of you, “What?”

“I’d lose my mind. I’d be angry and… you know I might actually turn green like the big guy.” He looked at you sighing as he smiled ,”I’m crazy about you. Have been for the past year, but I didn’t know how to tell you. These last few weeks have been hell not seeing you.”

“So you risked an outing to see me? Not to actually talk about the situation?” You stared up at him your eyes getting wide.

“Yes.” He smiled a little, “I mean I love hearing you talk but…seeing you is much better then the conversation we’re having.”

“You’d risk getting caught to see me?” You stared at him in disbelief. 

“I’d risk everything for you.” He smirked a little, “Is that so surprising?”

“You just…really gave no indication at all…” You crossed your arms looking away from him.

His smirk fell from his face, “I made you uncomfortable…you don’t…you know what it’s okay. I just I wanted you to know…We don’t really know…I have to get back. Good ol’Cap…roll call…”

As he turned to leave you took his hand making him stop, “Don’t go…”

He stopped looking at you, “What?”

You took a deep breath tightening your grip on his hand, “Don’t go…I hate that you’re gone…I hate that your so far away when I want you next to me…”

He listened as you went on, “I miss our lunches on the roof…how we made fun of the cadets…playing pranks on Nat and Nick…this stupid war has ruined everything I’ve cared about.”

“Cared…you care…” He pointed at himself, “Me?”

“Yes stupid.” You smiled at him, “I care about you. I was going to ask you to dinner before all this started, but then everything just moved so quickly…”

“Dinner.” He got a goofy grin on his face, “Like a date.”

You tilted your head as you took your hand back crossing your arms, “Clint…”

He smirked stepping closer to you taking your face in his hands, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Oh please do…” You smirked at him as he lowered his head kissing you lightly. He pulled away looking at you, “Okay…know that first kiss jitters are out of the way…”

“What?” He stepped back surprised as you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him down a little to you as you kissed him deeply. You felt him relax finally wrapping his arms around you.

You looked up at him when you finished smirking, “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time…”

“I…” He cleared his throat, “I can see that…”

“You disapprove?” You looked up at him.

“No…No not all. Approval rating high.” He rattled off quickly as he smiled, “I disapprove that we wasted most of my time talking about this stupid war…”

“You have to go?” You frowned.

“I’ll come back.” He smiled kissing your forehead, “I have something to live for.”

youtube

A.J. McLean - Have It All (2010)

If I had to pick, I’d say that A.J. is my favorite member of the Backstreet Boys. He’s definitely my favorite BSB singer: emotive, attention-grabbing, equal parts menacing and heartfelt. He could nail the nasty dance-jammers and tender ballads with equal skill, which is not something you can say for Kevin or Howie. I feel like he got pegged as the “bad boy” of Backstreet simply because, visually, he looked like a dude with a history: he was always wearing those glasses, that beard. He never looked particularly happy. There was something else going on with him, good or bad. Your eyes were drawn to him.

If I were to go out on a limb here - and forgive me for this, thanks - I would call A.J. the Dennis Wilson of the Backstreet Boys: the coolest and “baddest” member whose well-publicized personal issues masked some real, real talent. As much as I dig A.J., I wanted to adjust my expectations for his 2010 solo release Have It All. Nick and Brian’s albums weren’t my cup of tea, and I had no reason to suspect A.J.’s would be any different.

Oh, thank goodness I was wrong. So wrong! Have It All is fun, hilarious, goofy, catchy, exciting. Without any doubt, the best Backstreet Boys solo album, and among the best records related to anything Backstreet Boys.

Not unlike Welcome Home following Never Gone, Have It All at first listen feels like the Boys’ 2009 release This Is Us (which we will cover very soon, do not worry): modern end-of-the-2000s dance pop. But you can already feel the difference: lead track “Teenage Wildlife,” co-written once again by JC Chasez, feels glitzier and sillier than anything the Boys would record. Left to his own devices, A.J. hams it up a little more. More ad-libs, more howls, more yelps. The kinda stuff boring ‘ol Brian Littrell would never let him do. Get bent, dad!!

Have It All’s best moments come when A.J. throws away any semblance of delivering a standard dance-pop record and starts doing whatever the hell he wants. “Gorgeous” is an excellent Prince homage; “Drive-By Love” and “What It Do” are cheeky cheese-rockers that are impossible to take seriously; “Love Crazy” is a sex-obsessed Motown parody. On the other side of the coin, “I Quit” is a better and funnier version of Unbreakable’s piano-pop, and “Sincerely Yours” and “I Hate When You’re Gone” are solid uncrappy ballads.

And then, right when you think it’s all over, you get the bizarro alter-ego club anthem “Mr. A.” “When I walk into the club, everybody shouts hooray. Hey!” Whistles, metal guitars, and a chorus that borders on pop-punk. A.J.!

The Backstreet Boys would never condone material this oddball, this corny, this crude. A.J. is the one Backstreet member who knows how to utilize the blessed freedom he’s been given: big enough to record a solo album with JC Chasez and Max Martin collaborators Carl Falk and Kristian Lundin (who, it should be noted, ended up working with One Direction just a year later), but one that nobody would listen to outside of Backstreet diehards. He could do whatever he wanted to, and he did.

If you’re looking for Backstreet Boys’ secret gem, this one is it. Yes, it’s completely over the top and some of the dancier tracks are less interesting, but who cares? I’d take that over dullsville Nick and Brian anyday.

Thank God for you, A.J. You sleazy, strange uncle. Carry on, brother.