one of the times i uselessly wish for being able to draw

Touch of Your Love

 Hey guys! This is an imagine based on this textpost: “when his hands are so nice u just want him to put his fingers in your mouth.” When I saw it, I was like…. me @ Tom…? Basically, it’s as smutty and fluffy as they come, so I hope y'all like it!

Touch of Your Love

She loved his hands because they always engulfed her own.

She loved his hands because they were always warm, but never sweaty, or ever cold.

She loved his hands because they would always be there to guide her to safety.

She loved Tom’s hands because of all the things they did to her in the vehemence of their everlasting moments together.

They would wind themselves like vines against her skull, softly aiding her to wherever he wanted her the most. Sometimes, if Tom couldn’t wait, they’d hold her down against his touch while he worked his fingers, tongue, or hips against her.

Pressing her legs together, she cursed herself for thinking of Tom’s hands when she should be focusing on her professor’s lecture.

There was an in-class discussion occurring about Tennessee Williams’s play, ‘A Streetcar Named Desire,’ which happened to be one of her favorite plays, but she just couldn’t get Tom’s hands, and everything she’d like them to do to her, out of her head.

Her mind wandered to their morning together.

Whenever he was in town, they’d always stay together, no matter what the two had going on individually the next day.

Tom awoke earlier than she did, even though he didn’t need to be up yet because he had a rare free day from work, and he’d turned off her alarm and instead kissed her awake.

After he’d managed to untangle her from him, Tom had gently pushed her hair from the nape of her neck to pepper it with kisses. Then, he pressed hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses down her body, and over the sweater she’d stolen from him to wear bed.

Stirring slightly, she shifted in bed, causing the fabric of the sweater to reveal her midriff. Tom thanked the goddess of love for this blissful opportunity, and began trailing his fingers up and down her body.

She moaned in her sleep and Tom smirked, cracking his knuckles.

He dipped his calloused fingers into the sweet, pink panties she wore and tapped his forefinger against her clit, moving his mouth up to tease her neck with warm licks and kisses.

“Wake up darling,” his voice rasped against the base of her throat.

She awoke, wide-eyes and wet, with Tom’s untamed curls tickling her collarbones and Tom’s fingers preparing to curl inside her.

“Look at you, so lovely and ethereal.” Tom meant it too. He just couldn’t wrap his brain around how she always managed to look like an unearthly, delicate fairy when she awoke, while he resembled an exhausted bear. “Let me give you something to think about while you’re in class.”

Barely rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she burrowed her head back into her pillow and whined.

Tom didn’t make any move to further her pleasure, instead he propped himself up on one elbow to observe her clearer.

Wiggling her hips around, she tried to make Tom understand that she so desperately wanted him to give her something to think about in class.

“You know what I need.” Tom said.

She knew that Tom was waiting for her consent to go further, just as he always did. He always wanted to make sure that she was okay with what they were doing, so he always gave her time to agree or disagree.

“Please Tom,” she finally breathed out, curling her own tiny hand around his wrist.

With that, Tom moved in to kiss her, dragging her off the pillows, so that she’d be closer to where he needed her to be.

Her hair had fanned out around her head in an oh-so-fitting halo, Tom thought.

His mouth pressed urgently against her soft lips and his hands pushed her underwear down and she kicked them off the bed.

Tom hitched one of her legs around his waist, and cradled her hips to his own, his morning wood pushing against the warmth of her center.

Bringing a hand up to his mouth, he sucked three fingers into his mouth to slick them with saliva. She could’ve moaned at the sight.

Tom snuck his fingers back down to where she ached for him, and he pressed one against her clit.

“Fuck,” Tom groaned, doing his best to maintain his cool, “you’re fucking drenched for me. Did you wake up with this in mind, sweet girl?”

Her eyes rolled back when Tom slid a finger inside of her, doing his best to help her prepare for his others.

“Dreamt about you last night sweetheart. You were on this bed, lingerie and heels, all for me. Said you’d been a fucking bad girl and needed a punishment, so I had to drag you over my knee and spank you till your ass was cherry red.” Tom knew she loved being talked to in bed.

Tom couldn’t figure out why, but she was still shy and a little uncertain of herself when she was with him, and it made her feel better, and less embarrassed, to know how badly Tom wanted her too.

He rubbed the palm of his hand against her clit and used his other hand to press her bucking hips back down onto the bed.

Tom guided another finger into her and she gasped his name.

“And then I wake up, and see you looking like a fucking angel, all curled up against my chest, and it was too much, darling. I could feel you breathing, and hear you gasping in your sleep. And then I thought, I gotta fucking have you before you go to class, you’re too much, baby.”

Her thighs squeezed him closer to her and she kissed him, ever so softly, on the throat, her hands guiding themselves up to the nape of his neck.

Tom could tell that she was close, she always held onto him when she came.

“You’re getting close, aren’t you angel? Let me see you cum, darling, I need something think about after you’ve gone too. Come on, darling, let me see you finish.” Tom curled his finger inside her and mercilessly rubbed her clit.

She screamed and tried uselessly to lift her hips off the bed to force his fingers to delve deeper inside of her.

“Tom, please, please please.” Her eyes were fluttering, unable to stay open because she was too focused on Tom’s hands.

“What is it, m’love? Want another? Ask me politely and I’ll give it to you. You know that I’d give you everything, you just need to ask.” Tom kissed her lips and used the hand on her hips to trace hearts on her bare skin.

“Tom,” she was barely breathing, “please, I need another one.” She tried to shift her hips up to meet his hand, but Tom only smirked and held her down firmer.

“Of course, darling. All you had to do was ask.” And with that, Tom slid in another finger and began to use his thumb to draw the words, ‘I love you,’ on her clit and he wanted her shake, and moan, and grip his shoulders.

“Cum, my sweet girl, you’re alright, I’m here. Cum.” Tom ordered, and with that, she did.

Her legs shaking, and her body trembling, and countless ‘I love yous’ fell freely from her lips.

Tom wished that there was some way to bottle up those words, so that he could hear them, breathed into his ear whenever he wished.

He held her close and rubbed her back while she recovered from her early morning orgasm, and he counted each freckle that painted her skin.

“Wanna help me clean up?” Tom asked, bringing the hand that she’d gushed all over, up to her lips.

She tipped her head back opened her mouth, clearly understanding what Tom meant, and he dipped his fingers into the wet confines of her mouth.

Her lips closed behind his hand as she sucked and licked his fingers clean of her.

“Holy fuck,” Tom groaned, rubbing himself through his boxers.

She released him with a pop and Tom hurled himself at her, winding his hands into her hair as her pulled her on top of him.

Sitting so she straddled his lap, she smiled at him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” Tom murmured, looking up at her and lovingly stroking her thighs. “Go on and get ready, or else I won’t be able to let you leave.”

She clamored from his lap with shakey legs and crossed to the bathroom to begin her morning routine.

Tom laid back in bed, tugging at himself softly while she pranced around the room, removing shirt after shirt, before finally cheekily smiling at him over her shoulder as she settled on one of his sweaters.

He removed his hand from his pants and walked to the door to kiss her goodbye, promising to pick her up for lunch after school.

As she walked to her friend’s waiting car, she looked back and blew him a kiss before rushing to the vehicle.

When Tom had finally seen her off, he leaned up against the door and jacked himself so hard that when he came, he shouted her name.

Little did he know, that now, in her lecture, all she could think about was wrapping her pretty, pink lips around the length of his cock.

anonymous asked:

More gay divorcee au pls bc I wanna see how it goes when Tony meets his Army neighbors (also I want someone, preferably Pepper/Tony, punching Ty)

Tony was trying very hard not to cry.

Last night he’d gotten a call from Ty—from Stone. He’d been too scared to pick it up, had let it go to voicemail. When he’d finally gotten the courage to listen to the message, it had been nothing but vitriol, telling him that he was nothing, that he’d regret leaving, he’d never make it alone and he’d ruin Peter just like Howard had ruined him. Tony had saved the message with shaking fingers and sent a text to Pepper about it to tell his lawyer for the restraining order, because she—she was being an amazing friend and handling that for him while his world fell down around his ears.

With the voicemail, he hadn’t been able to sleep well. He’d tossed and turned with nightmares of Stone getting custody of Peter, of Tony only being allowed to see him sparingly, of seeing bruises on Peter’s little body and Peter’s accusing eyes, as if to say ‘you could have prevented this.’ And then those nightmares were interspersed with memories of the gaslighting Stone had had made him suffer throughout their entire relationship, telling Tony he was being silly or overreacting and laughing about it, and memories of the times Stone had hit him and then apologized and made Tony feel like it was his fault, like he’d been asking for it.

Then Peter had woken up with an earache and Tony had had to give him medicine and Peter hated taking medicine. Peter would spit out pills if they were given to him, and any attempt at giving him liquid medicine ended up with more of the dose on Peter’s clothes than in his mouth. Tony had finally had to cave and mix it in with some chocolate milk, and Peter had eyed him suspiciously the entire time he drank it because he knew he wasn’t supposed to have chocolate milk except for as dessert.

Once he’d set Peter down to play in his playpen, Tony had realized that he hadn’t done any yard work the past two weeks and stressed about that until he could put Peter down for his nap. He didn’t like to leave Peter alone but he knew he’d never be able to get anything done if he had to watch Peter outside, that dread that someone was watching them and reporting back to Stone always leaving him short of breath and with a cold sweat.

And now the fucking lawnmower wouldn’t work and Tony should have been able to fix it but he just couldn’t figure out what was wrong and Peter would surely wake from his nap soon—Tony took a shuddering breath and lifted his arm to press the back of his wrist against one eye, fingers covered with oil and muck. He would not cry. It was just a fucking lawnmower. It was just fucking yard work. He had bigger problems, like his divorce and getting custody of Peter and designing the next big thing for green energy.

“…Why me,” Tony whispered to himself, deciding that he could feel sorry for himself just for a minute.

“Hey!” someone called, and Tony leapt to his feet, skittering backward. He took a moment to wish he had his handgun to protect himself with and nearly crumpled with despair at the thought, because he hadn’t—he hadn’t used to think of protecting himself first thing, especially not with deadly force.

The blond guy from across the street stared at him, wide-eyed. “Oh my God, I’m so—I’m so sorry, I thought you heard me coming up.”

“Oh.” Tony hunched his shoulders, embarrassed, wanting to scuttle back inside and hide. “No, I—I didn’t.”

“I can see that,” Blond Guy said, still looking very apologetic. “I just noticed you’d been out here a long time and—Oh, is this Colonel Rhodes’s lawnmower? It hasn’t worked in months.”

“O-oh?” Tony asked hopefully, because he’d worried he’d just—been too stupid to figure it out. Logically he’d known better, but after years of Ty telling him he was—well.

“Yeah, he’s been borrowing ours,” Blond Guy replied, shrugging.

Tony could probably fix it, if he had the time to worry about it instead of worrying about when Peter would wake up and if Ty had sent anyone to keep an eye on them. Hell, if he’d known about it before Rhodey left, he would have been able to fix it while Rhodey kept an eye on Peter. Tony sagged a little, feeling defeated. He didn’t have the mental stamina to deal with this now.

Blond Guy frowned at him for a long moment before thrusting his hand out. “I’m Steve, by the way. Steve Rogers.”

“Tony.” Tony held his hand out, saw the oil still smeared on it, and shame-facedly began to draw it back. “Oh, uh, sorry—”

Steve grabbed his hand anyway to shake it. “’s fine. I’ve had worse on my hands. It’s not like I wow that was a bad idea this is so much oil.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, reluctantly amused.

“My friends tell me I’m uselessly impulsive,” Steve offered. “Listen, I usually mow Colonel Rhodes’s lawn for him while he’s gone anyway. I’ll just keep doing that, okay?”

“Oh, um, okay,” Tony said, torn between the desire to insist he could do it himself and the relief that he didn’t have to worry about this particular responsibility. “I, um—Rhodey left me some money, I can pay you—”

“Nah,” Steve said immediately. “No, it’s fine. I was gonna do it anyway. Colonel Rhodes lets me sketch his hydrangeas sometimes so I figure it’s only fair.”

Tony stared at him for a moment. “Is. Is that a euphemism?”

“What,” Steve said blankly, and then turned as red as a blotchy tomato. “Oh my God, no! I mean, no. I’m an artist.”

“Oh,” Tony said, because he never would have guessed. Steve looked more like someone who punched Nazis in the face and then bench-pressed a wheelbarrow full of kittens with each arm when he was finished than a guy who liked to draw flowers. Tony found that… rather charming, actually. “I see. That’s nice.”

“Yup, I love working on florals,” Steve agreed proudly. “My boyfriend has some of my handiwork on his body, too!”

Oh, a boyfriend. Steve looked so happy. Tony felt a jealous pang, sick and bitter, at the bottom of his stomach. Tony wished he could be happy like that. Looking back, he’d never been as proud to say ‘my boyfriend’ or ‘my husband’ when he talked about Ty as Steve did talking about his boyfriend right now. Maybe he’d known, even then, that Stone wasn’t good to him. Maybe Howard had damaged him more than he’d thought.

“I—” Tony cleared his throat. “I have to go check on Peter. Maybe—maybe you’d like to do art together sometime?”

Tony wanted to throw up as soon as he’d suggested it. Steve was—Steve was probably busy. And he was an actual artist, not someone who finger-painted and drew stick figures. Steve was a young handsome guy with a boyfriend. Why would he want to spend time with a soon-to-be-divorcee and a toddler when he probably had an equally handsome boyfriend and an apparently lucrative art business? God, Tony didn’t even want to be friends with himself right now.

“Sure,” Steve said brightly. “I love doing art with kids. They’re so creative.”

Tony couldn’t help a smile. That was so nice. “Yeah, Petey-Bird’s the next da Vinci.”

Steve raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Really? Wow. Peter must be really smart.”

“Y-yes?” Tony fought the urge to shrink again. He thought Peter was smart, but he was his dad, it was probably—he was very biased.

Steve beamed at him. “I’d like to meet him sometime. Just let me know when a good time is and I’ll see what I can do!”

“Okay,” Tony agreed cautiously. “…Okay, yeah. Not—not this week, but, um, maybe next-?”

“Sure! Just go ahead and give us a knock when you decide on a time, okay? Bucky might answer and he’s got a bit of a resting bitch face but he’s actually—well, no, I’m not gonna lie, he’ll probably be a little gruff when he answers the door. He’s got a gooey caramel center in there somewhere.”

Tony did not say ‘that’s horrifying’ but only because he was literally too horrified to do so. “Okay.”

“Great!” Steve enthused. “I’ll talk to you later, then!”

Tony smiled awkwardly, nodding, before putting the lawnmower back together as best he could and shoving it back in the garage. He promised it that when this was all over and his life wasn’t in shambles anymore, he would spend some time fixing it.

Tony was giving Peter some peanut butter crackers when he heard the roar of a lawnmower. He smiled. “Steve’s mowing our lawn, Pumpkin Eater.”

“D’eve!” Peter garbled around the crackers, throwing his arms up cheerfully.

“Yup, Steve,” Tony repeated, walking over to the window so Peter could see him and put a name to a face.

He choked when he saw that Steve had foregone a shirt in the heat. Jesus Christ that was a lot of muscles.

Bucky sighed and flopped onto the couch face-first.

“Hi,” Steve said, looking up from his sketchbook. “Long day?”

“Fuck off.”

Steve frowned and set his sketchbook aside to walk over to him, beginning to rub his back. “What’s wrong?”

“Fucking Rumlow tried to hire me to keep an eye on his asshole client’s husband.”

“You don’t work with Rumlow anymore,” Steve pointed out calmly, still heated about how Rumlow’s checks for Bucky’s prior work kept conveniently getting lost in the mail. “Tell me you turned him down.”

Bucky jerked his head up. “I said he tried, not that he got me to do it.”

“Good,” Steve began, then frowned. “Oh.”

That meant he didn’t have a job then. Rumlow was doing his level best to make sure no one else hired Bucky as a private investigator. Bucky was the best at what he did but when he realized that Rumlow was using his information to hurt other people, he’d stopped working for him. Rumlow hadn’t taken that particularly well. Steve’s comic was selling pretty steadily but without Bucky’s paychecks their monthly budget was getting kind of tight. Bucky would probably be pissed that Steve had turned down Tony’s offer of money for the lawn—

“No, I got a job,” Bucky grumbled. “It’s from Natasha though. She’s the only one that hasn’t hopped on the ‘Barnes is a menace and a liar’ train.”

“Well,” Steve began, then stopped awkwardly. Sometimes Natasha and Bucky were the best of friends and sometimes they were at each others’ throats. He didn’t really understand most days, and he didn’t know what their relationship was right now. “Well,” he said again. “That’s something, right?”

“Protection detail,” Bucky whined. “I’m supposed to keep anyone her client’s husband might hire away from her client’s house.”

“Oh,” Steve said. Bucky hated protection details. He had been to jail for protection details and had sometimes failed to be bailed out by his clients. “Oh, well—you can, you can still say no—”

“No, I took it,” Bucky sighed, sitting up. “I need to do something. And Natasha said it’s for a personal friend of hers. If she thinks one of her friends needs protecting, then…” He tilted his head a little. “Well, she’s paying me good money for it. And she said she’ll owe me one for it on top of that.”

“Oh wow,” Steve said, because Natasha owing them one? That would be good for a rainy day, honestly. “Okay. Who are you protecting? How long is the detail? Will you be gone long?”

“Honestly after the shit day I had I was kinda avoiding looking at it,” Bucky admitted.

Steve got up to grab his satchel and pulled the thick case file from it. “Gotta love how thorough she is.”

“I guess. Can you read it to me, hon’? I’d really like to just lie here a little while longer,” Bucky sighed, flopping back onto the couch.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

“You’re the best, babe,” he murmured, smiling a little. He waited a few minutes for Steve to start reading to him, then frowned when he didn’t, opening his eyes to look at him. “Steve? Doll? You okay?”

Steve stared at the file a little longer before dragging his eyes up to him, horrified. “This—this is Tony. The neighbor that Colonel Rhodes wanted us to keep an eye on? Because his husband’s a huge dick and might go after him because of his divorce?”

“Gimme!” Bucky barked, holding his hand out for the file, and didn’t bitch when Steve tucked his chin on his shoulder so he could read it too.

Tony Stark owned an electronics company that was branching out into green energy, a very lucrative business. He also had various stocks and bonds left to him by his parents’ estate, and an adorable two-year-old named Peter of whom they’d just finalized their adoption. Tiberius Stone had signed a prenup, and when Tony had served him with divorce papers, had decided to do his level best to drag it out and drain every inch of money he could from Tony, finding a judge either sympathetic enough or easily bribed enough to entertain it.

Natasha had been brought in by Pepper Potts, Tony’s assistant-slash-business-partner-slash-best-friend, the moment she caught wind of it. That was good, because Natasha already hated Rumlow, Stone’s lawyer, and loved going at it in the courts with him. Bucky felt his heart sink in his chest a little, because for all intents and purposes, the only thing Tony had ever done wrong was marry the wrong person, but Rumlow was going to hire someone to get information to make Tony look unfit and awful—Bucky knew that from experience.

“I’ll just hafta stay on my toes, ‘s all,” Bucky decided firmly.

Tony had enough cards stacked against him, but if Natasha thought he was worth protecting? If Colonel Rhodes thought he was worth protecting? He’d do it. Natasha was morally gray sometimes but she was freakishly protective of her friends, and Colonel Rhodes was a good man—if he thought Tony was worth protecting, Bucky believed him.

Besides, Steve had already told him how much Tony obviously loved his son. Bucky had always been pretty weak when it came to parents that loved their children anyway.

Come Through The Phone (M)

Originally posted by pabospoiler

Pairing: Mingyu x Reader

Genre: Smut & Tinge of Fluff

Warning: Explicit phone sex, mutual masturbation and this is the author’s first smut so please spare me hahaha

Words: 1.4K

Summary: When you watch your hot boyfriend through the fancams and he was impossibly sexy you couldn’t help but miss him very deeply…

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Thinking about it, being a human in the Darksiders universe seems like it would be a bit of a bummer. You're always younger, smaller, and weaker in just about every other skill area than all of the amazingly powerful ancient beings around you. Realising that, how would the four console their human companion, who's started feeling like more of a hindrance than a helper to their horseman?

KAYSUS. That wasn’t supposed to be as long as it is :S Can you tell which horseman I put the most thought into? lol x

Death: He found you curled up under a tree behind the crystal spire with your hands pressed firmly over your eyes in a futile attempt to hide the tears that glistened within.

When the horseman had stopped in Lostlight to talk to Nathaniel, you’d taken the opportunity to wander away from your guardian and steal a moment to yourself. Truthfully, you were utterly desperate to unload some emotions, privately.

For the past few days, it started to become more and more apparent that you were little more than an inconvenience to Death. Realistically, you know you can’t help it. There’s a reason humanity perished so easily in the End-war. They simply weren’t prepared to survive that kind of onslaught. Another millennia or two and maybe they’d be ready. But at the time….

With a defeated sob, you bury your face in your arms and shake violently. How could Death possibly hope to save his brother if he’s having to spend all his time keeping you out of trouble?

You jolt from your thoughts with a shocked gasp when a heavy hand rests itself on top of your head. 

Jerking your face out of your arms, you look up to see the horseman looming over you with his thumb now gently stroking your hair, almost imperceptibly with how delicate he’s being.
“I wondered when this would happen,” he chuckles softly, “You’ve had that far off look in your eyes for a while now.” This draws out a wince when you realise you haven’t been quite as subtle as you would have liked. Just another thing to add to the growing list of stuff you can’t do right. You allow your chin to thump onto your raised knees and sigh tiredly.

“Why am I here, Death?” you hum. 

The horseman snorts softly, removing his hand from your hair and placing it on his hip. 

“Is now really the best time to discuss existentialism?” he jokes half-heartedly in an attempt to lift your spirits. Humour usually works, he recalls. Unfortunately, he hasn’t quite mastered the art of timing…. Your sad eyes flick up to him before they drop back to the ground below your feet, staring languidly at nothing in particular. There’s the sound of rustling leather above you, then Death’s masked face appears when he kneels to the ground, trying to catch your gaze. 

“Now then,” he drops his voice to a barely perceptible whisper, “If I’m to be an effective frie-….” he coughs, “associate, I need to know what’s rattling around in that brain of yours.” Death raps his knuckles against your skull delicately and rests his arms back over his knee afterwards. A small noise worms its way up your throat and escapes as a whine. You’re reluctant to open up about this insecurity because what if your admission gives Death an excuse to leave you behind? What if he was just biding his time, waiting for you to admit that you’re useless? 

Deep in your heart, you know that you really ought to give Death more credit than that. Why waste his time taking care of you up until this point if he’s just going to abandon you the moment you admit defeat? 

Meanwhile, the Horseman patently watches you try to wrestle with the concept of telling him what’s been on your mind. Unblinking, he remains crouched before you until, in the end, you feel compelled to answer. 

Teary eyed and hyper-aware of your mortality, you painstakingly raise your head once again, to meet the horseman’s scrutinising gaze. 

“I’m tired, Death,” you sigh, “I’m tired of always being a burden to you. I’m exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally and I’ve got to come to terms with the fact that-” your breath catches in your throat, forcing you to clear it before you can continue, “-that I just can’t keep up with you. I can’t! And I hate that! I hate the idea that I’m useless and weak, and-and human!” Your hand flies to your face and brushes away the tears that have finally broken loose of their confines, “…Just a frightened little human, a long way from home….” 

Death’s brow knits together as he listens to you spilling your guts beneath the old tree and not for the first time, the horseman curses the effect your tears have on him. 

“Perhaps you aren’t strong enough to face down demons and live…” he mumbles, “But that doesn’t mean you don’t face them down.” When you throw up a quizzical eyebrow, Death smiles behind his mask and waves his hand around, almost as though he’s trying to summon the right words from thin-air. “What I mean to say is,” he pauses to make sure you’re paying attention, “your strength lies outside of your physical capabilities. You have spirit, the likes of which I haven’t seen in even the most seasoned of warriors. The fight I’ve seen in your eyes is still there, despite everything you’ve lost, don’t let it go out now…” 

Your breathing suddenly becomes very difficult the longer you look at Death, so you avert your gaze with a wet cough. “But, it’s so hard, Death!” you sniff, “It’s so hard not to feel like I’m just dead weight!” The horseman throws his head back and laughs loudly.

“Well, of course it’s hard!” he shakes his head amusedly, “You’re selfless. All you’ve ever thought about is someone else, from the moment I met you.” Death grasps your knee and jostles it playfully. “For pity’s sake, you’re allowed to question the purpose you serve in this existence,” his grip moves from your knee to your cheek in one swift motion, “but you mustn’t ever think that you don’t have a use simply because you can’t do what I do. You are human, first and foremost, and you shouldn’t wish to be anything else.” The horseman’s cold fingers linger on your face for a few more seconds before he slowly withdraws his hand and sighs. “I am certainly glad of you,” he whispers, eyes never leaving your tear-streaked face.  

Strife: “This is hopeless!” You throw the scrapped shotgun to the ground with a shout. “I’m never going to be able to keep up with you!”

Strife looks mildly disturbed as he bends to rescue the weapon from the dirt where you’d tossed it. He listens to you continue your tirade, “That’s the third time this stupid thing has backfired on me today! I can’t keep my gun maintenanced properly, I can’t hit the broad side of a barn! All I do is wait for you to rescue me and just stand there being useless!” you finish with a scream of outrage before slumping your head down in defeat.

Staring at the dusty ground, you shrug your shoulders and lick your lips, tasting the salt that’s gathered there from your sweat and tears, “Why the Hell do you put up with me Strife?” you mutter, rhetorically. The horseman’s face sets like stone behind his mask as he approaches you. 

“Shit, I dunno, kid. Maybe s’got something to do with the fact that you’re the only person in this mess of a universe who ever thought I was worth a damn… “

Forgetting your own self-worth, You shake your head again, “I don’t just think you’re worth a damn, Strife. You are worth a damn.”

Triumphantly, the horseman snaps his fingers together and points them at you, “See?! You think I’ve ever heard that sentimental crap in my life?” He laughs whilst you roll your eyes and kick uselessly at a tin can, bouncing it down the street a few metres. 

Strife’s grin slowly falls as he looks down at you, noticing that he’s done little to alleviate your sour mood. 

“Hmm…” Suddenly, Strife stops and squats down, low to the ground. Startled at the horseman’s shift, you spin around and quirk an eyebrow down at him. 

“Strife?” you ask, warily. 

He ignores you, instead taking the tip of his finger and drawing a lazy, rough spiral in the dirt below. Once he’s done, Strife’s head snaps up at you and he gestures to the odd doodle. “Okay, so….Me and you? Let’s say we’re like a cyclone.” Your eyebrow only raises higher in response, so he groans, “Look, just hear me out. This right here?-” he circles his finger around and around the spiral, “-This is me, alright? All chaos and destruction and all that bad stuff…” He pauses to move his hand into the centre of the spiral, “And in the middle of it all-” Strife draws a tiny circle in the dirt, “is you.”

The eye of the storm?” you whisper, vague realisation dawning on you. Strife’s eyes find yours and in a quiet, rare moment of vulnerability, he removes his mask. 

“You’re about the only damn friend I’ve got, Bright eyes…” he murmurs, lips pulling into a bittersweet smirk, “So don’t you go saying you’re no good.” The horseman suddenly drags his eyes away from yours and stares at a point far off in the distance. “You sure as Hell been good to me.”

It’s with a lighter step and a far happier heart that you trot after Strife when he beckons for you to follow. When you’re close enough, the horseman slings his heavy arm over your shoulder and chuckles when you nearly collapse under the sudden weight. 

War: He shouts after you when you retreat further into the cathedral’s garden. Slumping down below a statue of someone who no longer seems relevant, you press yourself into the stone and cover your mouth with a hand, refusing to let War hear you cry. 

You’ve cried so much in front of him, you’re sure he’s sick of it by now. 

The horseman’s gruff but urgent calls draw closer until he strides past the statue you’ve taken shelter under. War’s steps falter when he catches sight of a splash of colour against the cold, grey stone. He sighs, angling himself towards you and stamping over the dead grass, closer and closer until he’s towering over you like a huge, ominous, red cloud. 

“Do not run,” he grinds out, “ever.” 

Meekly, but sadly, you scuttle your body around so that it’s facing away from him and grumble, “I was just trying to do you a favour…” War’s hot, blue glare is extinguished instantly and replaced instead with utter bewilderment. His fists clench tightly at his side and he tilts his head down at you. At the horseman’s silence, you heave out a ragged breathe and scoff. “Oh come on, War,” you bite, “We both know I’m just slowing you down. Hell, if you didn’t have to keep looking out for me, you might have cleared your name by now.” 

War’s head flinches backwards slightly and he scowls, both at your statement and at the bitterness with which it was said. 

“I will not leave you out here for the demons,” he claims stubbornly as he folds his arms across his broad chest and fixes you with his steely gaze, “I need you.” 

Your laugh is dark and humourless, “You don’t need me.” A hand suddenly finds your jaw and you bristle as your head is turned to meet his by force. War’s face is the embodiment of thunder, eyes flash brightly like lightning, indignant and sharp. He growls down at you, baring his teeth dangerously as he speaks. 

“I do,” he snaps. Then, more softly, “More than you know…” The horseman releases his grip on your jaw and stands back up to his full height, watching you stare up at him with a mixture of awe and confusion. Briefly, War’s lips twitch downwards, almost miserably and his eyes lose much of their heat. “I would ask,” he takes a deep breath and allows his eyes to rove up from your face to the statue’s in feigned disinterest, “that you remain by my side. You may not think you can do this,” he pauses and suddenly locks eyes with you again. After a moment’s hesitation, War crouches onto one knee again and sets his jaw, studying your face closely, “But, I believe you can.” 

War has never been the best at encouragement, so what little he offers in way of it means more than he could ever know. It’s enough. ‘For now’, you think. 

The horseman doesn’t move whilst you take a few deep, calming breaths before heaving yourself to your feet and slowly, uncertainly loop your arms around the back of his head and burying your face into the soft, crimson hood. Dimly, you can feel War’s steady heart beat beneath your ribcage, faster as you tighten your hold of him and your shoulders shake with muffled cries. Something large comes to pat your back, awkwardly, but consolingly. It doesn’t stop your crying, but physical comfort of any kind after so long alone is welcomed. 

Fury: You follow Fury across the wide expanse of land that stretches between rows upon rows of towering high-rises. The land, you realise, must have been a park not too long ago, but now the grass is dead, the trees are burnt to ashes, the pond has long since dried up…But the night sky overhead has never been clearer. You snort quietly, just loud enough to earn a prick from Fury’s ears as she turns her head to the side, gazing down at you pensively. 

Your eyes are turned upwards towards the stars, but your heart lays down in the dirt somewhere far below. Noticing the horseman has stopped, you only then come to realise that may be because you’ve drawn to a halt, still looking up with fresh tears. You might have accredited the shine in your eyes to the starlight, had you not been sure that Fury would never fall for such a blatant lie. 

She covers the distance back to you and easily meets your gaze from her height advantage. “Do you require rest?” she asks and damn it, she sounds so sincere when she says it. Like you hadn’t already had ample rest. Like you hadn’t been holding her back this entire time!

You shake your head and try to smile at her, light-heartedly. “M’fine,” you lie. Fury’s eyes narrow and she frowns disappointedly. How she can tell when you’re being dishonest is still a mystery you’re dying to solve. 

“Y/n,” she warns scoldingly, “Now is not the time to be lying to me…” She sighs in exasperation and looks at you sympathetically. It makes your stomach lurch. The horseman’s head snaps up and she looks around quickly. “We must move,” she hushes, “We’re too in the open, I don’t like it.” 

She motions for you to follow her again but stops short at the sound of your small voice. “What’s the point…” Fury swivels her head so hard to look back at you, you’re surprised it doesn’t fall from her shoulders. Quick as a flash, she’s back in from of you, sterner than you’ve ever seen her. You’d wither under her look, but her eyes were too full of shock and hurt, so instead you settle for looking slightly guilty. 

“The point,” she stresses, “Is that we’re vulnerable out here! I must get you to somewhere more sheltered.” 

You cast your eyes downwards and sniff, “That’s not what I meant, Fury,” you whisper. A soft, rustling sigh disturbs the otherwise still air and you find it in yourself to look up at the horseman above you. 

“…I know,” she breathes. Fury fiddles with the straps on her wrists, a nervous habit you recognised from travelling with her for this long. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?” she almost pleads. Not wasting a beat, you raise your voice and stamp your foot on the dry ground in frustration. 

“It’s me!” you bark, “I’m what’s wrong!” Not moments later, you’ve dissolved into wracking sobs that tear mercilessly at your throat. Fury’s stern demeanour melts away at the sight of you and she stands there patiently, waiting for you to get this off your chest. “I can’t do anything you can do! I can’t fight. I can’t do magic. I can’t even look after myself. Look at me!” you throw your hands wildly up and down, gesturing to your entire body, “I am not meant to survive in this world!” you choke, “The only reason I have is because you’re looking out for me, but you shouldn’t have to be!” Growling agitatedly, you rub your eyes furiously with the heels of your palms and sink in on yourself dejectedly. “All I do is interfere and impede your progress. Please,” you remove your hands from your eyelids and look at the horseman imploringly, “For your own sake, you’d be better off without me.” 

In an instant, Fury’s face contorts with anger. She looks defiant and challenging when she takes your shoulders in both of her hands and shakes you gently, but firmly, forcing you to meet her blazing eyes. “Of all the things I’ve heard come out of your mouth,” she huffs, “that has to be one of the daftest things you’ve ever said.” Without warning, Fury uses her grip on your shoulders to yank you into her, where she curls around you possessively and growls into the night. “I choose to keep you with me, because your company is one of the greatest gifts I have ever happened upon. I would guard you for a thousand years, longer even, if it meant I could spend it with you…” Fury pulls away and looks down at you fondly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, “….You help me more than you realise, Y/n.”

. Obsessive Impulsive . 15

Full Summary: “‘I’ve been trying to find you alone for weeks, but you’ve been avoiding me.’  He clicked his tongue, as if scolding her.  'I tried approaching, but you always had someone with you to give me nasty words and looks.  They turned you against me, Miss Levy.’"

Pairings: Gajeel x Levy

Warnings: I strode for a darker fic again.  This is not for sensitive readers.  Violence, stalking, etc.  

Author’s Note: This is a very, very twisted gift for Bubbles, who has not been allowed to so much as read a single chapter.  This will update every other day.

“I hate the sewers.”

“You’ve said that eighty times, Lil’.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t see you using your nose.”

“That’s because we are both very aware that my nose is no match for yours and if we were smart, we’d go back and drag Natsu down here, because for all of his childish qualities, he has the best nose in the guild.”

“…shut up.”

Grouchy, Gajeel paused to inhale deeply, irritated over the water that soaked his pants and filled his boots. It was disgusting, full of trash and filth and he wanted nothing more than to get out of the sewers. But he’d seen a ripped piece of fabric back a few turns - a piece of fabric soaked with Levy’s blood.

A least his gut feeling had been right and it wasn’t an entire waste of time to wander the sewers.

“Gajeel.” Lily caught his attention and pointed.

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Never Say Never
for @sciencebrosweek

Day Four: Pierce (ten hours post brain death)

They all stood there, watching the video feed of Bruce on the bed. He’d stopped talking to them over an hour ago, but they had come to no conclusion on what exactly to do. Instead, they lapsed into a hopeless silence no one seemed able to break.

Nat chewed at her lower lip, eyes locked on the screen, clearly uncomfortable with her maintained position that it was far too uncertain to open the door, that the bacteria may have evolved, that this may be a stage they’d not seen yet, but unable to change it.

Peter, their young med student consult, looked like he’d rather be thrown to a pack of walkers than be in that room with them, his eyes darting from the screen to Nat to Tony to Fury and back to the screen again, oozing uncertainty.

Sharon seemed impatient, her eyes flicking to Peter every so often, waiting for him to say something, waiting for someone to say something so that she could act on what she as a former EMS responder clearly felt was the best plan – going in and getting him out.

Steve was there for no other reason than moral support and it grated on Tony’s nerves that he stood there puppy-dog-eyeing Nat like she was the one in that room.

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anonymous asked:

Ooh, Ladynoir prompts! How about something where Ladybug hurts her ankle on patrol with Chat, and then Adrien starts to clue in about her identity when he sees Marinette on crutches at school?

Notes: here it is anon~! sorry for making u wait so long ;–; i’ve had a weird day. so here’s some fluffy fluff to make your (and everyone else’s) day an eentsie weentsie bit better. 2.5k words of yummy, yummy sweetness!! \(≧ω≦)/ Part One of TWO!!!

Crutches and Clues

Chapter One

Summary: How much of a coincidence could it be that both the love of his life and his sweet, ditzy classmate had the same kind of fracture on the same ankle? A big one. That’s what Adrien hopes, anyway, but even he’s starting to doubt that…

They both knew it was going to end badly when the Akuma shoved her roughly down the side of the steep, rocky drop-off. 

She tumbled down, unable to find a solid grip anywhere along the side of the hill to hold onto – it was pouring outside, and the ground was slippery. Her ankle roughly bumped a jagged rock – she heard a crack – and then her descent finally ended, and her body rolled to an undignified stop in a puddle of mud. 

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Anonymous asked: prompt - Dean says ‘I love you’ to Cas when he thinks they both are about to die and Cas replies with an ‘I know’. Later after Sam saves them they talk about what happened?

A/N: I had a little too much fun writing this :)

“So, this is Star Wars,” Castiel eyed the computer screen Dean had placed in front of him, his other hand filled with a bag of popcorn. They were waiting for a sign that the monster they were hunting had shown his face, so what better to do than wait in the comfort of the dingy motel instead of cramped outside in the woods?

“Dude,” Dean slide next to Cas on the couch, hesitantly leaning his knee so that it barely ghosted the angel’s next to him, “I still have no clue how in the hell you haven’t watch these. They’re actual classics.”

“Angels don’t have your version of entertainment, Dean, and it most certainty does not include humans wielding swords made of light.”

“Sabers, man. They’re light sabers.”

Castiel eyed Dean skeptically, clearly confused with the entire situation. Dean couldn’t help but stare at the way Castiel’s eyes crinkled inwards while he weighed the situation, jaw clenching as he crunched his teeth. God, this angel was a mess, he chuckled to himself, sending Castiel into a new round of eye crinkles. After a minute of simply staring, some silent conversation going on between them without Dean really catching anything but a brief moment of content, Dean sighed, shook himself out of whatever the hell that was, and pressed play.

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cs fic: behold the gift of a distant sun

Summary: Emma is trapped by Elsa in her out-of-control ice magic, and there is no way out. 

a/n: This has been tormenting me ever since we saw the promo with Emma getting trapped in ice with (by?) Elsa. I had to get it out. Also, turns out, hypothermia is terrifying (shocker). So…enjoy?

cs fic: behold the gift of a distant sun

Well, she thinks as she watches the two-way radio’s battery light flash orange in warning, she’s had better days.

“Elsa,” she can feel the muscles in her neck begin to tighten, her shoulders pulling in protest against the icy air. “I promise we will help you find your sister.” 

The young woman hasn’t turned to face her, and Emma’s not entirely sure how she can remain so still against the oppressive cold of the cave.

“You just have to get me out of this cave so I can go to get help.”  

It’s like looking at a cornered animal, hunched and gun-shy. But the more Emma speaks, the less calm the air in the snowy cage grows. Creaking, cracking ice creates ribbons and rivers across and up, and all she has gathered is that this woman – this Elsa – is looking for her sister who is lost or taken or –

“Look,” Emma tries again, folds her arms and tries to bury her aching hands under her arms, “we need to move.”

“I can’t,” the woman’s response is clouded and wet, and too familiar. “I don’t, I don’t know how to make it stop.

And looks like this is her night. Trapped an ice palace with a frantic, magical, snow woman. Fantastic.

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anonymous asked:

Prompt: Jack accidentally texts Hiccup thinking he's texting his best friend, Aster, about his crush, Hiccup. Love your writing!

ok! Sorry for the wait anon, my friend didn’t infore me on these auditions I had to do, i am getting called back anyway and *lesigh* 

Well here you go!


I had just realized anon who asked me this thank you for liking my writing ;w; I didn’t say it at first because I was so excited to post this 

If Hiccup wasn’t able to sleep not he just shouldn’t even try.

He had gotten someone texting him late at night over something important but at the same time hadn’t checked where the messages were going. Hiccup groaned at the continuous buzzing and wondering if he should tell the poor human they had the wrong number. He sighed and finally turned on the phone and blinked out the light to glare at the offending texts that seemed to stop.

Well it was a one sided, given Hiccup wanted the other to figure out he had the wrong number. Hiccup reached over and pulled his glasses on to text the other back not really bothering to read to the text. Only something caught his eye in the body of the text that had him scrolling to the top to find the context.

It was about him.

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