Yixing, 13:46, getting tired of cleaning together and deciding to do something more fun instead đź‘€
[1:46pm]
"I'm done." You yell, throwing Yixing's already fluffed pillow back onto the couch, not in it's correct spot. "I'm tired, we've been cleaning for forever." You emblish, quite a bit, making him chuckle.
He made you get out of bed to clean on a Sunday and honestly, you were less than impressed. He had gotten dressed while you opted to stay in your overly long shirt.
"It's been twenty minutes." Yixing laughs.
"Yeah, so forever." You groan, ploppiny on the couch.
"Well." Yixing begins, walking towards you. "I can think of something to do that you really enjoy." He says.
"Oh?" You smile. "And what did you have in mind?" You ask.
Yixing smirks as he kneels in front of you, pulling your body down closer to him. "Well. It involves my head between your thighs." He says, raising his eyebrow. "Does that sound good?"
"Very." You whisper, opening your legs, thanking yourself for not getting dressed today as Yixing spreads your lips, making your Sunday a hell of alot better.
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[21:48] I've been wondering if you've thought of me lately. Or if you think of me sometimes. Did I ever cross your mind? I surely have thought of you, especially at nights like these when it's chill and windy and I wear socks to bed. Do you have cold feet too or is there someone else touching their feet on yours? I wonder... Sometimes I wonder if you have trouble sleeping. Because I do. And when I think of you, I like to tell myself that it will help me fall asleep but when I finally do, I dream of you. In my dreams we touch our feet underneath the bed sheets. In my dreams, there is no one else but us. In my dreams, I don't have to wonder what you do, where you at, or how you've been. In my dreams you're still mine.
Yoongi stood at his floor length window, watching the cars drive down the street from his 22nd story window. His eyes burned, his body ached and fuck was he horny.
He opens his mouth for a large yawn, his eyes closing despite his resistance. Once they open again, they land on the woman standing in her window, directly across from him. He watches as she strips herself of her shirt, tossing it onto the floor. He watches as she unhooks her bra, letting it slide down her arms, falling to the floor.
He tries to look away, but he can't. She looks up, their eyes meet. He can see the smirk on her face as she grabs her breast, pinching her nipple, making his cock twitch. She never breaks eye contact as she shimmies her jeans to the floor, her underwear included, leaving her naked infront of him and his cock hard.
She reaches between her legs, playing with herself, motioning to him to take off his pants, practically daring Yoongi to do the same. He pulls down his sweats, letting his large cock spring free. He wraps his large hand around his cock, pumping it slowly as he watches her moaning, rubbing her pussy, just for him, god he wishes he could fuck her.
He closes his eyes as he continues to pump his, imagining all the things he would do to her, if he got the chance. Pounding her pussy while choking her, fucking her face, eating her pussy. He pictured it all in detail, until he came. His juices leaking all over his hand and his sweats. When he looks up to her window, she's gone, all that's left is a hand print.
((avatar au drabble. i might continue this in a part 2 kind of thing?? idk. basically marty aint too happy on his sweet 16.))
What a way to spend a birthday. Two members of the Order of the White Lotus came in the afternoon, informing him that he was that he was the Avatar. Then he and his family were driven in a limousine, headed toward Republic City. He was told many would be there to see him, and those who weren’t eagerly awaited the announcement on their televisions.
It sounded nice at first. Really, who wouldn’t want this immense spiritual power? Nerves shook him, of course, but he wasn’t really unhappy about it. Not yet, at least.
He was dressed in fancy, traditional (and also stuffy--why did his birthday have to be in the summer?) Fire Nation robes, his long hair pulled half up into a bun. Many in the dressing room told him he looked like a real Avatar. Good to know he looked the part, then.
Now it was sundown. This was it.
“I present to you,” the United Republic President declared in front of City Hall. “...Avatar Martand!”
He walked out, and the crowd cheered, filling Martand with a sense of dignity and importance.
“May the world remain at peace as long as he lives. It is an honor to serve you, Avatar.”
Oh right, he was supposed to be the savior for the whole damn planet. Somehow he forgot about that. Now everyone was genuflecting, even his family standing behind him. Oh spirits, why did it have to be him up here? He wouldn’t wish this sickening feeling even on his worst enemy.
“Now we will have the press ask their questions for the Avatar.”
The questions weren’t very easy ones. All of them were only about mastering elements, world threats, traveling abroad. Nothing really about how he felt, or what he wanted to do--just what everyone expected of him.
The reception was nice, it was at least the best birthday party he’d ever had. He even got a rare dragon as a present from some sages, saying that “the Avatar needed an animal companion.” Oh. Well it was the thought that counted, right?
He stepped away from the celebration for a moment, taking a breather in a nearby restroom. He splashed cold tap water on his face, looking back at himself in the mirror. He didn’t see the young aspiring musician Marty, though; all he saw was an Avatar Martand, with his past lives staring back at him.
He took a violent, flaming swing at the mirror, yelling in frustration, and cracked it, his reflection fragmented into pieces now. He pulled the tie out of his hair and practically ripped off his robes, leaving him in nothing but a shirt, pants, and boots. He never wanted to look at that version of himself ever again.
((one-shot fic/drabble with marty and clara bc im desperate pbbt))
Damn it, another nightmare. Always the same things, over and over, plaguing his mind, memories both fabricated and real, related to one singular topic: his two journeys through a century of time.
Plenty of things happened, many things he wouldn’t feel comfortable talking about with anyone else but...
Doc. That was his answer. He needed closure. He needed to talk to him about all of this and how it affected him. He didn’t care if it was the middle of the night, calls around this time were nothing new to either of them. Marty reached over to the phone, picking it up and dialing the Brown residence. Right as the person on the other line picked it up, he began.
“Doc, I... I need to talk to-”
But he was interrupted by a hushed, motherly tone. “Marty, what are you calling so late for...?” she asked.
“Oh, M-Mrs. Clara... Sorry, I just really need to talk to Doc right now...”
“Emmett’s sleeping soundly. He’s all tuckered out...” Being a teacher and the mother of two boys, Clara knew well by Marty’s voice that something was troubling him. “Is something the matter?”
“...It’s nothing, ma’am-”
“Judging by you calling this late, it’s a bad dream, isn’t it...?” Marty was silent, and that’s how she knew she was correct in her suspicions. “...Was it about Emmett?”
“...Sorta... It’s about a lot of things...”
“Time travel?” she inquired further.
“Mhm...”
“Well, judging by the stories Emmett has told me, you two have been through quite a lot. Do those things bother you...?”
“It’s hard to not let it bother me. I’ve just... seen so many of the people I care about either dead or miserable... Hell, I’ve almost disappeared from existence...” He took a shaky breath in and out, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “And it’s terrifying... All of it, my mind won't let me forget it...”
Clara listened to Marty’s woes, saddened by how traumatized he was. By Emmett’s descriptions, the boy seemed to have so much resolve. “Well... maybe you should look on the positive side of all this? You are technically the reason Emmett and I are together and have Jules and Verne.”
“...I guess.”
“And everything’s okay now.” A pause. “Have you ever talked with Emmett about this lately?”
“I was going to...”
“Well, I'm sure he’d tell you the same thing I did--everything’s alright. You’re a very strong young man, you can overcome your fears. I know he knows you can do that too, he regards you very highly. He thinks of you like the son he almost never had.”
Marty was somewhat surprised to hear that. He figured he meant a lot to Doc, but that’s the first he’s really heard of how he felt. “Really...?”
“Absolutely... You’ve got a lot of people that care about you, Marty, especially us. You’re family.”
Marty wiped the spilling tears from his eyes, smiling softly. “Thank you... so much.”
“You’re welcome. Now get some sleep if you can, okay? I’ll tell Emmett you called in the morning.”
“G’night, ma’am...” he said, hanging up the phone.
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((hey remember that one au me and 4thdimensionaldoctor accidentally made when i pointed out marty almost took a bullet for doc? no? well too bad HERES A DRABBLE THAT SHOWS EXACTLY HOW IT GOES DOWN HAHA))
Gunshots rang through the air, and Marty ducked behind the DeLorean at the sound of each one. The Volkswagen raced around the parking lot, finally stopping in front of Doc.
The inventor was held at gunpoint, and immediately dropped his own faulty weapon. Would the Libyans cooperate and hold their fire?Â
Marty wasn’t patient enough to find out. An immense protective instinct came over him--he had to save his friend. It all felt like slow motion as Marty jumped from his crouched position, raced over to Emmett and then pushed him out of the line of fire.
In the single instant after that, he heard a click, and realized the implications of what he had just done.
It was at least quick and mostly painless. Any pain he immediately felt was subsequently numbed by the numerous other bullets riddling his body. Once his body hit the pavement, everything went dark for him. He would at least rest easy knowing Doc might be okay.
What seemed like a mere moment after blacking out, Marty awoke and sat up abruptly. He made it? Did Doc find the cure and give it to him at the last second?
He looked up at his supposed savior, who suddenly looked deathly afraid of him and now was backing away.
"Doc?" He stood, not bothering to look behind him even though it seemed like Emmett was staring right through him. What was going on? Marty couldn’t put his finger on it, but something felt off. He’d seen Doc pretty spooked before, but this seemed different.
The teen took a few steps toward his friend. Jeez, he looked like he’d seen a ghost…
"Doc, what’s wrong, man?" Marty kneeled down next to him now that he was sitting on the floor. He didn’t respond. "I-I’m okay now, right…? C’mon, let’s just go—"
He went to put a hand on his shoulder, but saw that it was transparent like he was erasing from existence, making him gasp and immediately retreat. Confused and scared, he finally followed Emmett’s line of sight.
Suddenly, everything made sense, but he didn’t want to believe it.
"No… no, no, no!" Marty scrambled to be face-to-face with his friend, determined to prove his doubt. "Doc, Doc, please, tell me you can see me, tell me that’s not me…!” he yelled, feeling tears stream down his face. Were they even really tears if he was dead?
Emmett now held his head, still unresponsive to him.
"You... you can't... n-no..." He broke down into sobs, on his knees and hiding his face with his hands. "This can't be happening...!" he wailed.
It wasn't fair. Why couldn't he have had more time? Why did he have to die so young? It must be some cruel, sick twist of fate somehow. He was supposed to live to see 2015. He wanted to accomplish something to prove everyone wrong. To prove he wasn't a no-good slacker. To prove he could do more than chase his dream...
Marty stayed there, his own self pity and sorrow drowning out anything else going on around him. He was unsure of how long he sat there. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Eventually he lifted up his head, only to see that Doc was gone... Now he really didn't have anything...
[ dO GEORGE MCFLY. OR. OR. UM. UM. UMMMMMM. CLARA. YOU PICK. ]
((i actually already have a clara! 1inagoogolplex
so george it is then!))
He was just trying to eat in peace, trying to have one day to himself without having anyone bother him. But Biff had already stopped by the cafe to push him around yet again, and this guy sitting next to him was giving him the oddest look.
George tried his hardest to ignore him, but he just kept staring him down. Did he want something? He definitely wasn’t all that interesting or social, so why did this stranger want anything to do with him?
Ignoring him wasn’t working at all, so, for once, he spoke up for himself.
