#I figured they’d want something to fill that slot

[awesomeferret10]

Ian Hecox the most babygirl to ever babygirl and despite him and his boyfriends transgressions today (rip flashback) I think we can at least all agree on that

[in-my-feels-probably]

Hey, could you do a reverse comfort for marauder era sirius black?

Could you maybe use my name? It's Ananya.

If not Y/N is fine too.

Something where, you're like a sister to James, and you practically live in their house because your parents are always travelling or something. You've been dating Sirius for a year, and you happen to be at James's house when Sirius shows up?

You're the only one who can get him to calm down and make him realize that he's worth the love he receives from the Potters, Remus and you?

And then he asks you to just stay with him for the night, and there's some cuddly fluff.

Home

Request: Something where, you're like a sister to James, and you practically live in their house because your parents are always travelling or something. You've been dating Sirius for a year, and you happen to be at James's house when Sirius shows up? You're the only one who can get him to calm down and make him realize that he's worth the love he receives from the Potters, Remus and you? And then he asks you to just stay with him for the night, and there's some cuddly fluff.

Hi! Pretty name, but I try my best to write neutrally, so I’m going to use Y/N for this if that’s alright. Thank you for the request, I really like this idea. I’m sorry I took so long to get to this, but I hope you enjoy it!

Also, I used the house elf Winky in this. I know she wasn’t the Potter house elf, but just pretend.

(Warnings: swearing, mentions of Walburga and Orion’s physical and verbal abuse, the Cruciatus Curse, angst, let me know if i missed anything)

—

You knocked on the door to the Potter mansion, taking a step back to look at the porch. Effie had potted new plants, and enchanted them to bloom a warm red, matching the paint on the front door. 

You took a second to breathe in the air, swearing that it was fresher at the Potter residence. It smelled like home. 

And it practically was. 

You were here more than almost anywhere else. The only place you were at more than James’s house was Hogwarts. But it was summer, and your house was not the ideal place to be. 

Luckily, Euphemia and Fleamont were happy to welcome you into their home. They had always wanted a daughter, and you filled the slot well enough. 

Just as you went to knock again, James opened the door, feigning annoyance. “What do you want?”

“Hello to you, too,” you said, stepping through the threshold of the door. “Are your parents home?”

“Went to Diagon Alley. Mum said she needed to pick up a few things before the term starts,” he said, flopping on the couch. 

James took a swig of his pumpkin juice, before setting it down on the coffee table, kicking his feet up. He held a hand out for you, pulling you down on the couch with him. 

You leaned back, settling in, sighing in relief.

“This is my favorite couch. Seriously, I’m taking it when your parents start passing shit down to you. Consider it my heirloom.”

“Merlin, I swear they’d give you any of the heirlooms first over me. Make yourself comfortable, Your Highness. Want anything? Winky has been dying to smother someone in sweets, recently.”

“And you haven’t taken her up on that? No, let her be,” you said, relaxing and closing your eyes. “Are the boys coming this week? I owled Grimmauld Place yesterday, but nobody answered.”

“Moony is, yeah. Said he’d come by on Thursday. Sirius can’t, though. Walburga isn’t letting him leave the house.”

You scowled at the mention of her name, stealing James’s drink and taking a swig. 

“Such a bitch,” you muttered. 

James nodded, snatching his drink back from you. “A bitch, indeed.” 

Walburga somehow managed to be the most vile woman you’d ever met, and that was saying something. You had seen your fair share of less than unpleasant women, but Walburga took the cake. You figured that out the second you met her. Which was once, accompanying Sirius to Diagon Alley at the beginning of fifth year. 

She took one look at you, and you could tell she wanted to crush you under her heel, like vermin not worth a second glance. It was infuriating.

You routinely talked shit about her to Sirius, who was very amused by it, and welcomed any slander about his mother. His father wasn’t much better, just a slightly less vomit inducing version of her. 

And now they had trapped Sirius in their home, content to lock him up and throw away the key.

“Did he even do anything? He was here the week after the term ended, wasn’t he?”

“Dad heard that he made some kind of fuss in front of guests. Apparently, his parents tried to match him up with Narcissa.”

You felt your stomach turn, eyes widening in shock. “His cousin, Narcissa? The one who I’ve never seen not glued to Malfoy’s side? Shit, I’m so glad I’m not a pureblood.”

“Yeah, well, they’ve started cracking down on him. Something about taking his position more seriously. Bollocks, if you ask me.”

“We’ve got our work cut out for us then, don’t we?” You mused, smirking at the thought. 

James furrowed his brows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve got until the start of term to figure out some way to break up the marriage pact. I vote for bullying Lucius until he musters up the guts to propose to Narcissa himself. Although, I’m sure she’s got a plan in motion already. She’s a clever one.”

“We’ll think of something,” he grinned, standing. “Want to throw the quaffle around?” 

“Not even a little bit.”

James groaned, pouting. “Oh, come on. Think of all I’ve done for you. Can’t you do this for me?”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Done for me? What could you have possibly done for me that’s equivalent enough to making me sit through quidditch outside of school? You’re lucky I even show up to your games.”

“You show up for Sirius,” he deadpanned, smirking when you blushed. “Please? I’m letting you call dibs on the couch.”

You groaned, relenting. “Alright, fine. Only till your parents get back. I get the new broom, though.”

James cheered, rushing for the back door with you sulking behind him. 

—

That Thursday, Remus showed up, as promised.

You were grateful for the added company, happy to speak to someone else for a change. James was a lot to handle for extended periods of time. You loved him, there was not doubting that, but it was draining sometimes.

“You have no idea how many times he’s made me throw the quaffle around. I miss intelligent conversation.” 

“Hey!” James yelled, making Remus chuckle. 

“I’ll throw the quaffle with you later, mate,” he said, setting his things in the guest room. 

Winky suddenly popped up, glaring at Remus. You tried to hide your smile as she scolded him, but you couldn’t help it from breaking through. 

“Be more like Miss Y/N,” she said, moving Remus’s bags to the closet. “She gives bags to Winky. Winky is the best at unpacking.”

“My bad. You can re-sort them, if you’d like,” Remus apologized, raising his hands in surrender. Winky eyes widened and she nodded with forgiveness, sorting his bags away before snapping her fingers, vanishing.

—

Remus stayed the night, planning to stay till Sunday afternoon. You didn’t quite know when you’d leave. James’s parents made it so easy to want to stay. 

“Stay as long as you wish, darling,” Euphemia told you, a warm smile on her face.

Fleamont nodded. “All summer, if you want. We’ve got the room.”

You would’ve happily accepted the offer, and were probably still going to. But you couldn’t muster up a clear answer without feeling guilty, thinking of how miserable Sirius must be. The three of you had sent owls to his house the night before, wishing him well and telling him how much you missed him. 

You had been sending letters all summer, never getting a response. You figured you’d never get one, but that morning, a single letter arrived from Grimmauld Place.

“You need to stop sending letters, you’ll only anger Mother further. She’s quite cross with Sirius.

He’s alright, for now. He isn’t allowed to send any owls, but he told me to tell you he’s fine, and that he’ll see you at school in the fall. Or Diagon Alley a week before the terms if he’s lucky. 

I’ll send an owl if there’s an emergency. Don’t reply to this, Mother doesn’t know I sent it.”

Regulus Black

Scrawled at the bottom in slightly messier cursive, although still pretty, was another note in parenthesis. 

(p.s. - Tell Y/N to stop worrying. I know she’s there. Take care of her, Prongs. I mean it. Moony, take care of Prongs. Y/N, you babysit them both until I get back.)

(p.s., again - Sorry, love. Tough luck.)

You smiled when you read the ending, but the smile quickly fell as you glossed over Regulus’s words again. It was confirmed. Sirius was up to his neck, swimming through bullshit. 

And you didn’t know how to help him. 

Euphemia made lunch for everyone, calling you to the kitchen. You tried to push the thought of Sirius in that house to the back of your mind, but it just wouldn’t budge. 

You must have been staring into space, because you felt a hand on your shoulder. 

“Y/N? You alright?”

It was James’s voice. You turned to see him giving you a concerned look, pausing from eating his food. Remus coaxed him back, giving you a small smile. 

“Don’t worry about him, love. He’s gotten quite good at taking care of himself. Even dresses himself in the mornings,” Remus joked, but you didn’t laugh. 

“He should have to take care of himself,” you grumbled, pushing your plate away. “He’s still a child.”

Effie reached her hand over your shoulder, pulling your plate back towards you. “Eat. It does nobody any good if you sit here sulking.”

“He’d be pissed if he knew I was letting you not eat because of him,” James agreed, giving you a look of empathy.

You sighed, reluctantly continuing to eat. Effie frowned, knowing you were still upset, and just eating to appease her. She sighed, running a comforting hand through your hair, pushing it out of your face. 

“Tell you what. You finish that, and I’ll send a letter myself. Walburga won’t ignore me, as much as she would like to. We’ll make sure he’s alright, darling. And we’ll do something if he isn’t.”

You nodded, continuing to eat. 

Remus cleared his throat, changing the subject. “Alright, what should we do today? I don’t think I can stomach another session of throwing the quaffle around, but I’m sure we’ll think of something.” 

You grinned, and James pouted in his seat. 

“Aww, don’t pout, James,” you said, tapping the space between his eyebrows with the tip of your finger. “You’re too pretty for premature wrinkles.”

—

You all managed to agree on something to do, and you hung out together into the evening, now all sitting on the floor by the fireplace. It was pouring rain outside, and the air had a slight chill to it. 

Effie and Monty had gone upstairs, trying to get a little peace and quiet. To be fair, you were all being quite loud. 

You laughed hard, quickly shaking your head. “Wait! Remember in fourth year, James stood up on the table and read that poem he found to Lily in front of the entire Great Hall?”

“And she hexed him. Your hair was blue for a week, mate,” Remus grinned, watching James flush red.

“I couldn’t figure out how to reverse it!” He said, before turning his gaze to you. “And who are you to talk? You were practically drooling over Sirius before he finally figured it out and asked you to Hogsmeade.”

“She still drools over Sirius,” Remus said into his cup, taking a swig. 

You smacked Remus’s arm, glaring. “First of all, I’m the one who fixed your hair James, so be nice. Second…can you blame me? It’s Sirius.”

“He does sort of drool over you, too, to be fair,” James said, smirking as you turned away to hide the heat that had crept up your cheeks.

“Whatever,” you muttered. “At least I didn’t get hexed.”

“Hey—“

Before James could finish, there was a frantic knock at the front door. You all furrowed your brows, not expecting anyone to show up. You set down your cup, standing.

“I’ll get it.”

“Be careful!” James called over to you, tossing you your wand. “Take this.”

You nodded, but James didn’t sound too concerned. It was probably a friend of his parents. It was Friday night, after all, and his parents were very popular people. They could have just agreed to go out tonight, and forgotten to tell you. You shrugged, walking to the front door. 

When you opened it, the last thing you expected to see was Sirius, soaked to the bone and shaking on the front porch.

You placed your wand on the little table by the front door, eyes wide in shock. 

“Sirius?”

He hadn’t met your eyes yet, still shaking like a leaf that was clinging on for dear life in a storm. You gently reached a hand out, laying it on his shoulder. He immediately flinched, and you recoiled, holding your hands up in surrender. 

“It’s just me, love. It’s just me.”

You held your hand out for him, gently taking his hand in yours. It tremoured, his fingers rigid and curled in. You furrowed your brows, frowning. You desperately hoped that he was trembling just because he was cold. He was soaked, after all. 

But you knew you were clinging desperately to hope, and luck was not likely to be on your side. No, there was a much more accurate, and much more devastating possibility. 

Someone had used the Cruciatus Curse on him. 

You gently pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. You eased his coat off his shoulders, laying it on the table next to you. 

“Sirius?” You asked, brushing his hair out of his face. “You have to tell me what happened. Please?” 

He finally looked up at you, face pale, before he dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. You followed him down, settling behind him to hold him up. 

“Effie? Euphemia, please, help me. Mum!”

You heard commotion on the second floor, and feet came rushing down the stairs, but James and Remus beat Euphemia and Fleamont into the room. James stopped in his tracks as he took in the sight of you on the floor, holding his best friend who was still uncontrollably shaking. 

Euphemia and Fleamont finally made it into the room, both letting out small gasps at the sight before them. You looked to them desperately, Sirius clinging to you. There was a pause, and then Monty cleared his throat.

“Right,” he finally said, casting a drying spell over Sirius before turning to the boys. “You two, help me get him up. He must be freezing. Fireplace, now.”

They nodded, quickly moving to help Sirius. He clung to you when he felt hands on him, but you gently shushed him, easing him off of you. 

“I’ve got you, mate,” James said, pulling Sirius’s weight into him. “I promise you that. I’ve got you.”

You gently passed him, sending a silent thank you to James. “I’ll be right there, I promise. Let me talk to Effie, alright?”

Reluctantly, he fully let go, allowing the boys and Fleamont to help him up. As soon as he was out of earshot, you turned to Effie. 

“They used the Cruciatus on him. I’m sure of it.”

Effie shook with a quiet but violent rage, nodding with tears in her eyes. You may have been like a daughter to her, but Sirius was like a son. One of her children was hurt. 

“I know. How could a mother do that to her own child?”

Her voice was thick with tears, and you laid a comforting hand on her arm. “I don’t know how to help him. I need you to help me with him, I don’t want to hurt him. Do you think he’s in pain?”

“Were his hands stiff? His fingers?”

You nodded, and she sighed, rubbing her temples. “The worst of it is over, then. That normally only happens with the curse that has been used either multiple times, or once for a long time.”

You felt your eyes well up with tears at her words, quickly trying to blink them away. She continued, only making your heart hurt worse. 

“Rigidity is his body’s way of healing. The muscles tense up so he doesn’t overexert them. It’s an involuntary response, it’ll ease with time. It shouldn’t hurt much, not anymore. I can give him a potion though, it’ll calm him and help the process along faster.”

“Is there anything I can do?” You asked, sounding desperate. “I don’t think I can handle watching him be in pain.”

“Ease his hands to a relaxed position, if he lets you. Stimulating the muscles will help them heal faster.” 

You nodded, and she took a deep breath, headed for the stairs. 

“I’ll get him the potion. Go sit with him, darling. You’re his best treatment.”

She left you alone in the room, already halfway up the stairs as she gave you directions. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down. You had to be strong, right now. For Sirius. 

You headed into the room, finding Sirius sat in front of the fire with a blanket around his shoulders. He stared blankly into the flames, his eyes distant. Remus and James shared glances between themselves, saying without saying that the two of them had no clue about what to do. Monty stood at the back of the room, waiting for Euphemia to join him.

Quietly, you eased your way onto the floor, sitting beside Sirius. He turned his head at the sense of movement, immediately reaching for you. You opened your arms, letting him sink into them. He kept his arms clutched tight around your waist, hiding his face in your stomach. 

You looked up in bewilderment, silently begging for someone to do something. Monty must have felt your desperation, waiting for Effie to return with the potion before taking it from her hand, passing it to you. 

“Sirius,” you muttered into his hair, gently coaxing him. “Sirius, you need to drink this. It’ll help you feel better.”

“I don’t want to go to sleep,” he said, although you barely heard him through his muffled voice in your shirt. 

“What?” You asked again, trying to coax his head up. 

“Mother makes me take a Sleeping Draught every night, so I won’t bother her past dusk. It doesn’t feel right, it makes me see things. It’s more than sleeping. It’s worse.”

You felt a twinge in your heart at his words, shaking your head. “This isn’t a sleep potion, darling. Just a calming one.”

“It’ll ease you, lad. Both mind and body,” Fleamont said, waving his hand encouragingly. “We wouldn’t make you take anything that would hurt you. Drink it, son.”

You pulled the cork out of the vile, gently easing Sirius’s head back. “Open, please.”

Reluctantly, he parted his lips, letting you pour the potion past them. He swallowed, grimacing at the taste. Remus handed Sirius his cup, letting him take a sip. 

“Wash it down, it’ll help. Trust me, I know. Madam Pomfrey’s made me take my fair share of that one.”

Sirius visibly eased, leaning back into your side. You took one of his hands in yours, gently rubbing your thumb in circles along his joints. Slowly, his hands began to relax. 

“What happened, Sirius? Do you think Walburga and Orion will come after you?” Fleamont asked. 

“She doesn’t have the gall,” Effie said, her first time speaking since she entered the room. She was visibly pale. “It’s not the Black way, is it Sirius?”

“I expect I’m burned off the tapestry by now. Mother was angrier than I’ve ever seen her. Fed up with me, I guess. Too many letters, too much noise, too much trouble. I don’t know, it all happened so fast. I was explicitly told I am never welcome back. Ever. That’s actually the one nice thing she’s ever done for me…naming Regulus heir.”

You frowned at his words. He laced them with humor, but you could see straight through it. He was minutes away from crumbling. 

“Is Regulus alright?” You asked, turning his attention to you. “Does he need to come, too?”

Sirius shook his head. “No. He’s alright, he promised. And I know he wasn’t lying. He’s the one who told me it’s better that I leave. He’ll probably be getting special treatment, now that he’s the heir of the house. Guess he figured I’d have somewhere to go.”

“He was right, dear. You’ll stay with us. As long as you need. Forever, if you want. It’s a pleasure to have you. You’re just as much a son to us as Y/N is a daughter,” Effie smiled. 

“Which is basically blood,” James said, grinning. “I mean, she’s here all the time. Might as well call her a sister, right?”

There was a light chuckle throughout the room, but everyone was still uneasy. Finally, Effie clapped her hands together.

“I’ll have Winky make you something to eat, and bring you another potion to take before you go to sleep. You need your rest.”

“Take the guest room,” Remus piped in. “I’ll bunk with James.”

“No—“

“Wasn’t a question, mate. You’re taking it.”

Sirius didn’t say anything, only giving him a grateful nod. You rubbed his back, standing up. 

“I’m in the next room. Do you feel like eating right now, or do you want to lay down for a bit? I’ll help you to your room.”

“I’ll grab you some clothes,” James said, and you gave him a grateful smile. 

You caught Effie faintly smiling, tears welling in her eyes. Her kids, all grown up and responsible, taking care of each other without a second thought. It warmed her heart. 

“Come along, darling,” Monty said, taking Effie’s hand. “I think they can handle it from here, let’s leave him be. Sirius, if you need anything, and I mean anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Ask anyone. We’re here if you need us,” Remus said, offering a smile.

“Right, everyone. Let’s let him be for the night. I want everyone to get some rest, we’ll talk more in the morning. I love you, my boys. I love you, my girl. Goodnight,” Effie said, headed for the stairs with Monty in tow. 

James and Remus gave Sirius a quick hug, and then you, before following them up the stairs. When you heard everyone’s door close, you immediately turned to Sirius, searching his eyes for any pain or emotion. He looked exhausted. 

“You should eat something.”

“Too tired,” he murmured, casting his eyes to the floor. 

You nodded. “In the morning, then. Promise?”

“I promise.”

That was good enough for you. You gently took his hand in yours, interlacing your fingers. You braced his arm with yours, taking the stairs one at a time, going as slow as he needed you to. 

When you made it to the top, you guided him to his door. You opened it for him, nodding for him to go inside, but he gave you a look of fear, one that struck you like an arrow in the heart.

“Do you need me to stay?” You asked, giving his hand a squeeze. 

He only nodded, ashamed.

“I’ll stay.” 

You led him into the room, pulling back the sheets on the bed and propping up the pillows. James had left a fresh pair of socks, a shirt, and a pair of fleece pajama pants at the foot of the bed. 

Sirius took his shoes off, grimacing in pain while he bent down. 

You sighed, walking back over to him to help. You kicked his shoes to the side, bending down to yank his socks off. You moved back up his body, gripping the bottom of Sirius’s shirt. 

“This ok?” You asked, and he nodded in consent. Your voice was soft. “Arms up.”

You eased his shirt off of him, before doing the same to his pants, tucking your fingers in the waistband and pulling them down to his shins for him to step out of. 

You quickly helped him redress to his level of comfort, before throwing off some of your outer clothes until you were comfortable enough to sleep in them, too. 

“Come on, then,” you said, crawling into the right side of the bed. 

You knew Sirius preferred the left. He liked to be closest to the door. He quickly took his spot, settling under the sheets. He sat still for a moment, but finally caved, reaching an arm over. 

“Can I?”

You opened your arms for him, giving him room. “Come here, love.”

He immediately sunk into your arms, pressing himself as close to you as he possibly could. You wrapped one arm protectively around his shoulders, curling your fingers through his hair with the other. You sat in silence for a moment, before Sirius finally couldn’t take it any longer.

“Talk to me, please,” he muttered.

“About what, love? I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk about it or not. Do you want me to distract you, or do you want to talk about it?”

Sirius hummed into your neck, and you felt him shrug his shoulders. You nodded, pressing the matter further.

“Alright. Let’s talk about it, then. What’s on your mind?”

Sirius was quiet a moment, contemplating whether or not he should actually speak, before he relented.

“I know it’s for the better.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Being here, with you. With the Potters. I know it’s for the better, but I can’t help but feel like I shouldn’t be here. Like I don’t deserve it, or something.”

“Don’t say that,” you shook your head, holding him tighter. “You don’t belong there, and you’re certainly better off here with us. Why wouldn’t you deserve that?”

“You’re doing too much for me. It’s a burden on you all.”

“You’re not a burden. Not to me, or to anyone in this house, alright. Everyone here is your family, and they wouldn’t hesitate to help you if you needed it.”

You continued to run a hand through his hair, using the other to trace and gently massage the muscles down his shoulders and his back. He relaxed under your touch, lulling into a haze. Finally feeling safe and warm, Sirius felt like he could actually get some genuine sleep around you for the first time in months. 

A sleep that wasn’t induced by some kind of potion, at that.

“I’m tired,” he muttered, turning the conversation away from himself and the night's events.

“Rest, darling. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’ll stay?” He asked, his voice growing small.

“Of course I will,” you answered, your tone soft. “Go to sleep, Sirius. I’m right here if you need me.”

He was too tired to muster up a response, only humming into your neck. You squeezed him tight to you, resting your head back into the pillow, shutting your own eyes for the night. 

—

A/N - Hi! I hope you enjoyed it, let me know what you think!

[scarlet-witchery]

Femslash February — Day 3 — Found Family

Debbie/Sandy, little domestic bitches. (ao3) @m4ndysk4nkovich this one's for you, m'dear <3

For a long time now—longer than she might admit—Debbie had known something was missing from her life. Intellectually she knew that she didn’t need a romantic partner to fill some kind of void, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t want love. She had a long list of people trailing behind her who had broken her heart, men and women alike, and at some point Debbie figured that love must not be in the cards for her. Not even just romantic love, either; sometimes it seemed like everyone she loved, family included, decided to leave her. Or would leave her, one day. And it hurt, goddammit. She was a strong, independent woman, a working mom with her own business, but at the end of the day she still wanted someone to love her. Maybe she was still a silly little girl deep down. It didn’t change anything, though.

So she’d decided to stick with just fucking, just mindless sex where feelings didn’t have to be involved. It worked pretty well, too—didn’t have to worry about Franny getting attached to someone who’d inevitably leave. And Debbie knew she’d always get her heart broken no matter what, but it was Franny she worried about more. Maybe she’d had a chaotic upbringing, but she wanted better for her daughter. And it was…it was fine, for a while. She’d done tinder hookups with West Side lesbians when she could get one of her brothers to watch Franny—meet them at a bar, have some drinks, go back to their place and fuck, then leave as soon as the other woman was asleep. Not many, and not often, but enough that it scratched an itch. And she never, ever brought any of them back home.

But then she broke her own rule. Sitting on the front steps of the Gallagher home, she’d turned to Sandy Milkovich and took the cigarette out of her mouth, looked her straight in the eye and said, “Wanna fuck?” Then she’d tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach when Sandy blew out a lungful of smoke and gave her a lazy grin, all “fuck yeah” in her low, gravelly voice. They’d gone up to Debbie’s childhood bedroom and fucked in her bed, and Debbie was never so grateful that her daughter slept like a rock.

And suddenly Debbie had someone who was there—who stepped into her life like there’d been a spot perfectly carved out for her. Sandy didn’t have to stay, but she did. They slotted against each other like they’d always meant to be there. And Franny, well…Franny adored her. One day Debbie had come home from work, dragging her tired body up the stairs to the bathroom so she could take a much-needed hot shower, only to find Sandy and Franny in there already. Franny giggled as she played with Sandy’s hair, making it into a huge mess, but Sandy glanced at Debbie in the mirror and shrugged.

“No one else has long enough hair for her to practice with,” she said by way of explanation. Franny looked up at her mother and grinned, hugging Debbie’s leg in greeting.

“Hi, mommy! I missed you!” she said.

Debbie crouched down and hugged her little girl back as tight as she could, loudly giving her a smacking kiss on top of her forehead. “Mwah! I missed you, too, Fran. Did you and Sandy have fun today?”

“Yeah! We got ice cream, and played at the park, and watched monster hunters!”

Sandy shrugged, but Debbie could see her fighting off a grin. “Your kid really likes monster hunters, by the way.”

“Does she, now?” Debbie asked, leaning over and giving Sandy a kiss as well. Sandy brought her hand up to mess with Debbie’s ponytail a little bit, which was a mess from her hard hat that she’d had to wear on the job site. After the whole debacle with Julia and almost getting arrested—Claudia apparently had had no idea that seventeen was the age of consent in Illinois, so the case against Debbie had fallen through really quickly—Debbie had never been happier to get back to work. Their union had managed to secure some good concessions in her absence, and the other welders on site had given her a lot of pats on the back for being the one who started the whole thing in the first place. Sure, being out of work for so long hadn’t been great, but it was worth it now that she was making good money. Enough that maybe she could splurge a little more on Franny this year for Christmas.

“Oh, yeah,” Sandy told her. “Said she wanted to watch the rest with you tonight. Mick and Ian are off doing newlywed shit or something, so we probably could make one of those frozen pizzas and watch TV till this one falls asleep on the couch.”

Debbie grinned. “I like the sound of that. Hey, Franny, go get changed into your pajamas, okay? Mommy’s gotta get a shower.” Franny nodded and ran off to their room, and Sandy closed the door once she was gone.

“Maybe it’d be a good idea if we showered together,” Sandy told her, one eyebrow going up almost suggestively. “Conserve water, and all that shit.” She pressed Debbie back against the door and kissed her, a hand going to the back of Debbie’s neck to pull her in closer; Sandy’s other hand went to her waist, tracing along the waistline of her jeans. Debbie couldn’t help but grin into the kiss. She couldn’t stop thinking about how well they fit together, every time they fucked just better and better, not to mention how easily Sandy had found a place in her and Franny’s lives like she’d always been here.

“Hmm…” Debbie said, pretending to think it over as she draped her arms over Sandy’s shoulders. “You know, you might be onto something there. Anything we can do to keep the water bill down, right?”

Sandy chuckled, her lip ring bumping against Debbie’s mouth. “That’s me,” she said, “always trying to be conscientious of the bills.” She reached up and pulled Debbie’s long hair out of her ponytail holder, and Debbie maneuvered them around so she could get the water running.

It was almost a revelation, being so easily comfortable with someone so quickly. Debbie had always fallen fast, anyway, but Sandy had fallen into their family life with little effort. Maybe it should scare Debbie that it could lead to heartbreak—no matter how she tried to do things differently before, it had always led to that in the past. But maybe that was the trick: maybe it was about letting things happen as they would, and not overthinking it too much. That had always been her downfall before. But with Sandy, it was easy to let the world fall away.

Later, they sat on the couch with Franny, eating slices of frozen pizza that they’d heated up in the oven, Franny enraptured by the show on the TV while Debbie lay stretched out with her head in Sandy’s lap. Everything in her life was about her family—her siblings, her daughter. At one point that family had included her parents, before they both disappointed her beyond repair. And now there was Sandy, who was combing her fingers through Debbie’s damp hair and handing Franny a pack of markers from the coffee table so she could draw the sea monster that this episode was all about hunting. This little family was good, too; as a rule, Debbie tried not to get her hopes up too quickly anymore, having learned that lesson the hard way too many times. But maybe, just maybe, this could lead to something good.

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday : Valicer In The Dark -- Playbook Tweaks, A Bit of Worldbuilding, Potential Scores

Been thinking more about my Valicer In The Dark AU as of late, and I have a few updates and additions to the Three Pillars and their particular version of Duskwall that I would like to share with you, as indicated by the title:

Playbook Tweaks -- While I’m pretty happy with Victor’s stats as a Whisper from the original post on this subject, I found myself wanting to tweak Alice’s and Smiler’s just slightly after writing them up. Specifically, I wanted to add a special ability to Alice’s, and an extra ability point to Smiler’s. I didn’t want to do this without a concurrent trade-off somewhere else, though (yes, I know I’m just using this for potential fic-writing purposes, not actually playing the game, but it still feels only fair!), so after some thought, this is what I’ve come up with for each of them:

Alice -- I felt like she really needed to have The Devil’s Footsteps special ability (the one that allows you to do things like jump extra high or extra far) along with Not To Be Trifled With (the one that allows you to do superhuman feats of strength or battle six people at once) at the start -- those two in concert basically cover everything she can do in the games! So, in exchange for her having two starting special abilities, I’ve decided she also starts with the Haunted trauma! This is a trauma that means you are haunted by bad things in your past and sometimes slip off into fugue states -- which meshes perfectly with Alice’s memories of the fire and Wonderland occasionally dragging her out of reality! It also means she can only take three extra traumas before having to get out of the criminal game -- usually, starting characters have four slots for having their brains broken. *shrug* Them’s the breaks!

Smiler -- After reviewing their stats vs their history, I realized that maybe I should have put that dot in Survey in Attune instead -- after all, they’ve been directly touched by their god Mar-Mal! That’s how they got the glowing yellow eyes in this verse! However, I still liked them having that dot in Survey, as it did also suit their character. So, in exchange for getting that extra starting dot in Attune, I’ve decided that Smiler has a slightly shorter stress tracker than most characters -- instead of nine slots, they get seven. Stress is something that characters can use to push themselves to perform certain feats (get an extra die while rolling a weak stat) or resist the consequences of their actions (downgrade a potentially crippling blow into one that just hurts a lot). It’s very useful, but you have to track it carefully, because once your character fills up their stress tracker, they have a mental break and gain a trauma. I figured that trading two stress slots for the Attune dot was both fair and thematically appropriate -- Smiler has lived in a cult that venerates happiness as holy for years, and was directly touched by a god of pure joy. It only makes sense that they’d be a little worse at handling stress and bad emotions!

Worldbuilding -- I haven’t fully fleshed out my Duskwall yet, but there’s a few ideas I’ve been banding around:

-->This first one is straight from the Oxventure Presents Blades In The Dark stuff -- one of Kasimir’s and Edvard’s earliest scores in Volisport was at Cab-Con, a convention for the various cabdrivers of the cities. I thoroughly enjoyed it, but as I wrapped up the episode, a pun popped into my mind referencing the even-more-powerful gondoliers faction (as more of the city is traversable by canal than by road) -- Con-Dola! XD So yeah, that’s the big convention in my Duskwall -- an annual festival the gondoliers put on where they try out new boat types, exchange stories, and have races. Members of the public can come in for a fee and bet on the boat races. It’s a fun time and everyone looks forward to it!

-->While the official book outlines a few holidays on the Duskwall calendar (the monthly Moontide celebration, Arkenvorn to honor the spirit wardens, Gratitude to honor the ascension of the Immortal Emperor to his throne (and just more general Thanksgiving stuff)), I decided we needed a Halloween equivalent as well and came up with “Devil’s Night,” where children dress up as devils and go around causing minor bits of mischief and knocking on doors for spare food and coin. The actual devils in the city are also said to offer better deals than usual, with prices that mortals are better able to pay, but people tend to be iffy about checking out if this is true or not. Because, you know, devils. There’s always someone desperate enough to try, though. . .

-->I’m still working on how the other Alton Towers coasters beyond Smiler and Wickerman would fit into this world, but I know the other secret weapons would all have various cults -- the Agents of Oblivion for, well, Oblivion (who sacrifice people to the void -- not sure if they’re trying to keep it contained or encouraging to grow yet. Maybe both, with a secret internal schism in the cult?); the Spirits of the Trees for Thirteen (who worship the poisonous trees in that one park and are trying to create more -- though perhaps a little less poisonous so they don’t immediately kill everyone they come into contact with); the Clan of the Creature for Nemesis (who worship this bizarre crab-like demon and believe it will somehow save them when the leviathan blood eventually runs out); and the Galactic Rangers for Galactica (who believe the stars are the remains of their god and that if they give her enough worship, she’ll do something about the moon that seems to keep getting either bigger or closer year by year. . .). Rita doesn’t get a cult -- rather, she’s the leader of the Speed Queens, a group of smugglers known for their insanely fast car that only she can drive properly. She is, however, involved with the head priestess of the Spirits of the Trees, even if she’s not an official member. XD

-->Very tempted to put Doc and Marty somewhere in this world, of course -- don’t know if they’d be criminals, but Doc would HAVE to be a Leech well-known for his bizarre contraptions and strange experiments with electroplasm. Probably they have the local equivalent of the DeLorean around, and Doc’s looking to get his hands on an old train. . .

-->And another one just for the funsies -- having gone through both the main book and a semi-official “cookbook” supplement (see the Supplements page -- I can recommend it, it’s a short but fun read), I have decided to pull a Fallout with this universe and declare that horses went extinct sometime during the great Shattering, and goats have taken over all of their roles. This is purely because sometimes I imagine my Three Pillars trio ending up in other worlds, and it amuses me greatly for them to go “what’s a horse?” whenever the subject comes up. XD

Scores -- Obviously, you can’t have a criminal gang and not have any crimes for them to commit! Here are some of the higher-profile missions the Three Pillars would undertake during their career:

-->Sorting out Dr. Bumby at the Houndsditch Home for Wayward Youth (their first score after getting together, and after Alice tells them what he’s up to -- their goal being to either get evidence of his misdeeds to one of the incorruptible Inspectors, or just straight-up kill the guy in a way that doesn’t leave a ghost)

-->Getting some of Victor’s stuff out of the Van Dort mansion (which involves Victor learning just how little his parents worry about his actual safety when he encounters them and all his mother can do is complain about how Victoria Everglot has now TWICE married someone else while he’s been missing; I am also SO TEMPTED to have Barnaby and Kasimir in the mansion on their OWN score to rob the place, only to run into Victor, Alice, and Smiler, and Victor to tell them “hey, help me get my stuff back and I will just GIVE you some money from the safe”)

-->Taking care of one Dr. Kelman and his Sanctuary when he puts out a bounty on the three of them, saying that they need his special “social compliance therapy” (this is how Alice and Victor learn Smiler’s birthname, and Smiler justifies the Advocates’ gray morality by saying “at least we don’t CUT THE SMILES INTO PEOPLE’S FACES BEFORE SCOOPING OUT THEIR SOULS”)

-->Acquiring rare and not-always-legal ingredients for the Golden Plum restaurant (I have this in mind as a score that would be kicked off by the first time Smiler overindulged their Pleasure vice there -- the owner and chef, having realized who they are and that they’re a scoundrel, does a little light blackmail to get the gang to help get him ingredients; part of Smiler’s price is that they get first taste of the resultant dishes, which the owner is happy to agree to)

-->Being hired by Victoria to embarrass her parents by stealing a silver egg they recently acquired and won’t stop bragging about (as you might imagine, she’s a little bitter about the Barkis thing and wants to stop them acting like it wasn’t her husband’s money that bought it; midway through the score though, things go off the rails when the egg HATCHES and produces a baby dragon -- cue the gang getting a surprise new pet)

-->Getting Alice’s Jabberwock’s Eye Staff (she needs it as her scary weapon, and I think it would be fun to make getting it an adventure -- maybe in the Lost District outside the lightning barrier?)

-->Attending Con-Dola (this would be a “joke” score where the goal is to actually have some fun in their lives; I can see Victoria hiring them for this one too, saying she needs them to do a few things there, and at the end they realize she hired them literally to have a nice day out XD)

-->And I’m kind of tempted to do something inspired by The Hangover movies and that one Skyrim quest “A Night To Remember” where, after a night of drinking, the gang wakes up in the Lord Mayor’s house not knowing WHAT happened last night (only that for some reason the lady of the house doesn’t seem to mind they’re there) and have to figure out what they did (possibly may involve them getting drunken group-married and being upset only because they didn’t realize that was an option and they would have liked to do that SOBER damn it)

We’ll see if any of these actually make “written” status! (I mean, I hope so, but with the monster of “Londerland Bloodlines: Downtown Queensland” looming over me. . .)

[empire-of-socks]

sorry this sent me and I had to write it

slightly different premise but very much klavier being ridiculous abt his smart home 

Apollo was only trying to make a nice breakfast for his boyfriend.

It was Saturday, the greatly awaited end of a very long week. Apollo and Klavier had each been through the ringer with their own separate trials, and had barely seen each other at all over the past few days. Klavier’s trial in particular was nasty; not only was it complicated, but it involved a poisoning. Those cases always affected Klavier’s moods, though he was loathe to admit it. The case had taken its toll on him, though, and despite the late hour, Klavier was uncharacteristically still asleep. 

Apollo, on the other hand, was awake. Of the two of them he was not the morning person; he was groggy, body still rebooting after a good night’s sleep. As he stumbled down the hallway of Klavier’s penthouse apartment, it occurred to him that it might be nice to make Klavier breakfast, as a little surprise for when he eventually woke up. This was something that Klavier did for him on occasion, and it never failed to make him smile. 

Klavier was thoughtful like that. It was one of the things Apollo liked most about him, and something he wished he himself was better at. It wasn’t that Apollo was inconsiderate— far from it, but he didn’t have that sixth sense for exactly what a person needed like Klavier did. He was nearly infallible, and Apollo wanted to show him that he appreciated all those little things. Perhaps doing something similar in return was a good start.

So, Apollo made his way into the kitchen, rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes. He surveyed the shimmering granite and shiny stainless steel appliances that lined the room, planning his route. 

First was coffee. That was easy— Apollo had made coffee in Klavier’s kitchen plenty of times. He’d gotten a new coffee machine recently, and the two of them had figured it out together. It had taken them a while to get the hang of it, but now Apollo could load up the coffee beans (which, naturally, were locally sourced, small-batch, and light-roasted only days before) and have a hot drink made in a matter of minutes.

As he filled the water reservoir of the coffee machine, Apollo mulled over his other options. He was a decent cook, but generally stuck to simple recipes. He decided that eggs and toast was the way forward. There was half a loaf of Klavier’s favorite rosemary olive oil bread tucked away in his bread box (which, Apollo still found ridiculous. A whole box, just for bread? What was wrong with a good old fashioned plastic sleeve?). 

Once the coffee was brewing, Apollo crossed over to the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of eggs a some milk. He cracked four of them into a bowl, added a splash of milk, then whisked them together carefully with a fork. Setting the bowl down next to the stove, he retrieved one of Klavier’s frying pans from where it hung on a rack above one of the counters and set it on the burner. As it heated, he grabbed the loaf of bread out of the box and cut two thick slices. He set them aside, planning to pop them in the toaster once the eggs were nearly done so they’d be fresh and hot.

Everything was going along swimmingly. The scrambled eggs came out fluffy and light and slid easily around Klavier’s non-stick pan. Just as he was pulling the eggs off the burner, Apollo realized he’d forgotten to put the toast in.

Cursing quietly under his breath, he found a lid for the pan and placed it on top of the eggs, hoping to keep them warm. Then, he retrieved the two slices of bread from the opposite counter and went to the toaster.

Or… to what he thought was the toaster. It was honestly a little hard to tell— the thing was large, made of stainless steel with a clear glass window in the front. It had slots on top that looked like a toaster’s, but there were no switches or buttons immediately visible. The whole thing was sleek and smooth, and Apollo had absolutely no idea how to turn it on.

Carefully, he pulled the device further out from where it was tucked against the wall so he could get a better look at it. He ran his hands carefully along the edge and the back, searching for any sort of mechanism that might turn it on. He found nothing but smooth, cool metal.

Apollo bit back a groan. He should have known that any device he hadn’t used before in this kitchen would be nearly unworkable. Klavier, for whatever reason, seemed to have the most complicated devices for the simplest of things. Like the egg container that Apollo had just retrieved the eggs from, which was wifi-enabled and had a special sensor in each groove that kept tabs on the freshness of the egg it held. Apparently, putting eggs underwater to see if they’ve gone rotten was beneath him.

Taking a step back, Apollo eyed the mysterious toaster. Logically, the toaster had to have some way of being turned on and off. If it wasn’t a switch, it must be something else. Maybe it had sensors that could tell when you placed bread in the slots? 

Apollo gingerly placed the two slices into the slots of the toaster, letting them fall a few inches into the device. Nothing happened.

He reached out and pressed each down with a tad more force. Still nothing.

Apollo let out a small sigh, bending over to rest his forehead in his hands as he propped his elbows up on the counter. “How the fuck does this stupid thing turn on?” he grumbled.

Apollo nearly jumped out of his skin when the toaster suddenly lit up in neon purple right in front of him. He stumbled back, the edge of the opposite counter slamming against the small of his back. A lit-up pixelated smiley face appeared in the glass window on the side of the toaster. Apollo felt distinctly like it was mocking him.

“Good morning! To what tune would you like your toast today?” asked the toaster in a robot imitation of a woman’s voice.

“Uh…” Apollo said, startled.

“I do not recognize that tune,” said the toaster. “Please select another title.”

“Another title… what the hell?” Apollo muttered, brain still struggling to catch up with the apparently voice-activated device. Unfortunately for him, even his low muttering tone was caught by the toaster’s microphone.

“Okay!” said the toaster. “What the Hell” by Avril Lavigne, selected. Toasting will now commence.”

Before Apollo even knew what was happening, the smart speakers in Klavier’s kitchen had come to life. Apparently connected to the toaster, they began blaring a familiar synth-y pop rock tune. 

As Apollo watched the slices of bread finally, finally descend into the toaster, he felt his mind break just a little bit. He was only trying to make breakfast for his boyfriend, and now he was in a losing battle with a singing toaster.  There was nothing he could do but stand there and wait it out. 

-

Approximately three minutes and fourty-five seconds later, Klavier walked into the kitchen, still in his bed clothes, to find his shell-shocked boyfriend frozen against the kitchen counter, staring slack-jawed at the toaster. Twin clouds of smoke billowed from its top, curling up towards the ceiling as Avril’s crooning slowly faded out.

There was silence for a moment.

Then: “Klavier.”

“…ja?”

“Why. The fuck. Does your toaster. SING.”

Klavier opened his mouth to reply, but was spared from answering by the shrill shriek of his fire alarms going off. As he dashed around the kitchen, shoving open windows and turning on the fan, Apollo stayed right where he was, his arms staying crossed stiffly over his chest. Meanwhile, Klavier grabbed a sheet pan from a nearby drawer and started manually dispersing the acrid air.

When the smoke had thinned enough for the fire alarms to cease, Klavier turned back towards his boyfriend. He raised a single eyebrow.

“Thanks for the help, liebling,” he said, only a little sarcastic. “What did the poor toast do to you?”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Apollo replied.

“Was?” It took Klavier a moment to recall what Apollo was referring to. “Oh! The singing. Ja, it’s just a little feature. For fun.”

“But why.” Apollo said, through gritted teeth, “is it necessary for toast?”

Klavier shrugged, nonplussed. “Why not? It is not so complicated, liebling. The toaster simply toasts for the length of the song you give it! I’m not sure why you picked one that long, though I do love a little Avril in the morning.”

“I didn’t—“ Apollo huffed out a frustrated breath. “For fuck’s sake, Klav, what song am I supposed to pick that’s short enough?”

“Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?” Klavier suggested. “Or the ABC’s?”

Apollo levels him with a glare. “You cannot tell me you make your toaster sing you children’s songs every morning so you can make toast.”

“Nein, sometimes I have it use pre-cut samples of Gavinners songs.”

Apollo let out a groan. “Of course you do.”

“Any other questions?” Klavier asked, giving him a good natured grin. “I really don’t know why this surprises you. I’d think you knew me better by now.”

“Clearly not,” Apollo muttered. “Every time I think I’ve found the most ridiculous thing about you, another one pops up.”

“It’s part of my charm, ja?”

“Not even a little bit,” Apollo said. “But I do have one more question. Why’d you pick the toaster of all things?”

“Oh, I didn’t!” Klavier said brightly. “All the appliances in here work the same way!”

“All of them???”

“Well, all except the coffee machine, I haven’t programmed that one yet.”

“Klavier,” Apollo said, “What the fuck.”

just had the scenario idea of “apollo housesitting for klavier and getting annoyed by his overengineered smart home technology” so do with that what you will, if you’d like

buuuut i won't feel blueeee 🍞

[justanobsessedfangirl]

The Sacrifice Part 1 - The Maze Runner Minho Imagine

Request from @elizabeth-brown hey when your requests will be open can you do 'the maze runner' one with minho. where one day when new greenie was coming up he had letter with him. on it there was written that if they sacrificed y/n they would let everyone out. so keepers decided to vote. most of them voted 'yes' so without any emotions Alby kick y/n into the maze. then minho realized his feelings. y/n survived the maze and WCKED took her. after one year she escaped WCKED and ran into the scorch. Minho missed her miserably. y/n searched the safe heaven. and when Group A searched safe heaven they saw y/n and she was so mad. you can end it however you want either she forgives them or not. and please tag me

Masterlist

Part 2

Warning: Some mature language

Author’s Note: Thanks for waiting! I changed up the request a little (I think?) but there will probably be a part 2 so I can do the stuff outside the Glade. Hope you like it! Also, I know it seems like my requests aren’t open because I take forever to post, but I swear they are. :)

Word Count: 4.6k

The Box came up every month like clockwork. Half an hour before its arrival, a blaring alarm would sound. Gladers would trickle in from the Gardens, the Med-jack Hut, the Homestead, and gather around the hole. Those who had requested items would push their way to the front. Others lingered around the edges, hoping for a glimpse of the new Greenie.

“Maybe it’ll be another girl,” they’d whisper.

“Maybe it’ll be another shank,” their friends would whisper back, and the boys would shove each other and laugh and make jokes until the Box slotted into place and the roof slid away, revealing the Glade’s next victim.

You were an unnatural fit to the routine. You’d disrupted it right from the beginning, with your arrival as the first female Glader. Now, months later, you still hadn’t formed many strong bonds. It was hard when you were rarely in the Glade during the day, spending most of your hours mapping the Maze. No one was directly cruel when you had a day off, but it was clear that this was a brotherhood, and you did not meet the requirements. You were an “other.” You were a girl. You were something to be looked at and talked about but you weren’t necessarily someone.

You didn’t feel like an outsider when you ran with Minho. He treated you like a person. Like a friend. So did Newt, although your time with him was limited to bonfires, where you drank Gally’s moonshine and talked.

Just the memories of those nights made you feel warm, even as you stood apart from the boys around the Box and prayed for another girl to appear. You stood on your tiptoes and tried to peer over the crowd. Through gaps and over heads, you caught a glimpse of a boy in the Box. He was younger than you, probably younger than most of the people in the Glade, with curly brown hair, round pink cheeks, and wide, fear-filled eyes. 

Alby jumped down into the Box. Laughter rose from the crowd as the young Greenie backpedaled so wildly that he tripped over his feet and slammed onto his butt. Next to you, a group of Gladers jeered. You frowned at them, watching their smiles slip into sneers. They looked away from you. Inside the Box, the Greenie cried, “Please don’t hurt me!” His already high, youthful voice was pitched even higher with terror.

You felt a stab in your chest. He sounded so young, so alone, so scared. Taking a step forward, you came to the edge of a thick knot of Gladers. They catcalled and hollered and cackled, slapping each other on the backs. One noticed you and quickly jerked away like you were contagious.

Cheeks burning, you stepped back again. You gave the crowd one last look, heard the Greenie blubber one last time, and headed for the Homestead, where there was no one to make you feel unwelcome or weak for feeling sympathy for the new Greenie.

Besides, you thought bitterly, they might make fun of him now, but he’ll still be one of them.

A few Gladers saw you go; most were focused on the Greenie, who Alby was trying to coax to his side of the Box, where someone had dropped a length of rope. 

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Alby said. Impatience wore thin on his voice. “Just come over here.”

The Greenie stayed curled in a ball in the middle of the Box.

Alby shook his head. Turning to the pair of boys above him, he lowered his voice and said, “Do you think Y/N could try to get him out?”

The Gladers looked at each other.

“Isn’t she running today?” one asked.

“I haven’t seen her all day,” the other added.

Alby frowned. “Fine,” he sighed, “we’ll do it the hard way.”

At that, the two Gladers joined Alby in the Box. The Greenie’s eyes bulged as they approached. He tried to scoot back. In seconds, the pair was on him, lifting him as easily as if he weighed nothing. They toted him to the rope.

The Greenie gasped. “Wait! Wait! I dropped it!”

Alby waved the boys on before they could stop. “I’ll get it.” While the Gladers hoisted the Greenie out, Alby walked to the center of the Box. Laying on the metal floor was a card of paper, pristinely white save for the 10 grimy fingerprints of the crying Greenie. Alby knelt, picked it up, flipped it over, and froze.

It seemed like an eternity before he stood again. Around him, the Gladers still talked and laughed. Around him, the Gladers still thought they were following their routine.

Holding the note in his hand, Alby commanded, “Gathering in the Homestead. Now.” After a beat of silence, he added, “If Y/N’s here, bring her.”

The Glade burst into a flurry of activity. Boys scrambled, yelling the news. Their Keepers chastised them and handed out work orders like candy. Feeling brave and uninhibited and a little frenzied, Gladers complained and groaned and manhandled each other and ran. The new Greenie was handed off to a Builder, then a Slicer, then rescued by a Gardener. A pack of Gladers took off for the Homestead.

You’d barely made it inside before your moment of alone time was shattered. The boys whooped and hollered and shouted as they sprinted toward you.

“Gathering!”

“You have to go!”

“Alby called for a Gathering!

Their voices came at you like bullets, one after another after another. Your questions fell on deaf ears. “Why a Gathering? Now? Did you say I have to go?”

They kept talking to each other, ignoring you even as they pushed you farther inside, pushed you toward the meeting room, pushed you like you couldn’t even walk by yourself. You shoved away from them and entered the room on your own two shaky feet. Only a few of the Gladers followed, taking their seats as Keepers.

With a sick sludge of anxiety swirling in your stomach, you looked around the room. You’d never been to a Gathering before, although you’d listened to Minho complain about how boring they were many times. The room was small, the only furniture a crudely made table surrounded by twelve seats, one for each Keeper plus Alby and Newt. There was no seat for you. You were not supposed to be here.

“Clint, what’s going on?”

The Keeper of the Med-jacks looked up at the sound of your voice. He’d been staring at the tabletop, tracing his finger along the wood grain. His hands were thin, his fingers long, and they held a delicate strength, accustomed to wrapping wounds and sewing stitches. “Alby called a Gathering,” Clint said.

“Yeah, I figured that part out. Why? And why am I here?” You tried to keep your emotions under control. Clint didn’t need to know you were a little annoyed, a little angry, a little worried. Clint and the growing mob of Keepers filing into the room didn’t need to know you were scared.

Clint looked to the head of the table. Two empty chairs sat waiting. “Alby didn’t explain much. I think it was something to do with the Greenie.”

“The Greenie?” you asked, just as someone gave you a harsh nudge to the side. You whipped around and found yourself staring up at Gally.

“Don’t block the doorway,” he snapped. Before you could reply, Gally was walking past you, settling into the seat closest to the head of the table.

Most of the chairs were filled now. Some Keepers looked at you, others talked with their neighbors, and a few, like Clint, seemed like they’d rather be anywhere else but here. You lingered by the door. After a couple of minutes, Alby and Newt entered together.

You knew something was wrong immediately. Alby’s face, stoic at the best of times, was downright grim, like he’d just witnessed a terrible crime against humanity. Newt wouldn’t even lift his eyes to yours. His skin had taken on a pallor, pale white tinged with sickly green.

“Alby-”

Alby interrupted you. “Where’s Minho?”

You weren’t sure if he was asking you or the Keepers, but you answered anyway. “He’s running. What’s going-”

Cursing under his breath, Alby strode to the head of the table. “Someone got the schedules mixed up,” he fumed. “They thought you were running today. Minho is supposed to be here.”

“Maybe we should wait-”

“This can’t wait, Newt. You know that.” Alby shot Newt’s suggestion down before it even had time to breathe. “Y/N, take Minho’s seat. And someone shut the door.”

You didn’t like the way Alby was barking out orders or the way Newt had slumped into his seat like an admonished puppy. The whole world was off-kilter, just slightly, but enough that you felt nauseous and hyper-aware. Clint was still picking at the table. Winston was sitting next to Gally, who was staring daggers at you, and Zart, who had his arms crossed and was sitting straight in his chair, looked disgusted at something Doug, the Keeper of the Sloppers, had just said. Frypan was the one to get up and close the door, giving you a reassuring smile as he walked. You slowly made your way around the table to the only empty chair. It was across from Gally, right next to the side that Alby and Newt sat behind. 

Newt flinched away from you as you sat. Alby eyed you, waiting, waiting, waiting, and, finally, with the door closed and you perched on Minho’s chair, ready to bolt, he said, “We’re holding a Gathering because of this.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “The new Greenie was holding it.”

Down the table, Winston smirked. “Is that why he was crying? Poor thing can’t read?”

You frowned. One of the Keepers, Billy, chuckled lightly.

Alby ignored them and continued, “It’s a note from the Creators.” A few murmurs arose; Alby didn’t speak until it was silent again. “It says,” he cleared his throat and, next to him, Newt looked as if he might puke. “It says, ‘The Glade is failing. Show you can follow instructions and you will be released.’” Alby paused.

Unlike before, the Keepers stayed quiet. You were on the edge of your seat, listening with bated breath, like all of the others. Maybe the instructions involved finding something in the Maze? You knew you could help with that, and maybe Alby knew it too, and that’s why he’d made you attend the Gathering. You could nearly taste the freedom on your lips. Under the table, your legs shook with excitement, energy, adrenaline -- everything that made you feel alive. What would life be like outside the Glade? 

“Tell them the instructions, Alby,” Newt whispered, voice strained.

Your hopeful heartbeat faltered.

Alby’s eyes flicked up from the paper, met yours, and shot back down.

Something like dread filled your chest.

“‘Show you can follow instructions and you will be released,’” Alby repeated. He drew a deep breath before continuing. “Sacrifice Y/N to the Maze. Tonight.’”

One second passed. Inside that second, there was an eternity, an infinity, a lifetime. Your lifetime. Every limb of your body became paralyzed. You felt liquid. You felt insubstantial and invisible, only you were the farthest thing from invisible, because every single person in the room, all ten Keepers and Alby and Newt, even Newt, who wouldn’t meet your eyes before because he’d already condemned you to death, was staring.

And then the room roared.

“They’re lying!”

“That’s insane!”

“They can’t ask us to do that!”

“We can’t trust them!”

“I’m not doing that!”

“What if it’s true?”

The last voice, soft, barely audible, silenced everyone.

You stared at Gally, jaw dropped. “What?” You could barely speak above a whisper. Your vocal cords were constricting, choking you. Every breath felt like your last.

Gally’s gaze stayed on the letter in Alby’s hands. His eyes were glazed and his whole demeanor, normally stubborn and stand-offish, had shifted into quiet contemplation. “What if it’s true?” he murmured. “What if this is our way out? What if this is what we’ve been waiting for?”

The other Keepers began to speak. Instead of ardent protestations, you heard questions. So many questions and no definitive answers, except for Gally’s. The room spun around you, swirling, swirling, swirling. Your skin was flushed and cold and sweating and freezing all at the same time.

“He might be right,” you heard.

In an instant, you shot to your feet. The chair that Minho should have been sitting in clattered to the floor, silencing the Keepers. “Guys, this-this is insane,” you pleaded. Every face was a blur, a smear, no distinguishable people anywhere. You didn’t know a single boy in this room. “The Creators have never asked us to do something like this. They locked us in here! They-they...they put monsters in the Maze to kill us!”

“Maybe not to kill us.” Billy, the Keeper of the Baggers, was a boy of few words. He never seemed to have much to say, maybe because he’d gotten used to such solitary work. Most of the time, the only Gladers he was around were dead. “Maybe the monsters are there to kill you.”

Panicked tears burned in the corners of your eyes. Gally was nodding. So was Winston. Too many of them were nodding or looking down, pretending they didn’t have a say, hope gleaming in their eyes and betraying their thoughts.

You turned to your leaders. “Alby, this can’t--we can’t--”

“We’re going to vote on it.”

You switched tactics. “Newt. Newt, please, please look at me. This is crazy. We can get out without doing this, we can--I’ll run more and we’ll...we’ll figure something out, just, please, don’t--please just look at me.”

Newt slowly lifted his head. In the background, the Keepers talked, rising from their seats, growing more animated, more determined. Unshed tears glimmered in Newt’s eyes. “Y/N,” he said, and in your name you heard an apology. “This could be our only chance.”

“It can’t be.” You moved forward, desperate. “It can’t be our only chance, we’ll figure something out, I know we can, we just need to--” You were babbling and stepping closer and your hands reached out to grab his arms, to shake him, to knock some sense into all of them, and then Alby’s low, commanding voice rang out, ordering everyone to sit, and you were left standing, crying, terrified, and so, so, so alone.

“If anyone wants to see the note, there.” Alby dropped it onto the table. Across from you, Gally picked it up, scanned it, and passed it to the boy next to him, Winston. From Winston to Billy to Clint to Frypan to Ozzy to Doug to Zart to Leon. To you. With trembling hands, you held the note, saw the words, tried to read them and make sense of them, only nothing made sense at all.

Sacrifice Y/N to the Maze. Sacrifice Y/N. Sacrifice sacrifice sacrifice.

The more you repeated it in your head, the less real it sounded. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening.

“We have to make a decision,” Alby said.

Lungs squeezing painfully, you tried to speak. No words came out.

“I think it’s obvious,” Gally said. “Everything changed as soon as she got here. Now the Creators want us to do something, so we should do it.” He sounded more certain the more he spoke, his voice and words building to a persuasive, powerful crescendo.

“We could get out,” Winston added eagerly.

Clint pushed back his chair and slowly rose to his feet. He looked uncomfortable being the center of attention. One of his hands stayed on the table, scrambling for support. “I think it’s important,” he said, “that we think this through and give it the weight it deserves. This is someone’s life we’re talking about.”

It’s my life, you wanted to scream. I’ve tried to be a part of your group! I’m a Glader!

Clint continued. “But we also have to think about everyone else, too. I’m sorry, Y/N, I really am. But your sacrifice could mean that everyone else here can live.” Clint sunk back into his seat. “My vote is to obey the Creators.”

“Clint--” You were drowned out by Gally and Winston and Billy agreeing, formally voting to kill you. Gally nodded down at Ozzy, the Keeper of the Bricknicks, and then Ozzy said, “I vote to obey the Creators too.”

Leon agreed next. Leon, the Keeper of the Maps, who you’d spoken to nearly every day since becoming a Runner. Leon, who you’d sometimes traded jokes with and complimented for his drawing skills. Leon, who, after voting, said, “I’ve spent all of my time in the Glade trying to get out,” like it was an explanation you wanted to hear. Like it would mean it was okay for them to throw your life away. He wouldn’t look at you, still standing, half-slumped against the table as your legs wobbled with each vote that damned you to being ripped apart by Grievers.

“Guys, please,” you said, or you thought you said, but maybe they didn’t hear because now Frypan was standing up.

“I haven’t seen a Griever up close, I don’t know what it’s like in the Maze, and I don’t know what it’s like to patch up people who have done all of that. I know that Y/N’s a Glader. That’s all I need. I vote no.” Frypan nodded at you and sat back down, his normally easy-going face creased in deep thought.

One voice. One against six. But one was all you needed; one gave you a shot of strength, enough for you to straighten up, to open your mouth, to instead hear Doug say, “I haven’t done any of that either but I know that I don’t want to spend another goddamn minute in this Glade. I vote yes.”

The room spun. You looked down at your hands, found them in your lap, realized you were sitting but couldn’t remember ever doing so. Everything was slipping through your fingers so fast, too fast, impossibly fast.

Seven.

“My vote doesn’t matter much now,” Zart began, his words ponderous and slow. “But I vote no.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, as if daring anyone to question him.

Gally turned his attention to Alby and Newt instead. “So we’re doing it?”

Alby frowned. Newt buried his face in his hands. You thought you might pass out.

“Seven is a majority. It doesn’t matter our votes,” Alby said. “Or Minho’s.”

“Or mine.” The table turned to you. “I don’t get a say in any of this? It’s my life.” You knew your voice was too high-pitched, too warbled, too girlish to be taken seriously. You swallowed and it came out even more panicked. “You can’t just kill me with a one-vote difference, you can’t just--”

“It wouldn’t be a one-vote difference. I vote to obey the Creators.” Alby stared unwaveringly at you. “Newt agreed before the Gathering. That makes it nine to four, assuming Minho would vote not to obey.”

“Why?” It came out strangled and mangled and desperate.

“For the Glade,” Alby responded.

Newt suddenly looked up, shaking his head. “No, no, I take my vote back. I vote no. We can’t do this, Alby.”

“Eight to five. The majority says to obey. It happens tonight.”

“Alby--” “Alby, please,” You and Newt protested together, but Alby’s voice boomed over both of yours. “Gathering over. Gally, Winston, take Y/N to the Pit until tonight.”

Newt stood up too fast and stumbled, nearly crashing into the table. “We can’t put her in the Pit!”

The sound of arguing and chairs being pushed back washed over you, filling your ears with white noise. Chills raced up and down your spine, sending a clamminess to your hands and feet. You were going to die. You were going to be torn apart by Grievers, the very monsters you’d spent so much time running away from. It was almost ironic, really, and you almost laughed until you realized it was a sob, until you realized there were tears streaming down your face and there were two sets of hands grabbing you by the arms and hoisting you up and leading you out of the room and down the hall, practically dragging you for all of the good your feet did. And then you were in the doorway of a dark, windowless room, and Newt was standing in front of you. He enveloped you in a hug, spewing apologies about the vote and the room and your fate. All too soon, he pulled away. You saw his brown eyes and tear-streaked face. You saw the door close. You saw darkness.

You sagged to the floor and cried.

Hours passed. The room had no windows for you to watch the sun move across the sky, silently counting down to the end of your life. You had tried a few times to shove the door open,  but you only succeeded in bursting out between two strong Gladers. After the first time, they were ready for any attempt of yours to sprint past. Sometimes their voices would seep through the cracks in the wood. Apologies and excuses and pleas for you to please, just please, do this one thing for the Glade and help them all survive.

Part of you thought they were right. What if your sole purpose was to be a sacrifice? But then you thought of Minho and running and laughing and the few flickering memories you had from before the Glade, of an older couple smiling at you or the warm feeling of being loved, and you remembered how it felt to be alive. And you knew that it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, for anyone but you to get to decide your death.

Your time alone helped you think. It helped you settle yourself, calm your mind, and dry your tears. But as soon as the door opened and you saw the sunlight fading from the hallway, all of your carefully planned entreaties faded from your lips. Your throat went dry with impending doom.

“It’s time. Alby’s waiting by the Maze,” one of the Gladers said. You didn’t even know who he was. Why hadn’t you gotten closer to him? To all of them? Maybe if you hadn’t been so solitary, maybe you could have...or they could have...or maybe...

“What’s your name?” you heard yourself ask as the guards flanked you down the hall.

He gave you a look of confusion. “Rob.”

“Rob,” you repeated. Rob led the way outside. You glanced over your shoulder at the other Glader. “What about you?”

“I’m David,” the one behind you answered. He hastened to walk beside you. David had stubby legs, two of his steps matching one of yours. You picked up your pace. Rob matched it easily; David lagged.

Over the Glade, the sun was nearly below the horizon. Gladers milled about but kept their distance from you, trying not to stare at the doomed prisoner. It was like you were already dead. And no one cared.

The wall loomed high above you, growing as your entourage got closer and closer. Huddled near one of the entrances was a group of Gladers. When you neared a hundred feet away from them, you slowed. David followed suit immediately. Rob’s lengthy strides shortened.

“David, Rob,” you addressed them by name, not looking at either even as they faced you. “Thanks for walking with me.” Then you bolted for the Maze.

David had no chance of catching up to you, Rob was just stunned enough to give you the head start you needed, and the group of Gladers only shouted as you closed the distance to the door.

My choice, the pounding of your feet seemed to shout. My choice. My life. You may have been minutes away from death, but you had never felt so alive. Adrenaline flooded your body. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. All of the cold fear had been replaced by the warmth of energy. One last choice, you thought. The open door called to you. 20 feet. 5 feet. You’d just crossed the entrance when one voice made itself known above the crowd.

“Y/N!”

Every muscle tensed, you spun around to see Minho sprinting after you, the group of Gladers following, none as fast as your partner. He crashed into you with the tightest hug of your life. Your body reacted before your mind knew how; you hugged him back.

“I couldn’t let you go without seeing you,” Minho blurted, his lips an inch from your ear. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t…” he trailed off. Loosening his hold, he pulled back enough to see your face. He stared at you like he wanted to memorize you. “I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am, Y/N, I can’t let you do this yourself. With two of us we could--”

“Die. We’d both die.” You pulled him close again, burying your head back in the crook of his neck, hating the fear in his eyes. You’d wanted your last memory of him to be a smile, not this.

He spoke more softly now. “If we had supplies, I bet we could do it. I’ll raid the kitchen, the Med-jack Hut, bring us weapons. We could find the way out. You don’t have to die. You can’t die.”

You wanted him to stop talking, because you couldn’t extinguish the little flame of hope blooming in your chest if he kept feeding it. “Minho-”

Minho cut you off. “You can do this, Y/N. You’re fast, faster than me, and a hell of a lot smarter than all of these shanks combined. Survive the night. Survive the night and I can bring you supplies tomorrow.” His voice had an edge to it, a fierce desperation you’d never heard from Minho. Inside his encouragement, he was pleading with you. “Fuck, Y/N, please survive the night. Meet me at the intersection past the west door when the sun rises. I fell there the first time we ran together, remember? I said it was because you ran funny and it made me lose concentration but it was actually because you looked so beautiful in the sunrise that I couldn’t think.” He took a deep breath. Your heart beat too quickly, running on hope and support and maybe a little bit of love. When Minho spoke again, his voice was solemn, “I’ll find you, I swear to God. We’ll figure it out together. We’ll get out together.”

“I’ll survive.” You were lying. “I’ll try.” Was that another lie? Everything was moving too quickly.

Alby’s voice stopped you from thinking any further. “It’s time,” he intoned. 

From your place in Minho’s arms, you saw that the group of Gladers, composed mostly of Keepers, had surrounded you in a semicircle. The way forward was blocked; your only way out was the Maze.

You and Minho separated slowly. Behind you, the Maze rumbled. Still, Minho held your hand in his, looking physically pained. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, hoping, desperate, pleading. 

You nodded.

Minho shook his head. “Please say it back, Y/N. Please.”

You glanced at the door starting to close, then at Alby, who stared hard-eyed at you and motioned for the Gladers to press in. You couldn’t find Newt in the crowd. Minho’s hand was heavy and warm in yours. Comforting.

With your last moments in the Glade, you darted close to Minho, pressed your lips to his cheek, and then slipped away from him, entering the Maze. The door thudded closed behind you. The sun had set. You were alone.

[bopbopstyles]

harry and y/n are famous and dated privately for a while but it didn't work. they meet again at this event and she's with a date, and he gets super jealous. they fuck in the bathroom and he's super rough?

BETTER NOW

SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG I’VE BEEN WRITING OTHER STUFF!!!!! BUT I LOVE THIS SO I KEPT IT!!!! 4k of BIG ANGSTY HARRY WARNING!!!!!

It was one of those benefit parties, one of the many Harry had been to in his career. Most of the ones he was invited to he couldn’t make--or didn’t want to attend, but made donations anyways. But this one...this one he accepted, despite the fact that his reason for going was completely selfish. 

He was going because Y/N was going to be there. 

It was a cause she cared deeply about, having had family who were unhoused, and always made a point to attend if she could. So when he got the invitation and saw the organization and its work, he knew she would be there. She was between movies, a rare period of time off, information he was only privy to because of their mutual friends, the same ones who set them up two years ago. 

So on a warm April evening, he was walking into fancy house of a star in the hills, people in suits and long dresses all around him, black cars circling the drive as people were dropped off. Harry smoothed he lapels of his tan suit, straightened the light blue shirt he wore underneath, and sucked in a breath. 

It wasn’t even like he was trying to find her. He just...immediately found her in the crowd, a pale pink dress floating down her body, her dark hair swept up into an up-do he knew she loved. She had a glass of an amber liquid in her hand, because he knew she hated wine. She had always been a go hard or go home kind of girl, no half-assing anything in her life. 

Which perhaps was why the two of them had fallen apart--they were both workaholics in every definition of the word. There would be whole weeks where they’d play phone chase, and when they finally talked they would both be so exhausted it wouldn’t even fill the holes in their hearts. But when they were back together, it was like fucking fireworks, every moment Harry was around her he wanted to be touching her skin, hearing her voice, consumed in her. And despite as hard as he tried, he couldn’t shake that desire, even six months after they had broken up. It was “mutual” but he knew she wanted it more than him, and he loved her too much to force her to stay. 

She’d been filming right after the breakup, a new film that was going to be the highlight of her career so far, and Harry had gone into the studio, pouring his heartache into a microphone and recording booth. He hadn’t seen her face in six months, heard her voice, watched her laugh at someone who wasn’t him. So seeing her in the flesh for the first time since the breakup threw his mind into overdrive. 

What ripped his heart out, though, was the fact that a man had his hand on her lower back. A place that used to be his, a place he had treasured, a place he missed for every second of the day. For some reason, he hadn’t thought she would have brought a date. Perhaps that was because the prospect of Harry even putting his hands on someone else made him want to vomit, but as he watched her turn and say something to her date, it was obvious she didn’t feel the same. She was dating someone. 

Fuck, Harry thought as he grabbed a flute of champagne from a tray to his left. Usually champagne wasn’t his thing, the headaches after making it not worth it, but he needed something. He wanted to rip his eyes away from her, but he just couldn’t. Because she looked magnificent. 

Color in her cheeks and a twinkle in her eyes, the rise of her breasts visible from the scoop neck of the dress, dainty straps that sat on her shoulders that he used to pepper kisses across, the neck he used to leave love bites on visible because of her hairstyle. He couldn’t hear her voice, but he knew what it would sound like if he did, because he still heard it in his dreams. When he told Mitch that in the studio, he had been given the most pitiful look, but it was true. It was why he slept so much lately. 

Harry leaned against a wall, eyes on her, ignoring everyone else in the room. He was sure people were trying to get his attention, but he didn’t care--he wasn’t there for them. He had come for her, and he was going to absorb every second of being in the same room as her, even though it made him want to sob. 

After about five minutes of watching her, of being an utter and complete creep, her eyes finally swept over to his. Their gazes locked and it was as if the room fell away, as cheesy as that was, because the feeling of her eyes on him made Harry’s mind go haywire. Then he saw her step away from her date, just enough to wear his hand dropped from her back, and he couldn’t help but smile smugly. 

He could feel her eyes trace up and down his body, just as his had been doing for the past few minutes. It felt good to have her eyes on him, like a drug being pumped into his system after being without it for so long. A relapse back into loving her. 

As if he had ever stopped. 

Harry once told her he was built to love her, and he still felt that way. Even though it was hard, even though their relationship was far from perfect, it was still the happiest he had ever been. As she looked at him, her brown eyes swirling over him, he wondered if she felt the same way. 

But then she turned her head, her eyes focusing back on the people she was talking to. So Harry went to the bar and got a glass of straight tequila, because he was going to put himself through his own personal torture, he was going to at least have a drink. 

An hour and a half later, Harry desperately had to pee. He found his way to an bathroom, almost running into a potted plant he didn’t see. 

“Be careful.”

His head snapped up, knowing the owner of that voice immediately. She was leaning against the wall opposite him, a glass perched between her fingers. “What--what are you--”

“Escaping my date,” she replied, and his breath caught in his throat. Escaping her date? This had to be a dream.

“Why is that?” He was trying to keep his cool, but he knew it was slipping fast. 

She took a sip of her drink and Harry couldn’t help but watch her lips around the rim of the glass. “He’s had too much to drink and is being obnoxious.” 

That immediately made Harry nervous, although he knew he no longer had any right to be. “Are you okay?” He asked anyways, wanting to make sure she wasn’t uncomfortable or felt unsafe.

But she just nodded, eyes focusing on his. “I’m fine. Thank you though.” She twirled the glass in her hand, and Harry had forgotten all about his need to go to the bathroom. “So, how are you?”

“Um,” Harry mumbled, trying to figure out how to both make it clear he wasn’t great but also wasn’t the disaster he actually was. “Okay, I guess. You?”

“Same,” she replied and Harry suddenly found himself analyzing that single word. Did that mean she was still as broken up about their breakup as he was? Or was she actually okay? Because he certainly wasn’t. It was just a better word than “mess” or “disaster” or any of the proper words to describe how he was doing. “Are you seeing anyone?”

The question threw Harry for a loop, making his palms sweat. How could she just throw that out there so flippantly? “No,” he said, watching her face for a reaction, which he didn’t get. “You--oh, I guess your date--”

She shook her head though. “No, he’s not...we’re not together. Just a friend of sorts.”

“Oh.” Now Harry was wondering if they were fucking. Which was something he had been actively trying not to think about. “Well, that’s...good.” 

Her eyebrows raised at his words and Harry could’ve kicked himself. “Why is that?”

Because it means you could date me. “I--no reason. Fuck, sorry, didn’t mean that.”

Her lips pursed as her thoughts rolled over in her head, an action Harry knew well. “We’re just...seeing each other? We’re not like hooking up or anything.” She let out a nervous laugh. “I have no idea why I’m telling you this.” She stood up straight from the wall and turned away from him. “I--I’ll go, I assume you were here for the bathroom--”

“Y/N,” he said, her name a prayer on his lips, a memory of something he clung to in his moments of need, a name on his phone screen that he barely restrained himself from calling. Then he took two steps towards her, her back facing away from him where she was frozen in place, and against his better judgement, fastened his fingers around her wrist. “Wait.”

He could hear her shaky breath, the drag of air in her lungs when he touched her skin and he wondered if she could hear his heartbeat quicken. 

“I--I know I have no right to say this, that we’ve been broken up for months, that you’ve probably moved on.” It was easier somehow to say these things to her back, easier than see her face as he poured his vulnerable heart out to her. “I still love you.”

She exhaled sharply at his words. “You don’t get to do this,” she replied, turning to face him. “Not like this, not right now, not here. You can’t just...do this.”

“I’m sorry,” he told her, voice breaking. “I know, I just can’t pretend anymore.”

Finally, her eyes fastened on his properly, and that same feeling that had captured him when their eyes met across the room ran through his body. That tension. “Pretend?”

Harry threw abandon to the wind, knowing this might be his last chance. “Pretend like I don’t think about you every second of the day. Pretend like I’m not jealous of your date. Pretend like I don’t want to kiss you right now. Pretend like I don’t want you.”

Before Harry even knew what was happening, she was surging towards him, crossing the distance, her lips slotting against his and her hands curled around the lapels of his jacket. Harry barely paused before his hands were in her hair, her hair that he was messing up, but he didn’t care because he could taste her on his tongue and feel her body against his, and he could touch her. God, touching her was euphoria like he had never felt before. 

Kissing Y/N had always been an experience like nothing else, but after not having it for months it was even better. Their kisses had always consumed him, and this was no different--her hands were all over him, fingers gripping his body through his clothes, breathy moans in her mouth when he pulled on her lip and tugged her closer to him. He was going to take every advantage of this moment, he decided, and not think of what would happen after or how much harder it would be to get over her after this. 

So he turned her against the wall, and pressed a hand next to her head for leverage. The angle had her arching into him, chasing his lips with her own, and when her hands tugged on his hair he groaned, low and deep and unabandoned. Then, she slipped her heeled foot up the back of his leg, her dress sliding up, and pressed the back of his thighs. The action had Harry’s pelvis moving closer to her, and they both moaned into each other’s mouths. 

“Y/N,” he rasped against her lips, his hands moving to try and cover every inch of her exposed skin. His mind wasn’t even operating anymore, overwhelmed with the smell of her perfume and the feeling of her skin under his palms. 

“Bathroom,” she muttered, a hand to the nape of his neck. “We--we can’t do this here.”

He didn’t know what this was other than a steamy makeout in a hallway, but he knew she was right. He pushed open the door of the bathroom and flicked on the light. Suddenly, he remembered his need to pee the second he saw a toilet. Her lips were searching for his, but he pulled away, taking a shallow breath. “I like really need to pee.”

Y/N laughed into his neck, before nodding. “Go.”

He didn’t move though, not an inch from where she was leaning against the closed door. 

“I won’t leave,” she said, softer this time. 

Harry nodded, and with that he stepped away, turning to the toilet in the corner. Perhaps with someone else the sound of him pissing in the same room would’ve been uncomfortable, but he was comfortable with her, even after the breakup and she seemed to be as well. When he was done, he moved to the sink, washing his hands, his eyes flickering to her heaving chest. “C’mere,” he said when his hands were dried, still standing next to the bathroom counter. There was a double wide bathroom counter and only one sink, which meant an open counter. 

Without pausing, she was moving towards him, hooking her arms around his neck and leaning in. But Harry had other ideas. He grabbed her hips and turned her against the counter, and then pulled her legs up, scooting her up and onto the top of the counter. He looked up at her to see if it was okay and all he found was puffy lips and blown out irises staring back at him, a tongue darting across her lips to moisten them. 

Her dress was pushed up on her thighs, exposing the length of her legs and Harry’s fingers dug into the exposed skin, pulling them apart to slot himself between. Then, he pulled her waist towards him and the minute his covered cock pressed against her center they both moaned, deep and wantonly. Her head fell back and Harry took the opportunity to pull and suck on her neck, no one place too hard to leave a mark, but enough to have her scrambling at his chest to push his jacket and shirt open, searching for exposed skin. 

The strap of her dress was slipping down her shoulder, and Harry ran his tongue over the skin, a hushed gasp leaving her that made him smile. He had missed her sounds, the reactions to his touch that had been his anchor to the world. “God, you feel so good,” he mumbled, words escaping his mouth before he could stop them. 

But she just scratched at his chest, thumb pushing against the butterfly tattooed on his abdommen. “Harry,” she rasped, and the sound had him thrusting against her, the sound of his name on her tongue making him need her like ever before. 

“Fuck,” he breathed out, hand crawling up her body to hook his fingers around the back of her neck. He lifted his head from her skin and found her face, her lipstick a mess. “I want you so bad, Y/N.”

“Then have me,” she replied, and Harry thought he had died and gone to heaven. 

He wasted no time pushing the other strap of her dress off her shoulders, letting them slip down and expose her heaving breasts, a bra nowhere in sight. “Beautiful,” he mumbled to no one in particular. Then her fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants and his focus was sharpened. When she popped the button and pushed down the zipper, his hands moved under her skirt, pushing it up around her waist so he could see her underwear. 

Which were pink and lacy and practically see through. “If you rip them I will never forgive you,” she told him. “Harry--”

It was too late though, he was too desperate, the material too flimsy, that he pulled on them too hard and the material came apart in his hands. “Shit,” he said, looking from her panties to her. “I didn’t mean--”

She wrapped her hand around his neck and pulled his head to hers, whispering in his ear, “Just shut up and fuck me.”

This was one of the many reasons Harry had fallen in love with her. One of the many, many, many reasons why she lived in his mind rent-free. He pushed down his pants and his briefs, leaving them in a pool around his knees, and tugged the remnants of her pants away. His shirt and jacket were still on but he didn’t care, he just wanted her, wanted to be inside of her finally. 

“I--I don’t have a condom,” he told her, mind swirling. He hadn’t needed one in forever, had stopped carrying one in his wallet for whenever things like this would happen with her, but also they had stopped using one a year into their relationship. 

She shook her head. “I’m on an IUD. And I--I haven’t...”

His eyes widened. “Not you and...”

“No.”

The information didn’t really properly sink in, but it had settled enough for him to process the basics. That she hadn’t been with anyone since him, that maybe she was as ripped apart by their break up as he was. Maybe he wasn’t the only one suffering. “You’re sure?”

She nodded, fingers flexing across his skin. “Please, H, I--”

He didn’t wait any longer, he needed her as much as she did, if not more. He swipe a finger across her slit, seeing how wet she was, and he groaned when he felt her slickness. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” he mumbled in awe. “All for me?”

“Yes,” she rasped, pushing her hips towards his fingers, “all for you.”

He could still read her body like a book he had memorized, a song he wrote himself. She was ready, even though they’d done barely any foreplay, and he was too--he had been ready for her since the moment she kissed him. He nudged his tip to her slit and she gasped at the feeling, his eyes darting to hers to make sure she was okay. But then she hooked her ankles around his waist and pushed his waist, making him slide into her, and he nearly screamed from the feeling. She was wet and hot and tight--fuck she was too tight--and his mind couldn’t focus on any one thing. His hand was clenched against the countertop, barely holding himself together. 

“More,” she said, pulling his hair. “Please.”

So he gripped her waist and pushed all the way in, her broken moans filling his ears. She was so tight he could barely breathe and she felt so good, like coming home and finally being able to think again. “Fuck, Y/N, holy fuck.”

“Move, please--”

He didn’t make her wait to finish the sentence. He had a feeling neither of them were going to be able to wait. So he gripped her waist in his hands, his rings sitting heavily against her skin, and drove into her fast and hard. Their skin slapped as his hips moved into hers, and he knew she would probably have bruises on her inner thighs, but she didn’t stop him, simply egged him on with moans and begs for more, his name leaving her tongue every time he pushed into her. 

“Like that?” He asked, his voice rough with desire. “Hmm, baby, like the feeling of me inside of you? Bet he couldn’t make you feel this good. Doesn’t know you like I do, doesn’t know how to fuck you right.” 

He was babbling, he knew that, but that didn’t seem to bother her because she clenched around him when he spoke, dug her fingernails into his scalp. She had always loved it when he spoke like this to her, told her what she did to him, how good she felt. That didn’t seem to have changed. 

“Fuck you so good you didn’t want anyone else,”  he said, dropping his head to her shoulder as he thrusted in and out. The sound of their skin hitting filled his ears and he loved it, loved fucking her, loved how she held onto him for dear life. 

“Best I’ve ever had.” Her words rang in his ears and he growled into her skin, nipping at the flesh at her shoulder, his former care for her skin gone the moment she said that. “God, H, please, I need--”

“Need more, baby?” He grunted, his hand falling to her clit, sensitive and delicate for him. He rubbed at it in a circle and she gasped, bucking up into him. “Like that? That good?”

She couldn’t even reply, just moved her head up and down, her eyes screwed shut as pleasure wracked through her. He could feel her tightening on him, her high coming fast. His own was barely over the edge, holding back because he needed her to come, needed to feel her spasm around him, needed to feel her hold him inside of her. 

“Close, baby?” He mumbled, pulling at her hair, the updo long gone. It was falling around her shoulders in pieces, some still clipped up, but most of it falling. 

He gripped the pieces into a fist, pulling her head back so he could suck onto her neck. When he did, her hands scrambled across his chest, finding purchase anywhere they could, red scratches across his skin that he knew would be there in the morning. 

His teeth grazed across tender flesh and she shook in his arms. “Come for me, baby. Want to feel you come around me.” He doubled the pace on her clit and drove into her deep, knowing the combination sent her into overdrive. 

He wasn’t disappointed. She gasped, her breath leaving her body as she shook and squirmed in his arms, her high crashing over her immediately. “Harry, Harry, Harry,” she chanted, his name the only thing on her lips. 

When he pulled her into him, their lips refastening, she tugged on his hair, knowing he loved it, and then broke away to murmur, “Come for me, baby, please, I need it.”

It was as if his pleasure was connected to hers, because the moment she said the words, he had to pull out of her, coming in long spurts across her lower stomach and her pussy, strings of come decorating her like a masterpiece. His breath heaved in his chest and Y/N scratched down his chest, knowing it made his orgasm prolong slightly. 

When he was done, he slid his head into the crook of her neck, struggling to find air to breath. He sucked in air, focusing only on the sound of her breathing and the feeling of her fingers pulling through his hair softly, tenderly. “You okay?” She finally asked him, voice dry. 

He lifted his head and looked down at where his come marked her skin. “Better now.” He grabbed a kleenex, not daring to see her eyes, and brushed his come away, stealing just one taste that made him moan. 

“Harry.” He looked up at her, her dress still around her waist, rest of her body exposed. “I--”

“I love you,” he said, cutting her off. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m so in love with you. Never stopped.”

“You interrupted me,” she said, an admonishment that made him smile despite himself. “Was going to tell you the same thing.”

His eyes widened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

When he kissed her, the sound of her giggle made his heart soar, as if he was being sewn back together on the spot. “Will you come home?” He asked against her lips, sucking and pulling on the flesh. “Need you to come home and never leave.”

It didn’t faze her when he called his house home, because it was their home for a while. What he didn’t know yet was that their home had always been hers, because he was her home. She dusted a kiss across his eyebrow, tenderness seeping from her. “Take me home, H.”

somehow this became a fucking 4K ONE SHOT help me please this took me an hoUR ANd a HalF! i had THINGS I WAS SUPPOSED TO DO!!!! whoopsieeeee

masterlist | concepts/requests always open!!!!

[mandareeboo]

ok now im curious what your most petty thing is (regarding the dp post)

Oooh boy, here we go! Buckle up fuckers this is gonna be a longer one.

My senior year of high school, I took a creative writing class. Partially because I needed to fill the slot, mostly because I wanted to improve my writing (spoiler: I did not). Now, my high school was a three floor building- first was mostly gym, second was general, and the third was senior lockers and art classes. I spent a good chunk of my schedule senior year on the second and third floor, going between an art class to my earth science (I took that one entirely as filler, but also bc I like science) to my locker and so on.

Creative writing? Creative writing was in the fucking basement. Go to the first floor, go to a corner generally used for health and development classes, to another corner, follow a ramp and some stairs, and boom there it is kind of basement. (Side note but this teacher was REALLY into attendance and would get you in trouble if you were late which was really annoying since basically no other class was in that part of the building).

My creative writing teacher wasn't bad, per se. I've had worse teachers. I had an algebra teacher who delighted in making freshman girls cry and mocking them for it. I had a journalism teacher who would use her class time reporting how Hilary was secretly ill during the election. I had a history teacher say trans people weren't real to an openly gender nonconforming student (I didn't know them well enough to ask for specifics on their alignment, but they were using they/them at that point) and set up assignments just to mock students on the take they were told to make. It was more that she was uncreative and took it out on the kids doing creative writing.

She gave us two books to read. Basically “how I write” by published authors. I don’t remember the first one well enough and I donated it ages ago, but the second was Stephen King’s “On Writing”. It was 3/4′s personal stories about his life and 1/4′s “also write a bit every day”.  I mostly remember the first author bc she had those fake dreadlocks white people do when they destroy their hair and she gleefully told a story about making her son have a meltdown at a party or wedding or something bc he got overwhelmed and she wanted him to learn that “sometimes you don’t get what you want”. So. You know. Not much there.

She also instructed us to write in a journal every day, which she would check every few months or so. It had to be at least half a page. She would leave little comments in every one else’s journals when she checked them, but not mine- I realized pretty quickly she was a bit uncomfortable with LGBT+ content, so I made it my mission to make every journal drabble as gay as possible bc I was bored and she couldn’t mark them WRONG when she just stated we needed to write.

But it doesn’t end there! Through the entire class, we got exactly five writing projects. Stories that follow very specific guidelines that we would then read in front of the class, group proofread, and then have the teacher give final grades for. These things were approximately like a thousand words a piece, and I was writing out my 10,000 word “It Starts off Small” story in class when I got bored, so it wasn’t difficult. 

Our first project was a character going through a difficult decision. Or... something? I honestly forget the criteria. Anyway, I was HYPE. I’d had this idea for a long time now a human choosing between peaceful death or reincarnation, and this gave me the push to write it! I had a whole thing planned with death being a deer and reincarnation being a wolpertinger (bc reincarnation leads to many possibilities, ed boy, so a Frankenstein bunny made sense to me). Anyway I poured my heart and soul into this bastard and, bright eyed and bushy tailed, handed it in. My classmates all thought it was pretty good. Not to toot m’own horn, but there was some pretty bad ones going in, so I thought I’d get a solid B or something.

I got a D. I guess the struggle was too metaphorical, or it didn’t perfectly fit her criteria. I was devastated. Then I was mad. Bc I was a bored senior who thought they’d made something pretty decent for this completely optional class and her refusal to see that really hurt me at sixteen (I was always a year younger than my other classmates, so despite being a senior I didn’t turn eighteen until almost a year after graduation)

Well, fuck it, I decided. I’m going to parody the shit out of this class.

Our next project was a fantasy story. I was bitter and grumpy. The other fantasy stories read aloud were stuff like “yeah this dude fought a wizard and got a girl, then they went home and banged” (this was not hyperbole, he would’ve written and read the smut if allowed, I knew him personally) and “this girl that NO ONE UNDERSTOOD was called CRAZY but this S@!$ cheerleader who Stole Her Boyfriend so she killed them all” (fun fact: the girl who wrote that was my age and a sort of half-friend from middle school. She was a yaoi fangirl who didn’t mind lesbians as long as they, you know, didn’t FLIRT with her or something.) 

So I get up there. It’s the last day of presentations. And I present with a polite cheer. My story is about two magical shepherd type figures who are called Sister Brighten and Brother Dick as they chase down a werewolf who was drunk off his ass and accidentally bit someone else. They then revealed they were basically supernatural designated drivers for the whole town. I made Brighten mention that Dick’s name wasn’t even Richard. I titled it “His Favorite Brand is Grayhound”. It fit every single criteria. I got an A. I could tell she didn’t want to, because there was no comments or anything like everyone else’s, but she had to follow her own criteria.

Our third was a conjoined effort thing so I didn’t pull any fuckery there, but the fourth one was about common myths and spinning them into real or fake. One girl did the hook-handed door handle thing and the boyfriend ended up above his truck hanging (somehow???). I think someone did the age-old adage of a haunted wedding dress? I kind of read through those presentations. 

Now, I’m salty-salty at this point. I wasn’t expecting His Favorite Brand is Grayhound to get me a good grade. I half-assed a lot of it. I am in full Not Happy Teenager at this point. I grab a daddy long leg and settle in.

My fourth story of the year is “Paperskin.”

Paperskin is about a boy named Billy with the thinnest skin membrane ever. Just full on body horror. You could see his teeth behind his lips. Billy gets bored one day and wanders out of his house, tries to kick a soccer ball, and breaks a leg. As he’s laying in the grass a daddy long leg bites him- and his skin is so flimsy the fangs sink in and he dies. I’m actually still pretty proud of Paperskin. It’s a horrifying, Edgar Allen Poe of a monstrosity, but it made people squirm, which was the point. The teacher is clearly a bit unnerved at this point, but she gives me another A. 

I wrote a more “normal” story after that of a contentious objector forced to house kids going to see if any confirmed soldier deaths were any of their parents as my final one and I could feel her spite as she gave me a B.

So, yeah. That’s the story of when I tormented my creative writing teacher with The Gays and my weird ass sense of humor after she called one of my best works at that age a piece of shit.

 Here’s a google drive of these bad boys, because yes I do still have these things. I turned these fuckers in for grades, people.

[tickle-bugs]

One of a Kind

@amazingmsme I didn't want to post the thing you sent just because of the minor minor spoilers (I hate that we've lost a grip on spoiler culture on the internet so I am overcorrecting to keep my blog safe!) but what you sent was too goddamn cute. Have an unedited thing I wrote in one go. This takes place in the nebulous, non-existent gap between episode 5 and 6! I still haven't see the finale so....this is canon-adjacent-adjacent I guess. Enjoy!

Spoilers for the Loki series under the cut!

Cataloguing variants had always been time-consuming, but somehow Loki was making it take longer. Mobius knew that Loki should’ve gone through his stack already, especially with his reading speed, but he was just staring at one particular file and huffing at increasing volumes.

Alright, I’ll bite.

“I’d ask what you’re thinking about, but I know you’re gonna tell me.” Mobius thumbed through his file on another Loki, one who’d defected from Thanos in 2012 to join the Avengers. They’d pruned him pretty early. Mobius still regretted not being able to pick his brain for a little while longer.

“These other variants are incredible,” Loki scoffed.

“I agree.”

“I don’t understand it.” He stared at Mobius, brow furrowed, and alright, they clearly weren’t getting any more work done.

“Lokis tend to be extraordinary. It’s kinda a thing with you guys.” Mobius slid his files aside.

“Right, but in comparison, I am at the lower end of the bunch.” Loki frowned, gesturing as if this was a matter of grave importance.

“Okay, you lost me.” He folded his hands on the table and squinted at Loki.

“We have an alligator, an illusionist whose powers dwarfed my own, a child who killed Thor, a President--though I can’t fathom wanting to be a part of the American political system--and an enchantress. Those are the variants that we know about. So why am I here helping you?”

“You’re the best of the bunch.” The simplest and truest answer. Loki didn’t seem to buy it.

Mobius dragged his chair around the table and put it in front of Loki, effectively pinning him against the table--well, he could just stand up and walk away, but Mobius knew he wouldn’t. It was part of their thing.

“What are you doing?”

“Just gettin’ closer.” Mobius slotted his knees between Loki’s and pulled his chair as far in as it could go.

“I can see that. Why?”

“I just wanna be close to you, that’s all.” He gave his best convincing grin. Loki visibly softened.

“Loki, you are a genius with a good heart. You’re here because you are, at least in my book, a hero.” Mobius gave his knee a steady pat. Loki puffed with pride.

“Go on.”

“Wow, you are on a perfect swinging scale of narcissism. From self-deprecating to king of the world in no time flat.” Mobius laughed.

“Thank you.” Loki adjusted his tie, missing or ignoring everything but the word ‘perfect’. Mobius bit his lip on a chuckle--he really shouldn’t inflate an already dangerously-large ego, but Loki needed it, he thought. His confidence was all air, after all--smug posturing designed to fill the void of something genuine. Loki could use genuine, for a change.

He looked Loki up and down slowly, deliberately, and an absurd little idea took root in the back of his mind. It had worked in the Time Cell, so maybe...

“Why are you looking at me like that? Wh--Mobius. Mobius. Stop it.” Loki leaned back as much as he could. Mobius grinned and hovered his fingers just over Loki’s torso, dangerously close. Loki sucked in his stomach, looking frantically between Mobius’s hands and his face.

“This r-really isn’t necessary.” The wobbly smile on Loki’s lips told Mobius the exact opposite.

“Nervous giggler, huh?” Mobius twitched his fingers and Loki jumped.

“No.”

“Perfect! Then you’ll hear what I have to say.” Mobius set his fingers adrift, passing languidly over Loki’s spots but never landing anywhere.

“Sylvie’s my favorite because she’s wild and unpredictable. I can never quite figure out what’s goin’ on in that head of hers, regardless of her being a Loki, and it fascinates me. You know I love my puzzles, and cracking open her head like a walnut has been a real highlight of my career.” Mobius’s fingers over Loki’s knee got the first giggles to bubble out, sweet and fluttery, and it took all of his strength not to chase them down.

“But you? You’re incredible. Quick wit, a quicker knife hand, and a will to survive that I haven’t seen in--” Mobius whistled lowly-- “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. Plus, you’re pretty cute. Or, so I’ve heard.”

“You had me wrapped around your finger when we brought you in. I mean, you could talk a desert into bloomin’.” It was the first time in a few thousand Loki’s that he’d genuinely almost been fooled--something about this one, his Loki, just got to him in a way that the others never could.

“I still have you around my finger.” Loki’s smile and rosy cheeks ignited a gentle warmth in Mobius’s chest. Gentle, rolling chuckles flowed steadily from him, walls completely broken down, and if Mobius could keep one memory forever, it would be this.

“Oh, and that laugh. I’m almost jealous. Literal music to my ears. Y’know, the other Loki’s never laughed like this? It was always this fake, snooty chuckle that used to make my skin crawl.

“But not you. You’ve got this damn beautiful giggle. It’s like the old saying goes: every time a Loki laughs, a puppy is born. Or angels get their wings. A little bit of both.” Mobius let his fingers drift upwards to Loki’s ribs and he whined, pitching forward until his forehead hit Mobius’s chest.

“T-That’s not a thing.” The color on Loki’s face had matured into a wonderful shade of cherry, his voice pinching from the sheer volume of emotion--Mobius could actually see him working through it in real time. Another favorite thing that he could never express aloud--how earnestly and easily Loki wore his emotions.

“He speaks!” Mobius swooped his hands in, never touching but threatening, and Loki yelped around some more giggles.

“Stop it.” Loki swiped at his hands, but even at close range, he couldn’t coordinate enough to catch Mobius.

“You’re right, my bad. It’s rude to keep you waiting.”

“Wh--no, nonono, that’s definitely not what I meant--”

“You make it so easy for me,” Mobius sighed wistfully, seeking out Loki’s trick rib as easy as breathing. Loki shrieked, crumpling in Mobius’s arms, and Mobius held him as he deftly took him apart.

“You are a Loki, alright? There’s no doubt about that. But you’re you, and I like ya. Stop worryin’ about the others.” He wormed his fingers under Loki’s arms, then spidered across the backs of his ribs and up towards his shoulders.

“M-Mobius!”

“Excellent point. You also have me. That’s a pretty big deal--I’m one of a kind, y’know. Limited edition. So there’s that.” His hands found solace beneath Loki's jaw, pulling forth jumpy squeaks between...purrs? Huh. He made a note of it as he scribbled his fingers up Loki’s thigh, dodging swatting hands like a stubborn bug. Loki pulled his knee up to his chest, head tilted back in open-mouthed laughter, and Mobius followed him.

“Who’s got an ego now?” Loki smirked, eyes crinkled, and Mobius summoned his best dramatic gasp.

“You take that back!”

[theyreonlynoodlesmike]

It’s Just a Movie: Part 4 (Poly!Lost Boys x Fem!Reader)

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 1806

"Do any of you have some change I can borrow?" You called, and you cursed yourself once again when you watched how they snickered. Talk about helpless. You swore that if you had seen yourself on the screen, you would've said that you were a mercy killing. Losing your friends, getting a ride from strange boys, hanging out with those strange boys, and not even having enough change for a payphone? God, you could already imagine how they'd drag you in the forums. You were threatening Michael level stupid. You watched as Marko was quick to climb off his bike, and how he jogged over.

He stopped in front of the booth, a small smile on his face as he leaned against the side of the door and held out a couple of quarters. Before you could reach for the change, Marko pulled his hand back. He had a glint in his eye, and, for a moment, you almost thought that this was it. Public be damned. You did your best to not remind yourself of the security guard. It wasn't that late. They wouldn't do anything out in the open like this, would they? You were half-way to a panic attack when he said,

"Here." He grinned and dropped the quarters into your hand. You watched as he stuck his hands in his pockets instead, still parked in his spot leaning in the open spot of the phone booth. You had to quickly calm yourself down, and you muttered something along the lines of a thank you. When you went to turn, he asked, "Need me to stick around? Show you how to put the coins in the slot?" He offered, clearly teasing you. You knew you probably seemed like an absolute lost cause at this point, but you rolled your eyes and quipped,

"What, so you can eavesdrop?" Your voice was teasing, and you watched the way it made him smile. You always thought it was interesting how a boy with such an angel-like face could have such a devilish smile. He shrugged, pulling his hand out of his pocket so he could put it in-between his teeth instead. He said a small, teasing,

"Maybe." Before he was pushing himself off the booth and walking away. You watched him as he walked back towards the bikes, and closed the door the rest of the way. You had a feeling that the boys could probably eavesdrop from their bikes, and Marko wouldn't need to stick around to hear what you were going to say. With the change in one hand and reaching for the phone with the other, you tried to mentally prep yourself for whatever was going to happen. When you gripped the plastic, you took a small breath. You still had your plan, no matter how much of it had gotten screwed up already. But, there was one part of it you weren't excited about. With your front still to the boys, you took your phone out of you back pocket. You tried to be sneaky, maneuvering your body so they couldn't see the little device and opening up the phone book stashed inside so it would seem you were staring at that instead. You thanked the heavens when you opened your phone and saw that you still had half a charge left, and quickly lowered your brightness to seem less suspicious. You went to your contacts, tapping the contacts of your friends so you could find their number. It was a quick decision as to who you would call, as you had to make sure that they would pick up. You only had two chances here. When you had it in front of you, you pushed one of the coins into the slot and dialed their number.

You waited with bated breath as the phone began to ring. Once, twice, three times, and then-

"Hello?" Your heart sank. On the other end was not the voice of your friend. Disappointment filled your mind, and you cursed yourself for even getting your hopes up. You were alone. Your friends had not come to whatever this was with you, and there was no way to contact them. Apparently, payphones couldn't go through dimensions, or whatever this was. You mumbled a quick,

"Sorry, wrong number." And quickly hung up the phone. You only had one quarter left, and no plan now. You couldn't call your friends, so you guessed it'd be a waste of a quarter to try to call your parents. But, still, you couldn't just walk out without making an attempt, especially when you figured the boys would be listening. It would only make you look suspicious. You looked down at the phonebook in your hands, considering flipping it to E or even F. But you didn't want to get the boys, or grandpa Emerson and the Frogs, killed. You just wanted to go home, and avoid getting killed yourself. You stared down at the phonebook, realizing just how bleak your situation was. It wasn't like you had a place to stay that night, and you weren't exactly overflowing with cash. You didn't have a car, anyone you knew, and you couldn't call anyone that you did know. When you looked back at the boys, it dawned on you what you had to do. It was risky, but it was your only choice. You were going to have to tell them the truth. But you couldn't do it here. At least, not without sounding absolutely crazy to everyone passing you and potentially outing them. So, you were also going to have to go back to the cave with them. You sighed.

By the time you walked back to the boys' bikes, you had come up with the excuse that you'd called the wrong number for your friends and had realized your parents weren't in the phonebook. And that you didn't have your home phone number memorized yet. It was a believable excuse, and you hoped it wasn't too suspicious. But, the way David looked at you over his second cigarette of the night gave you little to go off of. If anything, you were sure you were making yourself out to look like the easiest target in the entire world. The only thing you could do was blame it on a bad memory. You passed Marko back his quarter, and Paul commented with,

"That sucks, doll-face, but I know how that is." Before you went to approach Dwayne's bike. After assuring them that you wouldn't end up in too much trouble for not calling, the boys saw no reason to delay. Well, except David. He stomped out cigarette, and motioned behind him.

"Why don't you ride with me, y/n?" But it hardly sounded like a request. You looked at him, and then at Dwayne. While Dwayne was definitely your preference for driving out of the four, you didn't really think you had much of a choice. If this night was going to end well for you, there was one thing you had to do for sure. Listen to David. Even if you already knew exactly what to expect from this ride, you still climbed on behind him and went to wrap your arms around his waist.

"Please, go slow." You said as you sat down, only earning a laugh from the blonde in front of you, and the boys next to you. Realizing your fate, you buried your face into his shoulder. The second you did, he was speeding off and leading the pack. You couldn't have been surprised when he turned, and then headed down the stairs. But, still, you gripped onto him for dear life as you traded concrete and wood for sand. You weaved in and out of bonfires, the blonde duo weaving in front of you or sticking close to your sides. They laughed, hooting and hollering all around you. You laughed along, but your grip never loosened on Davids jacket. You couldn't help but shriek when you went under the boardwalk, silently praying that David knew what he was doing as you went around the poles supporting it. The twists and turns of the dark woods had you holding onto him so tight that your knuckles were turning white, and you felt your stomach drop when the five of you left the woods behind. You knew where you were heading now, even if the fog hid it. You could hear the waves crashing below, and you saw the light from the lighthouse up ahead. You waited for David to slow down, but he never did. Instead, he came to screeching and sudden stop, and you knocked into him from the force of it. You looked down, even if you knew that you shouldn't have, and your head swam when you saw the waves below. "Oh my god." You said breathlessly, and you quickly turned your head away so you wouldn't make yourself dizzy. You scrambled off his bike, with Paul and Marko catching you before you could trip.

"Fun, huh?" David asked, and you fought the urge to send him a glare. You'd almost forgotten that David could be a real dick sometimes. The saving grace of the trip was the cave. Paul helped you down the rocks leading into it, jumping down with you and leaving you to get himself the boombox, before setting it up on the fountain. Dwayne went around, lighting the barrels so you could actually see where you were. You took a moment to admire your surroundings. The fountain and walls, though broken, were still beautiful. The shells and things they had hung from the ceiling stole your attention, before you began looking at all the graffiti they had littered the walls with. You would’ve wondered how’d they’d managed to reach certain areas if you didn’t already know. David began his spiel, and you had to stop yourself from saying it with him. Though, you couldn't stop yourself from finishing it for him and stealing his line.

"So now it's yours?" You asked, and you heard the way Marko snickered while he played with his pigeons. You weren't surprised to see out of the corner of your eye that Paul was strutting around the fountain, before pausing to take a joint out of his coat. You fought the urge to smile as you stared at the bleached blonde, and, after a moment of surprise, he sent you one instead.

"Exactly." He said, reaching out to lay a hand on your arm. Then, Paul delivered what was probably your favorite line of his from the movie. You looked away from David as he said it, missing the way David was staring at you. You couldn’t help the grin on your face as he said,

“So, check it out, y/n!” And lit the joint in his hands.

[arthurtristankingsmen]

Heal

His hands were shaking.

He understood why, but it was inconvenient right now. He just wanted something to keep his mind on. He’d intended it to be putting their gear away, but his only remaining hand was frigid and numb and wouldn’t listen to him. He stood outside the van, carrying cases stacked with the top ones open and foam pulled out, but he couldn’t get the pieces to fit in the impressions. It was hard with one arm, and he could barely see, vision twisting and blurring while his shoulders shook. Every now and then, he had to stop to cough into his hand and that only slowed his progress further.

He’d managed half their equipment. It was slow going while his prosthetic was useless, but once all the ghost-hunting paraphernalia was away, he could break out his tools and get to work on that. It’d take a bit, but he could fix it. He might have to replace a lot of the inner-workings, especially the circuitry, but it wasn’t a big deal when it was far better than the alternative outcome.

Arthur heaved a sigh, and jammed the next piece into its slot. It wasn’t nestled in the foam like it was supposed to be, but it’d just be another thing he couldn’t get right. He knew something was wrong. He’d felt it about the place. He knew it he knew and he’d not acted faster and Vivi almost--

Hair raised on the back of his neck and he caught a scent like cinnamon and vanilla. He didn’t turn from the box, eyes glued to the piece inside, not quite right. It didn’t fit in it shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t wanted. Maybe it was useful sometimes, but maybe it should stop kidding itself it was its fault anyways because if it hadn’t hurt its friend he could’ve done the same and better.

“Arthur?” The voice he expected to hear sounded behind him, and his shoulders hunched a few degrees, He jammed the foam back into place on the sensor he’d been boring holes into, and closed the lid. The voice was so-- gentle. Not like he sounded usually. Usually Lewis was so cold now. Distant. The question was so soft but somehow that hurt more. It almost sounded like he was worried.

“Is Vivi okay?” He still didn’t turn around. He sunk lower between his raising shoulders. Fingers flexing and then balling so hard his knuckles turned white and his palm burned. 

“She’ll be okay...She’s warm. She’s sleeping now. Mystery is helping, too.” He nearly sagged when some of the weight slid off him, but his spine stayed ramrod. He didn’t have to turn around and there weren’t any footsteps, but he knew Lewis was getting closer. His head was buzzing at the sensation and he shivered because of the steady heat behind him, like his back was to a hearth or a wood-burning stove. It was so different from the ice his skin had been sheeted with and that froze his veins and numbed his hand.

“Oh. Good.”

He wished he had more to say, but the words dangled between them in the air, a waving banner dedicated to his awkwardness. He focused on latching the case he’d closed, and moved it aside to open the next one. 

“Arthur.”

“Mm?”

There was a sound behind him. “Arthur. Please look at me.”

The request was so small. It was soft, not a command, and the way the request squeezed out almost sounded like a plea. Arthur licked his lips and screwed his eyes shut for a moment, before he wheeled around, dragging himself like a rusted valve until he’d turned enough to see him. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat when he saw Lewis’s face. it was his face face. He never wore that when it was just them. He’d tried to explain why, once. But all he’d gleaned from the attempt was that he felt safer around him not being vulnerable. It was a far cry from where they used to be. It twisted his chest. He brushed back his hair and made eye contact with the ground.

“--Arthur?” Lewis’s voice came back into focus, but before he opened his mouth, a hand touched his arm. It struck him like lightning and he couldn’t move, and his voice locked. His hand was warm, but in a pleasant way. “You zoned out there. Are you okay? And Arthur-- why are you cold, still?”

That unglued his mouth. His voice wavered and he offered a shaky shrug. “I-- I figured. Better to get Vivi warmed. And-- faster we leave we can get somewhere warmer. I changed clothes.” He coughed again into his hand.

That made Lewis’s brow crease. “Arthur... you went into the water too.”

“Y-yeah, but Vivi was under longer.”

“And you swallowed more water than she did.” Lewis flickered, voice harsh in its firmness. Arthur hunched, and it hit the switch, his best friend Lewis receding back to his eggshell-stepping. It made him want to yank his hair out this was so wrong it shouldn’t be this way it wasn’t fair but who’s fault was it--

Lewis’s snagged his hand, and the thoughts jarred to a halt. “I’m sorry. For snapping. I-- shouldn’t.” He looked away, and every instinct wanted to reach out and comfort him. Tell him it was alright, it wasn’t his fault. But Lewis’s mouth opened again. “But...Arthur. You need to take care of yourself. This... I know I’ve been hard to... talk to. Deal with. I’m so angry. All the time. And it bubbles up so easily with you.” 

Arthur hunched in silence and he nodded. Lewis continued. “But. But that isn’t your fault. It’s.... I don’t want to be angry at you, Arthur. I still.... I care about you. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Not like this.” Arthur looked up at him. There were tears, mostly clear with a pink glow, instead of the sludgy black they had been what felt like a lifetime ago. When so much of the anger had left him. 

“I know you’re still a good person. I know you always were.” Lewis shuddered. “I don’t want to keep hurting you because I can’t-- control my temper. It’s not fair to you.” Lewis wiped at his nose and sniffled, and that spurred Arthur to move.

He took his hand from Lewis’s, and it made Lewis pause. But instead of retreating or pulling away, his hand just came up to wipe at the tears and their glistening streaks. 

There was a silence. A long respite, where Arthur wordlessly wiped at his cheeks, and Lewis stared at his hand and then him. He could see his gaze in his periphery, but he couldn’t meet it.

“I just... want you happy.” Arthur muttered. “I can’t undo... anything. But if I could fix this, I would. But.... I’m just glad you’re here. I know you can’t help it. I don’t blame you.”

“I blame me.” Lewis’s hand overlaid his own. “I know it hurts you. I know it does when I get angry. Or when I try to not say anything so I don’t hurt you. I don’t want you to feel like I want nothing to do with you. I just-- I don’t want to be the monster I almost was. I don’t want to keep hurting you.”

Arthur swallowed something thick in his throat. “You’re not. You’re not a monster. You didn’t have a choice.”

“And you did?”

He froze solid, hearing Lewis say that. “I-- what--”

“You know what I mean. And I know you.” Lewis took his chin and tilted it so they’d meet each other’s gaze. “I don’t always... notice things. Or connect the dots. But I know you. And you didn’t have a choice either.”

Arthur looked at him a long moment, before he shrugged. It was the best answer he could give. Arguments filled his mouth, but he swallowed them for now. Disagreeing would just make Lewis try to convince him more. 

Lewis seemed satisfied enough with that. “I know what kind of person you are,” He continued. “You want to know who that is...?”

“Who...?” 

Lewis smiled. “The kind of person who jumps into an icy lake, to save our best friend from a spirit who pulled her under. The kind of person who doesn’t think twice about how dangerous it is. The only person who could go under that surface because of the magic seals, and who didn’t even need to be asked. Who didn’t know that, but didn’t care. The person who held her above water and risked himself. The person who did that even when your arm stopped working and weighed you down. Who still held her up when it did, so she’d stay above even when that meant you kept going under. The person determined enough to save her despite everything. And the person who did.”  

The tears were there again as he put his hands on each side of Arthur’s face. “Vivi is the love of my life. And my afterlife. She’s one of my best friends. And you saved her when no one else could. That’s who you are, Arthur. A friend who does what it takes for everyone he cares about. I wish I had remembered that. Because when it comes down to it...? That’s who you are. I didn’t lose her, because you saved her.”

Arthur made a choked noise, but it was nothing next to the sound that escaped when large arms wrapped around him, and Lewis held him close in a tight embrace. 

It was the first one Lewis had given him, since he’d come back to the team in full.

“I thought I was going to. To lose her. I couldn’t reach her. And then I thought I might lose you both. And that was terrifying.” Lewis’s voice wavered. He shook and clutched him tighter. He could feel his hands balling against his shirt with handfuls of fabric, just underneath his vest. “You matter too. You have to know you matter.” Lewis whispered it against his hair, clutching him tight. “I can’t lose either of you. Any of you. You have to know that, Arthur. I want all of us to be okay. You’re a part of that.”

“L-Lewis-- I--.” He warbled, hardly able to string words together. Lewis’s embrace was so familiar and nostalgic. It was so warm and he smelled like snickerdoodles and he held him so close he almost forgot how how far apart they were. He stayed frozen in his hold until Lewis’s warmth thawed him enough to hold back, making the numbness recede. There were butterflies in his lungs and the ice was melting where it’d seized him inside.

 He shook now, but he said nothing. He couldn’t. His voice was choked out and he couldn’t speak. He knew if he tried he’d just cry. He didn’t want to. 

Lewis did let go after a time, but he only pulled back, his arms going to Arthur’s shoulders. “Thank you. For saving her. I-- I know I’m still angry. But I want to try. I know who you are, Arthur. So we can try... to heal. Right? I want to. I want to get through this. And I still want you with us.”

Arthur could feel his eyes stinging and he nodded. 

Lewis hugged him again, though this one was shorter. But it still meant everything, and held all the weight he’d been shouldering, so he could breathe without gasping. “Good. Now this all can wait.” He gestured to the equipment, but Lewis’s gaze never left him. “Let’s just... it’s warm in the van, Arthur. Come inside. Vivi will kick my shins if she wakes up and you’re still freezing. You wouldn’t want to risk those, would you?”

Arthur made a sound. It might’ve been a chuckle at one point.  “N-no-- a-and V-viv-- she’d-- be-- be sad she couldn’t-- stick her cold toes on-- me.” He stuttered and halted as he spoke, slow and choppy. It was lighthearted, but his voice still threatened to break the dam with every word. It was the best he could do to keep himself steady and still say them. 

But Lewis’s soft laugh said it was enough. 

The divide felt smaller, with Lewis’s hand on his shoulder, as he ushered him in through the van’s back doors.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Hexbolt

Inspired by my own prompts? Maybe a little bit.

Summary: The former villain Hex makes a desperate choice to escape captivity-- only to realize just what they have gotten into.

CW//Solitary confinement, extreme isolation, attempted self harm, screaming, sensory deprivation, desperation, captivity, crying, syringes, trackers

The cell had been designed for them.

Hex had realized that the moment they’d been thrown in, though the implications hadn’t struck them all at once. The cage was six foot by six foot-- at least, that was how they’d approximated it, considering that when they stretched out, their head touched one wall and their feet brushed the other. It was the same in the vertical direction, giving them enough room to stand, but nothing else.

They weren’t claustrophobic. At the very least, they had been trying to convince themself that they weren’t for the last...

The last...

How long had they been in here?

There was no indication of night or day-- the walls, floor, and ceiling alike were all coated in a thick black rubber, devoid of windows of any sort. Even the single vent had been covered with a thin layer of black, allowing in only the smallest breaths of stale air. The door was the same. They knew there was a door, but it was only visible when open.

Hex had no idea how long their world had been consumed by black. Long enough that whenever the slot on the cell door was opened, it hurt their eyes, making them flinch back.

There were scared of the light, even as it sounded stupid to think about. Well, they weren’t scared of the light. Not exactly. Moreso, they were frightened by its implication.

Light meant attention. It meant that someone had remembered them, here in this hole.

Usually, it only meant this in a minor way: One of the guards had remembered to bring them food, or water. That might have happened on a regular basis, or it might have not. Without light, without human contact, they had no way of knowing. Sometimes, food came. That was all.

Sometimes they would catch a glimpse of a hand, or, even better, a face. Something, anything, to remind them that other humans existed.

They cried, those days. Even as they tried not to think about life before, about life before this little black box, they could not. They only knew the cage.

In a way, they hated just how simple it had been to contain them. With the ability to take hold of technology, escape should have been simple-- a matter of tripping a fire alarm, or, if their captors had been particularly careless, simply opening their own cell door remotely.

But they could not grasp anything beyond a rubber wall, blocking their signals. Their powers had a range, at the moment, of six feet by six feet. There was not so much as a light they could play with.

Only silence and black.

They screamed sometimes. No one heard. Slamming against the walls of their cell did equally little-- the rubber was too flexible to provide any sort of sound or injury.

A stupid little box. That was all it took to contain Hex. They had always thought the League of Heroes to be far too stupid to come up with something restrictive enough, strong enough to keep them contained. But they had. And it was a box.

Did their former foes even remember them? Timeline? Mantas? The Sentinel? Anyone?

Maybe they were dead. Maybe everyone they had known was, passed of old age while they were in this six by six by six foot cube. Perhaps, something in this cell was simply keeping them alive. Prolonging their loneliness.

And no one would ever remember them, ever again.

Hex shifted to a sitting position, back pressed against one of the rubber walls. Which one was lost to them-- they could not see in the dark, and there was no difference between the walls anyways.

They hugged their legs to their chest. When had they become so... thin? Was that it? Or had they simply forgotten what they used to look like? They knew they were getting lost in their own thoughts again, but they couldn’t help it. There was nothing else in here, nothing else to engage with.

If their foes had forgotten them, had their friends? All the other villains? Had their inside jokes turned into wistful memories? Their face a fixture in the background of ancient photographs?

They were crying. Maybe if they shed enough tears, dehydration would take them.

The very thought of it brought a warmth of hope to their chest. It was for the sake of that warmth that they allowed their tears to consume them, running down their face, their neck, their dusty grey prison uniform, until, at long last, their own sobs lulled them to a deeper, unconscious darkness.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━   

Hex awoke to light. Hex never awoke to light.

So much light, it burned them, even as they scrambled to cover their eyes. They sputtered, trying to speak, but their attempts were of no use. Instead, they could only wait as their eyes adjusted to the new, blazing inferno before them.

It took far too long, but when they could at last see, their field of vision was filled by a figure, taking up the doorway.

“I asked, are you alive in there?” The idea of a human voice was so horribly unfamiliar, it took Hex a moment to remember what exactly speech was.

“I- I” Their throat was so dry, their words came out as a croak. “What’s going on?”

It was the figure’s next words that made Hex recognize them.

“Guess that’s as good of an answer as any. Long time no see, V-23.”

Why was the Chief here? They were always so busy, so secretive, so...

Why would they care about a forgotten, caged animal?

Their next words were stupid, they knew that, but they needed to know.

“A- Are there any others? Is anyone else still around?”

Uproarious laughter.

“You thought that your friends are anywhere near strong enough to take us out?”

No. They thought age would have taken them.

“I don’t know.” Hex whimpered. Even with the insulting, mocking tone with which they were addressed, they could feel tears beading at the corners of their eyes. Tears of joy, accompanied by a blazing warmth in their chest. “I don’t know.”

“Well, 23, have you enjoyed your stay?”

They were still in the box. They were still- and the door was open. The door was open! They could leave, go, and-

Hex could hardly believe that their legs could still carry their weight. They scrambled to their feet, surging forth, only to be struck.

A hand about their neck, a hand large enough to practically wrap all the way around. It pushed them back, making them fall to their back.

“What?” More laughter. “You thought your sentence was over? You thought you were leaving? Give me a break.”

The tears spilling down their face turned cold. Was their any purpose to this visit besides gloating?

“But, I suppose it’s good to see that you can still walk. Now, you know I’m busy, and I know that I couldn’t care less about you. Trust me, I wouldn’t be looking at your face if I had a choice in the matter. You see, I have an offer for you.”

“An offer?”

“Not that I enjoy dealing with villains, but yes. A deal.”

“A deal.” They repeated.

“Great job, you remember English. Crazy how that works.”

“Shut up.” No. Keep talking, please keep talking.

“Well, you do have that option, believe it or not. Let’s make this very, very simple. You have two choices. First option, I leave you alone. I close this door, and you go back to your little dog crate.”

No. Please no.

“Second option.” There was a horrid, wicked grin to the Chief’s face. “Second option, you switch sides. To put it simply for your little brain, we need a spy. A mole. And you’re just harmless enough to fit that role. You will return to your little friends, and report back.”

Hex felt their heart skip a beat, before beginning to race.

Back home. Back to their friends. More importantly, out of this box. Eating food that could be described as edible, instead of moist blocks of something grey. They could go home, again.

But...

It would mean going against everything. Everyone.

But if they were out of this box, they could do anything. They were sure of that. They could fly, breathe fire, pick up a car, anything, just as soon as they were out of this box. They could escape. Then everything could be like it was before!

And they would never again be placed in a box.

“Yes.” They gasped, exasperated.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I’ll work for you.”

“Good.” The Chief smiled. “Come on, then. We will discuss this further somewhere else. But first, doctor?”

The first figure moved aside, making way for a second, less imposing one, draped in a lab coat. Hex skittered backwards, noting the item in the doctor’s hand-- a sort of broad- tipped syringe. They reached the back of the cell far too quickly.

The doctor stepped forth, and Hex felt their heart lurch to their throat. What did they want? In a moment of unprecedented agility, they darted around them, aiming for the door-- only to be caught in a strangling headlock.

Hex struggled, straining against the Chief’s arm with their hands, but their strength was minuscule compared to that of their captor.

“Where does it go?” The Chief asked gruffly.

“In the neck.” The doctor replied.

They nodded, and Hex felt a second arm wrap about their midsection, holding them still. They could not see the needle being inserted, but they could feel its pinch.

When the Chief finally allowed them to move, they skittered backwards, scratching at the skin that had been pierced. The pinch was only evidenced, now, by the tiniest puncture.

“W-What did you-?” Hex stammered, scratching more forcibly, as though it would remove whatever had been forced beneath their skin. “What did you do?”

The Chief smirked, letting loose a small chuckle.

“Well, we wouldn’t want our little doggy running away, would we? It’s only a tracker. Now, come on. We have a lot to discuss.”

[ahkaahshi]

lucky [oikawa tooru x reader]

pairing: oikawa tooru x fem reader

genre: smut (18+) with some fluff :)

warning(s): explicit sexual content, orgasm denial/edging, roleplaying, penetrative sex, implied deep throating, swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of gambling and casinos, and oikawa being a lovable dork as always

word count: 5.4k (a monster of a fic compared to my usual writing. whew)

overview: after a long weekend of work-related conferences, you’re desperate to let off some steam at the hotel bar. however, you don’t realize what you’re in for when you take to eyeing the man you couldn’t keep your attention off of when you arrived.

From the first moment you set foot beneath the sea of twinkling fairy lights adorning the patio of the luxurious hotel bar, you haven’t been able to take your eyes off him. Like a star, he shimmers in the gentle glow—his crisp, white button-up reflecting every hint of light that falls upon his figure. That bright smile of his he flashes the bartender as the two enjoy a casual chat is radiant, threatening to set your heart ablaze. With the warmth that his demeanor exudes, it’s impossible for you notto notice his presence in spite of all the other patrons chattering, swaying to the music, and enjoying a good laugh with friends in the large, outdoor space.

Oikawa Tooru. You already know his name after seeing his face on national television countless times, but you never could’ve expected that you would bump into him during the last night of your stay at this hotel in particular. Even from afar, he’s just as stunning—if not more so—than he appears on the volleyball court, and the instant attraction you feel to him is what has you carefully weaving between the throngs of guests to make your way over to the bar.

The seat next to him is open, but you think twice about taking it. Doing so would quickly put you in a rather intimate situation, you assume, given how close each stool is located to the next, so you settle on leaving a bit of distance between the two of you by perching on the plush cushion of a one a few seats away. Once you’ve placed your small purse securely on a hook beneath the counter, you flag the bartender with a small wave of the hand and a smile, making him abandon his conversation with the professional volleyball player to attend to you.

There’s a brief moment when your gaze meets his brown one tinged golden by the lights as he glances over to see the source of his conversation’s interruption, and, in that short span of time before your eyes dart away from his, you swear you catch a glimpse of a smile playing on his lips. After you’ve placed your signature drink order, you focus your attention on the man behind the counter instead, watching him grab and combine the ingredients necessary to fill your request. However, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re not the only one having a hard time keeping their eyes to themselves.

And your own inability to do so is what has you sending another glance down the bar in his direction, (e/c) eyes trailing along the intricate detailing beneath the counter’s resin surface as they make their way over to his. Trying to withhold the smile that almost instinctively spreads across your lips at noticing the one already gracing his when your gazes meet again is futile. There’s something about his radiant presence and the barely noticeable glint of rapture shining in his eyes that has your heart fluttering in your chest—and its pace soon increases when he lifts his glass, grabs the jacket draped over the hook by his knee, and stands so he can close the distance between you.

A giggle tinged with both delight and nervousness escapes your lips before you call out to him, “You don’t have to come over here!”

“Oh?” he questions coyly, raising an eyebrow at you as he ducks beneath the counter for a moment to place his jacket on the hook beside your purse, “What was I supposed to do, then? Just sit and stare until someone else came to chat you up?” His teasing remark fills you with warmth, as does the realization that only a few inches separate you from the impossibly attractive man you’d been admiring. As bold as you were to look him in the eye before, you find the feat to be a challenge now.

“Not exactly,” you suggest, suppressing your nerves enough to deliver an equally playful response of, “But I thought I’d receive a message from the bartender that my drink’s already been paid for by the handsome loner at the other end of the bar before he gathered the courage to approach me?”

His fingers swim through his brown waves of feathery hair as his lips quirk into a devilish smile. “Mm, but then I would’ve been doing exactly what you expected me to do! And where’s the fun in that, huh?” You follow his chestnut gaze to the man behind the counter when he sets the drink you’d requested down on the coaster near in front of you. Your hand’s journey to your purse is stopped by a light touch on your arm and the words, “You can put anything she orders on my bill,” leaving your new drinking partner’s mouth.

Traces of heat skitter along the skin his fingers graze like stray embers that have escaped the fire. Somehow, in the coolness of the night with not a drop of liquor in your system, there’s not a single goosebump on your body.

“Thank you…”

“Tooru.” He sticks his hand into the small void between you in a formal greeting.

You return the favor, sliding your palm against his and giving it a gentle shake. “(F/n).” A thought about how soft and gentle yet firm his grip is passes through your mind, bringing familiar prickles of warmth to your cheeks. “I appreciate it.”

Chuckling, he mentions, “Didn’t wanna ruin the little fantasy you seem to have all put together in that pretty head of yours by making you pay for your own drink.” The degree of rapture in his gaze, as if he thinks your face is the most enticing subject in his field of vision, slowly melts away your hesitation, and you find yourself raising your glass to his after it’s been refilled once more in an amicable toast.

The first taste always burns the most, but Oikawa’s presence seems to sweeten it ever so subtly. “So,” you hum after taking a deep breath to collect your thoughts, “what brings you here tonight by yourself? Thought someone as famous as you are wouldn’t be a moment without an entourage of adoring, female fans.”

He snickers, lips curling up into a grin that reflects his amusement. “It’s quite a large burden to bear, if I do say so myself, but I managed to escape their clutches just moments before you got here. Pretty lucky if I do say so myself,” he explains, his flirtations accompanied by a small wink. After taking another sip of the dark liquor in his glass, he adds, “As far as what I’m doing here; well, I’m here on business. But there’s no harm in mixing in a little pleasure, right?”

You shrug. “Might as well.”

“How about you?” Your gaze only leaves his for a moment to watch the way his fingertips graze the height of his glass, collecting droplets of condensation rolling down the sides. The silver rings he’s wearing on his right index and ring fingers shine when they catch a hint of the soft light pouring over your forms.

Returning your attention to his eyes, which appear to relax at having the pleasure of meeting yours once again, you elaborate, “Same reason. Wanted to find at least one fun thing to do after a long weekend of back to back work-related events.”

“In that case, feel free to have as many drinks as you want—on me,” he offers. However, before you can protest and tell him that you would never be so cruel as to exploit his generous offer, he comments, “But, if you’d rather sink money into something a little more rewarding and exciting than the frankly overpriced alcohol here, what do you say to joining me in the casino?”

You bat your eyelashes at him from over the rim of your glass while you take another sip as an indication that you’ll give him an answer when you can speak again. The invitation’s rather bold, you think, considering the fact that the two of you have only known each other for a grand total of about ten minutes. In any other situation, you’d most likely say no and do anything you could to shirk your conversational partner’s advances—depending on how they’d approached you, that is. But you find that you don’t want to say no to him.

Whether it’s the way his inviting gaze threatens to keep drawing you closer and closer to him so you can see the glimmer of the fairy lights in his eyes, or the air of warmth surrounding him that makes you feel as if you’ve known him forever, you don’t know—but you just can’t say no. You don’t want to. Sure, you’d gotten dressed up and taken a trip down to the ritzy hotel’s bar with the intentions of alleviating your boredom, but if you left with him, it would be because you wanted to be in his company rather than because you wanted a solution to your issue.

So, you answer him with a nod, but delay your next course of action for a while longer by asking, “Is it alright if I indulge in just one more of these overpriced drinks before we leave, though? I don’t know about know about you, but I only just got here.”

His smile doesn’t falter as he obliges with a dip of the head. “Really trying to bleed me dry, here, aren’tcha?”

“Might as well leave the bar knowing that you spent your money on something worthwhile before losing it all at the slots.”

“In that case, I’ll order myself another too.”

The two of you share a much-needed laugh, considering your long weekends of work, and continue your conversation over another refill. Though you’re sure the time the two of you spend on the plush stools at the bar top is relatively short, it feels much longer, and you find yourself abstaining from finishing your drink too quickly to prolong the moments you spend together—since you don’t want him to splash more of his hard-earned money on another rather average drink hiding behind a fancy name. In spite of all the commotion surrounding you as people dance, fill up the barstools on either side of you, or raise their voices to be heard over the chatter and music, his figure is the only thing you can see, and his voice the only thing you can hear.

You do snap back to reality once more, though, when you both come to the realization that your glasses are empty, but you’re happy that his idea to visit the casino means this isn’t the end of your night together. Once he’s slid on his jacket and you’ve slung your purse over your shoulder, the two of you head back into the hotel and stride down the ornately designed carpeting towards your destination. The slight sensation of the alcohol buzzing in your veins fills you with warmth that he seems to localize and intensify with his light touches to the small of your back as he guides you over towards the glowing slot machines.

Oikawa notices your hesitation when you sit down in front of one of the money-guzzling contraptions, and teases, “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you have to pay to play, princess.”

The affectionate nickname that leaves his mouth makes your heart jump in your chest and nearly takes your breath away. Quickly regaining your composure and dismissing his comment with a wave of the hand, you simper, “Of course I know that, Tooru. I’m just trying to decide if this is really worth it, since I never seem to have the best luck with the slots.”

A reassuring smile forms across his lips, and his eyelashes flutter ever so slightly as his eyes flit over your figure. “Well,” he sighs, leaning against the seat and nonchalantly slinging his arm over the back of yours, “you never know. Tonight might just be the night you get lucky.”

His comment seems innocent enough, but the seduction laced into his voice as well as the confidence behind the smirk that replaces his sweet grin has you believing otherwise. And his intentions soon become clearer as you make your rounds around the casino together.

At first, you think his advances a figment of your hyperactive imagination projecting your own desires onto him. That every bumping of your knees together while lounging in the cushioned seats at the machines is an accident, and that every graze of his fingertips along your arm is just a polite way of grabbing your attention. However, as the evening wears on, you stop second-guessing yourself. To be fair, it gets fairly challenging to deny that something more than just camaraderie is present between the two of you when his hand wraps around your waist as you make your way to the blackjack table—and eventually ends up running along your thigh beneath the cover the polished wood provides.

His touch ignites your entire body with sensation. It refuses to be ignored, just as his presence had when you’d seen him at the bar earlier, and it fuels a desire within you to have his hands on every inch of your skin. Oh, how sad they must be, only being able to travel the short expanse between your knee and the hem of your dress’s tight skirt for the sake of politeness, you think. But pity is the exact opposite of what you should feel towards him, since you know better than anyone else that you want more than anything to give into him.

He seems to sense—given the way your own hands never move to reject his advances and you lean into his touch when he experimentally puts an arm around you—that you’re on the same page as he is, and decides to beckon you closer to him for a chat before you reach your next destination. “Hey, whaddya say we make things a little more fun?” he suggests, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. Thankfully, the shuddering breath that escapes your mouth is lost beneath the ringing of the slot machines and upbeat music.

“What did you have in mind?” you wonder, feeling excitement course through you at the limitless options that he could be imagining.

“How about—” he pauses for a moment to lean down closer to your ear—“we make a little deal?” You follow his gaze over to the roulette table a few feet away before fastening your attention on him once more as he offers, “If the ball lands on an even number, I’ll give you a special prize.” He retrieves a small, plastic card from his coat pocket that you instantly recognize as a room key, making your breath hitch in your throat and your eyelashes flutter with shock.

You swallow thickly and ask, “And what if it doesn’t?”

The grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth is one you’ve seen before many times on television when he’d one-upped his opponents with an unexpected play, but being exposed to it in person and in such close proximity to him has your heart racing. “You’ll have to be willing to take the risk and play in order for you to find out the answer to that question, sweetheart. Trust me, you can’t lose.”

There’s a long moment of silence that ensues his proposition before you nod in agreement and strut over to the table to try your luck. After placing a bet on all even numbers, you watch with bated breath as the tiny ball whizzes around the outside of the wheel. Oikawa chuckles at your clear desperation, earning him a roll of the eyes from you. Because of your previously held belief that you’d probably end up losing more than you’d earned tonight, your heart leaps with excitement when the ball rolls into the slot with the number 22 etched into it.

“Well, look at you! What did I say earlier?” Oikawa muses, giving your shoulder a pat as you collect your winnings even though they’re not at the top of your mind like his hotel room key is. The sensation of the card’s smooth edges running along your fingers when he slides it into your awaiting palm gives you an instant adrenaline rush. “Off you go, then. I’ll be up in a minute.” Before you can even ask him what the alternate option to the deal would’ve been, he’s giving you a gentle nudge in the direction of the tiled floor leading towards the lobby. The parting words he whispers in your ear have your core flooding with heat: “Oh, and I’d really appreciate it if that dress was off by the time I got there.”

In an instant, he’s sauntering in the opposite direction, leaving you to walk to the elevator by yourself on shaky legs that continue to quiver the entire ride up to the eighth floor. Part of you wants to curse yourself for being so susceptible to his irresistible charm and sugared words, but there’s no point in doing so now. You’re going to get what you want, after all.

As you step into his room, you’re greeted by the subtle yet delightful scent of his cologne wafting from the suits in the closet on your way over to the foot of the large bed you see peeking out from around the corner. Nervous tingles travel down your spine as you kick off your shoes and reach for the zipper of your dress, making your skin erupt in goosebumps, but the sensation doesn’t stop you from slipping the garment off and settling down against the plush duvet.

Luckily, he doesn’t keep you waiting long, and you’re leaping to your feet when you hear the heavy door open, letting in the conversations of other guests wandering down the hall nearby. For a split second, you feel self-conscious and wish you had more covering your body than just a lacy bra and panties, but, when you see the way his steps come a halt and his gaze traces over the entirety of your figure, drinking in the beautiful sight before him, your hesitation immediately dissipates.

Slowly, he approaches you, shrugging off his jacket before placing one hand on your bare waist and using his other to tilt your chin up so he can look into your eyes. “You’re gorgeous, (f/n),” he breathes, pupils dilating as they trace and retrace the path from yours to your lips parted with anticipation and desperate to be kissed, “I got lucky too. So, so lucky.”

Your eyelids flutter shut as he presses his warm lips against yours. They’re soft and gentle, molding to fit the shape of yours as if they were created to be interlocked. As his tongue runs along yours after tentatively prodding your lower lip in a silent request for access, his fingers dance along the bare skin on your back. Soon, your kisses are becoming more and more heated, and your hands are moving to his shirt to undo the buttons keeping it clasped together.

“Lemme take these off, yeah?” he murmurs against your lips, tugging at the back of your bra with one hand and at the waistband of your thong with the other. All you can do is nod, since you’re too breathless to give a verbal response, and allow him to undo the clasp around your back. A gentle push towards the bed sends you toppling down atop it with a playful giggle before he finishes your job of ridding himself of his shirt and tugs your panties down your legs.

Through half-lidded eyes, you can see the strain of his erection against his trousers, making your mouth water. He smirks at your mounting desire for him and kneels down on the carpet, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. As teasingly as you’d expect from him, he drags a long finger down your slit, dragging the juices seeping out of your core up to your clit and rubbing the sensitive bud experimentally, delighted by the loud moans he reaps from your vocal cords in response.

“Tooru…” you utter needily, arching your back, “More… please.”

Unable to resist your gentle plea, he brings his lips to the plush skin of your inner thigh and mumbles, “Keep saying my name just like that, princess.” His low hum of contentment sends vibrations through your entire lower region as his mouth presses against your entrance so he can lick a broad stripe from there to your pearl.

The sensation’s nearly too much for you, but you soon melt into it, your hands reaching for his head of soft, brown hair to bring his face closer to your heat as he pleasures you with his tongue. His fingers splay across your thighs and give them a tight squeeze before he moves them up to your hips so he can hold you in place when you begin rocking them against his tongue. The sound of his name leaving your mouth in more desperate cries encourages him to delve the wet muscle deep enough into your core to make you squeal and tighten your grasp around the strands woven between your fingers.

It only takes a few minutes for him to have you at the brink of your first orgasm with how skilled his tongue is in working your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Right there—ah—Tooru!” you whimper at feeling your stomach fill with heat, “Please! I’m… I’m gonna cum!”

You expect to feel your body succumb to the pleasure, but, upon hearing your words, he retreats from you completely and licks his lips. “So soon?” he questions in a manner that’s almost mocking. Chest heaving and glistening core still fully exposed to him, you watch him with dismay. “C’mon, I know you can last longer than that.”

Inadvertently, you clench your thighs together and complain, “Don’t tease me like that.”

Shooting you a devious smile, Oikawa rises to his feet once more and quips, “Whine all you want, baby; but I know you’ll be changing your tune when I make you cum harder than you ever have before.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, but you’re quick to regain your composure under his perceptive stare. “Quite a bold promise to make, considering you don’t have a single clue about my sex life, whatsoever,” is the comment that leaves your mouth in a grumble while you shift your position so that you’re sitting up on your knees. Intent on getting payback for being robbed of your orgasm at the last second, you reach for the belt holding his trousers up and task yourself with undoing it.

He chuckles wryly. “It’s not a promise—it’s a guarantee.” Your throat goes dry at his words and at the sight of his large cock when you free it from the restraint of his pants. “Besides,” he mentions, his voice taking on a low tone that has you looking up at him as you lean forward onto your elbows, so your mouth is level with the leaking tip of his erection, “it doesn’t matter who you’ve been with before. You’ll forget them all after tonight.”

With that statement made, he eases his hips forward as you open your mouth invitingly so he can slide his cock along your tongue. A gentle groan rumbles in his chest when you close your mouth around him and move further down his shaft at a painstakingly slow pace until the tip is nudging your throat. You don’t intend to keep him there, but you want to tease him with the sensation just enough to make him lose a bit of that cool composure of his. Spurred on by his gentle sounds of pleasure and the look of fascination he’s regarding you with, you bob your head along the length of his shaft, dragging his tongue beneath it in long, deep strokes.

“Fuck, (f/n), that feels good,” he hisses, gaze wavering as he struggles to keep his eyes from rolling back at how good your mouth feels enveloping his cock. A gentle hum of appreciation you let out in response to his compliment has him thrusting into your mouth in an effort to feel the vibrations along every inch of his length. The slightly bitter taste of his precum catches on your tastebuds when you swirl your tongue around his throbbing head. “So fucking good.”

Your needy pussy clenches around nothing at his praise, and you moan teasingly while picking up the pace, taking him closer and closer to your throat with each thrust. His hand comes down to brush a few strands of your hair away from your face in a surprisingly tender gesture before his fingers clench around them to keep one of his hands occupied. The other rests on the bedside table nearby, fingertips turning white beneath the pressure he’s applying against the hard wood.

Though it’s clear he’s enjoying every moment of this with the way his cock twitches appreciatively in your mouth, the last thing he wants is to finish before he’s taken care of you. “On your back, princess,” he commands, his voice gruffer than usual as he indicates he wants you to stop by tugging your hair in the opposite direction to his body. Obediently, you let him slide his cock out of your mouth and fall back onto the bed, spreading your legs wide open so he can see just how ready you are for him. Your core has been ablaze with yearning for too long for you to be shy now.

The shadow his body creates in the soft light falls over yours when he crawls onto the bed and hovers over you. The desire to be closer to him that hasn’t left since the moment you first saw him resurfaces once again, prompting you to throw your arms around his shoulders so you can unite your bare torsos. His lips dive down towards yours once more, pressing passionate kisses against them that—in combination with the feeling of his cock pressing against your clit—have you moaning into his mouth. Your fingers pressing into the muscles along his back indicate your desperation to have him inside of you, so he obliges; plunging into your warm, velvety core as he takes his lower lip between your teeth.

A wanton mewl escapes your lips at feeling so, delightfully full, and you wrap your legs around his back, adjusting your hips so he can reach deeper inside of you. The stretch is somewhat painful at first, but every sensation you feel quickly melts into pleasure when he begins thrusting into you slowly and gently. Soon, it feels too slow and too gentle, and every nerve ending in your body is screaming for more. “Faster!” you cry as he nudges your head to the side so he can litter the tender skin on your neck with love bites.

He listens and indulges you, but not for long. Each time he hears your breathing become more erratic and feels you clench around him tightly, he eases off, ignoring the whimpers and complaints that leave your mouth at each orgasm he prevents you from reaching. As he teases you with shallow thrusts or riles you up even further by pulling out of you, he moves his head down to your chest so he can take one of your pert nipples in his mouth while his fingers pinch the other.

“Tooru, please. Please, let me cum!” you find yourself begging after being edged to what you feel is damn near the point of insanity with how little you can focus on anything else aside from chasing the high he keeps within inches of you. You open your eyes to give him a look of longing that you hope is enough to convince him to finally finish you off.

“Don’t worry,” he breathes, sending a wave of fresh goosebumps along your skin glistening with sweat, “I’m gonna make you cum so fucking hard.” The sound of his gentle voice transforming into a low growl dripping with lust fills your entire stomach with heat. “Turn over.” His hands on your waist help you flip onto your stomach and bring your hips up into the air as he kneels behind you to position himself at your entrance.

In one, swift motion, he pushes the entirety of his length back inside of you, making you cry out at the feeling of every ridge and vein in his dick dragging along your hypersensitive walls. The plush duvet and high thread count sheets muffle your screams of pleasure enough to keep them confined to his hotel room alone as he pounds into you mercilessly, sending your body charging towards what you hope is the release you’ll finally be able to experience. With all the pressure that’s building up inside of you, you can hardly withstand the pleasure overwhelming your senses.

A few more thrusts that target your most sensitive spot have you finally toppling over the edge of your orgasm, and warm waves of ecstasy crash over you as your body shakes and stars fill the edges of your vision. Your pussy spasming erratically around his cock has Oikawa snapping his hips against yours at a maddening speed until he’s filling your core up with the warmth of his release. He moans loudly between the praises and expletives that roll off his tongue as you ride out your highs together. Though you hate to admit it, he had been right—while merciless, his edging had intensified your pleasure in the end.

The strength of your orgasm leaves you unable to do anything else aside from flop onto the mattress and let your eyelids flutter shut while you regain your breath after Oikawa pulls out of you. The bed shifts beside you as he lies down at your side, taking a minute to steady his own breathing as he runs his hand along your back gently. There’s a few, long moments of silence that fill the warm air of the hotel room before a gentle chuckle from your mouth permeates it. Without speaking, he knows exactly what the source of your amusement is, and he ends up snickering as well.

“You really do say some of the corniest shit, baby,” you remark, amusement glimmering in your eyes when they find his after you roll onto your side to face him, “But I guess you’re a decent actor. Just don’t go quitting your day job, now.”

He grumbles and nuzzles your chin playfully, pressing a kiss against your jaw before pulling away and defending, “Oh, come on. You have to admit that at least some of the things I said were pretty hot.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

His arms snake around your body to pull you against his chest. In one ear, you can hear the sound of his strong heartbeat, and, in the other, you can hear him answer, “Like the whole using roulette as a gamble to win my room key instead of just money situation. C’mon. You liked that. I know you did—I saw your eyes practically burning with desire at that point.”

“Mm? And how do you know I wasn’t just acting as well?” you retort, throwing one of your legs over his and shifting your position so you can see the face of mock irritation you know he’s making at you. Sure enough, his eyes are narrowed, and his lips pursed as he squeezes them shut. After planting a kiss against his lips, you reassure him, “I enjoyed it. You’re very creative, as always, my love.”

“So all the money we spent on this little sexcapade, so to speak, of ours was worth it, then?” His hand on the back of your head keeps your faces within close proximity as he gazes into your eyes expectantly.

With a nod, you answer, “It was. But, any time we get to spend together is always worth it.”

A gentle smile forms on his lips to mirror your own, and his nose brushes against yours when he brings you closer to another kiss. This one’s deeper and more sensual than the last, and it makes your heart flutter in your chest. “I love you so much, (f/n).”

“I love you too, Tooru.” The two of you take some time to bask in your mutual and deep feelings of adoration with your foreheads pressed together and hands tracing over each other’s features before you speak again. “Now, how are we gonna be able to top this roleplay, huh?

That very familiar, devious grin of his returns to his mouth as he answers, “Oh, don’t worry, baby girl, I have plenty of other ideas.”

treat me to a coffee! ⭐︎ kinktober masterlist

taglists (see pinned post on my blog for form)

general: @dinablossom, @newfriendjen​, @devlovesramen, @ohbyunhunn, @aftcrlust, @mister-future, @kyleclxin​, @kac-chowsballs​, @osamusmiya​, @nit-sir-hc​, @arixtsukki​

oikawa: @why-aminot-dead​​, @lotsoffandomrecs​, @atsunakaashi​, @heyhinata​, @cuddlysoftbear​

[peach-the-owl]

Tainted Innocence

Percy & Younger Sibling!Reader

You let out a fit of coughs, being sick sucked, you couldn’t move without getting dizzy, you couldn’t join the family for dinner or else you might get someone else sick, and worst of all you couldn’t leave your room to play. So here you lay on your bed wishing to get better soon so you could play outside under the sun. A sudden commotion could be heard outside your door, shouts and screams ringing down the halls, you ever curious would’ve loved to investigate if it wasn’t for the fact that your dizzy head would make you nauseous the second you got up. The sounds only got louder until they were right outside your room, you throw the covers over your head in an attempt to hide from whatever the scary noise was. You hear your door open and try to stay as still and quiet as possible, unfortunately your hit with another fit of coughs making your presence known to whoever had entered.

"My my, what have we here?" The woman’s voice was vaguely familiar, making you peek out from under the covers to see only the darkened outline of a feminine figure. "Poor, sweet little (y/n), caught a fever have we?" The more they spoke the more you could recognize the voice as Delilah Briarwood's, you’d met her a once before and she seemed nice but now her tone sounded almost sinister for some reason.

"Yeah, I’m not feeling very well. You probably shouldn’t be here, I don’t want you to get sick too." You say innocently, before going into yet another fit of coughs. She lets out a chuckle, by now it seemed the sounds from outside your room had faded into nothing.

"How considerate of you to think of my well being. What if I were to tell you I knew a way that could… cure you of your ailments." The ominous undertones she had went right over your head.

"Really?! You can do that!?" You bounce excitedly in place, quickly stopping from the dizziness in your head.

"Not only that, but you'll never have to worry about getting sick ever again." The offer almost sounded too good to be true.

"That sounds awesome! Let’s do it!" You were brimming with excitement at the thought of never having to worry about sickness again.

"Calm down now, all will be well in due time. For now you should rest, my husband and I shall handle everything and I guarantee you’ll wake up like a brand new person." You give her a nod and are hit by a sudden wave of exhaustion. "Sleep now… my child." You don’t have time think about why she referred to you like that before your vision goes dark and your mind goes blank…

Lady Delilah was right, when you awoke again you no longer had your fever and felt completely different, but even though you did feel all better now you still weren’t allowed to leave the castle. You were only allowed to wander the wing where your room was or explore the catacombs, even then there wasn’t much you could do but that's what you were told you were allowed so you had to follow the rules. It was strange though to be told all this by the Briarwoods, wondering why it was them instead of your parents to tell you all these new rules and why one of the rules was you couldn’t see anyone else in your family. You had asked about this once but Delilah only told you that once you were ready they’d tell you everything, so time went by and you stayed alone, forced to play inside away from any sunlight, almost completely isolated from social contact. You don’t know how long it’s been, no longer having a way to tell day from night made it really hard to know how many hours or days had passed, everything just blurring together. There was one other thing that really bothered you and that was this strange sensation you’d get from time to time, it was almost like you were hungry but also not because you’d eat like normal and the feeling wouldn’t go away. You told the Briarwood's about this but Lord Sylas just told you that if you’d ignore it then it would go away by itself, what he didn’t tell you is that you’d pass out and wake up with a strange metallic-y taste in your mouth, at least the feeling went away though, right?

Another day, or what you thought might be a day, goes by as you wander the tunnels having mapped them out to memory by now. You brought some toys with you to play around with for some entertainment and hoping deep down that one day something new or different might finally happen, then you heard something faint hit your ears. It was different but at the same time it could’ve just been another rat scurrying around with how faint it was so you ignore it. There's another sound like quick footsteps approaching getting louder until it comes to a halt close to where you were playing making you glance over your shoulder at the man staring at you. He looked very familiar you just couldn’t place why right away, you turn to fully face them and have a better look.

"Hi there mister. You look familiar, do I know you?" You ask them with a slight tilt to your head. They just stare at you in silence their eyes wide in horror, you look behind you to see if they were looking at something behind you but find nothing and look back at them in confusion. "Is something wrong?" You step towards them and they step away in retaliation furthering your confusion.

"No no nononono. This isn’t real, you can’t be real." He presses his hands to his head, his voice also sounded familiar, who was he?

"You’re really weird." You then poke your arm to as a way to show you were really there, then let out a giggle. "See, I’m real, if I was fake I couldn’t poke my arm." You place your hands triumphantly on your waist but the man didn’t look impressed, instead he looked like he was going to vomit. "Are you okay? You don’t look well." You take another step towards him out of concern.

"Don’t come any closer!" He holds up a strange item you’ve never seen before, there’s a slight shake to his hand. You stop and stare interested in the strange item, it had fancy engravings on it, six hollow slots and some odd mechanism the man warily held a finger over.

"What’s that? It’s so cool and fancy, what does it do?" You lean in closer to it curiously.

"This isn’t real, you’re just an illusion to mess with my head." He sounded hesitant, like he was trying to convince himself of something. Having been able to look at the man this long it finally clicked in your head why he was so familiar.

"Wait a second… Percy?" This fully draws his attention back onto you. "It is you! What happened? How did you get so big and why's your hair all white?" He looked so different, no wonder you didn’t recognize your own brother right away. He doesn’t answer you, just stares with a look of conflict in his eyes and continues to hold the strange object in his hand towards you, you paying no mind to it. "This is great! Lord and Lady Briarwood said I wasn't allowed talk to anyone, I don’t know why though, but you’re here now so who cares! I miss talking to people, the guards are no fun and there’s hardly anything to do anymore…" You start to ramble on about how boring things have gotten and how you made due, still wondering why or how Percy got so tall and looked so much older. "Where is everyone else? I want to ask mother and father why the Briarwoods seem to be in charge." This statement really got to Percy, making his eyes go wide in realization.

"You… you don’t know?" You tilt your head in confusion, what where you supposed to know. There’s a strange wispy or smoky substance that trails up Percy's arm, then the sound of a loud bang followed by ringing fills your ears, something grazed past your cheek, cutting into it a little and leaving a lingering stinging sensation behind. You quickly place a hand on your cheek where it hurt, recoiling away only hearing a clattering and soft thud after a moment of silence. You slowly turn back and see your brother had dropped the item from his hand and was on his knees, holding his face in both his free hands now, his entire body physically shaking and he lets out a series of coughs.

"P-Percy? Are you okay?" You approach with much more caution this time, trying to ignore the throbbing pain still in your cheek. More footsteps can be heard hurrying towards your location.

"We heard gunfire and came as fast as we could." A half-elven man was the first to reach your location, he looks over seeing you and takes a step back in surprise.

"Hi there, are you a friend of Percy's?" You ask, rocking back and forth on your feet.

"I am. Did you do this to him?" There was a threatening tone to his voice that made you feel scared and uncomfortable.

"I don’t know, I was just playing because I was bored, then he showed up and I didn’t recognize him at first, then I did and got really excited because I haven’t seen anyone in what feels like forever, then there was a loud bang and now my cheek hurts and he was just like this." You try to explain as best as you could. By now others who were most likely with the half-elf showed up, having heard at least some of your explanation, they looked at you with wide eyes. "And why does everyone look at me like that, is there something wrong with my face or something?"

"That’s one way to put it." A half-elven woman who looked very similar to the male one talks slowly. "Do you mind telling us your name little one?"

"Of course! I’m (y/n) de Rolo." You reply proudly.

"You’re a de Rolo?" The glowing gnome sounded sad for some reason, why was everyone sad? Shouldn’t this be a good thing?

"Yeah… why are you all acting so weird? What’s going on? Who are you?" You cross your arms, getting a little frustrated from your lack of answers, just wanting to be in the know. They whisper among themselves, you barely catchy anything coherent before they turn back to face you.

"Do you mind giving us a minute alone, please." Percy having finally gotten a better hold of himself asks, you give a small nod and step away, picking up your discarded toys to mindlessly play with. You discovered if your really focused you could hear what they were whispering about, though it was hard to decipher who’s voice belonged to who.

"Is it true? Are they really your…"

"I-I’m not sure anymore." You were able to at least tell your brothers voice apart from the others.

"How could you not know!?"

"They seem pretty clueless themselves, it’s like they not only still have the body of a child but also the mentality of one too."

"Perhaps that’s from the lack of social contact, they did say they’ve been alone for a long time."

"Percy… this changes everything we know."

"No, this changes nothing, it only makes it more complicated."

"How can you say something like that, they’re your family!"

"They’ve been turned into a monster, whether they’re aware of it or not!" You frown when you hear this tuning out the rest of their conversation, that couldn’t be right you’re not a monster, sure things were weird and you’ve felt different since your illness was cured but that didn’t make you a monster… did it? You sit aback and look yourself over, holding out your arms in the dim lighting which you now realized you could see rather well in, you always thought that was just because you were so used to coming down here that your eyes adjusted quickly, but now you didn’t know anymore. Focusing back on your arms you also notice that your skin was extremely pale then what it normally was. When was the last time you’d seen yourself in a mirror? You’ve passed some in the halls of the castle but never payed much mind to them, and now that you thought about it when was the last time you’d seen the sunshine? You really missed playing outside but always just followed the rules the Briarwood's gave you because they were the grownups and they knew what was best, right? The sound of footsteps coming back your way slightly pull you from your thoughts, but you don’t bother looking up and just stare at the ground in front of you. You hear a shaky sigh but before they can speak you beat them to it.

"There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there." Your blissful joy was gone, replaced with doubt and sadness.

"I-how much did you hear?" Percy's voice wasn’t as angry sounding as it was earlier but there was still tension in it.

"I don’t know, you said something about me being a monster. I thought you were just saying that because you were angry for some reason, but I don’t know anymore. Am-am I really a monster?" You turn and look up at him seeing him flinch slightly, but not quite intentionally. Your lip quivers as you shrink more into yourself. "When we used to play pretend the monsters were always the bad guys… I don’t want to be a bad guy." You whimper and tears start trailing down your face as you try to hide in your arms.

"I didn’t… you’re not… it’s just…" He lets out a long breath followed by a cough and a longer pause. "(Y/n) look at me…" another pause, you don’t move. "Hey, look at me." You feel warm hands pry your face up to make you look at your brother, now you were the one to slightly flinch from the slight sting that was still on your cheek. The two of you have a small staring contest before he speaks up again. "Listen carefully, things are no longer the way you remember them to be, a lot has changed for the worst and for some reason or another you’ve been left to be blissfully unaware of all of it. I don’t know why they decided to do this to you, but I swear we'll figure this out together one step at a time."

"We will?" You give him a hopeful look, he nods slowly

"I hope so… I don’t know who I can all trust here anymore. Things are stressful right now, but if you don’t want to be a part of the bad guys, as you put it, my friends and I are going to need your help. Can you do that, can I really trust you?"

"Yes! I want to help my brother stop the bad guys." You put on your most serious look, Percy then releases his hold on you and you stand up. "Hey Percy?" He lets out a slight hum of acknowledgement. "When we're all done, does that mean I’ll be able to play outside in the sun again?"

"One step at time…" He trails off with a somber sigh. The two of you now heading over to rejoin Percy's group so you could be properly introduced.

Should I continue something with this for a part 2?… or just leave it as is…? Idk, you tell me

[cutegirlmayra]

Modern Sonamy in a life and death this may be the end scenario where Sonic is finally forced to confront his feelings for Amy that he knows have been there for years. He plans to spend their final moments telling her his love but they are saved at the last minute. Afterwards he tries to go back to the usual but realizes he doesn't want to have any regrets and not have Amy know the truth. So he tries to figure out how to to tell her but the message isn't coming across until he gives her a kiss!

Watch Pajama Blogs - Prompt Requests - Ep.1 timestamp: 47:51 to hear my thoughts on this prompt back when I was first thinking about it! (Sometimes my thoughts change, so don’t be too disappointed if my processes changes a bit over time!)

PROMPTS ARE ON SHUTDOWN, so do not submit them until you see the post about the ‘grand reopening’ announcement or see that the ‘ask box’ tells you they are open. THEY ARE NOT OPEN AT THIS TIME.

(Art found here: x Please support the original artist!)

Prompt:

The gravel scooted and crumbled away from her hand as Sonic and Amy slammed against the side of the rocky wall, trying to dodge the intense heat of the magma from within Egg-Canyon-Mountain where they were attempting to sneak in and take the Chaos Emeralds back from powering a large and terrible machine.

The Machine right now didn’t matter though, because just before they were to remove them, Tails radioed that the machine was self-destructing, and it was all a trap.

Eggman had fled knowing the Chaos Emeralds would just pulse away from each other and become shooting stars in the daylight sky, and he’d have to find them all over again once the reactor malfunctioned sufficiently enough to flood the canyons with magma.

“Sonic, it’s only rising!” Amy was momentarily kidnapped when trying to reach the machine’s first Chaos Emerald slot, where Eggman used her to force Sonic to battle him and his new incredible robot, but it was all to buy time for his fatal trap.

Laughing as he exited, he dropped Amy and made a snide comment about ‘Dying with the one you love’ being a last mercy he’ll give... to Amy that is.

Even while dangling in the clutches of Eggman’s hovering robot’s metal talons, Amy couldn’t have judged well enough the machine’s overheating and powering up processes. It was truly unexpected, but completely within Eggman’s bounds...

Squished between the rocky layer of steep, vertical terra and a sweating Sonic, Amy was sandwiched between the thought of how they were gonna survive this.

“It’s not as fast as you, though!” She looked back over to him, seeing his eyes were fixated on the molten rock slowly rising to them on the thin strip of raised pathway they had against the side of the canyon, finally having made it out of the caverns...

This didn’t look good... Sonic was hot and panting to keep his body temperature regulated. With some degree of knowledge in health and medicine from treating his wounds and injuries all these years, she could tell he was too hot to run at full speed like usual without the proper coolness to not overheat himself. Not just that... but she was added weight... he’d never be able to scale the mountain’s straight drop at top-speeds if he had to carry her too...

She was nowhere near fat but still... this wasn’t looking too good for her.

Without missing a beat, she finally closed her eyes and pushed her nose to the wall, breathing in a dusty and dirt-filled breath of self-sacrifice and spoke aloud an unforgivable sentence. “If I hadn’t insisted on coming with you... to spend more time with you... in hopes that you would fall more in love with me if I was just as into adventure as you were... then you’d be able to run up this wall and get to the top safely.”

He turned his sights back to her, a frown apparent as she was speaking negatively, and he hated that. “Since when were you doubting?” he was always trying to play it cool, and as she took a sorrowful peek back to him, she couldn’t help but gently smile in her grief at seeing his cheery and confident smile.

“We’ll get out of this.” he assured her, “I need you to hang on, though. No more talk about what should and shouldn’t have happened. Can you get up on my back from here?” He looked back at the rising lava, apparently having a plan now.

She nodded, deciding it best not to bring up the inevitable, since her Sonic could do miracles!

... At least, this time, she couldn’t let him fall to his untimely death because of her persistence... 

She spun and he caught her to help her keep balance on the strip and then she tied her arms tightly around his neck as he began to slowly climb.

However, looking down at the speedily approaching magma filling the veins of the large expanse of rock with blood-colored fury and heat, and then looking up to see not a speck of the other side or even the sky as it was just a long, never-ending stretch to half the sky... she felt her heart sinking again.

He really could go faster without her, and looking down again, she saw the strip they were moments ago being pushed up against was now being reached and submerged in the melting rock...

Liquid fire... Was this the story of when Sonic had to face Metal that first time? She remembered him telling the story of reaching for Metal him’s hand before he whacked it aside, refusing to be saved by the one and true hero: Sonic.

There was only ever going to be one Sonic The Hedgehog... but there could be others that would love him just as much... though her grip tightened at admitting it, and ducking her head down, unable to produce tears in the steam of the ripples of heat rising up the cavern.

If they didn’t die of one slip-up or not moving fast enough, they would surely succumb to heat-exhaustion or heat-stroke.

Sonic felt the slight tug on his chin as though her grip around his neck had tightened in a desperate attempt to hold on, and although already straining to climb with someone else and his body feeling like a sauna plus a volcano at his feet, he really didn’t want to believe Amy was giving up on him.

“Amy..!” he called, having an instinct of what she was thinking, “Don’t do it!”

Amy’s head jerked up, “S...Sonic...” She was amazed he had caught on so quickly to her thoughts... her emotions... “B-but,... I-!” she wanted to convince him to let her do it, to let her allow him to run up the rocky wall and save himself.

“We’re getting out of this together or not at all!” he finally blurted out, taking Amy aback as he twitched to reach another hand out for another piece of rock that could be firm enough to give him a sturdy hand-grip. “Erk... ugh... ha... ha... Do me a favor, Amy... ha... umph!” he reached back and threw her up, shocking her as she cried out his name. “And quit acting like we’re dead already!”

She hit against a leveled path that slightly crumbled under her weight, making her kick her legs to scoot quickly back against the wall as Sonic was then able to Spin-Dash to a higher level, reaching down a hand for her. “Hurry!” he called, as she looked back to gasp at the lava not taking any ‘rest-stops’ so to speak. “There might be a cave that tunnels up from here!”

That was a sensationally good idea, except for one problem... if they went back into a tunnel and it went downwards.... then the magma would pinch them in on both sides... and their wouldn’t even be left unmelted fossil remains of them...

But right now, up was good.

She spun around and got up, reaching for his hand and having him struggle to hoist her up as she got her foot on the wall just before the magma rose and splashed against where she was just sitting. “Ah!”

“Amy!!!”

“I-I’m fine.” she squinted an eye as she was grateful the splash didn’t burn her. Her feet were fine, she hadn’t been exposed to it.

He pulled her up and the two just breathed heavily in the others arms a moment.

“You... can out run it... Sonic.” Amy spoke again, only hearing a grunt of annoyance from Sonic as she did so.

“Quit... fooling around... Amy.” his hold on her had loosened so much... she knew he was growing tired. First having snuck in and destroyed some robot scouts on the way down, then Eggman’s battle, and then rushing out before the magma overwhelmed them... Then climbing up such a perilous wall with her on his back... “Do you... see any tunnels..?”

She didn’t even look, she just pulled his forehead to her own, holding it there with her own, sweat-soaked white gloves on either side of his cheeks... saying her farewells in secret. “I know I’ve never voiced it before... but... I...”

Sonic blinked his eyes, before grabbing her arms, their gloves sticking to their skins and making a light blue, see-through effect through the shiny oils on both their exposed skin. Their furs were wetted and they’d be too slippery to attempt to climb again.

This was it.

Sonic lightly moved her to the wall, showing in his face his unbelief at her distrust all of a sudden that he could save them both, but beyond the hurt expression... there was a look she hadn’t fully seen before.

He pinned her slightly as he willingly put his forehead to hers and shut his eyes, trying to keep his breathing normal. “I know.” he stated, then with a shaky voice... “And you’ve always known too.”

She was frozen in that heat-soaked moment... Sonic finally dropping his own tall walls for a brief moment as they could hear the slushing of the magma rising to where they were.

They both looked back, Amy over his shoulder and Sonic to look at the impending doom before them.

“You had to know.” He chuckled out loosely, exhausted now emotionally too, “I gotta at least leave you with some comforting closure.”

“Of that?” Amy thought that the sweetest thing, but also grossly inappropriate for the timing. “Why did you wait till now to tell me?”

“Validate you. I never said anything.” He smirked, even now, trying to keep things light.

She wanted to kiss him, but felt that that would be an even greater sentence, and she’d be framed as the worst timing for romantic advances in history.

Even worse than his...

Sonic smiled to her before something glittery flicked light into his eye and caused him to squint it a few times repeatedly. Turning to find out what the strange source was, the two’s mouths opened at the entrance of a metal bunker impeded into the wall... not seen without the glow of the rising magma.

“An elevator!” The two exclaimed, seeing a mining device next to it. Sonic quickly scooped her up and pushed her in, “Going up!” he pressed the button but she didn’t want to part with him, the Elevator could be slow or worse, the mechanism below could be melted away by now.

“Sonic!” she cried out, agreeing--somewhat--with Eggman that she’d rather die in the arms of her beloved than alone in a small elevator meant for hauling metals up to the top of the canyon. And who knew where this actual thing landed! Maybe it wasn’t the top?

Sonic gave her a thumbs up and signature wink as she could see the lava splashing against the sides of where he was, “Noo!!!” as the chute shut tight and started cranking her upwards. She flung her back to the opposite side of where the tin had shut and felt the heat and the moment consuming her. ‘Sonic... do you mean that..? Do you really... love me?’

Sonic was tearing up the ground in his wake as dust spiraled behind him and he almost flew up at supersonic speeds through the canyon. All the while, he narrowed his eyes to the straight path the elevator was meant to take, making sure it reached the top. ‘Faster... Faster... Faster...!!!’ his eyes widened as his teeth clenched, seeing the lava building up and never stopping, not even for a moment, in consuming the rock beneath it and yet, his eyes trained to fixate on the metal pole that meant the chain was still hauling Amy up. “Endure it just a little longer,... Amy...” his eyebrow furrowed before bowing as he tripped by not watching where his feet were going. “W-woah!” he noticed he had reached the top and was falling now, having pressed his foot to air which had started the tumble. He gripped frantically to the edge of the large landscape and was able to get enough wind in his heels and strength left in his fingers to stop his falling... he had made it... he’ll be okay.

But that wasn’t enough.

He heard the metal bending and cranking, as though slowing the rising, treasured container of it’s load from coming up. The metal was beginning to tilt and loosened itself from it’s bolted railing and started to dip like a bending fish hook towards the flaming sea...

“No!!” Sonic leaped up and raced to the pole, “Amy!!!” He reached out and bent to grab the wall and the bending metal, using himself like a stretched chord to keep the metal from bending further, suspended between rock and the pole as he could feel the jolting of the chains continuing to crank up, but slower than before.

‘I have to straighten the poll out... or Amy will never make it!’ he was running out of juice and energy... but strength rose in him as he thought of her... He couldn’t let her down... he couldn’t let himself live knowing she was still in harm’s way...

He was mellowly delighted that she was accompanying him on this adventure. Though he never showed it, he enjoyed her hammering swings and ricocheting off robots to stop dramatically in front of her and strike a pose, knowing she loved it when he showed off. He couldn’t naturally give slight looks and charming flares to the dudes, it would be weird, but he enjoyed the moments he could when Amy was around.

True, sometimes, he felt he couldn’t fully be himself around Amy or she’d overly fawn after him... but even then... he could see and feel how much he meant to her.

He never felt the need to be more for her, even though he knew he probably should act a bit more gentlemanly here and there, which he did, but never overdid it to avoid getting exploited by Amy’s constant yearning for more attention from him.

He was never upset when she insisted to tag along with him for a journey or perilous undertaking. He just always knew he needed to keep an ear and eye out to make sure she was safe at all times... other than that? It was just fun to have her around, constantly praising him. Though... he didn’t like her ‘pampering’ behavior when she’d rub his hand too much if he punched a tough-made robot... he still didn’t mind the doting every now and then.

Clenching his abs, he finally scrunched his body enough to bend the pole somewhat back into a straighter line, causing the chain to move quickly with each thought he had for Amy and how he was determined to saving her life.

She had saved his... after all. If she had self-sacrificed herself... he would have... never... ever... forgiven himself such a lost.

Amy was almost about to collapse at the heated panel beneath her butt and feet, fearing the lava had caught up with her, until there was a jolt and she stopped fully. “S...Son...ic...” The chute opened and a sound like a swift wind brushed through her small compartment and gave her somewhat relief,... but not as much as cool hands that gripped her firmly at her sides and pulled her out.

When she came too, Tails and Knuckles were standing over her and Cream was attending her.

She remembered a similar scene with Cream... when she had almost drowned in the water when Eggman attacked back in Chris’s world... what... where was Sonic?

“I..” she could barely get a word out, and Cream kept dabbing the cool cloth on her head and adjusting the cooling pads under her back, on her sides, and over her stomach.

“Don’t worry, Miss Amy.” Cream spoke out, cheerily but with a worried and loving look in her eyes, but showing signs that Amy was going to be alright. Her little heart pattered quickly as she stopped a moment and reached back as though forgetting something, putting a flower by her side. “Mr. Sonic said to give you this when you woke up! He said you deserved to see some life after all the dull rock you were exposed too.”

And the pitch black of the heated tin chute... he must have felt awful about that being the only other way to get them out of there alive.

She had no idea about the pole that threatened to snap and dip her into slowly into a melted death... but as she got better, Tails told her Sonic had gone after Eggman, and she gathered that Sonic hadn’t told any of them the extent at what they had gone through.

‘He’s keeping up appearances... he doesn’t want to trouble or worry them more than he already has.’ she concluded, thinking that noble and brave... somewhat.

She wanted to tell them, so badly, about everything... but silently accepted Sonic’s assumed wishes.

She also didn’t want to worry anyone... but... Oh, she wanted to tell at least one soul about the encounter!!!

Sonic had... he had really... ohhh!!! Her heart was overjoyed!

But... when she came to see him...

As per-usual, he was up atop a windy place, looking over the nature he spent his whole life preserving and protecting... admiring it’s beauty and natural power.

With a kind and neutral smile on his face, he suddenly turned to see Amy walking happily up to greet him.

Seeing his gaze, she paused a moment and halted, putting her hands together and in front of her, trying to look feminine and delicate.

“Hello, Sonic.” she greeted, blushing as her eyes closed and she giggled to herself lightly.

“Amy,” he nodded to her, a true picture of boy coolness!

She squee’d, “When are you gonna act like how you really feel at seeing my cute face?” she cupped her cheeks and turned away as if ‘trying’ to be modest about it... but then blinked her eyes when Sonic responded in a way she wasn’t expecting.

“Huh? I am acting the way I always do, Amy.” He folded his arms, looking more... puzzled... than she thought he should have.

“But- ah.... uhh...Ohhh!!!” she did her signature whine and shook her once -delicate- hands in a fury of frustration down at her sides. “That’s not how you feel at all!” She contested, but he didn’t seem to want to fight as his smile slightly fell.

Her eyes came back to his neutral ones and looked somewhat pleading to return to a place they once were... or at least... had just gotten to. “Why are you being like this..? After everything we went through on that ridge...”

He just quietly stared at her, before lowering his head and closing his eyes, shaking it softly back and forth. “I think you were misguided, Amy. The heat had gotten to us and we... said things we didn’t actually mean to express.” he then looked up at the sky, as if trying to dismissive the topic further. “Of course I care about you, Amy,... But I can’t say it’s to the extent that you’re hoping for. To where I suddenly run into your arms, or something mushy like that... heheh.” he had a bead of awkwardness like a sweat drop slide down the side of his face as his mouth squirmed it’s lines to show how uncomfortable with this he all was.

Amy felt her heart chip away just like the pebbles of the rocky wall... as though she was trying to climb the wall he had pasted up again after only just placing it down back then...

“You’re... You’re not being fair...” she wanted to call him cruel, but she knew that was a lie. She wouldn’t lie... whether to herself or to him.

But this...

This hurt so much.

“What’s wrong with liking me?” she finally had the coolness of the earth to allow tears to peek out from her eyelids, but never fully emerge. Her body quivered in the cold, but she ignored it, too angry and hurt to care. “You can’t just press restart every time you show me how you feel, Sonic The Hedgehog!”

Her outburst caused a sharp bolt of lightning to split Sonic’s core in two. His heart ripped as though torn about how to follow something that dramatic and genuine up... He’d had hoped for the social norm again... but that seemed a bit too late.

He flinched back and then relaxed, scratching behind his head, “I guess you’re right, Amy... I’m not being very fair to your feelings... but you can’t blame me for being hesitant about my choices...”

She was sniffling, and he realized she probably didn’t have it in her to say more right now. Sighing, he walked down to her and smiled tenderly, kindly opening his arms to invite her to hug him.

“Let’s just say... I don’t really have a way with words.”

“They’re enough for me...” she hiccupped through her tears now pouring out. “You’ve always been enough for me. Every part of you, every inch and every word ever spoken and act ever done has been enough... when will you get that? When will you learn that whatever you choose to do for me... for my sake... knowing how hard it is for you to express that freely and openly like you did in that moment... it’s always been enough to shake me.” she fell to her legs, bawling now as Sonic awkwardly stood there and blinked, realizing she was going to break down.

“H-hang on, just a second, Amy!” he was shaking his hands out to get her to stop crying and calm down, but her tears and wailing didn’t cease, she was already emotionally compromised and it made him feel like a bigger jerk than ever before.

“Alright, enough already... I get it, Amy...” His face quite literally seemed to deflate on itself as he lost the energy and will to keep up the persona. “You heard what you heard, and I never said I wanted to take it back... just that I can’t always do that from now on. I didn’t want to lose you... that part is, and will always be, true.”

Amy took her hands away from her eyes to see the resounding truth that was on his face. “I... I don’t want-” she hiccupped, a cute and gross reminder that she had been holding all this in for some time now since Sonic’s first departure. “to lose you... hck, either...” she sniffed.

Chuckling at her appalling sense of self-preservation or even an idea of self-image in this moment, Sonic kindly wiped her eyes with his finger and looked to her as though slowly backing the wall up and away from her, but not fully putting it down yet. “I can’t promise I won’t lead you into dangerous times, Amy... but I can say that I will never leave you behind in those moments. Not ever.”

She pouted, “You shoved me in a dark chute.”

“T-To save your life!” he gestured out to her, his arms out either side of her and extended as though to plead his case, “You were right, Amy, I couldn’t have carried us both up, it was the only way!”

She continued to give him a hard look of judgement.

“You gotta believe me, honest! You knew it was the only way!”

“...It was still scary...”

“You survived!” his words almost smacked the idea as though fanning it away, but he never dared to say ‘quit complaining’ as he could tell she was just riling him up.

She smiled, unable to help it. She enjoyed seeing emotion out of him, even expressed in ways like this. She batted his chest, secretly snuggling into it, “You’re the worst, Sonic The Hedgehog! You make me cry and smile at the same time! No one does that...” she muttered the last part out, and it was almost cute... almost.

Sonic rolled his eyes, “Come on, give me a break, Amy...” It almost sounded like he was complaining, but it was to keep up with her playful antics. “Forgive me this one time?”

“I forgive you every time.” Amy mumbled into the side of his chest.

“...Forgive me for being a dunce?”

“I forgive you for that all the time too.” she continued to play, making sure her mouth’s movements and the vibration of her words could be felt in into his chest too.

There was silence...

“Forgive me for... this?” his hands suddenly caught her up and her lips were silenced for a time that for her--seemed to last eternity.

When his kiss parted he was gone with the wind, as though unable to stick around for the aftermath.

She was frozen in disbelief before shouting out in a type of ‘hoorah!’ for her success, but also...

Sonic did know the perfect timing for a romantic advance... he just didn’t always have the words or courage to say it~<3

[arinlangdon]

thinking about the Langdon family...

what we know is that Arin has “innumerable siblings” (according to Fergus), so i’m going to go with like. eight (8).

it seems to me that Arin is an eldest, but not The eldest. more likely a middle child slightly on the older end—probably 2nd or 3rd eldest. if we want to subscribe to birth order theory, i’d say:

they have the conscientiousness, ambition, and organizational skills of an eldest. stereotypically, eldests are leaders (or bossy), but that quality is something Arin grew into.

yet they also have the sensitive and accomodating personality + peacekeeping skills of a middle.

imo, they’re least likely to be a lastborn

as for the siblings? let’s say they have

an older brother (29),

an older sister (28),

here’s Arin themself (22)

the 4th is, idk, another sister (16).

then i’m betting there’s at least a set of multiples, just to spice it up. twins—no, triplets?? i want to say they’re fraternal, a girl and two boys. let’s put them in the 5th through 7th slots (14).

and the 8th and last is the baby sister (12).

(this is just a random configuration i thought of off the top of my head, and subject to change, of course. i already have headcanons about the siblings’ personalities and interpersonal dynamics yo)

what about momma Langdon? we weren’t given much about her either.

we do know she often works night shifts, and probably works a lot in general.

maybe she’s in healthcare or retail, or is a waitress (i think it’s less likely but still possible that she’s like, a bartender, firefighter, police officer...)

mostly i want to say it’s kind of a blue-collar job: not very high-powered or high-paying, and physically demanding, so she’d come home tired a lot.

between that and all the kids, this poor woman is Overworked.

how was she with Arin?

we know Arin’s always been a stickler for the rules, and i surmise, pretty quiet as a kid, so she probably always expected them to stay out of trouble. this made them more or less self-reliant... or inadvertently fell through the cracks.

and though she probably always knew how smart and diligent Arin always was, i’m not sure she ever thought they’d turn out to be particularly remarkable or a great success in the conventional sense.

maybe she was just laissez-faire in general⁠—not the sort to either discipline harshly or actively encourage any particular values, if only because she’d always been so busy trying to cover everyone’s most basic needs.

but, inferring from Arin’s memories of her making them treats after they’d come home from school as a kid (still such a sweet mental image btw), she seemed like the caring or even doting sort whenever she had the time and energy to be present.

tl;dr: mom was busy and overworked, and therefore not often around, so in effect left Arin (at least) to their own devices, even if that wasn’t her intention. loving when she was present, but didn’t impose a lot of expectations.

their father doesn’t seem to be in the picture, and probably never was?

i’m curious about what kind of relationship he had with their mother.

if it was a bad one, that’d be another reason for Arin’s apparent cynicism re: romance.

if a good one, then... well, the only explanation i can think of for why he’s never mentioned is that maybe he’d died, which would also add another, if tragic, layer to Arin’s views on romance. i kind of want this to be the case, if only because i like to think of Kate Rusby’s song “My Young Man” to be emblematic of their parents’ relationship. sweet yet melancholy.

in any case, his absence would leave a void for a father figure to fill later, that being, of course, Tutorea (<3)