#That's.. That's genuinely fucking wild I dunno if I can wrap my head around that

[cripplecryptid]

Just realised it has been about 10 years since I last had pain free days. Damn

[fruitcoops]

Accidental Family

Hey folks! This is one of two fics for the six month celebration of this blog! Woohoo! Blood on the Ice is one of the most popular series I've written, and expanding it into Josie’s (@prohibitionincurls ) Winging It world with her was unbelievably fun. Disclaimer: one of the OCs has ADHD and it is a central theme of the story--while Josie based some of his characteristics on her own experience, we both recognize that this is not a one-size-fits-all situation. Thank you again for six amazing months, and I hope you enjoy!

Lots of love,

Eve <3

TW for mentioned injury

“Oh my god, they’re gonna kill me,” the kid whispered in a wavering voice, sounding much younger than he actually was as he left the penalty box.

“They’re not going to kill you,” Bowie soothed, still watching the tunnel where Remus had disappeared mere minutes earlier. From what he saw, there had been a bit of blood, but the bruising didn’t look too bad. Then again, there had barely been enough time for anything to visibly swell before he was whisked away.

“Can I just stay in the box?” Felix cast a look toward the Lions bench and his voice cracked. “They can’t yell at me in the box, right?”

“Hey. Look at me, Marty.” Bowie took him by the shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. “The Lions are good guys. They’re not going to hurt you, but you did just fuck up one of their best friends. What would you do if someone hit me in the face?”

“Come on, man, I’m a terrible fighter. I don’t know how well I’d be able to defend your honor after something like that. It was an accident. Do you think they know it was an accident? Should I go tell them?”

“I know. They know. Loops definitely knows. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re a little cold at first.” He ruffled the rookie’s hair and turned back to the game; the Lions were moving fast and brutal, slicing right through their defense for yet another goal. Shit. Felix clearly felt bad enough already--losing the game wouldn’t make him feel any better. 

They ended up losing the game.

Bowie had figured it might happen; he would have had the same fire if it had been his teammate that got clocked like that. Hell, he used to have the same fire when he and Remus had played together, so he completely understood. 

That did not change the fact that once they got home, Felix was still borderline inconsolable. The 18-year-old wasn’t technically billeting with them, but the apartment he was renting just so happened to be in the same building, on the same floor, and right across the hall from his and Simon’s. This led to an informal adoption of the rookie and he was around their house at least five times a week, if not more. 

Felix Martin was a good kid, and that idea was confirmed when Kronk immediately took a liking to him; the cat loved nobody but the three of them. Bowie was grateful that he and Simon were there to quell some of the homesickness that came from moving out to a new city on his own for the first time. The transition was always tough, but they could provide a little support.

They parted ways from the team when the bus got back from the rink and drove to their building in silence. Once they made their way up the stairs and down the hall, Felix moved to go back to his apartment. 

“Nope,” Bowie said immediately, placing a hand on his shoulder and steering him through the door to his and Simon’s place. It wasn’t a good idea for Felix to be alone right now--there was nothing to do alone after a loss aside from beat himself up about it, and Bowie would be damned before he let that happen. 

Simon and Kronk were perched on the couch, but they both moved into the kitchen as soon as the door clicked closed. Simon took one look at the pair and carefully wrapped his arms around Felix; the kid practically melted. The three of them stood there for a moment until Simon pulled back a bit and tilted his head toward the living room. Felix nodded and Bowie followed the two, sharing the couch with Simon while the rookie curled up in the large armchair diagonal to them. 

He...well, if Bowie was being honest, Felix looked like hell. He chewed his lower lip like an anxious beaver and fiddled with the loose threads of the closest armrest; everything about him screamed discomfort. Bowie caught Simon’s worried glance in his periphery and let out a slow breath, trying to relieve at least a little of the tension in the room.

“You don’t have to relive it if you don’t want to. I saw the game. But if you want to talk about it…” Simon trailed off with a significant look.

Felix sighed and his shoulders caved in a bit. “It was just one of those moments. All of a sudden, I didn’t really have a grasp on what was going on, which feels like shit because I’ve been doing pretty well so far. I dunno. It was just...bad.” 

That was it. Bowie knew Felix had seemed a little off. When Felix mentioned he had ADHD at the start of the season during one of their ‘getting to know your neighbor’ chats, Bowie hadn’t thought much of it. But as they grew closer, he began to notice when Felix forgot to eat or drink, or got overwhelmingly excited about something, or when he suddenly spaced out. It wasn’t just Felix being Felix.

The whole team stepped up and became intensely protective, of course. They not only helped him remember meal times, but also scheduling, directions, and everything in between. Bowie felt especially responsible for reasons he didn’t entirely understand--there was just something about the kid’s sweet heart that struck a chord.

He also knew that Felix was highly emotionally intelligent, but had no concept of whether people liked him or not. He was someone who assumed the worst, all the time. So, Bowie decided to do the only thing he knew would work: after a few more beats of uncomfortable silence, he pulled his phone out, tapped a few buttons, and pressed ‘call’.

“Hey, Remus, are you alive?” 

An amused snort came from the speaker even as Felix blanched. “Hello to you, too, Bowie. Jeez, you’re worse than Sirius.  I’m one hundred percent alive, just a little swollen. Your rookie’s got a helluva shot, but maybe tell the kid to hit the puck and not my face next time.” 

Felix flushed red and put his face between his knees, though hearing the laughter in Remus’s voice and knowing that he was okay clearly took some of the weight off his shoulders. Bowie whooped internally and shot him a quick, reassuring smile.

“Yeah, the kid’s got spirit, but he’s also got ADHD. He’s great most of the time, but sometimes under extreme pressure he can’t figure out where the fuck he--or anything else around him--is. Something about focusing or neurons firing the wrong way, maybe? Either way, it’s why he’s a terrible fuckin’ driver.”

Felix flopped back against the chair with a groan. “How the hell am I supposed to know how far away the cars around me are based on the mirrors? And how am I supposed to park?!” 

Remus’s laugh echoed once again. “Don’t ask me, kid, I’m not allowed to drive, either. Not because I’m ADHD, but because I’m terrible at it.” 

“You can say that again!” a muffled voice called from behind Remus. 

“Please excuse my fiance,” Remus said politely. “He’s a jackass who’s trying to make me lay down again.”

Felix smiled, though it was a bit pained. “I didn’t get a chance to apologize earlier. That stick was totally on me. And--I mean, I heard some of the guys talking afterward and it sounded like you got pretty banged up, so I’m really sorry. Like, really sorry.”

“Hey, woah, you’re fine,” Remus soothed. Bowie recognized his ‘talking to newbies’ voice and hid a smile in the cuff of his hoodie. “It’s the name of the game, after all. Did Bowie ever tell you about the time I accidentally checked him into a wall? Or when I broke his visor with a puck? For context, this was when we were on the same team.”

“Or that time you kicked my legs out from under me and sent me sprawling across the ice during practice.”

“That one was on purpose.” 

Bowie glared at the phone, but Felix was snickering and his grin was genuine. It calmed him a bit. “Thanks, Loops.”

“No problem, kiddo.” Remus paused for a moment, then mumbled something inaudible to someone in the background before clearing his throat. “Bowie.”

“Yes?” Remus had never been a wild card, per se, but he certainly had a knack for asking strange questions out of the blue.

“Did you accidentally adopt a child or do my ears deceive me?”

Bowie was about to laugh at the absurdity of it, but then he took a moment to think, looking back and forth between Simon and Felix. “Fuckin’--maybe I did, Re, but he’s ours now. And if that’s the case, I’m going to formally request that you tell your fiance to quit being mean to my son.”

Remus laughed on the other end of the line. “Will do. Felix seems like a sweetheart, I’m glad he’s got you two.” 

Bowie nodded with a slight smile, even though Remus couldn’t see him. “So are we. I can practically sense Sirius hovering, so go let your boyfriend fuss over you for a little while.” 

An offended noise came from Remus’s side, followed by a lower laugh and the click of the call ending. 

Simon looked Felix dead in the eyes. “I’m seconding the ‘kid’ thing. You may just barely be a legal adult, but it doesn’t mean we can’t adopt you. Congrats on your new gay dads.” 

Felix’s bright laugh sent a wave of relief through Bowie. “You guys are only, like, eight years older than me.”

“Silence, spawn,” Simon said, pointing a playful finger at him as his grin widened into something sweet and lopsided. “Now both of you need to come eat something. I made cookies while you were getting pushed around for a living.”

Bowie was still worried about Remus’ face--he made a mental note to call the next day to check in--but all his concerns disappeared as Felix scooped the cat up for a snuggle and followed Simon into the kitchen. They may have lost the game, but he would lose a million Cups to keep that moment forever: his Simon fussing over them both, his cat purring in pure bliss, and his kid settling into place at last.

[luvsicksubs]

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

heat - kyotani kentarou

warnings: pegging, reader is so goddamn mean, making fun of maddog for being maddog, brat!kyo </3, fem!reader

this is based off that one post

a/n: hello! this scene is pretty intense at some parts and can read as dubcon (brat-taming has a tendency for that but it’s all consensual between these two)  so im gonna put the warning

also, when practicing bdsm - please practice being safe, sane and consensual . make sure you have a system for you and your partner to communicate your headspace during the scene. don’t be afraid to safeword, dom or sub and practice good communication.

this fic has reader use the greenlight system, a common safeword system in bdsm. green for go, yellow for slow down, and red for hard stop.

i’ve included a little scene of aftercare for context of the reader and kyo’s relationship and for everyone to have a peace of mind. take care of your sub boys and take care of your doms <3

“C’mon, Kyo - why don’t you fuckin give it up already?,”

You slam your hips forward, forcing Kyoutani forward on his elbows and knees. His hole clenches so tightly it’s hard to move, yet your pace remains relentless. You checked in just before, that he wants this despite himself but you can’t deny how fun this is to tease him.

“Fuck off,” he barks through gritted teeth. You laugh, tone incredibly arrogant as you rest your forehead on his shoulder. You angle your hips, wrapping one around his cock and toying with the ring as you set a pace before simple wrapping your first around it. He groans, his voice coming out in sporadic grunts and broken moans.

You’e waiting on it - the moment Kyotani simply breaks out of his facade and admits to himself how much he likes all this. All signs point to yes, but your Kyo is nothing if not a fighter. He grits his teeth so hard he feel like he might break his jaw, thinking for a second you’re showing him mercy. Instead, your using your hands to spread his ass apart before giving deep and long strokes. The angle upward presses right against his prostate and oh fuck - his elbows give out from pleasure. His face is buried in your sheets, hands clutching at something.

“Color?,”

“Green,”

He’s so weak right now, you manage to keep both of his arms behind him as you continue your maddening pace. The pressure in his stomach is only building and he needs to cum so bad. He won’t like this.

“Your ass is so fucking tight baby,” you say giving it a harsh hit. The stinging makes him bite his lip as desire floods him

“Your cock is practically fucking drooling all over my hands,” you make note of as you jerk him off at an equally slow pace. He swears in strings under his breath, unable to keep his composure. ‘

“How fucking filthy are you, Kyo? You’re rock hard cause you’ve got your girlfriend fucking you like some cheap broad - and you’re loving every second of it,”

“Fuck you,”

“Dunno, Mad-Dog - the way you’re sucking me up right now tells me you’re liking this a hell of a lot more,”

“Shit, no way - I’m not liking this,”

“Tell me to stop then why don’t you? If you hate it so much, you know I’d never make you. You asked me, remember? Asked me to fuck this tight little thing and make you cum untouched like the bitch in heat that you are,”

“Shut up, fuck,” pleasure courses through him at hearing your gruff words.  You always treat him so sweetly but it’s making him dizzy to hear you like this. So fucking mocking, and disrespectful as you pound him so hard and so good the back of his thighs are stinging.

His cock is so angry and aching. Everything in him is burning dizzy with the feeling of your cock stretching him out and filling his stomach. It feels like you’re in his spine with the way your angled. He needs to cum. He needs to cum so hard against your hand and make a mess and then he needs to do it a hundred times over to get some relief.

“Come on love. It’s just me and you here. I’m the only one whose gonna fill you up like this so don’t go worrying about it - your boys aint gonna hear it from me,” you say cheekily.

Kyotani is trying so hard to hold it in. Some kind of involuntary reaction washes over him painfully and he can feel nothing coming out but that familiar feeling. Holy shit - he thought that only happened in porn.

“Can’t help but be curious about your boys might think if they knew their mad-dog was some bitch. See you get so riled up and whiny over dick like you’re a dumb slut just might make ‘em laugh,”

His dick twitches mindlessly again, how fucking embarrassing. You whistle under your breath and Kyotani feels his soul leave his body.

You pick your pace again, making his stomach lay flat on the bed as you press on the lower parts of his spine and fuck some sense into him for the last time.  Sweat is beading down his forehead in concentration You lean down, licking the shell of his ear before whining.

“Gonna milk that pretty cock of yours dry tonight no matter what it takes Kyo,” you say, pressing even harder on his back. He cries out, unable to escape the feeling.

“Admit to me you like it and I’ll reward you by touching you - if not, I’ll make sure and find some other ways. Mmkay?,”

“Fuck, fuck - yes, it feels so good. Feels so fucking good when you fuck me with your cock now please, please touch me. Please make me cum before I lose my mind,” he babbles, his voice thoroughly wrecked. Your core burns with desire as you laugh.

“Got it, baby. Flip over me,”

And he does, laying on his back, you make him hold his legs up and fuck the daylight out of him, spitting in your hands and sliding it over his dick with ease. Now everything happens quickly, so quickly Kyotani barely has sight of you. When you lean over him, he wraps his arms around your neck and moans brokenly through his orgasm. Drool is dry on the corner of his lips and his face is entirely crimson. So fucked out he can barely meet your eyes.

“God, nggh, shit - it’s,”

He shoots hot white so far that hits your chest and drips on his. He almost yells, vision going bleary for a few seconds too long as you guide him through his orgasm.

He returns to his senses in a few troubling moments. As soon as he feels you pull out, he shudders at the emptiness and drags your frame over him. He’s clingy after sex always, but especially at times like this.

“You okay?,”

“Hn,”

_

[aftercare]

Kyotanis heartbeat is slow. After he came, you showered together and chatted softly about nothing. He washed your hair and clung close the whole time, clearly exhausted. Thoroughly tuckered out, he now is laying in your side. Face buried in your neck. It’s this part that’s still hard for Kyotani, that you love him so much to still stay after all the sex. It feels so goo to be here like this, he almost wants to run away. It’s terrifying to wear his hear on his sleeve.

But you make it so easy. You make it all better, and he does the same for you by trusting you. To love, and be loved.

“How was it, baby? Did I do okay?,”

He sighs, nodding.

“You always do fuckin’ great,” he says with no malice. Strong arms are secured around your middle, a sign you aren’t going anywhere tonight and you laugh.

“Nothing was too much, right? The boys comment i was worried about,”

He moves to look up at you, shaking his head. He grins wickedly, pinching your sides.

“I know you’d never really do that, too soft - but it was hot when you threatened me,”

You giggle at that, and his smile becomes genuine as it settles into your sides. You run your hands along the prickly hairs on his head, humming.

“You did really good too baby. I’m so proud of you,”

He doesn’t respond to that, just huffs and tightens his grip. He knows you mean it, so no words are exchanged for a while.

“Did you cum?,”

You’re surprised by the sudden question and prying eyes. It’s small but it’s how you know he cares.

“Not yet. I was gonna take care of it later since you seemed -”

He immediately scoots himself between your thighs, resting his cheek on your bare thigh and looking at you with another wild smile.

“Can I have my reward then?,”

You smile at him. Still your good boy then, asking for permission. He seems exhausted but he still wants to take care of you and you’re inclined to let him. You nod, yawning a little as you pull your panties to the side.

“Eat up, baby,” you add slickly. He mumbles a heavy thanks before doing just as you ask.

꘎♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡꘎

[thepartyresponsible]

this fill is for @jhscdood, @windcalling, and the anon who asked for jason todd and clint barton to #69 on my wrapped 2020 spotify playlist, which is “the rush” by jj wilde.

so here’s a fic about clint barton, shield agent, accidentally hooking up with red hood the night before the big shield & bats meeting in gotham.

                                                       ---

Clint’s right in the middle of advanced negotiations with his hookup’s coffeemaker when a very aggressive Mr. Universe contestant crashes through the door, smashing it to kindling with one improbably muscled shoulder.

“Aw, shit,” Clint says, and throws the coffeepot.

It shatters apart against the man’s mask, and the man swivels slowly to stare at Clint.

He’s huge, and he’s angry, and he looks like he’s here to settle business.

“Oh, c’mon,” Clint says, half-begging, half-protesting. “I don’t even have pants on. It’s six in the morning. Raincheck this, for the love of God.”

The man straightens to his full height, and Clint sighs. He’s a menace, is what he is. Some actual, no-shit, Gotham-level nonsense. He’s a monster. 6’8” at least. He probably has a minimum of a hundred pounds on Clint.

He’s fully dressed.

It’s six in the morning.

“Ugh, fine,” Clint says. “Just be quiet about it, okay? He’s still asleep.”

Still asleep, still unbelievably good looking. Clint had been hoping for another round before he left to meet up with Coulson and Nat for their meeting with the various Bats, and now he’s going to ruin the poor bastard’s whole apartment, instead.

“I am not,” the belligerent bodybuilder says, “here for you.”

Clint blinks. “You—what?”

“You owe me for that door,” Jason says. He’s standing in his bedroom doorway, with a SIG in either hand and a very aggrieved slant to his eyebrows. “And for fucking up my morning.”

The human wall of muscle shifts to face Jason, leaving him open, but Clint is honestly too flabbergasted by this turn of events to take advantage of that. “Talia is looking for you,” the man says. “She wants you to come back.”

“And who can blame her?” Clint asks.

“That’s sweet,” Jason says. He grins at Clint, a flash of white teeth that reminds Clint of the line of bruises he can still feel along his collarbone. “You always this sweet in the morning?”

“Oh, feel free to find out,” Clint says.

“I’m here to return you to her,” the man announces. He’s beginning to sound genuinely irritated by all the interruptions. Clint can empathize.

Jason sighs. “You ever get tired of being her errand boy?”

“No,” the man says. “I consider it an honor.”

“I am just, wow.” Clint shakes his head, looks back and forth between them. “Really confused by the dynamics of this situation.”

“Welcome to Gotham,” Jason says.

“You said that last night,” Clint reminds him. “You said you were the welcome party.”

“Yeah,” Jason says and then he points one of those SIGs right at the breaking and entering suspect, “and he’s the welcome hangover.”

“I like you better,” Clint says.

Jason smirks over at him. “Well, I earned it.”

“Sure as hell did,” Clint says.

The massive menace takes this as his opportunity to charge Jason. Clint grabs the skillet off the stovetop and hurls it, sending it whirling end-over-end and slamming directly into the back of the man’s head. There’s a sick, meaty thunk and then a roar, and Clint loses sight of Jason and the behemoth as they go crashing back into Jason’s bedroom.

Clint grabs a couple of knives from the block and goes after them.

Hell, he doesn’t have to meet up with Coulson and Nat for another two hours. How else is he going to fill his morning?

 ---

 They wreck Jason’s entire apartment, the fire escape, a Wells Fargo, and two bodegas, and they steal an ice cream truck, but they make it back to Clint’s hotel room in time to fool around a bit in the still-made bed and then shower together after.

“I’ve gotta,” Clint says, gesturing over his shoulder. He is clean and dressed and running impossibly, hilariously late.

“Oh, me too,” Jason says. He has stubble burn on his chin and throat. Clint never did find the time to shave. Whatever. It pairs nicely with the hickey Clint left on the side of his neck.

Usually, he tries to be polite about leaving marks on hookups, but the noises Jason made set Clint’s good intentions on fire and threw the ashes out the window.

Clint hesitates, his hand on the door. When he looks back, Jason’s hovering close to the window, catching a quick glance down toward the street. “Not that I want—look, this has the best morning after of my life.”

Jason’s mouth quirks up at one corner. “I bet you say that to all the guys who drag you into a street brawl with Bane.”

Clint’s mouth falls open. “That was Bane?”

“Who the hell did you think it was?” Jason shakes his head, looks mystified and a little charmed.

“I dunno, just.” Clint waves his hands. “Your ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend, maybe? Who had a weird thing for-- look, I never got any coffee.”

Jason grins, still shaking his head, and crosses the hotel room to grab Clint’s shirt one-handed, dead over his heart. “Next time you’re in town,” he says, “I’ll make you coffee.”

Clint thinks about coffee and looks at Jason’s mouth, and he groans, a little helpless, downright disoriented trying to decide which he wants more right now. “Jesus,” he says. “You promise?”

“Yeah,” he says. And then he tugs Clint in, kisses him quick and intent and showy, like he thinks he still needs to work to be memorable. “Call me,” he says, and he disappears out the door before Clint’s caught his breath.

 --

 Clint sprints out the rooftop access door and skids to a stop beside Nat exactly thirty seconds before the designated meeting time. The look Phil Coulson sends his way is long-suffering and remarkably unsurprised.

“Barton,” he says. “Next time we come to Gotham, I’m going to handcuff you to me for safekeeping.”

“That’s, uh.” Clint clears his throat, blushes an incendiary shade of red. “That’s gonna get real awkward for you, sir.”

Coulson stares at him for one heavy, terrible moment and then he sighs with worn-in exasperation and directs his eyes skyward.

“Wow, Clint,” Nat says, squinting at him. “What happened to your neck?”

“No, shut up,” Clint says. “Shush. I was in Madrid, remember? I’m not taking any shit from you about this. You showed up in lingerie. Lingerie that wasn’t even yours.”

“Well, it’s mine now,” Natasha says, looking far too smug to be even a touch repentant. “Did you have a good time?”

“Jesus, did I ever,” Clint says, with maybe a bit too much honest appreciation in his voice.

“Could we,” Coulson says, “please just attempt a modicum of professionalism?”

“Sure,” Clint says. “Yeah. Super professional, Coulson. As soon as they get here, I promise.”

“We’re here,” Batman announces, manifesting out of the shadows, taking about five years off Clint’s life.

“Fuck’s sake,” Clint says.

“Very professional,” Red Hood says. He moves up next to Batman, and he looks steady, broad-shouldered. Serious. But there’s something weird about his tone. Something amused, a little strangled.

Clint stares at him.

“We appreciate this meeting,” Coulson says, voice level and controlled.

“You said SHIELD had business in Gotham,” Batman says. Beside him, Red Robin is silent and focused. Red Hood crosses his arms over his chest, seems almost bored. “We need to set the parameters of that business.”

Red Hood, Clint notices, has two SIGs in holsters at his sides.

“Of course,” Coulson says. “There’s no reason for us to have any problems.”

“It’s Gotham,” Red Hood says. “There are always problems.”

There’s a hickey, Clint notices. A bruise, maybe. There’s something on Red Hood’s neck, barely visible in the gap between the collar of his jacket and the metal of his helmet.

“Are you the Gotham welcoming party?” Clint asks. He hears it come out of his own mouth, and he has nobody to blame other than himself and his critical caffeine deficiency.

Red Hood turns to stare at him. They all turn to stare at him, but Red Hood’s the only one he’s looking at.

He didn’t. He didn’t. He didn’t come to Gotham the night before a meeting with the Bats and pick up Red Hood in a dive bar.

He didn’t spend the morning after fighting Bane with Red Hood and then sneaking him into his SHIELD-approved hotel room. He did not.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Red Hood says, head tipped. “I’ve been told I’m more of Gotham’s hangover.”

Clint nods slowly.

He has no idea – no idea – how the hell he’s going to make any of this seem reasonable in the post-mission report. He has no idea how much of this will even make it in the report.

But he has Red Hood’s phone number scrawled on a bar napkin in his pocket, and he knows, whatever else happens in this ludicrous, lunatic town, he’s sure as hell not losing that.

[freebooter4ever]

Semper Fi

Sledge and Snafu walk into a tattoo parlor, what happens? For @diasimar​​ short sledgefu one shot that deals with the - ahem - sexiness of Snafu getting that inner thigh tattoo while in the Marines stationed overseas (suggestive nudity but nothing explicit)

Snafu gets the tattoo on Hawaii during one of the lulls in action sometime after his second stint on Pavuvu. He’s been carousing almost every night, gambling a lot, winning money, sending quite a bit home to his baby sister, spending even more on booze, meeting the finest of the fine in Hawaiian polite society. For the first time in months Eugene and he aren’t attached at the hip in a foxhole anymore, and Snafu’s going a bit wild. For some reason though, no matter how late Snafu returns to their tent, Eugene is still awake, his lamp turned on, his long nose in a book. Even if it’s 3am Eugene greets Snafu as he stumbles into bed, and then calmly continues reading until Snafu passes out. Snafu’s beginning to worry Eugene doesn’t sleep at all. Yet every time Snafu asks Eugene if he wants to come out with him, Eugene politely turns him down.

When it comes to gambling, Snafu tries to stick to branches of the military that aren’t the Marines. He already has a reputation amongst the first and the fifth, and almost every single one of his friends refuses to lose money to him anymore. It’s when Snafu discovers how easy it is to part Navy sailors with their money, that Snafu starts seeing the tattoos. Snafu asks around and discovers there’s a guy who will do it for cheap for armed forces, who is an artist with ink, and who even has some Marines flash to choose from.

Snafu announces his plans for a tattoo to Sledge that evening, who glances up from his book and replies that this is exactly why he takes the night watch these days.

“You’re drunk, Snafu,” Eugene says, “Go to bed. We’ll see if this tattoo is still a good idea in the morning.”

Snafu doesn’t tell Gene that he’s pretty sure this idea has been brewing in the back of his head for days. Instead he goes to bed. And he also realizes that there’s some part of Eugene stuck in those foxholes, still keeping watch, even though they’re on Hawaii where the worst that can happen already has. Gene shouldn’t be worrying about anything, and he certainly shouldn’t be watching over Snafu while he sleeps. If anyone should be looking after anybody it should be Snafu. He’s the one half in love.

“If I get a tattoo on my own, will you hate me?” Snafu asks Gene the next morning.

“Why would I hate you?” Eugene replies, genuinely confused.

Snafu shrugs. He always assumed Eugene would one day.

Eugene rolls his eyes, satisfied that Snafu is back to his normal enigmatic sober self, and then rolls over in his cot and goes back to sleep.

This time Snafu stays awake, studying Sledgehammer’s sleeping face, munching on a chocolate bar while Eugene snores. By the time Snafu finishes his breakfast, and Eugene is properly awake, Snafu gets an idea about how to put Eugene’s watchdog tendencies to good use.

“Why am I coming with you to Chinatown?” Eugene asks that afternoon as they make their way across Honolulu.

“Because that’s where Jerry’s shop is,” Snafu answers, “It’s art, Eugene, you’ll love it. Trust me.”

“Who’s Jerry?”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that, Gene,” Snafu sighs, “How are you even a Marine? We need to get you out more.”

“I get out plenty,” Eugene gripes and gets that cute nose wrinkle between his brows that happens whenever Snafu teases him too much.

Snafu grins.

“Just because I don’t drink, doesn’t mean I judge anyone else for it,” Eugene says defensively.

“I know you don’t, Boo, and all the guys respect you for it, but they’ll love you for it if you also join us from time to time. You don’t gotta do anything, just be there,” Snafu says.

“Huh,” Eugene says, and thoughtfully considers Snafu’s suggestion while they walk. It baffles Snafu sometimes, how Eugene actually take Snafu’s opinions into consideration. Gene listens, and thinks on it until he understands, and then adjusts his behavior as he sees fit, and he puts a hell of a lot more stock into Snafu’s judgement than Snafu could ever have imagined him doing. “Are you included in this?” Eugene asks after a period of silence.

“What?” Snafu holds the door open to the tattoo parlor for him.

“Will you love me if I hang out from time to time?” Eugene asks and hesitates in the doorway.

“I already love you, Gene, you don’t gotta work on that,” Snafu winks and playfully pushes Sledge’s ass the rest of the way into the shop.

Eugene looks endearingly uncomfortable standing in the middle of the tattoo parlor. Gene’s eyes go wide and they keep sliding over to the corner of the shop where a sailor with bulging muscles is having a delicate bird tattooed onto his bicep. Snafu slides his arm across Eugene’s shoulder to help the poor guy relax while they wait their turn to be helped.

“What am I doing here?” Gene hisses lowly in Snafu’s ear as he leans against him.

“I want to get the tattoo on a sensitive area,” Snafu whispers back and leans closer. Any excuse to hold Gene tighter.

“How sensitive?” Sledge is looking at Snafu like Snafu’s situation has gone from fucked up to total insanity.

“On a part of me that might make things a little too hot, if you know what I mean,” Snafu elaborates.

“Shelton, what the heck are you getting at?”

“I’m getting the eagle and globe on my inner thigh and I want you to be here to make sure nothing turns raunchy,” Snafu explains.

Eugene pulls away and stares at him for a full minute. “What the hell do you think is going to be sexy about a man sticking a needle in your skin for a couple hours?”

“I dunno, Sledgehammer, I’m just concerned he’s going to be nose to nose with certain areas of myself I like to keep private,” Snafu says.

“Then why not get it on your arm like a normal person?” Sledge whispers accusingly.

Snafu shrugs. He swears Eugene looks fiercely jealous, but maybe he’s just seeing things. “Hate me yet?” he asks.

Eugene just glares in response. And crosses his arms in a bit of a huff. But he doesn’t leave the shop. Eugene doesn’t say another word. He silently inspects the art Snafu picks out. And when it’s Snafu’s turn, Eugene stands beside him. He silently watches as Snafu drapes himself over the bench and splays his legs open. A strategically placed thin blanket keeps Snafu’s dignity intact, but his ass is otherwise as bare as the day he was born.

Eugene was right about the artist being professional and too focused to do much else. The guy doesn’t even treat Snafu like he’s a body made of flesh and bone, just canvas. The artist is firm, and calm, and certain of every mark he makes.

And the only thing Snafu finds distracting is the unexpected intensity of Eugene staring at Snafu’s crotch while the tattoo is being done.

At first it’s fine. The tattoo starts almost inside his hip and the pain is next to nothing. And certainly nothing Snafu can’t handle. Until the needle goes lower, into sensitive fatty areas, and the pain explodes.

“Fuck!” Snafu grits out as he tries to keep his body from reacting.

That gets Eugene’s attention on Snafu’s face, finally. Gene turns to him and takes his hand gently.

Snafu isn’t having it. He grips Eugene’s hand so hard his knuckles turn white and Eugene’s eyebrows shoot up on his face in shock. Snafu almost growls with the pain, and tears prick his eyes. In all Snafu’s half baked plans about giving Eugene something artsy to admire that they can both share, and by coincidence letting Eugene watch over Snafu’s dick for a couple hours, Snafu had never considered he might end up looking ridiculous in front of his crush.

“Hey, look at me,” Eugene whispers softly right beside Snafu’s head. Gene crouches down beside the bench so they’re eye level, and gently slides his fingers across Snafu’s cheek. He turns Snafu’s head to face him, away from the work being done on Snafu’s leg, and suddenly all Snafu can see is the adoration and concern in Eugene’s eyes.

“Sledgehammer...?” is all Snafu can manage to say.

Eugene holds Snafu’s hand tight and cups Snafu’s face, and whispers sweet nothings about how beautiful Snafu is. Something about Snafu’s stubble and square jaw, and something about the rain. And Snafu can barely pay attention, but if he watches Eugene’s lips form around the words long enough he almost forgets the pain.

‘Just fucking kiss me,” Snafu wants to be able to say, ‘I’ve been waiting for you to do it for months.”

He doesn’t say it.

He does, however, manage to survive his first (and hopefully only) tattoo experience thanks to Gene’s helping hand (Literally. Snafu hopes he didn’t maim Gene’s drawing hand.). The artist wraps Snafu’s leg and gives him instructions on how to care for the tattoo in the first few days. The artist also gives him and Gene a considering look, but says nothing. Snafu supposes the guy’s probably used to all sorts, what with him tattooing mostly Navy boys, a branch of the armed forces where what Snafu wants to do to Gene is almost legal. Almost.

Snafu’s leg doesn’t hurt too much, but he plays it up a bit for sympathy. Eugene steadfastly allows Snafu to lean on him the whole walk home, with Gene’s arm strong and secure around Snafu’s waist. To be fair it is hard to walk with a giant bandage around a guy’s inner thigh. Snafu is reduced to an awkward hobble. He is relieved when he can finally stagger into their tent and flop onto Gene’s cot.

“Snafu, wrong bed,” Eugene points out helpfully. He tries to help Snafu stand back up.

Snafu refuses and goes limp.

“Snaf, you’re on my book.”

Snafu does move for that.

Eugene rescues his book and then sits down at the foot end of the cot. “So how long is it gonna take to heal?” he asks conversationally.

Snafu grunts.

“I’ll bring you dinner,” Eugene announces. He pats Snafu’s ankle lovingly and stands back up with a sigh. A few hours of silence and he returns with rice. “I figured simple was better for now,” he explains.

Snafu makes no comment on his freely given dinner, and eats his rice quietly while Eugene carefully peels the bandage off Snafu’s thigh.

“It’s gonna look better in a few weeks,” Snafu assures him.

With his head still bent over Snafu’s crotch, Eugene looks at him skeptically from underneath his brow.

“Hopefully,” Snafu adds, his confidence faltering a little.

Snafu spends the next three days wallowing in comfort with Eugene at his beck and call. Somewhere in town Eugene picks up an odd smelling cream that Eugene swears on his life will help. Snafu agrees, not because he’s in pain or worried about the tattoo becoming infected. But because he just enjoys it when Eugene leans across Snafu’s legs on the cot to get a good angle, pushes down Snafu’s pants, and then rubs little feather-light circles over Snafu’s naked thigh to massage the cream in.

“Think you can walk now?” Eugene asks on the fourth day after he’s rubbed the cream into Snafu’s skin.

It takes Snafu a minute to remember that he never mentioned to Eugene that walking was no longer a problem after the bandage came off the first day. “Oh...probably,” Snafu says while keeping his voice deceptively light.

Eugene sighs. He’s been doing that a lot lately. “Better not try,” he says, “Just to be sure. It’s starting to scab.” Eugene trails a finger down the tattoo. He barely brushes the tiny portions of scabbed skin, but it sends a strange tingle up Snafu’s spine.

Snafu swallows. “Think it’s supposed to do that,” he opinions, “The scabbing.” - not the tingling.

“I might get Jay to bring you your dinner tonight...” Eugene trails off, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. All of Snafu’s focus is on Eugene’s hand still resting over the clothed portion of Snafu’s leg. Till he hears what Eugene said.

“What???” Snafu demands.

“I’ve been thinking of going out with the guys. Burgie says it’s Stringbean’s birthday or something,” Eugene says.

“What? No!” Snafu yanks his pants back up over his crotch.

“You said I needed to spend more time with them...”

“Yeah, but not without me!” Snafu exclaims, “I’ll come along...”

“Not so fast,” Eugene holds Snafu’s chest down on the bed with his hand, and briefly fulfills one of Snafu’s many fantasies, “If you get that tattoo infected, you might be stuck here even longer than if you just wait it out now.”

“But I...” Snafu is realizing his subterfuge in getting Eugene to wait on him hand and foot is coming back to bite him in the ass.

“Jay’s staying behind tonight to write a letter to his folks,” Eugene concludes, “He won’t mind bringing you food, honest.”

“But it’s pork chops tonight!” Snafu says as Eugene gets up to leave.

“I think Jay can handle carrying some pork chops,” Eugene chuckles.

Snafu’s losing him. He’s almost out the door. Eugene’s gonna find a replacement caretaker and that’ll be the end to Snafu monopolizing his time.

“Gene!” Snafu calls desperately. He scrambles out of bed and grabs Eugene’s wrist.

Eugene blinks at him in surprise. “I thought you were in pain...?”

Snafu opens his mouth and casts his eyes anywhere but on Gene so maybe Sledgehammer won’t see his guilt. In his haste, Snafu forgot to button his pants. They’re falling down his hips again.

“You were never in any pain, were you?” Eugene asks.

“Maybe for the first...” Snafu thinks hard, “...three...or four...hours...?”

“It’s been four days Snafu,” Eugene starts advancing on him like he’s gonna give Snafu some real pain to think about, “I help you limp to the toilet four times a day. I’ve been giving you sponge baths!”

Snafu trips backwards and falls onto Gene’s cot. “I’ve been reading your books aloud for you!” he protests, “You like it when I do the heavy accent.” As if that makes them even.

“You. Owe. Me,” Eugene emphasizes. And shoves Snafu flat on his back

“Semper Fi?” Snafu says with a grin.

“Get your own damn pork chops, Shelton,” Eugene shakes his head in disgust - the worst expression Snafu could imagine being on his face, “And get out of my cot. You are perfectly capable of using your own.” He moves as if to tip over the cot and dump Snafu out of it.

“Wait!” Snafu sprawls across it like a heavy starfish. “True, my leg doesn’t hurt, but I don’t want to move too much and risk breaking open the scabs,” Snafu protests, “Remember! Potential infection!”

Eugene stops, and considers this carefully. “Fair point,” he says.

“Fuck...” Snafu groans and pushes himself up on his elbows. “You listen to my advice too much, Hammer. Don’t go out with those guys. Stay in tonight. With me. I’ll even read to you from that dumbass history book you love so much.”

This gets Eugene’s interest. He knows Snafu prefers the fiction novels over the dry facts. But Eugene’s a sucker for timelines and dates.

Snafu’s got him on the edge. He just needs one last enticement to tip Eugene over.

“C’mon Sledge, help me out with this and when it’s all healed, I’ll let you and only you kiss it,” Snafu jokes, hoping that if he entertains Eugene enough, Gene won’t kick him out of his cot. Snafu wiggles his leg enticingly. It makes the tattoo jiggle. The Marines Corps eagle flaps it’s wings. Snafu smiles beguilingly.

Except Eugene’s not laughing. His eyes are devastatingly serious as he thinks over Snafu’s words. He sits down on the cot again, on top of Snafu’s feet. And leans forward, sliding his hand up Snafu’s leg the whole way. His fingers grip Snafu’s thigh just below the marred skin of the tattoo, as if he’s waiting for the day he can touch that skin without hesitance. He stares Snafu straight in the eye with an uncompromising look and says, “Deal.”

Snafu is hit with flashes of fantasy - of Eugene’s head bending down, his lips replacing his fingers, Eugene kissing his way up the tattoo straight to Snafu’s...

“Shake on it,” Eugene insists, holding out his hand.

Snafu shakes wordlessly.

And Eugene marches out of the room to fetch Snafu his pork chops.

Snafu drops back onto the cot again and wonders desperately if jerking off would reopen the wounds, or stretch the tattoo beyond recognition.

[samsexualdeancurious]

Hold on Tight (You Know She’s a Little Bit Dangerous) (NSFW)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Words: 2,832

Prompt: Post-Endgame. Sam drags Bucky to a bar to try and cheer him up, and they run into one of Sam's old military buddies.

Warnings: Unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids)

Written for @saxxxology for her September 2019 Angel request

Title from Dangerous by Roxette

Betaed by @mrsimoshen

---

If there’s one thing that hasn’t changed that much over the many decades Bucky’s been alive, it’s bars. Low lighting, the buzz of conversation broken by someone who’s either a happy or an angry drunk, music that could probably be turned down a few notches. It’s a little warmer than he would like, with his long sleeves and single glove to cover his arm. Sure, the technology has improved and Bucky doesn’t really recognize most of the brands on the shelves behind the bar, but the vibe is the same. Something about that is kind of comforting, even though a bar is probably the absolute last place he wants to be tonight.

“Two of whatever’s on tap for me and my buddy,” Sam is saying to the bartender as the two men slide onto stools. Two beers in tall glasses are pushed towards them a few minutes later.

Bucky might not particularly want to be here but he can’t deny that a beer might be exactly what he needs tonight and he accepts the glass when Sam nudges it toward him. He tries for a small smile - it feels more like a grimace - before taking a sip. It’s decent. Not his favorite beer in the world - his favorite doesn’t exist anymore - but he doesn’t mind it too much.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in!”

A woman has appeared on the stool on Sam’s other side, all bright smiles and brighter eyes. How anyone can be so happy, Bucky has no idea, but she’s pulling it off and doing so well. Somehow her presence isn’t overwhelming at all.

“Y/N!” Sam says, leaning over to give her a one-armed hug. “Long time, no see!”

“Five and a half years,” she replies, smile never faltering. “Heard you got caught up in the Blip. How was that?”

“Dunno, can’t remember it,” Sam chuckles. “Probably a good thing. What’ve you been up to? Still with the military?”

“Just retired, actually. Five years of office work, you know how it is.”

“Looking forward to retirement?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Congrats.”

She signals to the bartender and orders a beer for herself. As she waits for it, she glances around Sam to Bucky. As soon as their eyes meet, she very obviously gives him the once over and then smirks.

“Gonna introduce me to your friend?” she asks, nudging Sam.

He glances over at Bucky, who shrugs. “This is Bucky,” Sam tells her. “He works with me. Buck, this is Y/N. We served together in the Air Force.”

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky says, reaching out his good hand to shake hers around Sam.

“What’s with the glove, Michael Jackson?” she teases, gesturing to his glove with one hand and picking up her beer with the other. “Hiding something cool under there?”

Bucky blushes, tucking his gloved hand against his belly. He’s never felt nervous about someone seeing his arm before but he really wants this new woman to think the best of him and he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t associate with him if she knew the truth.

“Buck’s a veteran, too,” Sam says before Bucky can come up with a response.

Y/N studies him for a minute and then her eyes go wide as things kind of click into place. “Ah,” she says. “Understandable. Didja get one of those fancy new ones from Wakanda?”

Bucky’s pretty sure his face is on fire now. “Yeah,” he mumbles.

She’s looking at him with a new appreciation and, dare he say, a new hunger. He’s still surprised, though, when she hops off her stool and comes around to sit by him instead of Sam.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Sam complains, pouting a little.

“I know you,” she reminds him. “I wanna get to know Bucky.”

Bucky musters all the confidence he can and shoots Sam a smirk. “Yeah, Sam. She wants to get to know me.”

Y/N laughs, a wild sound that makes Bucky’s heart beat faster. He hasn’t met a woman who made him feel like this in decades, if ever. The last date he went on was with Connie at the Stark Expo before he left for the war and while that went well, he definitely didn’t feel like this. He was a different man then, though, and Y/N is a very different woman.

“I don’t know if you actually do want to get to know me,” Bucky admits once Sam has turned away to talk to someone else.

“Don’t be silly,” Y/N scolds gently. “Of course I want to get to know you. Any friend of Sam’s is a friend of mine. Besides,” she nudges his arm with her elbow, “you’re cute.”

Bucky chokes on his beer. Sam looks concerned but Y/N just laughs, slapping his back until he gets things under control.

Things go a little better from there. Y/N is surprisingly easy to talk to. Part of that is because she dominates the conversation and Bucky doesn’t have to talk quite as much; part of that is because she seems genuinely interested in what he has to say when he does speak. Bucky soon finds himself relaxing, body turned to face her. He leans in when she speaks, eager to hear what she has to say and let her know he’s interested in her. Her body language is equally as open and when she puts her hand on top of his, Bucky’s heart does a happy leap.

“Wanna come back to my place?” Y/N asks, leaning in so her words are just for him.

Bucky glances over his shoulder at Sam to see that his friend is deep in conversation with a pretty Asian woman. “We should let Sam know where we’re going,” Bucky says.

She smiles, giving his hand a squeeze. “Of course. I have to hit up the ladies' room. Meet you at the door?”

He nods and she kisses his cheek before slipping off her stool. He watches for a moment as she weaves her way through the crowd before turning to bump Sam’s elbow.

“Sup?” the man says, twisting around to look at Bucky.

“Y/N and I…” Bucky says tentatively, suddenly nervous.

“You heading out?” Sam finishes with a smirk.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sam just winks. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Face on fire, Bucky leaves a few bills to cover his part of the drinks and then heads off toward the door. He’s only waiting a few minutes before Y/N shows up, a bit of a bounce in her step. She takes Bucky’s gloved hand without hesitation, smiling brightly at him.

“My place is a couple of blocks away,” she says as they step out into the night. “Wanna walk?”

Bucky nods and lets her lead him off down the sidewalk. His heart is racing with excitement and nerves and he’s glad she’s holding his gloved hand so she can’t feel how sweaty his other palm is. She keeps up the conversation as they walk, easing Bucky into telling some stories from his childhood - the ones he doesn’t think will cause too much alarm.

Y/N’s apartment is in a nice complex with a doorman and a security guard. They both clearly know Y/N and they eye Bucky warily when he enters but Y/N’s brightness seems to put them at ease. She waves hello to them both as they pass before leading Bucky up the stairs to the third floor. Her’s is a few doors down from the stairs, differentiated from the others by a colorful summer wreath on the door.

“Home sweet home,” she says, flicking on the light to reveal a clean, modern apartment - white walls, cool neutral-toned furniture, splashes of blue and green in the form of rugs and art pieces.

“I like it,” Bucky tells her honestly, taking it all in.

She grins over her shoulder at him as she locks the front door. “Thanks. I’m pretty happy with it. Do you want something to drink?”

“Water would be nice.”

She fills two glasses from the faucet on the front of the fridge and Bucky gladly accepts one. It's been so long since he was in this position and he’s not quite sure what to do with himself.

Y/N drinks some of her water and then sets the glass by the sink “Bucky,” she says softly, moving in close to him. “You do know I didn’t just bring you here for water, right?”

He nods, turning his own glass in his hands. “I’m, um. I’m a little out of practice.”

There’s no judgment in her eyes. “Been a while?”

If a few decades counts as a while. “Yeah, it has.”

She smiles, settling her hands on his hips. “That’s okay. I don’t mind being on top.”

Arousal shoots down Bucky’s spine. He reaches around her to set his glass down and then loops his arms around her waist, pulling her against him. She laughs quietly and tips her chin up so he can kiss her.

Things escalate quickly from there and it’s only minutes before they’re stumbling into her bedroom, so wrapped up in each other that it takes her a second to turn the light on without breaking the kiss. She guides Bucky over to the bed and he sits down heavily when the backs of his knees meet the edge of the mattress, pulling her into his lap. Her fingers play at the hem of his t-shirt and Bucky breaks the kiss, gloved hand flying down to grip her wrist.

“Whoa,” she says, freezing. “Everything okay?”

He draws a deep breath, steadying himself. “Sorry, I just… you’re okay with… me? Right?”

She frowns thoughtfully, bringing one hand up to cup his cheek. “Do you mean your arm? Why wouldn’t I be? It’s just a part of you. Maybe it’s made of a different material but it’s still yours.”

He relaxes a little and kisses her again. She loops both her arms over his shoulders, pressing their bodies together. Bucky is rock hard in his jeans and he’s pretty sure she can feel it.

“Want me on top?” she asks when they come up for air.

“Fuck yeah,” Bucky gasps against her lips.

She kisses him firmly and then pushes at his shoulders, lifting her weight off his lap. “Then get this shirt off and lay down for me, big guy.”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate this time, pulling his shirt up and off, and taking the glove with it. Y/N’s eyes go right to his metal arm but they don’t linger long, instead moving to admire his torso.

“Damn, boy,” she says as he scoots up to lay in the middle of the bed. “That’s a sight I could get used to.”

Bucky blushes even as he toes off his shoes, letting them drop to the floor. His socks follow as he watches Y/N begin shedding her own clothes. He bites his lip at the sight of her bare body as she strips down to her panties, a lacy green pair that make his mouth water. She’s absolutely stunning, every inch of her - even the thick, knotted scar that curls around her right shoulder.

“Gonna ride this cock,” she cooes, fingers quickly undoing his belt and jeans so she can pull his pants down. He lifts his hips to help her out. His boxers follow and his cock smacks against his belly, eager for attention. Y/N makes a happy noise and wraps her hand around his cock, smirking when he gasps and his hips jerk. “Oh yeah. Gonna treat you right, Buck.”

“Let me… gotta get you ready,” Bucky manages, reaching for her.

“Oh, yeah?” She allows herself to be tugged up to straddle his chest, smirking when Bucky’s eyes lock onto that hidden space between her thighs. “You wanna eat my pussy?”

Bucky nods, gripping her thighs as tightly as he dares. He doesn’t want to hurt her.

She curls forward, one hand tugging lightly at his hair and drawing his eyes up to her face. “Don’t be afraid to leave bruises.”

He growls and pulls her up further so he can finally get his tongue on her pussy. She gasps, bracing herself with the hand in his hair and the other against the headboard. Bucky hums happily, eager to make this wonderful woman - who doesn’t seem to care how broken he is - feel good. He’s a little out of practice but gets the hang of things quickly and has her cumming on his face in no time. She’s quiet when she cums, breath stuttering and body pulsing above him. Bucky holds her in place, keeping his mouth on her until she’s giggling and squirming away.

“Fuck,” she gasps, sliding down to straddle his hips and blanket him with her body. “That was… wow.”

He grins, running his hands over her back, and then moans when she grinds her slick pussy against his cock.

“Gonna ride this big dick now,” Y/N purrs, nibbling at his collarbone.

Before Bucky can formulate any sort of response, she reaches down to line things up and sinks down onto his cock. He gasps, head flying back against the mattress as he’s engulfed in what feels like liquid heat. Y/N doesn’t stop until Bucky’s balls deep in her cunt. Only then does she pause to take a deep breath and grin down at him.

“Feels so good,” she tells him, sitting up and bracing her hands against his chest.

She rolls her hips experimentally and chuckles at the choked sound Bucky makes. His hands settle on her hips, firm enough to bruise, when she starts to move. He can’t take his eyes off her as she bounces on his cock. When she leans back and puts her hands on his thighs, he almost cums right then. The sight of her, all soft curves and strong limbs and that tight, tight pussy split open on his cock, is something Bucky’s pretty sure he would never get tired of. She’s still quiet, the only sounds in being little hitches of her breath, his own groans, and the dirty, wet slide of his cock in her cunt.

“Not gonna last,” Bucky manages, hands sliding up her sides to cup her breasts.

“That’s okay,” she answers, arching into his touch. “I wanna feel you cum in me. Fill me up, big guy.”

Bucky groans at those words, hips jerking beneath her. His thumbs flick over her nipples and her own hips stutter. One hand flies up to grip his metal wrist.

“Cold,” she breathes. “Do that again.”

He obeys, using his metal hand to tease her nipples until they’re puffy and tender, and she’s making little whimpery noises that go straight to his cock. That’s when he brings his metal hand down to her clit, rubbing careful circles with his fingertips. Y/N’s whole body jerks and it seems like mere seconds before she’s falling apart above him. The rhythmic pulse of her pussy around his cock is more than enough to pull Bucky over his own edge. He drags her down into a kiss as he pumps her full of cum, the hand on her hip keeping her in place while his other hand rubs her clit until she pushes it away.

“Fucking hell,” she gasps against his lips. “For someone out of practice, you sure know what you’re doing.”

He grins, grinding up against her as he rides out his aftershocks, before gently guiding her to lay next to him. She snuggles against his side without any hesitation, throwing one arm over his chest. He tentatively wraps his arm - the metal one - around her.

“Gonna stay the night?” Y/N asks, hooking one leg over his.

“Would you let me up if I said no?” he replies, tone light and teasing.

“Hmm, probably not.”

He laughs. “What if I needed to pee?”

She sighs dramatically. “I suppose. It’s the first door on the right.”

Bucky drags himself from the bed, chuckling, and goes to do his business. Y/N uses the bathroom right after him and then she flicks off the bedroom light and they crawl under the covers together.

“What do you want for breakfast tomorrow?” she asks as she settles against his chest once more.

“How does pancakes sound?”

“Pancakes sound great.”

He smiles into the dark, fingers playing along the curve of her spine. She shivers under his touch, her own fingers gently tracing the scarred line on his chest where skin meets metal.

“Gonna tell me about this?” Her voice is soft, curious but not pressing for anything he’s not willing to give.

“Maybe someday,” he answers as his hand finds her scar. “Will you tell me about yours?”

He can feel her smile against his collarbone. “Guess you’ll have to stick around and see.”

Bucky tilts his head to press a kiss to her hair. “I might just do that.”

---

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—

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @laughing-at-the-darkness​​ @tumbler-tidbits​​ @imsuperawkward​​​​ @emoryhemsworth

[thiswasinevitableid]

47 for OT4, SFW or NSFW I love your writing! :))

Thank you! I went SFW for this one.

47: you overhear me complaining to my coworker about your ridiculous daily coffee order, whoops

“Oh christ, here he comes.” Duck mutters to Indrid as he pumps hazelnut syrup into a cup, “the one I was tellin you about.”

Indrid, stationed at the counter, tilts his head as he watches the windows, “would he be the one that looks like a lumberjack or the one who looks like a secret agent?”

“The second one. I dunno what it is, but his order drives me fuckin nuts. It’s super specific; dark roast, single origin only, heavy cream until it turns about that color” he points to the wall, “with a half pump of caramel and a half pump of vanilla. You’re gonna be that specific, just make it at home.” He’s busy putting a lid on  the drink and therefore misses Indrid’s hand waving. 

“I do, and it’s not that hard.” A deep voice makes him turn; the lumberjack, looking more amused than annoyed.

“And since you know my order so well already” the other man, smile, tight lipped, at him before turning to Indrid, “one of those and one large, black coffee.”

Duck starts the drink, making it as fast as he can so he can slink off into the back room. Shit, if the guy rats on him he could get in trouble, he’s already on thin ice after throwing out some rich kid for harassing the staff. 

Indrid takes the drinks, mouths, “go” and heads around the counter while Duck makes a bee-line for the supply closet. 

--------------------------

Indrid sets the cups down in front of the two men, then slides a plate with a large, hot monster cookie on it between them. 

“On the house, as they say.”

“This an apology cookie or a ‘don’t give us a bad review’ cookie?” The lumberjack smirks.

“Both.” Indrid says mildly, smiling and returning to his post.

 As he walks away he hears the deep voice whisper, “wouldn’t kick that one outta bed for eating crackers.”

A soft laugh, “Agreed. Pity his friend is an ass.”

When Jake and Hollis arrive a few minutes later to take over for him and Duck, he finds his boyfriend clonking his head into the wall by the break room. 

“Don’t worry, love, I smoothed things over.”

“Thanks. Just feel like a dipshit. Both for gettin overheard and complainin in the first place.”

“I assumed it was stress from waiting on interview results.”

“Yeah.” Duck pulls on his jacket, “still feel shitty though.”

“Come, let’s go home. I have some ideas for relaxation.” He purrs, kissing Duck’s cheek. 

“How may of ‘em are fuckin’-based?”

“Half.”

“Good, gives us some variety just in case.”

-----------------------------------------------------------

“We’ve paired you with another duo, if that’s okay?”

“Sure” Duck smiles at the Escape Room employee, takes Indrid’s hand as they follow him down the hall, “Aubrey says these are more fun in a group.”

“I look forward to--oh dear.” 

Duck turns to see the pair from the coffee shop last week. The lumberjack looks about the same, but the secret agent is dressed more casually than usual. His black hair is loose rather than slicked back, and he’s in jeans and shirt that reads, “Champ” with a dark outline of sea monster on the front. He almost looks cute.

“You’ve been  trapped in the lair of hostile, highly intelligent space aliens. You have an hour to escape. Good luck” The employee shuts the door, leaving the pairs to stare at each other. 

“Uh, hi. Again.” Duck waves awkwardly

“Hey.” The lumberjack waves back, “so, uh, this is hella awkward, right?”

“Yes.” The other three respond.

“Cool. Look, I dunno about you but I don’t wanna get dissected by aliens. So, bygones?”

The others nods and he smiles, “I’m Barclay, this is Joseph. My, uh, my boyfriend.” It’s distinctly odd watching such a large man blush like a schoolgirl. Joseph smiles, kisses his cheek, then looks around the room.

“Alright, we need to find the four symbol code to enter onto that pad. Spread out and look for places symbols might be hidden.”

They find the first one easily. Indrid’s eye for color and patterns helps them locate the second, and when a clue points to the third being high up, instead of having to construct a makeshift ladder or step-stool, Barclay simply reaches up and grabs it. It does not escape Duck’s notice that both Indrid and Joseph get appreciative looks on their faces when Barclay then moves a “cloning pod” out of the way all by himself. 

“I suspect the last symbol is hidden one something that is in...that hole.” Joseph points to the newly revealed wall lined with several cubbies, one of which has danger signs written all around it.

“Not it. Too close to a garbage disposal, and I have nightmares about putting my hand down that at the wrong time.” Barclay shudders.

“I would also prefer not to be the one to reach in; such elements often have a loud noise gimmick and I do not enjoy that.”

Joseph glances at Duck, blue eyes glinting with a not-entirely-friendly challenge.

“Fuck it, I’ll do it.” Duck steps forward and cautiously slides his hand in. Indrid’s instinct was right, as the whole starts vibrating with a loud, grinding sound. Indrid yelps, grabbing the other two men, who in turn jump and scream  in surprise. Duck grits his teeth, fights the urge to pull back, and finds a smooth tile waiting for him. When he removes his hand the noise stops, and he grins, triumphant, as he shows off the last symbol. 

“WHOO!” Barclay cheers and high-fives Duck  as Joseph punches in the symbols, stopping the timer on the wall, “shit, that was wild man, scared the living hell outta me and I wasn’t even  the one doing it.”

“Mmmm, my brave hero.” Indrid drapes his arms over his shoulder, kissing him.

“Sap.” Duck teases, kissing him back.

“You know, we make a pretty good team.” Joseph brushes stray hair off his face.

“Yeah. Would, um, would you guys like to go grab coffee or something?” Barclay looks genuinely hopeful, which is why, ten minutes later, Duck is sitting across from Joseph in a dark-wood coffee shop. Indrid has excused himself to wash his hands and Barclay is outside taking a phone call from someone named Mama.

Duck sips his coffee (black) as he watches Joseph measure cream into his mug.

“That explains it; guys who drink black coffee are always weird about guys who don’t.”

“Don’t Barclay drink his black?”

“Only when we’re out, when we’re at home he’s always making fancy coffee. Trying out new recipes. It works well. Or, um, mostly well. There was a green tea cherry espresso that was not his finest.”

“Eech. Heh, that reminds me of the time ‘Drid was so groggy he poured strawberry syrup into his coffee instead of caramel. Didn’t phase him one bit, but I felt like I was kissin a berry patch the whole day. Swear the man’s half moth or some shit from how much sugar he drinks.”

Joseph snickers, “sorry, imagining Indrid as a mothman is a funny image.”

Duck pictures it and giggles, which makes Joseph laugh harder. When they recover, he scratches the back of his neck, “Look, I’m sorry I was a dick about your coffee order. Just havin one of those weeks where everythin got on my nerves.”

“It’s alright. I’m not all that bothered by it. Not intellectually, anyway. Being particular or precise is something people have been, um, less than kind to me about in the past.”

“Nothin wrong with knowin what you like.”

Joseph glances out the window at Barclay, “No, no there’s not.”

----------------------------------

It becomes a weekly arrangement; the four of them meet for some kind of activity, then go to lunch or dinner. Duck learns many things over those weeks; that Barclay can figure out how to reverse engineer Indrid’s favorite cupcakes from a local bakery, that Joseph has a worryingly deep yet very endearing knowledge of bad horror movies. That while Joseph is terrifying during a trivia match, Duck can still wipe the floor with everyone when it comes to the science categories. He learns that Joseph is trans, like him, and that Barclay and Indrid actually went to the same high school but were two years apart and thus didn’t know each other. 

Right now, he’s learning that he’s not as good at laser tag as he thought he was. 

They went during the cheaper hours, mid-afternoon on a Sunday, and while all four of them are on the same team they’ve gotten separated in the neon-tinted darkness. 

He can tell the enemy team has spotted him, and is moving as fast as he can out of range, when a hand reaches out of a darkened turret and pulls him in.

“GAHoh, phew, scared the hell outta me Joe.”

“Sorry, it was safer than calling out.” The space is small, built for kids rather than two twenty-six year olds, and so Joe is pressed right up against him as he watches the door. He might be the only guy Duck knows who wears honest to god cologne, clean and minty smelling, and the scent wraps around him when Joe pulls him back against his chest to hide them from passing opponents. 

“Fuck, that was close.” He whispers.

“Don’t worry” Joe murmurs in his ear, voice huskier than normal, “you’ve got me to look out for you.” He breaks away as if nothing happened, pulls Duck’s body out into the glowing chaos, while his mind stays in the little room, wondering what the fuck that was.

------------------------------------

 “Can’t believe we got our asses handed to us by a bunch of eleven year olds.” Duck groans as they sit, licking their wounds along with soft-serve from a tiny shack that Barclay swears by.

“That one blonde girl is gonna grow up to be a sniper.” Barclay offers his cone (chocolate and sour cherry) to Joseph, who takes a prim bite.

“It may run in the family; I think her dad was the one with the ‘Go Army’ shirt.” 

“Oh, were we not supposed to be going easy on them?” Indrid cocks his head. The others stare at him in mute shock. 

“I’m kidding; I was utterly outmatched in there.” He grins before dragging his tongue up his cone (pineapple and marshmallow). When he reaches the tip he opens his mouth wider, taking it all in with a satisfied moan. He pulls off, stray ice cream dribbling down his chin until Joe hands him a napkin. Indrid thanks him, then proceeds to do the exact same thing, over and over, and Duck realizes neither of the other men have looked away from his boyfriend. Barclay’s legs are now crossed, and Joe’s cheeks are pink. Duck can’t really blame them--he knows exactly what Indrid can do with that mouth--but what’s stranger is he doesn’t feel jealous or annoyed. He knows Indrid sometimes struggles with looking, in his own words, “offputting.” It’s nice to see two other people catch on to just how hot he is. 

Then again, he kind of wishes Joe would stop staring and eat his own cone; he wants to see what his tongue can do, too.

---------------------------------------------

“Watcha drawin’?” Duck slides onto the couch next to Indrid.

“Just random images.”

“That us with Joe and Barclay?”

“I, ah, yes it is.”

“Like it a lot. Christ you’re talented, it’s like how much you like us is comin’ right off the page.”

“Is, ah, is that so? I hadn’t noticed, ah, oh dear, I just remembered I need to go call Jake about covering my shift.”

------------------------------------------

Duck: That new barcade is finally open, wanna come with us on Saturday?

Barclay: Wish we could, but we got a friends birthday that night.

Duck: No big, let us know if you want to catch a flick on Sunday

Barclay sets the phone down, not remembering it’s a group text until Joe pokes his head out of the bedroom.

“Shit, whose birthday is on Saturday? We need to get a gift.”

“Oh, uh, no, no one. Just, uh, didn’t feel like going out but didn’t want them to think I was, like, angry or something. Sorry, shoulda asked if you wanted to go without me, shit, that was rude.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind time that’s just for us.” He crosses the living room, fiddles with Barclays hair, “but let me know if you want to see a movie Sunday, I’m happy either way.”

“Uhuh, will do.” Barclay nods, not really paying attention, as he imagines silvery hair in the dark theater and holding slender, cool fingers in his own.

---------------------------------

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t actually have that DVD to loan me?”

“I do” Duck shuts the apartment door behind Joe, “but we got some things to discuss first.” He waits until Joe is sitting next to Barclay (lured here by the promise of cookies) and across from Indrid (lives here, not that hard to lure).

“Look, I don’t think I really gotta point out how weird it is that we went from hangin out every week to not seein’ each other for near a month. But what I do gotta point out is why it’s happenin’.”

“We’ve all been busy?” Joe hazards.

“Yeah, but we all were busy before and we made time for each other. Now we, myself included, are cancelin shit.” He takes a deep breath, “Barclay, Joe, you both got a thing for ‘Drid, don’t you?”

Joe nods while Barclay blushes and mutters, “yeah.”

“And ‘Drid, you got a thing for both of them?”

His boyfriend shifts nervously in his seat, but nods all the same. Barclay looks genuinely surprised. 

“Well, you three ain’t the only ones realizin’ you want more than you got. Joe, I, uh, I really like you. As in wanna date you. So, uh, that’s where we’re at.” He sits down next to Indrid, who instantly takes his hand. 

“That’s...wait, don’t we all want the same thing?” Joe looks between them, puzzled. 

“You’d really be okay with me dating Indrid?” Barclay asks softly. 

“We’d both be dating him. And I’d be dating Duck as well as you two. Assuming that was alright with Indrid?”

“....You know, I think it is.” Indrid squeezes Duck’s hand, “I was afraid to admit how I felt; I didn’t want to come between you and Barclay, because you clearly love each other, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing Duck. But I’ve also seen how happy he is around you, Joseph; there is no reason we could not all work things out to be happy as a, ah, polycule? Is that the term?”

“Think so.” Barclay relaxes, “fuck, I felt so bad thinking that wanting Indrid would fuck everything up, don’t know what to do with my self now that I’m not stressing about it.”

“I propose we order dinner and just...talk.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “I think that will help us sort out where to go from here.”

Duck orders takeout from the Chinese place down the block as Indrid and Joe arrange the living room into a place where they can all sit together comfortably and Barclay grab drinks. Soon they’re gathered on the floor, working out logistics and boundaries and hopes and fears between bites of fried rice and chow mein. Joe keeps notes, curling closer to Duck as the evening goes on. 

There’s a part of him that wants to jump straight to sex, to pin Joe to floor and fuck him while his other boyfriends do what they want to him, to Duck, to each other. But this thing between them is a new leaf in spring, vulnerable and just beginning to grow. 

So, after dinner, they cuddle up on the couch and floor to watch the midnight movie on local T.V, hands tentatively finding each other and bodies gradually resting closer together in new configurations. 

He falls asleep on the floor, Indrid spooning him and Joe resting his head on his belly. Wakes up with Joe curled around him and Barclay cuddled up to Indrid, snoring softly. 

Duck slips out of the configuration, pads into the kitchen to start coffee. When Joe sneaks up behind him he gasps, snickers as the taller man kisses him good morning. Then he grabs two mugs, smiling to himself at his luck as he opens the fridge. After all, he already knows just how his new boyfriend likes his coffee. 

[xroamywoamyx]

Sleep My Sweet Prince (Spoilers)

Fandom: Sander Sides

Rating: K+

Genre: Hurt/Comfort and Fluff

Word Count:1785

Pairing: Creativisleep (Roman/Remy)

Roman Sat On The Floor Of His Bedroom Knees To His Chest Face Hidden As He Sobbed Quietly. He'd been there for hours. He knew that at this point he was just being dramatic, but dammit. It still hurt. If Jay had said literally anything else he would have been able to take it. Even if he had said Roman was foolish or unnecessary it would have been fine. He already knew these things, Logan made sure he knew it after all. Though with Logan it wasn't genuine and he knew that... and even if it was he couldn't say that he was wrong. He was stupid, he typically prided himself on it actually, most Prince's weren't known for their high intellect. Heroes use to be brave, heroic and charming without being overly bright. If they needed something done that required more then an average IQ then the lovable nerdy sidekick would do it. It wasn't until recently that his brand of heroics became out dated and... And Toxic... He'd only needed to be good looking and strong before, he stuck by a strong moral code...

A Moral Code He Doesn't Understand Anymore...

If Patton...

No.

If Thomas.... No longer Needed Him Or His Brand Of Heroics Anymore...

What Was The Point.

Thomas did have Remus after all and if Janus fit into Thomas' new found sense of morality.\

Who's to say his Brother wouldn't also...

After all Jay had said he couldn't tell them apart....well...those weren't his exact words but that's what he said.

If He and Remus were truly so similar then surely Remus could handle things on his own. He didn't really need to hang around, he contributed the least out of everyone else and he had a ready to go replacement. What was the point of him staying around?

He clearly wasn't wanted...

He continued to sob letting his thoughts run wild each one doing more damage to his fragile self worth. He continued to sob quietly for several more minutes feeling more and more alone as each minute passed.

After awhile there was a soft knock on his door "Go away'' Roman called out ''you're not wanted'' he said voice sounding muffled

The person behind the door scoffed in fake offense ''Well babe I know that can't be true because I'm always wanted'' The door creaked open slowly and as the light streamed in to reveal the hyper insomniac Remy Sanders. Roman glared at the caffeine fiend "I Am Not A Liar Remington!" he spat angrily still fuming in no mood for jokes ''Well someone's in a mood'' Remy said in a slightly softer tone taking a sip of his drink.

'' Rough day?'' Remy asked plopping down next Roman ''buzz off sleep demon'' Roman insulted weakly Remy lowered his sunglasses and quirked his eyebrow at Roman "oh really, you wanna do nicknames right now'' Roman hugged his knees a little closer ''sorry..''. Roman felt something heavy get placed on his shoulders ''Nah Princy you're fine'' Remy yawned wrapping his jacket around Roman before kicking back against Roman's bed '' just don't call me Remington again'' he picked up his drink and offered it to Roman ''want some''. Roma ignored him ''You know I'm not a coffee person Rem'' Remy cracks a smile "who said it was coffee" Roman looked at Remy with genuine surprise and curiosity. Remy laughed to him self smirking and taking another sip "Your loss, ma petite frère".

Roman loosened his grip on his knees continuing to sulk "What are you even doing here..." Remy signed " well it's not like I want to be here or anything" he twirls his cup sarcastically "and besides there's this prince who's keeping me up" he nudged Roman gently."I'm sorry..." Roman said quietly "don't" Remy looks at Roman '' don't do that Princy'' Roman laughs and lets his head fall back and rest against the bed ''I'm not much of a prince anymore" he smiled as silent tears fell down his face these not from anger or frustration at the days prior events but do to real pain and hurt. "Maybe..." Remy sighed ''or maybe, just maybe you're just tired'' Roman laughed ''you can't take credit for everything Rem'' Remy scoffed ''or maybe, I can'' he gently wraps his arm around Roman making him rest his head on his shoulder Roman yawns ''don't Remy...''.

He Took slight offense to that scoffing as he shoved Roman back off of him ''I wouldn't dare do such a thing  Princy, not even in your dreams'' Roman readjust himself removing Remy's jacket from his shoulders. ''I'm sorry'' he says trying to give it back to Remy ''Uh-uh'' Remy holds his hands up setting his drink down properly. ''Remy..'' Roman whined ''no!'' Remy fussed ''Remy I'm burning up'' he looked at him with a pouty face. Remy cupped Roman's face and placed a hand on his forehead ''Yeah but you're cooling down fast and you'll start to shiver, so put on the damn jacket'' Roman wiped his face and crossed his arms shaking Remy off before shaking away "Roman..'' Remy softened his voice. ''It's okay, you're okay Roman'' Remy grips Roman's shoulder making the distraught prince look at him. ''Listen to me Princy'' he places his hand on his chest applying the slightest amount of pressure to calm him down '' you have one of the kindest and bravest hearts of any person I know, please for the love all the shirtless hot male strippers out there, let me passive aggressively take care of you". A chill ran down Roman's back, Remy was right, his body temperature was already beginning to drop and he was getting cold. He tried to stop himself from reacting to the chill and not shiver but unfortunately failed...

Remy smacked his shoulder "I told you bitch, now put on the fucking jacket and let me run my hands through your beautiful hair while you do that feelings thing and tell me your problems" Roman laughed giving in and putting on Remy's jacket. It was actually really comfortable and calming then he had thought it would be. "Feelings things?" he quirked an eyebrow at Remy "that was such a Logan thing to say" he mentions as he carefully slumps himself sideways and lays down in Remy's lap. Remy takes off his sunglasses and glares at Roman playfully '' How very rude of you to imply I am anything like that nerd'' Roman yawned ''I dunno you guys are kinda similar'' Remy tugs his hair a little harshly in response. ''What are you doing here Remy'' Roman asked sounding pitiful, Remy returned to soothingly stroking Roman's hair gently '' I came to check on you'' ''I came to check on you...'' he sighed ''I was worried'' . ''You shouldn't of been'' Roman continued to sulk, Remy rolled his eyes ''oh get over yourself Roman'' Remy chose his words poorly, Roman turned away from him and onto his side in Remy's lap ''sorry...''. Remy sighed in slight frustration at his Royal fuck up ''No Roman that's not what I meant, I mean'' he pauses for a moment thinking hard about his words. ''Don't think you're the only one who, don't think...Dammit'' he ran hand through his hair '' let people care about you Princy you're not Logan and he shouldn't stop people either'' he finally pushes out. ''And I, I care a lot, so I'm going to worry weather you want me to or not, I'm a stubborn sleep deprived coffee gay, you will not be able to out argue me on the ways you're amazing and worthy'' he let out a long breathe after spitting out his mismesh of words that he really wasn't proud of. Roman continued to sulk refusing to rollover and look at him '' Roman...'' he nudged him gently ''talk to me...please'' no response. Remy's heart sunk and he went to remove his hand from Roman's hair disappointingly feeling like he'd failed. ''Don't stop...'' Came a mumbled whisper ''what!?'' Remy asked surprised ''you can mess with my hair...I like it...'' Remy laughed at Roman's resistant response ''Okay'' he smiled returning his hand to Roman's hair. They sat like that for several minutes in silence Roman staying closed off and Remy just patiently waiting for if and when he'd be okay.

After awhile the quiet broke ''You think I'm amazing'' Roman sniffled ''hell yeah I do'' Remy smiled ''I think you're wonderful Princy'' Roman readjusted slightly still keeping his back to Remy. ''Why'' he asked needing validation, Remy was happy to oblige ''Well'' he began ''you're charming and kind, I really did mean what I said about you having a good heart. You're just filled with so much love and hope, It's really awe-inspiring and you come up with the most beautiful dreams for my nights with Thomas'' his voice was low and soft. ''Oh..'' Roman doesn't know how to respond "but honestly that's not enough, you try so hard to make everyone happy, even more then  Patton does, a lot more actually. You care so much about other people and what they think, I've seen you literally hang the stars for people'' Remy went on ''Logan wanted them..'' Roman mumbled again slowly loosening up. '' And you spent many dreamless nights collecting them and then setting them up for him...'' he trailed off. Roman finally rolled over and looked up at Remy ''How do you know that?'' Remy's cheeks tinted pink ''well-I...You weren't there to help me with dreams...and Remus..did it...instead'' the coffee fanatic was having a hard time getting his words out, something that was Very unusual.

''Anyways..are you feeling better'' he tries to hides blush summoning his sleep mask and lazily flopping it on his face ''I'm tired and out of coffee'' . '' Hey Remy'' Roman readjusted so his weight was entirely on Remy's legs. ''Hmm?'' He responded taking off the sleep mask ''thank you'' he yawned snuggling up to Remy still wearing his jacket. Remy was silent for a moment heat rising in his face ''Yeah- anytime Roman..'' he stays rigid at attention coming from Roman not really sure how to process it.

''Rem'' Roman Whispers again into Remy's neck, ''Yeah Ro'' he responds. Roman lifts his head for a minute and kisses Remy's cheek before laying his head back down on again ''Can you stay and help me sleep tonight please''.

Like he'd even have to ask..

Remy smiled to quietly resting his head on Roman's head ''Of Course Princy, You Can Sleep Peacefully Tonight, I Got You'' Remy curled his fingers around Roman's hand and brings it up to his lips and kisses it peacefully putting the prince to sleep.

''Goodnight''

[judehayward]

lady gaga voice slowly fadin in: ju-Das juda-ah-ah… this depressed goblin bastard is honestly my fav male muse like i dnt typically stick w male muses tht long i struggle bt................. i’ve played him the longest of them all n always seem to return to him. jst cnt stay away. way 2 attached to this absurd little man. it’s nai btw!!!! (josefine on the main). launches right in to jude’s intro without further adieu..... (u can also find his playlist here) 🧙‍🎨

「douglas booth & cis-male」⇾ hayward , jude, the senior radcliffe student’s records show that he is a pisces and 23 years old. he is studying ART, living in moris and can be protective, laidback, nonsensical & apathetic. when i see him i am reminded of wearing a faded smiley face sticker on your forehead while receiving a serious lecture, saying “fuck off” to inanimate objects, lead marbles instead of eyes. ⇽「nai & 23 & gmt & she/her.」

he pinterest:

me in the voice of a card magician performing on the street: round up round up pick a pinterest any pinterest!

ta-da it’s aesthetics:

lead marbles instead of eyes, a stolen hearse careening down the wrong lane, wearing a faded smiley face sticker on your forehead while receiving a serious lecture, bags under the eyes that are so big they could pack enough clothes for a three week vacation, a cigarette wobbling from your bottom lip as you squint against the sunlight, passing out on a stranger’s rooftop, placing sunglasses over the eyes of a biology lab skeleton, gangling around the place like shaggy minus his scooby snacks, saying “fuck off” to inanimate objects

about tha Bitch:

born in sheffield in england, bt they went back and forth between there n san fran a lot

jude was an unhappy accident. his parents never rly used protection bc they were super Liberal n Au Naturel n believed in the pull out method bc… they were maniacs. bt then the ONE time they used a condom in an effort to b safety conscious it broke n hence…. jude was born

they just kind of ran w it bc they had such a passionate relationship tht they were like What The Hell…. may as well! itll be fine we’ll learn to be good parents n love him like normal ppl do

spoiler alert: tht didn’t work out

they were ok to him like they weren’t fully Bad bt they just found him to be a massive burden n hindrance to their plans. pretty absent n irresponsible. they literally….. had sex all day every day n acted like a pair of teenagers. it ws a super weird environment for a kid to grow up in bc he literally had no role models or… guidance or…. anything rly. occasionally they’d joke around w him or pretend they properly knew what grade he was going into but for the most part they just Didn’t Care the way parents shd. they lost his birth certificate n dnt remember what they put as his middle name so he’s jst kind of like hmmmm............. n gives himself a diff one every time ppl ask. past variations hv included: jude pauly hayward, jude maureen hayward, jude van winkle hayward. says all of these w a very straight face

despite this he does hv some nice memories w them. usually he definitely sees them fr holidays. frm being rly young their christmas tradition hs been to get a bunch of chinese food like a Banquet Feast n spend all day smoking n drinking into the early hours. perhaps not the healthiest or most responsible bt 😔 jude rly likes it it’s kind of the one time of yr he feels he has a proper family

they r both suuuuper into the arts. rly good sculptors bt they paint too n they actually own a successful gallery in sheffield n san fran

(trauma tw) as a result he grew up around a lot of creative n sometimes pretentious ppl. the friends of his parents were more present in his life than his ACTUAL parents bc they were always jetting off to diff countries to scout out new pieces fr their galleries n just have a gd time in beautiful places without…. the annoyance tht ws being responsible n looking after someone. tbh some of his parents friends were rly damaging too bt….i won’t go into that just yet. it doesn’t rly…need properly explaining bc jude never talks abt it anyway n it….is rather triggering so i’ll jst….leav it for now tbh. basically they just were Not Nice n jude had a lot of bad memories he keeps repressed bt he also??? has some gd ones..... it was a strange environment bt he’s a survivor

(death n grief tw) he hd to do community service bc he kind of… hd a bit of a breakdown before the funeral of his elderly neighbour who bsically raised him bc her kids rly didnt care abt her they jst wanted her inheritance?? so he… stole the hearse w her casket still in it n ws jst like… drivin around the place sort of… tryin nt to cry…..KJJFHSFKJGHKFG i mean. it isnt funny its actually sad bt :/ in a very bizarre n jude way. he gt caught n taken in fr questioning bt her son kind of realised hw… broken up abt her death jude ws n had a heart n didnt press charges. regardless he stil hd to do community service bc it ws like taken seriously even tho it ws his first proper offence. doin it rly exhausted n depressed him so when he wsnt doin tht he ws just hibernatin in his room……. this ws like 4 months ago nw............ just some fun lore fr u all

bc of how he ws raised he has a p cultured taste. he luvs classic lit n p much anything artsy. he can play piano 2 n sometimes gets rly high n thinks he’s mozart level gd at composing he’s jst going fking wild on the keys in a trance...... i mean he’s gd bt… chill

he’s rly sarcastic n so deadpan like he’ll say smthn completely ridiculous bt he’ll say it w his whole chest so sincere.... it’s rly hard to tell when he’s joking or serious honestly. has an overflowing secret sketchbook n if he cares abt someone he’ll probably secretly draw them. does NOT share these drawings w the person he hates being openly sentimental. at heart he is jst a very Sad Boy w lots of repressed issues like depression genuinely just does NAT giv him a single break bt he plasters over this w wise cracks n never discusses his emotions ever. he’s actually p decent or at least tries to b. he’s kind of like tht bit in superbad where michael cera gets rly drunk n makes a toast to women like tht energy...........

he has rly bad insomnia so he like never sleeps idk how he’s Alive straight up. please go to bed sir............. he always has rly sleepy eyes n rubs them tiredly mid conversation. he smokes a lot of weed to try n compensate fr this n make him tired bt he still struggles a lot

ANYWAY that aside he’s at radcliffe doing art, focusing on fine art like painting is............... the thing he luvs most...... his style is kind of.......... taking normal things n painting w surreal colours.... he likes A LOT of colour in his paintings which is kind of a stark contrast to his personality bc his world’s so.... washed out n grey............ lovs art n philosophy n literature n photography n music.... 

ummMMMMmm honestly idk i’m blankin on what else to say. ull find him smoking weed reading an american classic or gnawing at his thumbnail n getting charcoal smudges on all his clothes. wandering the streets in plaid pj bottoms n dr martens eating frm a cereal box without care in the world. he’s p broody n scruffy n he’s mostly here fr a laidback time....... doesn’t rly like when ppl take themselves too seriously........ likes strange ppl thinks the world is mde richer by them n likes when ppl can jst bounce back jokes at him without being like erm. u dont make sense mate. bc frankly he can come up w some strange stuff sometimes.............. talking to him cn b like navigating a dark n bendy road without a flashlight....... 

(drugs tw) once did shrooms n woke up naked in the woods curled up in a pile of leaves. to this day he recounts this as his werewolf transformation. hs no idea hw he ended up there n when ppl r like are u not. concerned jude. tht is so strange? he jst shrugs like.............. dunno....................... suppose i’m jst a werewolf upon occasion. so casual abt it. jst truly does Not care abt most things at all..... almost to the point tht it’s concerning (sometimes way past the point tht it’s concerning too :/)

this is the desc on an aesthetic i mde of his style once n sums it up well!! ‘additionally: too many pairs of trousers, a hideous amount of white t-shirts all somewhat stained with charcoal, a jumper so thinly knit it almost looks sheer, chipped teale nail varnish, a cream corduroy jacket with a cigarette hole singed onto the cuff, vintage wiry reading glasses he almost never wears, a freshly rolled cigarette behind his ear, a thrifted t-shirt with a warped bart simpson wearing a stethoscope with the caption ‘bard knwos cardiology’ and two crops hacked that way with kitchen scissors that he sometimes wears to paint.‘

EXPERT at rolling spliffs like jst. mkes them so precise n neat....... it’s his super power. his fav thing to smoke frm is banana flavour papers.................... linking 2 this he’s like. bad w emotions bt he does try..... once his friend (maggie) ws sad so he brought her a spliff wrapped in grape flavoured paper bc it’s her fav fruit n jst like. wordlessly gave it to her. it’s the thought tht counts.....

PLOTS!!!!!

plays bass in a band which cld b a fun connection to get together??? i picture the music being like surf rock type like........... mac demarco...... bt he also luvs elliott smith n glass animals n the cure n metronomy n neutral milk hotel n talking heads n radiohead n mazzy star n wolf alice...................... idk jst like.... within tht ballpark i suppose i imagine it being................

mayb ppl he shares classes w?????? i’d like someone tht does a similar course n they hang out tgether when it comes to trips fr the module to museums or exhibits or wtever................ they both stand in front of paintings analysing it rly wrong n saying stuff like hmmmmmmmmm....... i do declare i see a, uh..... large phallus protruding from the centre of this image...... moves something in me.......... n some elderly person looking at it besides them is like Ergh. sickened n disgraced. leaves w a brow severely furrowed

someone he smokes w on the moris rooftop late at night when he cnt sleep??? mayb they’re up n cnt sleep either fr whtever reason n it’s become an unspoken kind of ritual where they always clamber out n find each other there n jst wordlessly keep them company

jude is kind of like. protective almost to a fault sometimes........... mayb some guy he’s punched......................... if they hurt someone he cares abt........... typically it wld hv been a girl he ws kind of like. affected by his first relationship bc she had a bad home situation n ever since jst wnts..... to Protect it’s kind of like an automatic instinct ingrained in him nw 😔 all sounds very noble n well bt sometimes it cn b a bit of an escalation i wnt lie

perhaps a few hook-ups??? jude doesn’t tend to sleep w ppl he rly knows bc he just..... likes it to b an impersonal thing doesn’t like getting attached fr various reasons so mayb they only kno each other via this OR mayb he bent his rules a bit..... cld either work seamlessly or hv added drama if one side hs mre feelings or whtever

currently living in moris w 2 roommates bt i’d love some neighbours perhaps..... mayb someone tht lives directly nxt door to his room n is like ://// bc he plays music loud n weeds always drifting frm his window n mking their room smell if theirs is open too................. or mayb they get on..... mayb there’s a rly mean seagull tht lands on a branch n poos on pedestrians n they both commentate on it frm their windows like david attenborough...... they’re like he’s at it again. they’ve named him n everything

HONESTLY anything if u have an idea hmu i’d love 2 hear it.......... rubs my hands tgether in excitement to plot up a storm w u all

[riverboundao3ff]

Riverbound, Chapter 1

Your name is MSPA READER, and you are currently vibing outside of the known multiverse.

Well, you don’t really use that name anymore, on account of it not actually being a name. Names sound something like Emily, or Muhammad, or Patrick, or Shamita, or a million other put-together syllables and sounds.

Names are something personal. A title is anything but.

You do have a new title, though, one you like much better.

The Guardian.

Because that’s what you became when you yoinked the timeline away from the control of Ultimate Dirk and that Director lady, whoever she was. You looked Canon-With-A-Capital-C in its ugly face, spit on it, and then bent over to wipe your ass with the fabric of reality itself. Out of desperation, love, and most importantly sheer spite, you took it upon yourself to defy fate so that there is at least one timeline where everybody gets to live happy lives. This was victory at its finest. This is what it felt like to finally get everything you wanted. Your friends? Safe. Multiverse? Secure. Hotel? Trivago.

In the vast and rich history of pro-gamer moves, you believe you might have made the most powerful move of all.

After using the Green Sun- no, sorry, the Green Sun to make your own timeline, you did what any other person would do and took a big fuckin’ snooze, curling up around your universe like a mama cat protecting her kittens. You earned it.

And, if you were being completely honest with yourself, that’s how you would have spent the rest of time.

It’s not like you didn’t want to live. No, living was good. It’s just… you were so damn tired. You’re tired of always running from place to place, person to person, era to era. You’re tired of being injured, scared, and alone no matter how many friends you made. All the gods of the Furthest Rings know you’d gone through more in like a year than most people go through during their entire lives. Couldn’t a bitch just enjoy eternity in the void?

Apparently not.

The dreams began innocently enough. Playing video games with Dave, John, and Karkat. Exploring Jade’s island with Jake and Bec. Baking with Jane. Kanaya teaching you and Sollux how to sew. FLARP-ing with Vriska.

Laying side-by-side with Roxy as you two watched the sun rise. Role-playing with Nepeta. Movie night with Eridan. Getting high off your ass with Gamzee and scaring the shit out of some teal visiting their kismesis a few hives away. Discussing politics with Feferi.

Escaping that hellhouse the Soleil twins called their home. Watching those eerie lights in the corpsefield beside Fozzer. You and Remele beating a purpleblood to death.

You barely realize how nightmares had invaded your mind until you woke up with Karako’s yowls of terror in your ears. You didn’t have ears anymore, though, or a physical form, so it just sounded like your favorite clown son was screaming all around you in the abyss.

Okay. This was fine. This was fine, you kept telling yourself. After everything that’s happened to you, you were bound to develop PTSD at some point. That was completely natural.

Except this wasn’t just PTSD. This was something else entirely, because even when you were awake you saw the faces of your oldest friends burning in your mind’s eye. Something churned in your gut, ancient and primal. It was a feeling you knew well, and was usually accompanied by you launching yourself into whatever stupid shit you found next. The longer you tried to ignore it, the stronger it became, until you were permanently wrapped up around yourself like the most pathetic ball of Guardian that had to have ever existed.

You knew long before you actually put words to what was going on.

Of course. Of course it wasn’t over, because why would you ever get to have anything for yourself? Why would you ever get to just rest? For the first time in… who even knows how long, you sob hysterically into the sleeves of your hoodie.

A galaxy twinkles in the outer shell of your universe, lighting up the zig-zag sign on your chest. Mallek’s lazy smile fills your thoughts. If at all possible, everything hurts even more, until you can’t even cry to let out the pain.

Did he miss you? Did all of them miss you?

Oh, God, Daraya. You promised her you’d take her to Earth sometime, and then you just totally fucking vanished from the face of Alternia. What a fucking dick move. Granted, you hadn’t meant to do it, but still!

Your traitor-asshole brain reminds you of the fact that all of them are dead now. As in, Tyzias tried to lead a rebellion against the Alternian Empire, and then they all got killed. Your traitor-asshole brain also notes that it’s all your fault for encouraging those kinds of ideas.

Way to go, you absolute tool.

Except… they don’t have to be gone. You are the Guardian of your universe, and you make the rules. It feels so wrong to even think about it, but… yeah. You’re basically a god now. You can do what you want and nobody has the power to stop you.

Which brings about a whole new plethora of fuckery. If you were to go back, if you were to rewrite history… are you any better than Ultimate Dirk? Granted, you’d do it out of love, not because you’re a power-hungry bastard, but still. Shenanigans of this level are not to be taken lightly, even by sad Guardians with absolutely nothing better to do.

You sleep on it, which of course results in you waking up bawling like a baby as you remember the best roleplay sesh of your life, which was when Wanshi proudly gave your Soldier Purrbeasts OC her full name: Twinklemoon. You had a Soldier Purrbeasts OC named Twinklemoon. That’s why you were crying.

That’s it. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You need advice, and you know exactly where to get it.

<>

You find her on the 8rigantine, furiously scribbling something down on a chart with a bunch of little figurines in the middle of it. You know better than to just haul your little friendslut ass up there while Vriska Serket is in the zone, so instead you knock on the hull and call up to her.

“Hello! Lady Spinneret, an old friend is in dire need of some advice!”

It takes about two seconds for a familiar spiky head to poke over the side of the deck. Vriska’s one dark eye lights up upon meeting your gaze, followed by a toothy grin that’s both menacing and completely genuine. She reaches back to grab something behind her. A rope ladder drops down and nearly nails you in the noggin, just like it did whenever you dropped by to FLARP with her.

“What the hell, bitch! I missed you!” she yells. Despite everything, you can’t help but smile. Vriska’s wild personality and no-bullshit attitude was just what you needed.

You’re very proud of yourself when you scale the ladder with ease and scramble up onto the deck without getting too much out of breath. With the amount of insane shit you’ve gotten yourself into during your travels, getting into shape came pretty easily. You’ve been told by several reliable sources that your legs are to die for.

“The 8-ball foretold your arrival. I brought snacks.” Vriska points to a bag next to her chart, not looking up from where she was drawing an impressively detailed kraken-looking thing. “Eat something before you start gabbing.”

That was sound logic, so you drag the back closer to you and start rooting around for something good. You find a bag of stinkroot chips, open that bad boy up, and start munching. Damn, did it feel good to eat something, and to also have a corporeal body to eat things with.

As you gather your thoughts, the hairs on the back of your neck prickle with the sensation of somebody’s eyes on you. You instantly look up to see Vriska staring at you. Her expression is blank, but her good eye held all the energy of a thunderstorm.

You swallow your chips. “What is it?”

“You look… different,” she says, setting down her pencil. “It’s like I can really see you now.”

“Huh?”

Vriska huffs, but she still doesn’t take her eye off you. “Before, you kinda looked like… I dunno, like somebody cut out a whole in reality and shoved the silhouette of a person inside? Like, I know what you looked like, but I couldn’t tell you the color of your hair, or what facial structure you have, or, like… dude, you have freckles.”

“I have freckles?” You reach up and touch your cheekbone, feeling the soft skin. Oh, hey, there’s some acne. Dammit. “Are they cute?”

“Sure? I think freckles are more of a human thing, so you’d have to ask John or Jade or whatever. Also you’re blonde, like Rose,” she tells you, thoughtfully scratching at her chin. “You’re still short as fuck, though. I could probably punt you off the poop deck.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Congrats on not looking like a hole in reality.”

You finish off your chips and flop back to stare at the night sky. With all the time you’ve spent on Alternia, you can now name a lot of the constellations. Right now, the Empress’s Trident poked up at a forty-five degree angle behind the pink moon. “I think I know how we can overthrow the Alternian Empire.”

Vriska’s pencil falls out of her hand.

You continue. “Have you read any records on a rebellion that occurred about… like, fifteen sweeps ago? I don’t know the exact date.”

Vriska’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, and then she nods. “I sure fuckin’ did. Sollux did some of his mumbo-jumbo and got me some documents. He called it an early wriggling day present, but I know he wants to help my little… agenda. How do you even know…?”

“Because I helped encourage the right people to do it. I was there, Vriska. Those kids were my friends, and now they’re dead.”

She’s silent for a moment. “The leader was a teal named Tyzias.”

Your eyes are hot with tears. “I knew her. We met because she tripped on the sidewalk while carrying a shitload of her homework, and I helped her pick it all up when it went everywhere. She had a matesprit named-”

“Stelsa,” Vriska mutters. “Holy shit. She worked closely with some jades who lead their little army. They caused a hell of a lot of damage to the Empire before it all went down, I’ll give them that.”

Neither of you speak for a long moment, which you appreciate as you try and hold your messy self together. The longer you think about your old friends and all the good times you had with them, the more you’re certain about what you want to do.

They deserve to be here.

Your blood pressure spikes just thinking about it.

It’s Vriska who puts your thoughts into words. “You want to go back and help them win the rebellion.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fucking crazy.”

“Yeah.”

She scooches over to you so she can stare down into your soul. “If we combine our resources and collaborate back and forth between the past and the future, we can make it so less people die. We could even take out that pathetic bitch of an Heiress they had back in the day. With your powers…”

“It’s possible I could compact time itself to create a world where we… where we can make things right. We could even help Feferi…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it in case you jinxed something, but by the look on Vriska’s face, she knows what you mean.

“It could work,” she breathes.

Slowly, you sit back up. Your heart was pounding so hard you felt it in your skull. “How do you think the others would feel about it?”

“Oh, they’d shit themselves,” Vriska snorts. “A full-scale rebellion across time and space?”

“True.”

“But it could work!” she repeats, staring into empty space.

“And they’d have a huge advantage they never had before. Me,” you say, talking to yourself more than to Vriska. You’d created this universe with your own power. It was time to protect it. “Vriska, I need to go before I chicken out. Tell the others what’s happening and that I’m sorry if this all goes to shit.”

“Wait!”

You look back at her as she grabs your arm, claws digging into the fabric of your hoodie. “I… you need supplies. No frickin’ way you’re going anywhere without at least a hydration flask.”

You know what she’s trying to say, and your chest fills up with all the warmth of a bonfire. God, you love this absolute bitch of a kid.

Vriska drags you to your feet, and then you’re both sprinting for her hive.

Amazingly, you don’t die trying to keep up with the cerulean as you charge up the stairs to her respiteblock together. You’re still out of breath by the time you reach the top, though, but Vriska’s already grabbing a backpack and tossing shit into it.

“Get me that jacket off the door,” she orders as she tosses in what looks like a small medical kit. You obey and throw her the jacket, the black leather one with the bright red hood.

She then waves you over, and you slip around her desk to see what’s up. In her hands is a black sheath, with a matching handle sticking out at the top.

Vriska pulls the sheath off to reveal the blade: a brilliant silver-blue metal that nearly glowed in the darkness. It’s incredibly beautiful and very scary to look at.

“I’ve had this thing forever, so I’m giving it to you, okay? Don’t fucking lose it. Press that little gray button at the top of the handle to heat up the blade. Good for starting fires and cauterizing wounds.” She shoves the jacket into the backpack and hands you the dagger.

“Vriska, I don’t know what to say,” you begin, but she smacks you.

“Shut up and strap it to your belt. You better come back soon. I want a detailed report on everything. Single-spaced,” she snaps.

You grin. “Yes, ma’am. I should be back, in like, ten nights. Maybe eleven.”

“Ten,” Vriska growls. “I’m coming for your ass otherwise.”

“Noted. Tell everybody I said hi.”

“Obviously.”

You reach into that little part of yourself, which in turn reaches back out into that chaotic river that is the flow of time. You throw the anchor down and wade upstream. It’s a little rougher than usual, but you won’t let that stop you. There was no turning back now.

Time travel is always like trying to hit a moving target, but you have great aim, and when you find what you’re looking for you feel your face split into another huge smile. There’s nothing different about this part of the river than any other, but you know. When it comes to the people you care about, you always know.

Everything feels more real to you than it has in years. Two moons shine even brighter in the sky, the chilly air stinging your face, and you’re no troll but it still feels like you’re going home.

You open your eyes.

“Ten nights,” you say to Vriska, and you let yourself fall through the current.

Your name is MSPA READER, and you are currently vibing outside of the known multiverse.

Well, you don’t really use that name anymore, on account of it not actually being a name. Names sound something like Emily, or Muhammad, or Patrick, or Shamita, or a million other put-together syllables and sounds.

Names are something personal. A title is anything but.

You do have a new title, though, one you like much better.

The Guardian.

Because that’s what you became when you yoinked the timeline away from the control of Ultimate Dirk and that Director lady, whoever she was. You looked Canon-With-A-Capital-C in its ugly face, spit on it, and then bent over to wipe your ass with the fabric of reality itself. Out of desperation, love, and most importantly sheer spite, you took it upon yourself to defy fate so that there is at least one timeline where everybody gets to live happy lives. This was victory at its finest. This is what it felt like to finally get everything you wanted. Your friends? Safe. Multiverse? Secure. Hotel? Trivago.

In the vast and rich history of pro-gamer moves, you believe you might have made the most powerful move of all.

After using the Green Sun- no, sorry, the Green Sun to make your own timeline, you did what any other person would do and took a big fuckin’ snooze, curling up around your universe like a mama cat protecting her kittens. You earned it.

And, if you were being completely honest with yourself, that’s how you would have spent the rest of time.

It’s not like you didn’t want to live. No, living was good. It’s just… you were so damn tired. You’re tired of always running from place to place, person to person, era to era. You’re tired of being injured, scared, and alone no matter how many friends you made. All the gods of the Furthest Rings know you’d gone through more in like a year than most people go through during their entire lives. Couldn’t a bitch just enjoy eternity in the void?

Apparently not.

The dreams began innocently enough. Playing video games with Dave, John, and Karkat. Exploring Jade’s island with Jake and Bec. Baking with Jane. Kanaya teaching you and Sollux how to sew. FLARP-ing with Vriska.

Laying side-by-side with Roxy as you two watched the sun rise. Role-playing with Nepeta. Movie night with Eridan. Getting high off your ass with Gamzee and scaring the shit out of some teal visiting their kismesis a few hives away. Discussing politics with Feferi.

Escaping that hellhouse the Soleil twins called their home. Watching those eerie lights in the corpsefield beside Fozzer. You and Remele beating a purpleblood to death.

You barely realize how nightmares had invaded your mind until you woke up with Karako’s yowls of terror in your ears. You didn’t have ears anymore, though, or a physical form, so it just sounded like your favorite clown son was screaming all around you in the abyss.

Okay. This was fine. This was fine, you kept telling yourself. After everything that’s happened to you, you were bound to develop PTSD at some point. That was completely natural.

Except this wasn’t just PTSD. This was something else entirely, because even when you were awake you saw the faces of your oldest friends burning in your mind’s eye. Something churned in your gut, ancient and primal. It was a feeling you knew well, and was usually accompanied by you launching yourself into whatever stupid shit you found next. The longer you tried to ignore it, the stronger it became, until you were permanently wrapped up around yourself like the most pathetic ball of Guardian that had to have ever existed.

You knew long before you actually put words to what was going on.

Of course. Of course it wasn’t over, because why would you ever get to have anything for yourself? Why would you ever get to just rest? For the first time in… who even knows how long, you sob hysterically into the sleeves of your hoodie.

A galaxy twinkles in the outer shell of your universe, lighting up the zig-zag sign on your chest. Mallek’s lazy smile fills your thoughts. If at all possible, everything hurts even more, until you can’t even cry to let out the pain.

Did he miss you? Did all of them miss you?

Oh, God, Daraya. You promised her you’d take her to Earth sometime, and then you just totally fucking vanished from the face of Alternia. What a fucking dick move. Granted, you hadn’t meant to do it, but still!

Your traitor-asshole brain reminds you of the fact that all of them are dead now. As in, Tyzias tried to lead a rebellion against the Alternian Empire, and then they all got killed. Your traitor-asshole brain also notes that it’s all your fault for encouraging those kinds of ideas.

Way to go, you absolute tool.

Except… they don’t have to be gone. You are the Guardian of your universe, and you make the rules. It feels so wrong to even think about it, but… yeah. You’re basically a god now. You can do what you want and nobody has the power to stop you.

Which brings about a whole new plethora of fuckery. If you were to go back, if you were to rewrite history… are you any better than Ultimate Dirk? Granted, you’d do it out of love, not because you’re a power-hungry bastard, but still. Shenanigans of this level are not to be taken lightly, even by sad Guardians with absolutely nothing better to do.

You sleep on it, which of course results in you waking up bawling like a baby as you remember the best roleplay sesh of your life, which was when Wanshi proudly gave your Soldier Purrbeasts OC her full name: Twinklemoon. You had a Soldier Purrbeasts OC named Twinklemoon. That’s why you were crying.

That’s it. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You need advice, and you know exactly where to get it.

<>

You find her on the 8rigantine, furiously scribbling something down on a chart with a bunch of little figurines in the middle of it. You know better than to just haul your little friendslut ass up there while Vriska Serket is in the zone, so instead you knock on the hull and call up to her.

“Hello! Lady Spinneret, an old friend is in dire need of some advice!”

It takes about two seconds for a familiar spiky head to poke over the side of the deck. Vriska’s one dark eye lights up upon meeting your gaze, followed by a toothy grin that’s both menacing and completely genuine. She reaches back to grab something behind her. A rope ladder drops down and nearly nails you in the noggin, just like it did whenever you dropped by to FLARP with her.

“What the hell, bitch! I missed you!” she yells. Despite everything, you can’t help but smile. Vriska’s wild personality and no-bullshit attitude was just what you needed.

You’re very proud of yourself when you scale the ladder with ease and scramble up onto the deck without getting too much out of breath. With the amount of insane shit you’ve gotten yourself into during your travels, getting into shape came pretty easily. You’ve been told by several reliable sources that your legs are to die for.

“The 8-ball foretold your arrival. I brought snacks.” Vriska points to a bag next to her chart, not looking up from where she was drawing an impressively detailed kraken-looking thing. “Eat something before you start gabbing.”

That was sound logic, so you drag the back closer to you and start rooting around for something good. You find a bag of stinkroot chips, open that bad boy up, and start munching. Damn, did it feel good to eat something, and to also have a corporeal body to eat things with.

As you gather your thoughts, the hairs on the back of your neck prickle with the sensation of somebody’s eyes on you. You instantly look up to see Vriska staring at you. Her expression is blank, but her good eye held all the energy of a thunderstorm.

You swallow your chips. “What is it?”

“You look… different,” she says, setting down her pencil. “It’s like I can really see you now.”

“Huh?”

Vriska huffs, but she still doesn’t take her eye off you. “Before, you kinda looked like… I dunno, like somebody cut out a whole in reality and shoved the silhouette of a person inside? Like, I know what you looked like, but I couldn’t tell you the color of your hair, or what facial structure you have, or, like… dude, you have freckles.”

“I have freckles?” You reach up and touch your cheekbone, feeling the soft skin. Oh, hey, there’s some acne. Dammit. “Are they cute?”

“Sure? I think freckles are more of a human thing, so you’d have to ask John or Jade or whatever. Also you’re blonde, like Rose,” she tells you, thoughtfully scratching at her chin. “You’re still short as fuck, though. I could probably punt you off the poop deck.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Congrats on not looking like a hole in reality.”

You finish off your chips and flop back to stare at the night sky. With all the time you’ve spent on Alternia, you can now name a lot of the constellations. Right now, the Empress’s Trident poked up at a forty-five degree angle behind the pink moon. “I think I know how we can overthrow the Alternian Empire.”

Vriska’s pencil falls out of her hand.

You continue. “Have you read any records on a rebellion that occurred about… like, fifteen sweeps ago? I don’t know the exact date.”

Vriska’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, and then she nods. “I sure fuckin’ did. Sollux did some of his mumbo-jumbo and got me some documents. He called it an early wriggling day present, but I know he wants to help my little… agenda. How do you even know…?”

“Because I helped encourage the right people to do it. I was there, Vriska. Those kids were my friends, and now they’re dead.”

She’s silent for a moment. “The leader was a teal named Tyzias.”

Your eyes are hot with tears. “I knew her. We met because she tripped on the sidewalk while carrying a shitload of her homework, and I helped her pick it all up when it went everywhere. She had a matesprit named-”

“Stelsa,” Vriska mutters. “Holy shit. She worked closely with some jades who lead their little army. They caused a hell of a lot of damage to the Empire before it all went down, I’ll give them that.”

Neither of you speak for a long moment, which you appreciate as you try and hold your messy self together. The longer you think about your old friends and all the good times you had with them, the more you’re certain about what you want to do.

They deserve to be here.

Your blood pressure spikes just thinking about it.

It’s Vriska who puts your thoughts into words. “You want to go back and help them win the rebellion.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fucking crazy.”

“Yeah.”

She scooches over to you so she can stare down into your soul. “If we combine our resources and collaborate back and forth between the past and the future, we can make it so less people die. We could even take out that pathetic bitch of an Heiress they had back in the day. With your powers…”

“It’s possible I could compact time itself to create a world where we… where we can make things right. We could even help Feferi…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it in case you jinxed something, but by the look on Vriska’s face, she knows what you mean.

“It could work,” she breathes.

Slowly, you sit back up. Your heart was pounding so hard you felt it in your skull. “How do you think the others would feel about it?”

“Oh, they’d shit themselves,” Vriska snorts. “A full-scale rebellion across time and space?”

“True.”

“But it could work!” she repeats, staring into empty space.

“And they’d have a huge advantage they never had before. Me,” you say, talking to yourself more than to Vriska. You’d created this universe with your own power. It was time to protect it. “Vriska, I need to go before I chicken out. Tell the others what’s happening and that I’m sorry if this all goes to shit.”

“Wait!”

You look back at her as she grabs your arm, claws digging into the fabric of your hoodie. “I… you need supplies. No frickin’ way you’re going anywhere without at least a hydration flask.”

You know what she’s trying to say, and your chest fills up with all the warmth of a bonfire. God, you love this absolute bitch of a kid.

Vriska drags you to your feet, and then you’re both sprinting for her hive.

Amazingly, you don’t die trying to keep up with the cerulean as you charge up the stairs to her respiteblock together. You’re still out of breath by the time you reach the top, though, but Vriska’s already grabbing a backpack and tossing shit into it.

“Get me that jacket off the door,” she orders as she tosses in what looks like a small medical kit. You obey and throw her the jacket, the black leather one with the bright red hood.

She then waves you over, and you slip around her desk to see what’s up. In her hands is a black sheath, with a matching handle sticking out at the top.

Vriska pulls the sheath off to reveal the blade: a brilliant silver-blue metal that nearly glowed in the darkness. It’s incredibly beautiful and very scary to look at.

“I’ve had this thing forever, so I’m giving it to you, okay? Don’t fucking lose it. Press that little gray button at the top of the handle to heat up the blade. Good for starting fires and cauterizing wounds.” She shoves the jacket into the backpack and hands you the dagger.

“Vriska, I don’t know what to say,” you begin, but she smacks you.

“Shut up and strap it to your belt. You better come back soon. I want a detailed report on everything. Single-spaced,” she snaps.

You grin. “Yes, ma’am. I should be back, in like, ten nights. Maybe eleven.”

“Ten,” Vriska growls. “I’m coming for your ass otherwise.”

“Noted. Tell everybody I said hi.”

“Obviously.”

You reach into that little part of yourself, which in turn reaches back out into that chaotic river that is the flow of time. You throw the anchor down and wade upstream. It’s a little rougher than usual, but you won’t let that stop you. There was no turning back now.

Time travel is always like trying to hit a moving target, but you have great aim, and when you find what you’re looking for you feel your face split into another huge smile. There’s nothing different about this part of the river than any other, but you know. When it comes to the people you care about, you always know.

Everything feels more real to you than it has in years. Two moons shine even brighter in the sky, the chilly air stinging your face, and you’re no troll but it still feels like you’re going home.

You open your eyes.

“Ten nights,” you say to Vriska, and you let yourself fall through the current.

Your name is MSPA READER, and you are currently vibing outside of the known multiverse.

Well, you don’t really use that name anymore, on account of it not actually being a name. Names sound something like Emily, or Muhammad, or Patrick, or Shamita, or a million other put-together syllables and sounds.

Names are something personal. A title is anything but.

You do have a new title, though, one you like much better.

The Guardian.

Because that’s what you became when you yoinked the timeline away from the control of Ultimate Dirk and that Director lady, whoever she was. You looked Canon-With-A-Capital-C in its ugly face, spit on it, and then bent over to wipe your ass with the fabric of reality itself. Out of desperation, love, and most importantly sheer spite, you took it upon yourself to defy fate so that there is at least one timeline where everybody gets to live happy lives. This was victory at its finest. This is what it felt like to finally get everything you wanted. Your friends? Safe. Multiverse? Secure. Hotel? Trivago.

In the vast and rich history of pro-gamer moves, you believe you might have made the most powerful move of all.

After using the Green Sun- no, sorry, the Green Sun to make your own timeline, you did what any other person would do and took a big fuckin’ snooze, curling up around your universe like a mama cat protecting her kittens. You earned it.

And, if you were being completely honest with yourself, that’s how you would have spent the rest of time.

It’s not like you didn’t want to live. No, living was good. It’s just… you were so damn tired. You’re tired of always running from place to place, person to person, era to era. You’re tired of being injured, scared, and alone no matter how many friends you made. All the gods of the Furthest Rings know you’d gone through more in like a year than most people go through during their entire lives. Couldn’t a bitch just enjoy eternity in the void?

Apparently not.

The dreams began innocently enough. Playing video games with Dave, John, and Karkat. Exploring Jade’s island with Jake and Bec. Baking with Jane. Kanaya teaching you and Sollux how to sew. FLARP-ing with Vriska.

Laying side-by-side with Roxy as you two watched the sun rise. Role-playing with Nepeta. Movie night with Eridan. Getting high off your ass with Gamzee and scaring the shit out of some teal visiting their kismesis a few hives away. Discussing politics with Feferi.

Escaping that hellhouse the Soleil twins called their home. Watching those eerie lights in the corpsefield beside Fozzer. You and Remele beating a purpleblood to death.

You barely realize how nightmares had invaded your mind until you woke up with Karako’s yowls of terror in your ears. You didn’t have ears anymore, though, or a physical form, so it just sounded like your favorite clown son was screaming all around you in the abyss.

Okay. This was fine. This was fine, you kept telling yourself. After everything that’s happened to you, you were bound to develop PTSD at some point. That was completely natural.

Except this wasn’t just PTSD. This was something else entirely, because even when you were awake you saw the faces of your oldest friends burning in your mind’s eye. Something churned in your gut, ancient and primal. It was a feeling you knew well, and was usually accompanied by you launching yourself into whatever stupid shit you found next. The longer you tried to ignore it, the stronger it became, until you were permanently wrapped up around yourself like the most pathetic ball of Guardian that had to have ever existed.

You knew long before you actually put words to what was going on.

Of course. Of course it wasn’t over, because why would you ever get to have anything for yourself? Why would you ever get to just rest? For the first time in… who even knows how long, you sob hysterically into the sleeves of your hoodie.

A galaxy twinkles in the outer shell of your universe, lighting up the zig-zag sign on your chest. Mallek’s lazy smile fills your thoughts. If at all possible, everything hurts even more, until you can’t even cry to let out the pain.

Did he miss you? Did all of them miss you?

Oh, God, Daraya. You promised her you’d take her to Earth sometime, and then you just totally fucking vanished from the face of Alternia. What a fucking dick move. Granted, you hadn’t meant to do it, but still!

Your traitor-asshole brain reminds you of the fact that all of them are dead now. As in, Tyzias tried to lead a rebellion against the Alternian Empire, and then they all got killed. Your traitor-asshole brain also notes that it’s all your fault for encouraging those kinds of ideas.

Way to go, you absolute tool.

Except… they don’t have to be gone. You are the Guardian of your universe, and you make the rules. It feels so wrong to even think about it, but… yeah. You’re basically a god now. You can do what you want and nobody has the power to stop you.

Which brings about a whole new plethora of fuckery. If you were to go back, if you were to rewrite history… are you any better than Ultimate Dirk? Granted, you’d do it out of love, not because you’re a power-hungry bastard, but still. Shenanigans of this level are not to be taken lightly, even by sad Guardians with absolutely nothing better to do.

You sleep on it, which of course results in you waking up bawling like a baby as you remember the best roleplay sesh of your life, which was when Wanshi proudly gave your Soldier Purrbeasts OC her full name: Twinklemoon. You had a Soldier Purrbeasts OC named Twinklemoon. That’s why you were crying.

That’s it. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

You need advice, and you know exactly where to get it.

<>

You find her on the 8rigantine, furiously scribbling something down on a chart with a bunch of little figurines in the middle of it. You know better than to just haul your little friendslut ass up there while Vriska Serket is in the zone, so instead you knock on the hull and call up to her.

“Hello! Lady Spinneret, an old friend is in dire need of some advice!”

It takes about two seconds for a familiar spiky head to poke over the side of the deck. Vriska’s one dark eye lights up upon meeting your gaze, followed by a toothy grin that’s both menacing and completely genuine. She reaches back to grab something behind her. A rope ladder drops down and nearly nails you in the noggin, just like it did whenever you dropped by to FLARP with her.

“What the hell, bitch! I missed you!” she yells. Despite everything, you can’t help but smile. Vriska’s wild personality and no-bullshit attitude was just what you needed.

You’re very proud of yourself when you scale the ladder with ease and scramble up onto the deck without getting too much out of breath. With the amount of insane shit you’ve gotten yourself into during your travels, getting into shape came pretty easily. You’ve been told by several reliable sources that your legs are to die for.

“The 8-ball foretold your arrival. I brought snacks.” Vriska points to a bag next to her chart, not looking up from where she was drawing an impressively detailed kraken-looking thing. “Eat something before you start gabbing.”

That was sound logic, so you drag the back closer to you and start rooting around for something good. You find a bag of stinkroot chips, open that bad boy up, and start munching. Damn, did it feel good to eat something, and to also have a corporeal body to eat things with.

As you gather your thoughts, the hairs on the back of your neck prickle with the sensation of somebody’s eyes on you. You instantly look up to see Vriska staring at you. Her expression is blank, but her good eye held all the energy of a thunderstorm.

You swallow your chips. “What is it?”

“You look… different,” she says, setting down her pencil. “It’s like I can really see you now.”

“Huh?”

Vriska huffs, but she still doesn’t take her eye off you. “Before, you kinda looked like… I dunno, like somebody cut out a whole in reality and shoved the silhouette of a person inside? Like, I know what you looked like, but I couldn’t tell you the color of your hair, or what facial structure you have, or, like… dude, you have freckles.”

“I have freckles?” You reach up and touch your cheekbone, feeling the soft skin. Oh, hey, there’s some acne. Dammit. “Are they cute?”

“Sure? I think freckles are more of a human thing, so you’d have to ask John or Jade or whatever. Also you’re blonde, like Rose,” she tells you, thoughtfully scratching at her chin. “You’re still short as fuck, though. I could probably punt you off the poop deck.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Congrats on not looking like a hole in reality.”

You finish off your chips and flop back to stare at the night sky. With all the time you’ve spent on Alternia, you can now name a lot of the constellations. Right now, the Empress’s Trident poked up at a forty-five degree angle behind the pink moon. “I think I know how we can overthrow the Alternian Empire.”

Vriska’s pencil falls out of her hand.

You continue. “Have you read any records on a rebellion that occurred about… like, fifteen sweeps ago? I don’t know the exact date.”

Vriska’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, and then she nods. “I sure fuckin’ did. Sollux did some of his mumbo-jumbo and got me some documents. He called it an early wriggling day present, but I know he wants to help my little… agenda. How do you even know…?”

“Because I helped encourage the right people to do it. I was there, Vriska. Those kids were my friends, and now they’re dead.”

She’s silent for a moment. “The leader was a teal named Tyzias.”

Your eyes are hot with tears. “I knew her. We met because she tripped on the sidewalk while carrying a shitload of her homework, and I helped her pick it all up when it went everywhere. She had a matesprit named-”

“Stelsa,” Vriska mutters. “Holy shit. She worked closely with some jades who lead their little army. They caused a hell of a lot of damage to the Empire before it all went down, I’ll give them that.”

Neither of you speak for a long moment, which you appreciate as you try and hold your messy self together. The longer you think about your old friends and all the good times you had with them, the more you’re certain about what you want to do.

They deserve to be here.

Your blood pressure spikes just thinking about it.

It’s Vriska who puts your thoughts into words. “You want to go back and help them win the rebellion.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fucking crazy.”

“Yeah.”

She scooches over to you so she can stare down into your soul. “If we combine our resources and collaborate back and forth between the past and the future, we can make it so less people die. We could even take out that pathetic bitch of an Heiress they had back in the day. With your powers…”

“It’s possible I could compact time itself to create a world where we… where we can make things right. We could even help Feferi…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it in case you jinxed something, but by the look on Vriska’s face, she knows what you mean.

“It could work,” she breathes.

Slowly, you sit back up. Your heart was pounding so hard you felt it in your skull. “How do you think the others would feel about it?”

“Oh, they’d shit themselves,” Vriska snorts. “A full-scale rebellion across time and space?”

“True.”

“But it could work!” she repeats, staring into empty space.

“And they’d have a huge advantage they never had before. Me,” you say, talking to yourself more than to Vriska. You’d created this universe with your own power. It was time to protect it. “Vriska, I need to go before I chicken out. Tell the others what’s happening and that I’m sorry if this all goes to shit.”

“Wait!”

You look back at her as she grabs your arm, claws digging into the fabric of your hoodie. “I… you need supplies. No frickin’ way you’re going anywhere without at least a hydration flask.”

You know what she’s trying to say, and your chest fills up with all the warmth of a bonfire. God, you love this absolute bitch of a kid.

Vriska drags you to your feet, and then you’re both sprinting for her hive.

Amazingly, you don’t die trying to keep up with the cerulean as you charge up the stairs to her respiteblock together. You’re still out of breath by the time you reach the top, though, but Vriska’s already grabbing a backpack and tossing shit into it.

“Get me that jacket off the door,” she orders as she tosses in what looks like a small medical kit. You obey and throw her the jacket, the black leather one with the bright red hood.

She then waves you over, and you slip around her desk to see what’s up. In her hands is a black sheath, with a matching handle sticking out at the top.

Vriska pulls the sheath off to reveal the blade: a brilliant silver-blue metal that nearly glowed in the darkness. It’s incredibly beautiful and very scary to look at.

“I’ve had this thing forever, so I’m giving it to you, okay? Don’t fucking lose it. Press that little gray button at the top of the handle to heat up the blade. Good for starting fires and cauterizing wounds.” She shoves the jacket into the backpack and hands you the dagger.

“Vriska, I don’t know what to say,” you begin, but she smacks you.

“Shut up and strap it to your belt. You better come back soon. I want a detailed report on everything. Single-spaced,” she snaps.

You grin. “Yes, ma’am. I should be back, in like, ten nights. Maybe eleven.”

“Ten,” Vriska growls. “I’m coming for your ass otherwise.”

“Noted. Tell everybody I said hi.”

“Obviously.”

You reach into that little part of yourself, which in turn reaches back out into that chaotic river that is the flow of time. You throw the anchor down and wade upstream. It’s a little rougher than usual, but you won’t let that stop you. There was no turning back now.

Time travel is always like trying to hit a moving target, but you have great aim, and when you find what you’re looking for you feel your face split into another huge smile. There’s nothing different about this part of the river than any other, but you know. When it comes to the people you care about, you always know.

Everything feels more real to you than it has in years. Two moons shine even brighter in the sky, the chilly air stinging your face, and you’re no troll but it still feels like you’re going home.

You open your eyes.

“Ten nights,” you say to Vriska, and you let yourself fall through the current.

[tfiolarry]

tfiol chapter three: pwomise

summary: a tough conversation with a happy ending. bonus - it's date night.

[two] [four]

give us feedback :)

a/n: gif not ours, cred to owner

FRIDAY

1:37 PM

STYLINSON HOME - LONDON

It’s two weeks later. The girls are spending the night at Anne’s house because Louis and Harry have a date night planned. It’s a win-win; they get some alone time, the girls can bond with Anne. Currently, Dani and Jordyn are sitting on Jordyn’s bed together and watching as Louis and Harry help them pack their backpacks with stuff. They both have been fairly quiet aside from nodding to questions. Louis goes and sits in front of them.

LOUIS: Alright, I’ll bite - what’s up with you two? You’ve been giving us sad baby eyes for the last twenty minutes now. Are you guys okay?

DANI: (looks at Jordyn and then at Louis and Harry) We go away?

LOUIS: (genuinely wondering) Well, what do you mean when you say go away?

JORDYN: (pouting) Wike we go back home? Done wiff us? 

HARRY: (looks at Louis in disbelief from the thought) No… (looks back at the girls) no sweetheart, you guys are just going to grandma Anne's house while we get some work done.

LOUIS: Yeah, you guys are coming back, you’re not going forever, I promise. 

DANI: Later?

LOUIS: What about later, love?

DANI: Go away later?

LOUIS: (visibly thrown off by the question and doesn’t know what to say for a second) No, not later or ever, you stay here with us. Staying with us is, like, for forever, this is home now, you won’t go back. Did you guys really think we were sending you away?

DANI: (looks down because she’s gonna cry and just shrugs) Dunno.

JORDYN: (gets teary eyed) People give friends back home, and-and they not nice to friends... (sniffles) You nice. (wipes her face a lot) 

DANI: (rests her head on Jordyn’s shoulder and wraps an arm around her in a hug, then looks at them and holds her pinky out) You say you pwomise. 

LOUIS: I did, I do promise, I promise both of you we will always be nice and we’re not giving you back. (pinky promises her) We love you guys.

DANI: Really?

LOUIS: Of course we do, right Harry? (looks at him)

HARRY: Yes, we love you guys so much, you’re our little pals. 

JORDYN: (hugs Dani back) Forever? 

HARRY: Forever until you guys are big and stinky like Daddy here. (pushes Louis’ head lightly) 

JORDYN: Daddy? 

LOUIS: (smiles and shakes his head at Harry, then looks at them) Yeah, we’re your parents now, you’re stuck with us. But I’m not stinky, don’t listen to him, he has...a big head. 

DANI: (looks at Harry and considers the idea, then nods) Kinda.

LOUIS: Right? His head is massive.

DANI: (looks between the two of them and doesn’t say anything for a minute) You like mommy and daddy, but....no mommy?

JORDYN: (points to Harry) He mommy ‘cause he got long hair. (nods) 

HARRY: (looks at Louis and then the girls) Sure, why not.

LOUIS: See that? Problems solved - you’ve got a mommy and a daddy and a forever home and we love you both to pieces, so no more sad eyes, okay? 

DANI: (nods and smiles) Okay.

JORDYN: Wait! You pwomise you get us tomorrow? 

HARRY: We promise Jordyn, okay? (opens his arms) Now hugs.

JORDYN: (lets go of Dani and hugs Harry) Wuv you, too.

DANI: Me too! (hugs them too)

LOUIS: Hey, I want in on this too. (joins their hug) Our first group hug, we should do this more often.

DANI: Hugs? Yes.

Happy babies, happy larents - we love to see it. When they’re done hugging, they finish packing with the girls and perhaps go eat grapes in the kitchen after as a comfort snack. And scene.

••

FRIDAY 

6:29 PM

ANNE’S HOME - LONDON

They drop off the girls at Anne’s house, and they seem to be okay with it in light of their conversation earlier. Louis and Harry stick around to talk to Anne for a bit before she starts kicking them out. Louis starts listing off their favorite snacks and their bedtime routine order, and Harry starts telling her about the different bags they brought. Anne lets them have their moment, enjoying seeing them in parent mode over this. When they start asking her questions, though, she practically pushes them out the door. They say bye to the babies, and then are on their way.

••

FRIDAY

7:56 PM

STYLINSON HOME - LONDON

Louis and Harry have opted for a quiet night in for date night. They ordered take out and are currently playing a game of Trouble while Jeopardy is playing in the background. Louis is currently losing their game, and aggressively presses the popper on the board when it’s his turn.

LOUIS: This game sucks, why do we even have this? (sighs and moves his game piece)

HARRY: (laughs) It’s fun, you’re just a sore loser. (plays his turn)

LOUIS: No, this game sucks, I knew we should’ve done Chutes and Ladders instead. It’s never let me down. Or I should sign up to be a Jeopardy contestant, I would be great. 

HARRY: You should. I support you, the girls will support you too.

LOUIS: (laughs genuinely) Why do you support me, I was completely joking about being great, I would bring embarrassment upon this family’s name. 

HARRY: Because then I could be like “I don’t know that man” when you do embarrass yourself.

LOUIS: You’re an ass. You’re lucky I love you or I’d kick your ass. 

HARRY: Pft, you couldn’t if you tried, sweetcheeks. 

LOUIS: Wow, you’re rude. I so could. Tiny but mighty, you know what they say. 

On the TV, the question is “One Direction is Liam Payne, Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Louis Tomlinson, and this lad from Cheshire.” Louis laughs and looks at him. 

LOUIS: (teasingly) Aw Hazza, you finally made it big - you are the answer to a fuckin’ Jeopardy question. How does it feel?

HARRY: I feel very accomplished.

LOUIS: (pops the game board each time he says it) Speech, speech, speech, speech--

HARRY: Alright, alright. (clears his throat) I would like to thank my mom for birthing me and my lovely boyfriend for supporting me and my goals. 

LOUIS: Excuse me, I’m more than a boyfriend, I’m offended at this downgrade.

HARRY: Oh, right! Sorry I forgot. Correction -- my fiancé.

LOUIS: That’s it, I retract my proposal, wedding’s off since you can’t remember. Just the icing on the cake to losing Trouble and not being the answer to the Jeopardy question. Life is spiraling downhill now. I may cry.

HARRY: Oh stop, your life is fine. 

LOUIS: Well...yeah it is, actually. We got two cute kiddos, so I guess they make up for all the horribleness you’ve subjected me to in the last five minutes. 

HARRY: (joking) I have a boyfriend too, though...

LOUIS: Who is he? I’ll end him.

HARRY: (laughs) Bubs you're wild, of course there's no one else.

LOUIS: Better not be. Then I’d have to end them, I’d make the news for being arrested, the world would implode. (is quiet for a moment) You think we’ll have to tell the kids?

HARRY: Maybe when they’re older. (a beat of silence) Thoughts on our conversation with them today?

LOUIS: (presses the popper on the game board while he thinks) It wasn’t one I expected to have yet. Like...ever, I didn’t expect three year olds to ask me if we were just tossing them out like that…

HARRY: Yeah, me either...I guess it was to be expected, though, they’ve seen their friends come and go so often, it’s reasonable. Their little faces were so upset, though, it honestly broke me.

LOUIS: Me too...but on the bright side, you’re a mommy now. You can never cut your locks or you’ll get sad baby eyes for eight years while it grows back. Think of the kids, Harold. 

HARRY: Oh man, dammit, Jordyn. Why she gotta do me like that? (pouts)

LOUIS: I’m kidding. I mean, I’ll also be giving you sad baby eyes if you cut it, but I’ll love you anyways. I can’t say the kids will be as forgiving. Especially Jordyn.

HARRY: Jordyn seriously might beat me up. I was playing with her the other day, and I think she bruised my hip.

LOUIS: Were you tickling Harold? If yes, you deserve it.

HARRY: Maybe...but it was fun until that.

LOUIS: Poor baby. At least it was not your face.

HARRY: Oh god, imagine. I wouldn't be the money maker anymore.

LOUIS: You sure wouldn’t. You’d be more hideous than you already are. Perhaps you could have been the face of facial reconstructive surgery if she did though. Hope would not be lost.

HARRY: Shut the fuck up, I am not ugly. (throws a game piece at him) You're so mean to me.

LOUIS: (laughs and throws the piece back at him) All love, baby, all love.

HARRY: It better be, or I take back my “yes” to marrying you. 

LOUIS: (scoffs) Yeah, I hope you throwing that at me was also out of love, that could’ve gotten in my food and I could’ve accidentally swallowed it and died. Then there would be no wedding. You’d be a premature widow.

HARRY: (laughs) You’re so annoying... (lays his chin on his shoulders) I love you, brat.

LOUIS: I love you more, ugly.

HARRY: That is it! (gets up, picks him up over his shoulder and carries him into their room) 

LOUIS: Wowww, so strong Harry, all hair and height and muscles, I’m such a lucky man.

HARRY: (throws him on the bed) Shut up. (laughs)

Now, the night of fun and games has turned into a night full of love and sinful things. 

[marril96]

The Distance Between Us

Chapter 24: Want, Take, Have

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Inhibitions lower and sparks fly.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

You showed up at the MacLeod residence at nine o'clock sharp. The cold of the night bit at every inch of your exposed skin. It seeped into your bones like poison, made the blood in your veins run frozen.

Luckily, Rowena was quick to let you in. She locked the door while you hung the coat. The house was warm like a summer afternoon; you melted in it, basked in the pleasantness, in the sweet, welcome comfort it provided.

It felt like home.

"God, it's cold," you commented, rubbing your trembling palms together.

"Like death," Rowena agreed.

It was then that you looked at her — really, truly looked at her; into her eyes; head to toe — and all thoughts about the killing cold vanished from your head as if they'd never existed.

She was clad in a gown, a blue one with sparkles that looked as if the night sky had wrapped itself around her lithe body. The fabric was thin, soft even from the looks of it. It hugged her every curve as if it were molded on her, a second, beautiful skin, the color of it a perfect contrast to her natural paleness.

Her hair was curled. Eyelids painted a blend of pink and blue that would've looked ridiculous on anyone else, but on Rowena it just fit. As if the colors, however dark in contrast to her skin, however conspicuous, were created solely for her. Her lips sparkled pink, a shade of innocence that, on her, was everything but.

She was beautiful.

Truly, genuinely beautiful.

The — dare you say — most beautiful girl you'd ever seen.

Not even her bruises, faded, healing nicely, concealed but still slightly visible, marred the perfection.

God, you thought. Jesus fucking Christ!

She was so damn beautiful!

"Looks like I'm underdressed," you said, struggling to keep your voice from breaking. Willing the gasp that threatened to break free to stay down, to not embarrass you.

She'd invited you over because she owed you. Because you were her friend and she wanted to show her gratitude, however much you insisted she didn't have to.

This was a friend date.

Just a friend date, you reminded yourself. Repeated it a few more times for it to sink in.

She was gorgeous and your body reacted to her in unpredictable ways, but she was still just your friend.

A friend who'd, up until a few days ago, been in an abusive relationship. Who'd been beaten so badly she could barely walk and still bore the marks as reminders.

The last thing she needed was you drooling over her like a hormone-ridden fangirl at a boy band concert.

You knew better than that.

She deserved better than that.

"Nonsense," Rowena chided. She looked you over, took in your jeans and shirt that, while far from fancy, were clean and neat. The nicest ones you had. "You look fabulous." You blushed. "Besides, this is our wee party. Just the two of us."

She had a point.

"You're in an awfully good mood."

"How could I not be? It's my first party with a real friend." A flicker of something sad passed her face for a moment, quickly smoothed out by a bright, happy smile. Honest to the bone. "We are going to have so much fun!"

You knew you would.

Hell, even sitting in silence with a math textbook in your lap would be a good time as long as she was there.

Nothing could possibly be boring with Rowena around.

She led you to her room, and this time you did gasp, embarrassingly loud. Candles covered every corner, every surface, every naked piece of furniture. Even with the lights out, the room was lit up as if sun itself were shining through it, filling it up with its warm light.

"Jesus," you said, unable to hide your surprise. "You really are making this a date."

Rowena shrugged, feigning innocence. "I thought, why not go all the way?" She winked. "Only the best for my friend, aye?"

Friend.

Right.

Just a friend, you reminded yourself. Just a friend.

"You're sure Crowley and your mom won't come home early or something? I don't want them to take this the wrong way."

Like that you were on a date date.

Which this was not.

"Positive. And even if they do come," she said with a shrug, "so what? Let them think what they want."

"I know, but Crowley… he's not really the biggest fan of our friendship. What if—"

"I'll deal with Fergus, if necessary," she cut in. "What we do in the privacy of my bedroom is none of his business."

You gulped.

Why did she have to say it like that?

"As for my mother, don't worry. She likes you."

The few times you met her she certainly did leave that impression, but still. What if she wasn't okay with her daughter being on a date with a girl? Would she believe it was only a friend date? Would she care?

"I know. I just…"

"You're nervous," Rowena guessed. Correctly. "Don't be. This is our night. Let's have some fun, shall we?"

You gave a nod, and she grinned.

"Have a bite." She pointed to the bed, where several bowls of different snacks laid, full to the brim.

You took a chip. "Since when do you like snacks?"

"I don't. But I know you do."

Warmth swelled up in your chest.

"What kind of a host would I be if I didn't feed my star guest?"

"Oh, now I'm a star?" you joked.

"Aye. This is your night. Can't let you go hungry, can I?" She scrunched up her face adorably and added, "As disgusting as those things are."

"Shut up!" You grabbed a few and shoved them in your mouth, prompting her to gag. "They're awesome."

"You're a pig."

It was an obvious joke, a quip that was pure teasing, no malice behind it.

Once upon a time she would have meant it. Would have called you that and looked at you as if you were a filthy peasant.

My, how far the two of you had come.

"Is that any way to treat a guest?" you asked, feigning offense.

"Just being honest, dear."

"Mean."

She shrugged nonchalantly and walked over to her bedside table that was lined with bottles that didn't look like juice and glasses that definitely weren't for juice. "Up for a drink?"

"What you got?"

"Scotch. Wine. Champagne." She poured herself a glass of yellow liquid that you assumed was scotch. It certainly wasn't iced tea.

"I dunno. I don't really drink."

"Come on! Live a little, lass! It's not every day that you celebrate New Year with me."

When she put it like that…

You sighed. "Fine. Give me whatever you're having."

She smirked. "Excellent choice."

"How'd you get all this?"

"Mother got it for me." She handed you your glass. "She thinks the drinking age in this country is ridiculous. In Scotland I wouldn't even have to ask for permission." She scoffed. "I'm a bloody adult. I should be allowed to drink if I want."

She wasn't wrong.

"Does your mom know I'm here?"

She nodded. "I told her I was in need of a friend. She was very understanding."

"And she's cool with it?"

"Why wouldn't she be?"

Because you were in love with her.

Because this date looked way too romantic for it to be just friendly.

Because, as hard as you worked to keep yourself in control, you still wanted her, badly, madly, wildly, and you couldn't stand the thought of someone — anyone, especially her mother — figuring it out by sheer luck.

Because… she was a girl, and so were you, and you didn't know what her mother would think if she were to realize you had feelings for her daughter.

The world was still a dangerous place for people like you. Unpredictable. You never knew what to expect.

You shrugged.

Rowena sighed. "Like I said, she likes you. She thinks you're a good influence."

You had to chuckle at that. "Me?"

You may not have been as wild as Rowena, but you were far from an innocent flower.

"Well, she's not wrong," Rowena said, a teasing smirk playing on her mouth. "You're a good girl."

Far from it.

Good girls rarely existed. Most of them were bad in their own ways; by following their own rules, living their own lives.

Being tamer didn't make you good — it just made you better at pretending.

"Have you met me?" you asked and took a sip of your scotch. Your face twisted with disgust as you swallowed the bitter liquid, even more so as it burned its way down your throat like molten fire.

"Case in point," Rowena said smugly.

"Oh, fuck you," you said, coughing, and lowered your glass next to the bottle. "You know I don't drink." She quirked up an eyebrow, another gotcha. Shit. "Just because I don't drink doesn't mean I'm a good girl."

"Are you saying you're bad?"

"Shades of grey."

"Right."

"If I was oh-so-good, I wouldn't hang out with you," you pointed out in irritation.

"Even good girls experiment," Rowena said nonchalantly.

"Trust me, honey," you said, "if I was experimenting, it wouldn't be with you. You aren't exactly my type."

A lie you had to say for the truth was, as much as you didn't want to admit it, she was exactly your type. Fierce. Sassy. Tough. Gorgeous. A little bit damaged. Imperfect, which made her perfect in your eyes.

"Och?" She didn't seem convinced, stepping over towards you and getting in your face. She was so close you could feel her breath in your skin; fresh, minty, a cool, misty dance over your skin. It made you shiver. "And what is your type?"

You.

Everything about you.

Her hair, always tamed, every strand in place. Red as the fire in her soul.

Her eyes, green as forests, sly as a cat's.

Her hands, so little, sprinkled with protruding veins, nails always glittering a different color.

Her accent that was charm personified.

Her patience.

Her kindness.

Her hidden depths.

In one word — her.

All of her.

But you couldn't admit that. It was too soon. It would always be too soon, the wrong time.

A classy girl like her could never possibly be interested in a nobody girl like you.

In a feigned burst of confidence, you said, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I'm a woman of knowledge," Rowena purred deliciously, the words melting on her mouth.

Shit.

You licked your lips. "A girl, you mean."

"A woman. Of knowledge and needs. So many of them."

You gulped. Heat pooled in your belly, sliding lower, itching at places you couldn't — didn't dare — touch for doing so would expose your secret, your feelings, and, if that were to happen, you would be screwed — and not in the way you wanted.

"Well," you said, hoping to high heavens your voice wouldn't betray you, "I'm a woman of secrets."

"That's naughty."

So are you, but you don't see complaining.

"It's a fact," you said with a shrug. "Deal with it?"

"Should I?" She licked her lips, her tongue a bright pink against the lipstick. Taunting. Inviting."Or should I do something about it?"

Was she flirting?

Were you imagining it, or was she flirting?

She was.

The realization hit you like a slap straight across your face, sharp and precise.

Rowena MacLeod; the girl of your dreams; the one you'd been wanting for so long was flirting with you.

Openly.

Without a touch of shame, of hesitation.

It was as natural to her as breathing was.

But… why?

Aside from kindness, you had nothing to offer. You weren't popular, and neither were your friends. You had no money. No power. No influence of any kind. Your family wasn't rich. You weren't ugly, but you were far from beautiful; plain as day, one could say. A girl with the body and face that blended in with the crowds, no different, no more special than a random passerby. Average in everything, from grades to looks.

Far from the glamor Rowena craved.

So why?

Was she messing with you?

Or was she flirting to get her mind off what she'd gone through; the beating, the breakup, the loss of a girl she'd considered a friend?

Yes.

That was most likely it.

She was still hurting, and she wanted the pain to go away, wanted to forget all the bad and horrible.

She wasn't really interested in you.

She was in pain, and you were there.

That was all there was to it.

"How about we watch a movie?" you suggested, trying to hide the hurt in your voice.

You wanted her, so badly your heart ached, but you couldn't give in. She was hurting and flirting was her way of getting it under control. She probably wasn't even into you; you were just here, and you were safe. Someone she knew wouldn't harm her. So she went for it.

As much as you loved her, craved her like she was a drug, you had to stand your ground. Had to resist, no matter how hard it was. The last thing you wanted was to take advantage of her in this fragile state.

Rowena sighed, exasperated. She rolled her eyes. "Fine. If that's what you want."

Her tone made it clear it wasn't what she wanted.

"You promised me there'd be a movie," you reminded her.

"I suppose I did." She took a sip of her scotch before lowering her glass next to yours and grabbing her laptop. "I know you don't like classics. And I don't like horror. So I thought we could compromise."

"What do you mean?"

"Have you heard of a wee movie called Nosferatu?"

"Yeah."

Who hadn't?

She smirked. "That's our movie."

Nice.

Not exactly what you expected, but nice.

"You sure you're gonna be fine?" you taunted. "I heard it's very scary."

"Don't you worry your pretty little head, dear. I can take care of myself."

Or she would be scared and grab your hand again, as if her life depended on it.

You were okay with that.

Maybe you got scared as well and squeezed her hand.

Maybe this time she could be your savior.

Rowena placed the laptop on the foot of the bed. She moved the bowls of snacks on the floor and crawled on the bed, then motioned for you to join her.

Your heart thundered as you took a seat next to her. The bed was small, and you had to snuggle against one another. Her skin was warm against yours, the fabric of her dress soft as the gentlest caress.

She leaned into you and you reciprocated, linking your arm through hers. As the movie started, she tightened her hold and pressed further against you.

You held her tightly.

As a friend.

Wishing she were your lover and knowing she couldn't be.

As expected, Rowena got scared. She twitched and gasped, dug her nails into your arm as she held on as if for dear life. At one point she buried her head in your chest, and you threw an arm around her and held her close. It didn't matter that the danger wasn't real; you arm remained around her, a wordless promise of safety, of protection.

"Scaredy cat," you teased.

"Shut up," she retorted, voice muffled as her face remained pressed against your chest.

There were a few times when you flinched. She noticed each and every one and held on tighter, her own little assurance that you were safe.

You kept sipping on your drink throughout the movie. Rowena did the same, when she wasn't hiding in your chest. She seemed to be handling it well for her size; a lightweight she was not. You, on the other hand, started feeling the buzz after finishing your second glass.

By the time the movie ended, the two of you had pushed your glasses aside and instead took swigs straight out of the bottle, passing it between you like a volleyball.

"You'll turn me into an alcoholic," you said after taking a large pull. The drink burned at your throat as strongly as the first time, but by now you were used to it. You were almost craving the sensation of fire sliding down your throat, scorching your insides, setting you alight.

Alight you were!

Your whole body felt like it was on fire, skin tight on your bones. Hot. Too hot. Words jumbled in your head, twisted, split apart and flew back together until they lost their meaning. The room was spinning, running in circles.

It felt as if you were in a dream, one that was both good and bad. A perfect mixture of a nightmare and a pleasant fantasy.

Drunk.

That was what you were.

And, unusual as it was for you, you kind of liked it.

There were no rules tonight. No laws. No regulations. Just you and Rowena alone in her room, living the best life.

It was only for one night, but you intended to live it to the fullest.

"I never put the bottle in your hands," Rowena said, taking the bottle from you and gulping down. "That's all on you, dear."

You took the bottle back and drank some more. "You offered me drinks."

She reclaimed it. Hissed as the liquor bit at her throat. "It's a New Year celebration, for goodness' sake! Not a bloody slumber party!"

You laughed, an unexpected outburst. "You say 'bloody' really funny."

"Shut up!" She smacked your arm.

It only prompted you to erupt into giggles. "Your accent is funny. And hot. Really hot."

You may have crossed a line there, but who cared?

As she said, it was the New Year celebration.

No rules.

No lines.

No holding back.

Rowena snickered at your comment, then, smirking, said, "I know." An idea suddenly popped into her mind. "You know what we should do?"

You had an inkling of what you might do and you didn't like it one bit. "If you say 'watch another movie,' I'll kill you."

Nosferatu, however scary at times, was a bore fest for the most part. If it weren't for her snuggling with you and your mind constantly coming up with rather raunchy images every time her hold on you would tighten as if to remind you she was there, that she needed you, you would have fallen asleep.

A classics lover, you were not. Not even when it came to horror.

Rowena pouted. "I planned for us to watch Dracula."

"The Bela Lugosi one?"

She looked at you as if you were slow. Which, considering the amount of alcohol flooding your veins, you probably were. "Which else?" Before you could bring up a few other — modern — incarnations, she said, "That's not what I meant."

You frowned. "What then?"

"Dance!"

She sounded so happy, it hurt to turn her down. "I can't dance."

"But I can."

"Ballet."

"Aye. Up until—" she looked you in the eyes, remembering the lie she'd fed you "—eighth grade."

"It's fine," you said in what was supposed to be a comforting manner, but, due to you slurring your words, it came off curt. Almost rude. "Crowley told me ages ago."

Normally, that would have led to a discussion, but now Rowena just narrowed her eyes suspiciously, looked you over, and, finally, nodded. "My brother needs to learn to keep his mouth shut. Anyway, I didn't do just ballet. I used to attend dance classes when I was younger. Still got the moves."

She purred the last bit deliciously. You couldn't resist a grin.

"Look at you! Tiny dancer." You burst into laughter at your own horrible joke. "Literally."

She smacked your arm lightly.

You pouted. "Ow."

She gave you a look, one of those judgmental ones that made you straighten up your act. Then she held her hands up to you and said, "Come on."

"Fine, Tiny Dancer."

It wasn't like you had anything to lose.

Rowena rolled her eyes. "Och, hush."

You took her hands, allowed her to pull you to her, to hold you against her. Her arms wrapped around you and she leaned her head on your shoulder as if to rest. She was warm. Soft. Fit perfectly into the curve of your body, like a piece of puzzle created solely for you. Her heart beat against your chest; soft, gentle little patters. Yours beat along; same rhythm, same pace, as if synchronized.

Your arms slid around her to reciprocate. You melted into the embrace, into the warmth she gave off, radiant as a sun. Your little shining star in the candlelit room.

Rowena started swaying, and your nerves exploded like fireworks. Tingles washed over your body as if a million fire ants were crawling underneath your skin, hot and cold all at once.

"What kind of dance is this?"

You were expecting something faster, wilder. More tango than waltz.

"Ours," she replied.

"What about the music?"

"We'll make our own."

Giving a slight nod, you followed her movements, slow, careful, gentle as the way she held you. Music sounded in the distance, followed be screeches and shouts. The town was celebrating, full of life. Ready to welcome the new year in all its glory.

You ignored it; ignored the noise, the needless distraction. Instead, your foggy mind focused on Rowena. On her skin on yours. On her lips, gentle, plump, pressed into your shoulder. On her hands, so small, so delicate, on your back. On her fingers tracing lines over your shirt. On her soft breathing and the beats of her heart.

It was as if nothing else existed but the two of you. All alone, drunk out of your minds, arms tight around one another. You, head over heels in love. Her, in desperate need of a friend, of affection.

Birds of a feather.

Made for each other.

ONE…

The exclamation shook you from your thoughts. The New Year was getting near, the town starting its counting, leading you to it.

TWO…

"Already?" you asked. Time had gone by so fast. It still felt as if it was nine o'clock and you were freezing your ass off out at the door.

"Mmhm," Rowena muttered.

THREE…

"This was a wild year, wasn't it?"

"We've become quite fond of each other, haven't we?" she said in agreement.

I fell in love with you, you wanted to say, and it took everything for your drunk mind to keep it to itself for it wanted nothing but to blurt it out, loud and clear for the entire town to hear.

FOUR…

"Yup," you said, tongue itching to spill the truth that was driving you mad. "Quite fond."

Rowena pulled back. Her eyes locked with yours in a gaze so intense you got lost in it. A moment passed by in silence, maddening, deafening, before she uttered, "I'm very fond of you."

FIVE…

What was she trying to say?

Was she…?

No way!

No way in hell!

Your forehead fell to hers, the contact sending electric sparks through you. "Rowena…"

SIX…

She fluttered her eyes. Licked her lips like she was daring you to kiss them.

God, you were tempted!

"Very, very fond."

She was.

Good god, she was flirting.

She wanted to kiss you.

Panic shot through you, urged your heart to rush. Should you give in? Should you kiss her? Or should you push her away?

What were you supposed to do?

SEVEN…

You wanted to kiss her.

You'd been wanting it for what felt like ages.

But was it right?

Did she really want it, or was she just trying to get over Lucifer?

Would she use you as a sort of a rebound?

Would you let her use you?

Would it be right?

"I…"

I love you. I love you so much, it hurts!

Did she love you, too?

Did you care?

You wanted her — god, you wanted her so much. Your heart hammered with it, the need growing stronger with each beat.

It was too soon to pursue her. She was still vulnerable, still bore the bruises both physically and mentally.

But if she pursued you…

Would it be wrong to give in? To let her have you the way she wanted?

EIGHT…

You looked her in the eyes again. Stared straight into the very depths of her soul.

"Are-are you sure?"

"Aye."

There was power in that one word. Conviction beyond doubt.

You believed it.

Believed her.

Believed the honesty in her eyes

NINE…

She wanted you.

Really, truly wanted you.

Out of confusion or genuine affection, you couldn't tell.

To your surprise, you found you didn't care.

She wanted you.

You wanted her.

That was all that mattered.

What did it matter why?

She was here. Offering what you'd been craving on a silver platter.

She was drunk, yes, but so were you. And, unlike you, she knew how to handle her liquor.

The whiskey, along with making you woozy, had given you a burst of courage.

You would be a fool not to take it.

But what if you were taking advantage?

What if she was?

TEN!

Who cared?

It was a one time only chance.

Your dream come true.

Your fantasy come to life.

So what if you were inebriated?

You wanted her — loved her — all the same. More even.

And she was yours for the taking.

Why give her up when you could finally have her?

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Sucking in a breath for courage, you gripped Rowena's shoulders, pulled her to you, and pressed your mouth to hers.

The consequences be damned.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @gaysnakess @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @tasyahilker @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock

[sunshinexlollipops]

Sorry to bother but I am dying over your alpha Arthur headcanons. They’re perfection. Low honor Arthur got me feelin some kind of way. 😍 was wondering if u could write some more for that? Preferably with a omega reader????

you’re good anon! a lot of people have been really enjoyin’ themselves some alpha Arthur. he’s pretty wild— and in general ABO has been some fineeeeee work on him.

like damn son, G I D D Y U P.

alrighty sooooo we’re gonna make some magic as we did of this last time— high and low honor alpha!Arthur hc’s comin’ up! ;)

—————

A L P H A A R T H U R

Low Honor

has a neck thing. def a biting kink. but he loves marking your throat up, not just as a possessive gesture, but because he likes the way it riles you up. it’s always his go-to to get you feeling right, and how he likes you best— pliant and floating.

(also low key into collars but the surface is all we shall skim today, class—)

THICC. APPRECIATION. he loves him an omega that’s packin’. thicc thighs are what he wants— he likes soft, pillowy thighs more than anything else, and if you got ‘em? gonna be like Moses parting ‘em too. expect A LOT of beard/scruff burn.

no doubt into dominance play and some obedience “exercises.” he likes to take complete control in bed more often than not, and you’re left to his whim. he’ll ask you if you’re a good omega. and if not? well, he’s just gonna have to do something about that ain’t he?

usually tops, but he does let you too from the bottom or occasionally will bottom for you. but you have to earn that shit, you best believe. ;)

you wearing his clothes. sets. him. off. he comes into his tent and see you in nothing but his blue shirt? you’re gonna see more than just a vein bulge in his forehead, m’kay?

(and if you wear his neckerchief????? he’s done for)

loves to show you off. around the campfire, in town, to Dutch or Micah or anyone who remotely showed/shows any interest in you. you’re HIS omega, and he’ll let them know by practically making you mewl in front of them.

(at the campfire he’ll have you sit on his lap and just widjwixjwkfje)

his gifts to you are often clothes, jewelry, or something extravagant. how it was sourced or found is none too important, but damn don’t you look good— and damn if Arthur won’t show you just how much he appreciates the view.

obsessed with your heats. he keeps track of that shit, and sometimes knows your cycles better than you do. can also tell when it’s coming on before you realize what’s up.

loves your scent, especially when in heat. you’re like a siren to him, and any time he smells even just a trace of it on you? it doesn’t matter what honor level he’s at, he’s going buck wild

he knots you in Dutch’s tent once, after the man pisses him off. it enraged the man for days but the only time Arthur gives a fuck is when he’s laying into you. :)

will surprise you with random trips out into the wilderness. not for anything in particular except that it’s pretty much just to worship you while you’re out there. plus, he loves to have you walk around naked, and the camp doesn’t exactly appreciate it like he does

(not that it’s also a bad view, but it usually leads to Arthur fighting Micah or some shit bc he stares)

(also can just envision him laying out a fur on the ground and just laying you there on it, grabbing quick sketches for his special o t h e r journal)

loves pinning you to things. the wall, a table, the floor/ground. gets you by the wrists, your neck, holds your hips. he’s always got a hold on you, one way or another.

whenever you wake, you’ll always find him ready to truly get you up with the way he kisses you and let’s his hands wander

touches you whenever he can— he can’t get enough of you physically, and he’s constantly running his fingers down your sides, loves to pinch your skin lightly in his hands. he studies your body like he’s holding the right bumper

angry. sex. you best believe it’s a thing between the two of you. he’s always a hothead, even without ABO, and when his temper is riled? when you keep pushin’ him? it looks like he’s going to snap but he will literally just grab you by the nape and he’ll work it out by workin’ you up. 9 out of 10 arguments are solved this way.

doggie style is his favorite position ;)

he talks a lot during sex— like expect him to not shut up. he’ll tell you how you feel, how good this is, how good you are. he also growls a lot and he is NOT quiet.

gives you a necklace or something to adorn your neck that rests by his mating bite— it’s all to draw attention there, and this is his form of a ring to announce it.

loves it when you tell him how good of an alpha he is, and how much you love being his omega. he takes pride in that, and the way he can take you apart so easily underneath him. it’s a talent. ;)

into watching you. whether you are feeling promiscuous or he’s in the mood, he enjoys watching you do certain things like undress, bathe, or feel yourself. you pop one button off and he’s immediately like 👀

definitely has Charles Châtenay paint a nude portrait of you. shit is worth more than a pile of gold bars to the man.

High Honor

has Jack make a flower crown for you when he takes him fishing, and he puts it on you as soon as he gets back to camp

he tries his hand at cooking with you, and I mean really tries. he’s not awful per say, but unless it’s in a can or can burn over a fire he is really at odds ends with himself.

(can make coffee like a pro tho)

he always rises before you, and you usually wake to him bringing you breakfast among other things. he also loves to surprise you with gifts then— the way your face goes from sleepy to wide-eyed is his favorite

loves you in any way you come. he doesn’t care, as long as you’re happy and you give him the honor of loving him back :,)

S O F T. everything about Arthur is cuddly and welcoming, despite the tough facade he puts up. he is a rugged cowboi, but he MELTS when you snuggle up next to him. he is a bear, but the teddy kind, much to his dismay

(he sometimes acts like he doesn’t want to cuddle or doesn’t like being sweet, but you can tell he loves doting on you and being gentle— he’s tactile after all)

(you also get the man to sleep on more than just the damn ground or a table bc like??? seriously??? this man could literally sleep on fucking train tracks like his name is Thomas.)

(^^ when you introduce this man to the novelty concept of, I dunno, a BED, you also show him the magic of blankets and how it’s really nice to wrap yourself up in one. it quickly becomes his favorite thing to do.)

(^^^ you find Arthur literally wrapped up to his nose in a blanket cocoon one day, and you have no idea how to handle it)

(You: Did you use literally all of our blankets? Arthur: *nothing but his eyes visible from the mound of cloth heaped into your bed* . . . no.)

some nights he just holds onto you. there’s no funny business involved, but he tugs you close, puts your foreheads together, and simply exists with you. that’s all he really wants

loves it when you tell him how happy you are— he loves seeing you smile, and he’ll go out of his way to keep one on your face

also tries to get you to laugh to the point of snorting

(and he decks Micah when he jokes that you sound like a pig and then goes right back to making you giggle)

if you have a bad day or someone in camp was rough to you, Arthur will try and cheer you up or tell that person off. the last thing he wants is his omega upset.

puts you first, always. even if he needs something more, if it costs him, if he’s got to go as far as saying no and disobeying Dutch, you’re his number one concern.

and around the times of your heats? Arthur is like a chicken with his head cut off. he panics sometimes, fretting that things won’t be safe, that you’ll need this and that— he stresses himself by trying to make it easy for you, and drives himself up the wall in an attempt for perfection

(he doesn’t believe all you need is him alone to have it be that way, he’s just that obtuse)

any Arthur in bed means you will hear a lot of stuff from him— he is never quiet. but, this one will whisper praise into your ear, will tell you how much he loves and adores you. it is all emotional and sweet. :,)

he makes sure you’re comfy, and always worried he hurts you when he knots you. his concern always gets a loving giggle out of you, especially when he blushes after you tell him just how nice it is

takes you on small trips to do things like stargaze or to just be alone with you.

he gets you a ring for when your mates. call him pine, because he’s a sap like that

always puts his jacket on you when you’re cold. legit it can be like Chapter I: Colter outside and Arthur would give you his entire outfit bc he’s a loving dumbass like that

sometimes, when he genuinely doesn’t know what you’re saying, he pretends to understand even though he’s got no damn idea what’s going on

(You: Have you tried spaghetti? It’s good! Arthur: uh... I’ve tried huntin’ one once, with my bow.)

(^^ he goes and tries to read books to learn more about shit bc he’s never been so mortified in his lifeeeee)

has Albert Mason take a beautiful photograph of you. he keeps it by his bedside, framed and loved.

[jasntodds]

The Wild Hunt [t.h.]

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader (supernatural *not the TV show* AU)

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of blood, some panic, lots of fear, and some good ole angst

Words: 4,073

Summary: The Wild Hunt is said to be of ghost riders and hellhounds riding the storm to steal souls of the living for all of eternity

A/N: Y’all know what I love? In case you missed it? Teen Wolf. Despite popular opinion, season 6 was amazing and that was the season of the ghost riders so it’s only fair I take that and write about Tom, right? Also, this is for @keepingupwiththeparkers ‘s writing challenge that was forever go!

Masterlist

To be in love is almost something magical. You have someone who's not just your best friend but your person. They're your other half, a kind of soulmate even. Hearts beat as one, butterflies come to life at the same time, and flowers bloom together. It's good anxiety, the kind that's almost like a drug and it's waking up with them and still falling endlessly for them, pool of drool around their mouth and hair like a birds’ a best. But the absolute best part about being in love is having that person be in love, too. And Tom, he is hopelessly and endlessly in love with you.

Tom’s arm is wrapped snugly around your waist, his head just above yours as you’re both laying on the couch having a Mission Impossible marathon and a fluffy grey blanket covers both of your bodies. His lips graze the top of your head, a gentle and sweet kiss placed atop before he starts leaving quick pecks across your cheek, making you giggle and push your back against him. Tom’s laugh bounces around the room and through your ears, butterflies sputtering through both of your stomachs.

You twist in his arms, facing him and capturing his lips with yours, silencing his laughing. You can feel him smile against your lips and you can taste the leftover Carmex from earlier, a taste that bothers most people but not you, not when it comes to Tom.

“What’re you doing?” You ask and you pull away.

“Can’t kiss you for no reason?” Tom asks, eyes big and innocent.

You quirk a brow, not buying it. “No.” You laugh, shaking your head into his shoulder.

“‘M hungry.” Tom admits, his voice light and on the cusp of a chuckle.

“Mhm, thought so.” You mumble into his shirt, the scent of his cologne you never grow tired of wearing off from the day.

“Want some popcorn?” Tom asks, his breath brushing against your ear.

“Sure.” You pick your head up and offer him a gentle smile before pecking his lips.

Tom beams, kissing your forehead before he starts to get up, successfully yanking the blanket with him and tripping to the floor. You burst into a fit of laughter, trying to ask if he’s okay but the laughter coming from him and the movement of his shoulders tell you he’s perfectly fine. He rolls over onto his back, clearly defeated but his chest is rising quickly with the subsiding laugh.

“For someone as athletic as you, you’re clumsy.” You mock, leaning over the couch.

“Love me anyway.” Tom picks his head up, winking at you.

“On occasion.” You quip, a smile spread across your face.

Tom gasps, hitting his chest over his heart. “But I love you.” Tom whines, sticking out his bottom lip and all you can do is lean back, laughing.

“Yeah, I love you, too.” You mutter.

Tom gains a triumphant smile as he gets to his feet. “‘S what I thought.”

You roll your eyes and choose not to respond. Tom made his way to the kitchen, opening and closing the cabinet for a bag of microwave popcorn and you pulled out your phone, checking messages and social media. There was a new picture of you and Tom posted to Instagram, Harry had posted it not long before. A happy smile started to pull at the corner of your lips, your thumb just brushing over the image.

You’d all gone a pub for a night out, just you, Tom, Harry, and Harrison but as Harry is who he is, he couldn’t leave the picture taking for another time. So, of course, he snapped one of you and Tom leaning against the wall outside as you waited for a ride home. Tom’s arms wrapped around you as your back is pressed against his chest and you’re looking up to him smiling and laughing, eyes crinkling at the edges. Tom looks about as happy as he’s ever been, intoxicated, but blissfully in love with you and about to kiss your temple. Just the picture alone is enough to send shivers of electricity through your heart.

“Tom,” You sit up, twisting to your knees and resting your forearms on the back of the couch so you can see Tom. “Have you seen the picture Harry posted about an hour ago?” You ask, waving your phone at him.

He shakes his head and walks over, taking your phone from your hands and his entire face softens with the sight of it. His lips are pulled into a fragile smile, the corners of his eyes just barely crinkling, and the reflection of the phone is bouncing from his eyes. He doesn’t have to say anything because it’s all right there, Harry did well getting the picture. But, before you could ask what he thought, just to be sure, Tom was sliding your phone back in your hands while bringing your lips to his in a deep kiss. You sigh against him before he pulls away.

“What was that for this time?”

“Just love you is all.” Tom whispers, bringing his lips to yours once more only for you both to be interrupted by the microwave and Tom’s phone ringing.

He gives you a quick smirk before digging in his pocket and pulling out his phone, turning his back to you as he goes to the microwave. Tom puts the phone to his ear and greets the caller, not bothering to have checked the caller ID.

“Sam’s gone!” The panicked voice of Harry rings through Tom’s ears.

“What?” Tom asks, pulling the phone from his head to see it’s still reading his brother’s name.

“Sam’s. Gone!” Harry says, this time clearer. “He-he was here and then...then these-I don’t know! These guys or somethin’ show up and, Tom, he’s just gone! And we gotta-”

“Slow down,” Tom sighs, opening the microwave, clouding his nose with the scent of fresh popcorn and putting the phone between his ear and shoulder as he grabs the steaming bag. “Who’s Sam?”

Tom knows he has a few friends by the name but none of who should be causing Harry this much worry. But, Harry is someone who likes to prank Tom. They’ve been doing it as long as either of them can remember. Cling wrap in the door frame, cooking oil on the kitchen floor, salt in the sugar, it’s what they do so Tom can’t help but think this is just some weird prank Harry is trying to pull.

“What the fuck do you mean--your brother!” Harry screams so loud you can hear him from your seat on the couch. Tom pulls the phone away from his ear and swaps sides, walking over to you. “My twin! He is gone!”

Tom’s brows are furrowed, entire forehead wrinkled in confusion as he hands you the bag of popcorn. “What’re you on?” Tom asks. “We don’t have a brother called Sam.”

You take a few pieces of popcorn, popping them into your mouth while matching Tom’s expression, wondering what could possibly be going on.

“God!” Harry yells in frustration. “Yes, we do! These weird guys or something came in and they fuckin’...shot him or something.”

“Is there blood?” Tom asks, no concern in his voice.

“No…” Harry says. “But--”

“If someone’s shot, there’d be blood. You were probably dreaming.” Tom says, taking a handful of popcorn for himself.

Harry groans on the other end. “I wasn’t dreaming! This is serious! He was just here. He’s our brother! Why’re you actin’ like you don’t fuckin’ care?”

“Harry,” Tom says. “Would you calm down? We’ve only got Paddy, ‘s it. No Sam. Tellin’ you, you were probably--”

“You’re fuckin’ useless, you know that?” Harry’s voice breaks with his voice, making Tom fall concerned.

“Where’s mum and dad? Maybe you should talk to them.” Tom offers. “You don’t sound alright.”

“Fine.” Harry mutters. “They’ll believe me.” Before Tom can respond, the line does dead.

Tom pulls the phone from his head, looking at the now black screen. He shakes his head, eyes going to you before he climbs over the back of the couch and takes a seat beside you. You watch him with a raised brow, waiting for him to explain but he just sits in silence for a minute.

He’s never heard Harry that upset. It doesn’t matter the prank, doesn’t matter the joke, Harry wouldn’t take it that far to cause Tom major concern. He sounded genuinely terrified and hurt, like he really had just watched someone be taken or shot. It’s a little unsettling and it even has Tom questioning about his other brother. Maybe Harry mistook the name? But that wouldn’t quite make sense and Tom wouldn’t just forget he had a third brother, right?

“You okay, Tom?” You ask, resituating to face him.

“Uh,” Tom shakes his head, still looking forward. “Yeah, I think.” He says quietly before looking to you. “Harry said he saw our brother get taken or shot but not Paddy, Sam?”

“You don’t have a brother named Sam?” You question, making sure that Tom hasn’t been hiding a secret brother in the year you’ve been dating.

Tom shakes his head quickly. “No, no, we don’t. Just the three of us.”

“What’s wrong then?”

Tom shrugs a shoulder. “He sounded...serious, maybe.” Tom says. “I dunno. It was just weird but he’s ringing our parents. It was probably a night terror or nightmare, somethin’.”

“Do you wanna stop tomorrow to check on him?” You offer, seeing the distress across Tom’s face.

“Yeah, I’ll go.” Tom says, taking the bag of popcorn from you.

“I can go with you if you want.” You offer with a reassuring smile.

“Nah,” Tom starts, putting his arm around your shoulders to pull you into him. “I’ll go and meet you back here after work, ya?”

“Alright,” You sigh. “Just lemme know if you change your mind.”

“Thanks, love.” Tom mutters as he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “We should get back to the movie.” Tom nods towards the screen, offering you the top of the bag of popcorn.

You nod, kissing his cheek and within twenty minutes, you’re both back to how you were before Harry had called.

By the time the next morning rolls around, it’s like the night before didn’t happen. Tom had brushed off his phone call with Harry, saying he was gonna stop by later in the day. And your morning routine went as it normally does, each taking turns showering and moving around the bathroom is perfect harmony only to meet back in the kitchen where the two of you would make breakfast and eat together. And that leads the two of you to now, where you’re both in the kitchen just after breakfast. Tom is at the sink while you’re sat on the corner, finishing off an apple before you’re set to leave for work.

“You’re gonna be late if you don’t go soon.” Tom wipes his hands on the towel as you pull out your phone, checking the time.

“Yeah, don’t wanna go.” You scrunch your face, looking back to Tom.

Tom moves over to you, slightly spreading your legs so he can't stand between them. “But when you get home, I’ll be here.” He smirks leaning in and connecting his lips to yours.

“This isn’t making me wanna go anymore.” You close your eyes as his kisses trail down your jaw.

“Just giving you something to look forward to when you come home.” Tom smirks against your neck, nipping but careful not to leave marks.

You whine, tilting your head back to give him more access. “I think you just like to tease me.”

Tom chuckles, kissing back up your cheek before cupping your face in his hands. “Is quite fun, ya.”

“I shouldn’t go then.” Your eyes widen, teasing him.

Tom scrunches his nose, reaching for your phone and checking the time only to be met with the picture Harry had taken. “You should and you’ve changed your background?” Tom flashes the screen to you.

“Mhm.” You hum, plucking the phone from his hand. “You look cute.”

“Not as cute as you, darlin’.” Tom gives you a wide grin.

“Stop.” You roll your eyes, resting your head on his shoulder.

“‘S true.” Tom assures, kissing the side of your head.

“I love you, ya know?” You look back to him, arms coming around his shoulders.

“I know.” Tom smiles, pecking your lips. “And I love you, don’t forget that, ya?”

“How could I ever?” You quip, pulling him in for a deep kiss, your tongue tracing his bottom lip.

How could you possibly forget that Tom loves you? That’s the real question. A love as strong as yours should be unbreakable. It should be stronger than any force of nature. Stronger than anything to exist. He reminds you day in and day out that he is in love with you and he has been since day one and you do the exact thing. It’s not always in the words of “i love you” but in the words like “be careful”,”buckle your seatbelt”, “text me when you get there”, and “this made me think of you”. It’s in the actions when either of you show up with the other’s favorite lunch or dinner, just because you thought of each other. It’s how you move around the kitchen in a perfect dance only the two of you know. You maneuver around the bathroom with ease, brushing teeth and hair, never once bumping into each other. It’s in the small glances at sunset and sleepy smiles in the morning when the sun’s woken the two of you up. Everything you two do, it’s there. It’s love. A love one could not simply forget.

Well, that’s how it should be at least.

You’ve been home from work just long enough to have changed into a pair of pajamas when you hear the door slam shut. You jump at the sound, your heart immediately starting to race as you make your way down the hallway. Tom is standing against the door, palms against it as and his chest is rising and falling as if he’s just gotten done running from someone, from something. His hair is sticking to his forehead and you can hear him gasping for air. Complete worry washes over you as you step closer to him.

“Tom?”

“Y/n!” He yells, pushing away from the door. “Thank God.” He sighs of relief but his expression doesn’t show it, it’s still written with fear. “C’mon.” He grabs your arms and pulls you down the hall to your bedroom, quickly shutting the door and locking it.

“Tom what’s--” You try to ask but he’s quick to cut you off by cupping your face.

“I’m gonna sound fuckin’ nuts but you’ve to listen to me, alright?” Tom’s eyes are wide and glossy, looking like he’s about to cry.

“You’re scaring me, what’s wrong?” Your eyes search his face for any sign of what's going on.

“I went to Harry’s and--”

“Who’s Harry?” You cut him off before he could finish.

Tom's expression drops. Pure and utter devastation wash across his face and his heart stops right in his chest. “You….you don’t….” Tom stares you, jaw going a bit slack as the color drains from his face.

He went to Harry’s, he did and it didn't go how he expected. Harry was uneasy but he didn’t remember calling Tom the night before about Sam. He didn’t know who Sam was. It was just like Tom had said, maybe a bad dream or a night terror. But then, something horrible and completely crazy happened. Something that can’t be fully explained.

“I-I...I don’t…” Tom just stares at you, expression full of sorrow as a tear falls down his face. “Someone.” Tom says, choosing not to spend time explaining who Harry is. He thinks he’s next, he knows he’s next and he doesn’t have time to sit down and explain who people are. “I was with him and he started hearing these...horses and dogs, I didn’t see ‘em, not at first but then I did and they shot him.”

“What?” You yell, trying to follow Tom’s words but he just sounds like he’s telling you a wild story.

“Yeah, I know.” Tom nods. “But...he just...disappeared. Into smoke.”

“Did you fall asleep in the car?” You ask, your voice breaking finding Tom’s state more than worrisome. If you didn't know any better, if he even smelled of a hint of alcohol rather than his favorite cologne, you'd think he was wasted beyond repair.

Tom shakes his head frantically. “No, no, no, I didn’t and I think--” Tom moves his stare from you and to the door. His eyes widen and his heart sinks.

He’s right. He’s next.

“Do you hear that?” He asks.

“Hear what?” You listen carefully, hoping that Tom hasn’t completely lost his sanity.

Tom closes his eyes and swallows a lump that’s started to form. “You don’t remember Harry?”

This is how Harry felt the night before. Tom didn’t believe him, that their own brother had simply disappeared but how can he be expected to believe something he doesn’t remember? And now it’s happened to Harry and Tom doesn't have the time to dwell on it. He doesn't have time to think about how he let his brother down not believing him or at least going over when he called. He doesn’t have time to explain it all to you because the sounds of the horses and dogs are getting closer and he’s going to be next. He doesn’t have time to tell you because you’re going to forget him and he needs to tell you so much more instead.

“You need to know I love you, okay?” Tom mutters, his voice breaking as a few tears slip over his cheeks.

“I know.” You whisper, your hands coming up to cup his. “I love you, too but--”

“No.” Tom cuts you off. “I have been in love with you forever and I’m gonna be in love with you forever but I don’t think you’re gonna remember that. I-I-I hope you do but I dunno if you will. I need you to try, though, okay? Don’t let my mum forget me. Or Harrison or my dad or Paddy. Don’t let them forget me. Try, please.” Tom pleads, tears slipping beyond his control.

“I could never forget you.” You assure him but there’s still confusion in your voice, something not comforting to Tom at all. “I love you, I do. How could I forget--”

Before you could finish, the door opens and you see nothing besides Tom moving to stand in front of you. Even when you peek around him though, you see nothing besides the white door wide open. You don’t hear anything unusual, it’s just open but Tom is shaking in front of you, almost like he’s guarding you from someone, from something.

But, Tom? Tom sees them. There’s three men with charcoal black scarecrow faces, dressed in cowboy hats and long coats on black horses with large black dogs. The dogs snarl and bark at Tom, paying no attention to you. It’s Tom they want. Tom just watches in horror, almost paralyzed as one of the riders pulls out a pistol. It’s aimed at Tom’s head and he turns his head, just barely enough to get a glance of you.

“I love you.” He whispers and with a bang unheard by you, a green puff of smoke is in front of you and you’re alone.

The smoke evaporates and it’s just you. Your heart is like rapid thunder in your ears. What just happened? Tom was there one second and gone the next. People don’t disappear. That’s impossible. People don’t just hear and see things that other people don’t and disappear because of it. But it happened. It just happened and now your mind is going a mile-a-minute because was that what Tom was trying to tell you? That this Harry person was taken by these people and that’s how he knew? That’s why he was scared? But what’s bothering you the most is that Tom really thinks--thought that you could forget him. How could you ever?

So, that’s when you decide it’s a dream. It has to be a dream because people don’t disappear into green smoke. People don’t just disappear and Tom knows you could never forget him even if you tried, even if you wanted to try. It has to be a dream. A vivid dream that keeps you tossing and turning all night.

You repeat his name over and over again, each time becoming a little stale in your thoughts. Like it’s been expired for years. You close your eyes and you picture him, brown eyes, curling brown hair, eyebrow with a cowlick you can’t help but find adorable. He’s there, in your memories while you’re awake. But, then you fall asleep.

The next day comes around and you wake up as you normally do but you don’t feel right. Something feels off. You reach for your phone, clicking the screen and being met with a picture of you in front of a brick wall looking over your shoulder, smiling and laughing. A twist to your stomach makes you furrow your brows. You remember changing the background but you don’t remember why. It’s like a void is taking up that part of your memory. The picture is cute, you look amazing, but it’s not like you set your lock screen to a picture of yourself. But, you brush it off because maybe you were just drunk when you did it or maybe you’re remembering wrong and Harrison did it as a joke and you hadn’t bothered to change it back. Either way, you get out of bed and proceed with your routine.

Your routine follows as it would normally, you take your shower, brush your teeth and hair, get dressed. You eat your breakfast and check your social media. It’s all normal but it feels off. It’s almost an empty feeling but not quite. Kind of like you’ve misplaced something but the harder you think about it, the further the memory gets. It’s almost as if someone is inside your mind just shredding your memories of whatever you’re supposed to be remembering. It’s quite unsettling.

A knock on your door pulls your attention from your phone. When you open the door, Harrison is standing there, allowing himself in with a cheery smile.

“You alright?” He asks, raised brow on display. “You look a bit lost.” He chuckles.

“Oh, yeah.” You nod. “We still going to find something for your mom’s birthday?” You ask, remembering Harrison asking a few days prior if you could come help him pick something out for his mom since he wanted to make sure he got just the right set of earrings this year.

“Yep.” Harrison chimes, watching you move across the kitchen, your expression still a but contorted in confusion. “Really, you alright?” Harrison drops the cheeriness as he watches you.

“I just,” You face him, biting the inside of your cheek. “Feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“Like what?” Harrison asks. “Can help you find it.”

You shake your head. “Nah, like, you know in Harry Potter where Neville doesn’t remember his robes so his Remembrall consumes in red smoke but he doesn't remember what he’s forgotten?” Harrison nods along with your reference. “It’s like that. I feel like I’m missing something but how can I be missing something I don’t even remember?”

Harrison rolls his shoulders. “I dunno.” He answers. “I’ve gotten the feeling before though, probably just woke up funny, ya?”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah, maybe.” You shake your head and decide to try and ignore the gnawing of your stomach. “Lemme just put my shoes on and we can go.” You give Harrison a quick smile.

“Cool.” Harrison’s cheeriness returns.

How can someone forget something they don’t remember? How can someone forget someone they love? The only answer remains with riders of the storm, the Wild Hunt.

[ravenwolfie97]

TOME Corruption AU: Getting to Know You

WELL THIS WAS A LOT LONGER THAN EXPECTED, BUT HAVE SOME CORRUPTION AU FOOD

Alpha paced impatiently around the pit. He wanted to meet Flamegirl alone, away from the rest, and especially Kirb, after he had yelled at her the other day. He still never even came back on to apologize... Alpha snorted, thinking back on it. He wasn’t about to forgive him for attacking her like that.

Suddenly he saw the beam of light from which Flamegirl emerged, and he immediately perked up. “Flamey! It’s so good to see you,” he greeted her. “Hey, Alpha. What’s up?” she replied with a hint of wonder in her tone. “I just wanted us to hang out together, you and me. Those other guys tend to get in the way, huh?” He put on a cheeky grin. “It’d be nice for us to have some one-on-one time. Whaddya think?” Flamey tried to mask her mixed feelings as she thought about his answer. “I mean... yeah, it would be nice,” she responded. “Not running into any trouble for once would be nice, too. We’ve had way too much hacker trouble lately,” she continued, somewhat diverting the conversation. Alpha let out a small growl. “Yeah, no kidding. They’re always after us for one reason or another. Hopefully today they can leave us alone for a hot second - I wanna have some peace and quiet with my girl.” He pointed his thumb over to the right. “C’mon, I got a spot. Let’s go.” ��My girl?’ Flamey couldn’t help but blush at the sentiment. “Alright then, I’m with you.”

They made their way to an area not many players frequented, a small alcove by a gentle waterfall. Alpha kept glancing at Flamegirl as they walked, her arms held behind her back. Her golden hair cascaded down her back, fluffier and longer than the last time he saw her. Did her top change too, or was he just staring? He met her emerald green eyes and smiled. She smiled back, and he was captivated. They arrived at the alcove and took a seat on a rocky ledge. Alpha let out a lofty sigh, listening to the soft running of the waterfall beside them. Flamey did the same and turned to face Alpha. “So, how have you been lately?” she asked. “Hm? Oh, fine, I guess.” Alpha was vague with his answer, mainly because his mind was swarming with thoughts he didn’t necessarily want to dump on her. “Same old, same old, y’know.” He waved his hand dismissively. “How about you?” “Same,” she said with a laugh. “Just typical school stuff. Homework, tests, all that boring junk. You wouldn’t care to hear about it.” “No, I would!” Alpha jumped in. “You’re in college, aren’t you? What are you studying?” Flamey blinked. She didn’t remember specifically mentioning college at any point to him, but she guessed it was just intuitive. “Oh, I’m studying computer science. I’d like to be a programmer someday.” “That’s really cool!” Alpha’s eyes genuinely lit up. “Do you think you’d ever make something like this?” She shrugged. “I dunno... I just really like to code. I’ve only made some websites and basic programs for school projects and stuff, nothing major. I’ve done a game design class in high school though, and it was pretty fun. Nothing as complicated as this, though.” She giggled. “I don’t get to talk about this kinda stuff that much, not even with Sat and Whyti. It’s cool that you’re… y’know, interested.” “Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” Alpha blurted out. “I hardly know anything about you, and I’d really like to get to know you better.” Flamegirl tucked her hair shyly behind an ear. “Thanks… The same goes for you, too. You never talk about what’s going on in your life either. What do you do outside of this game? Are you in college too?” she barraged him with questions. Alpha’s excited demeanor suddenly shifted as he went back into his thoughts. “Well… no. I’m living on my own,” he admitted, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “I wanted to be an artist. I even designed my character here myself. But…” He threaded his fingers through his hair. “I don’t feel like I can do much of anything with the way my mind is now. Everything feels off lately. I don’t know why.” Flamegirl made a small noise of agreement. “I’ve felt kind of the same way, to be honest. It’s not necessarily in a bad way, I don’t think. My mind’s just been running wild with thoughts, and it makes it kinda hard to focus.” Alpha looked at her with surprise. “I’m the same way. Well, except…” He turned his gaze down to the ground. “It might be in a bad way.” Flamey leaned toward him. “If this is about lashing out the other day, then-” “No, it’s not just that!” Alpha shouted, gripping at his head tighter. “I feel like I can’t control myself, and I’m going to hurt people if I’m not careful! I keep thinking about all of these horrible things, and I just… hate myself!” Flamegirl put a hand to his shoulder. “Hey, hey, it’s okay! You’re okay,” she attempted to soothe him. He flinched at her touch, but it did calm him down a little bit. He exhaled loudly. “I’m sorry, I just… it’s hard to bear. And I could never even think to talk about it with anyone but you.” “Is this why you wanted to see me alone?” “N-no, that wasn’t it!” Alpha corrected himself. “I really did just wanna talk to you… without…” Flamey withdrew her hand as she felt Alpha suddenly tense up. “Wh-what?” “Without letting any other assholes getting in the way.” His voice grew dark, and he whipped his head around as if he had sensed something. He rose to his feet. “I know you’re there! Show yourself!” he called out.

Heeding his call, a masked figure leapt down from the cliff above and zapped Alpha as soon as it landed. Alpha convulsed and collapsed to the ground. “Wh-? I can’t move!” he cried out. “What the hell did you do to me? Who are you?!” “I have no business with you.” The masked man had some kind of accent and a sinister undertone in his voice. His username: Neomutant. He turned away from Alpha and focused on the girl. “I’m glad I could find you here.” “I don’t…” Flamegirl was confused for a moment, but then realized the man’s voice was one she recognized. “Wait, are you-?” “In your computer programming course? That’s as far as he’ll get to know, yes.” He glowered at Alpha’s body that still laid in the dirt. “That’s enough!” Flamegirl immediately threw up a block function, surrounding the other player’s head, muting him. Her face was red with embarrassment and fury. “How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone?!” “Who the hell is this guy? What did he do to you?” Alpha barked, still paralyzed. “He’s just some asshole from school, who I never wanted to see or hear from again!” She pointed that last part directly at him, as he still stood before them. He didn’t seem fazed at all. In fact, he was disturbingly calm. Neomutant motioned his hand, and suddenly the block function shattered from his head. “You think that’s too tough for me to crack?” Flamegirl took a step back. “What do you want from me?” The man took a step forward. “I’m here to extend my offer to you one last time. You could actually put your programming skills to good use if you join our cause.” “What cause? All you told me was you were getting paid by some shady deep web hacking group! I don’t want any part in that!” “We’re protecting people like you from people like him.” He pointed at Alpha’s form, whose face was twisted into a snarl. “Flamey, what is he talking about?! I oughta kick your ass right out of this game!” Neomutant couldn’t hold back a snicker. “‘Flamey’? Isn’t that cute.” He gestured at Alpha’s helpless-looking body. “I disabled your character model’s movement. There’s nothing a parasite like you can do to me or Stephanie now.” Alpha’s eyes widened. “S… Stephanie?” Flamegirl shook with unbridled rage. “What the hell is your problem?! You can’t just say that! Just leave us alone and get out of my life!” “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Neomutant’s voice dropped low. “You’re far too important.” He continued moving closer, until Flamegirl was cornered in the back of the alcove. “Let me help you, take care of you, keep you safe from people like him.” “Why do you think Alpha is dangerous?” Flamey choked out. “You don’t even know him!” “Evidently, neither do you,” Neomutant rebuked. “You have to trust me.”

Before he could get any closer, Neomutant flew across the field, propelled by a sudden kick in the gut as Alpha broke out of his paralysis and dashed in front of Flamegirl. He struggled to stand back up, gripping at his stomach. “Alpha!” Flamey gasped. “How can you-?” “Doesn’t matter. Stay back.” Without another word, Alpha rushed at Neomutant and uppercutted him with a dark slash. Neomutant cried out in pain, but quickly used an electric attack to push Alpha back away from him. He landed on one knee, breathing laboriously. “You broke out of the paralysis… That’s impossible…!” he wheezed. “That code was supposed to be impenetrable!” “I know more about this game than anyone else.” Alpha’s words suddenly took on a darker tone. “Now, if you lay a finger on any of my friends… If you hurt Stephanie… I’ll kill you.” “You’re bluffing,” Neomutant said, putting up a macho facade. Alpha bared his teeth. “Wanna bet?” He lunged at Neomutant at breakneck speed, slashing at him ferociously before slamming his head into the violet dirt. His clawed fingers wrapped around the masked man’s neck and squeezed it shut. “I’ll make fucking sure you never get near her again.” “Alpha, stop it!” Flamegirl rushed in between the two boys and pushed Alpha off of Neomutant. “This is going too far - you can’t actually kill him!” “He’s a fucking stalker!” Alpha immediately snapped. “He’s endangering you! I have to!” “No, you don’t.” Flamey looked back over at Neomutant, who was lying motionless on the ground, but still alive and breathing. “I think he’ll get the message.” Alpha struggled against Flamegirl’s grip, acting almost feral. “No! I can’t let him go!” Flamegirl kept a hold of Alpha’s bandanna and pointed a Flame Bullet at Neomutant with her other hand. “If you can still hear me, please… just leave us alone.” She shot the ember and Neomutant lost the rest of his character’s HP, disconnecting from the game. “NO!” Alpha wailed. “I ALMOST HAD HIM! I COULD’VE SAVED YOUR LIFE!” “You did save me.” Flamegirl stared Alpha directly in the eyes, dominant yet caring. She carefully released his bandanna and then wrapped her arms around his back. “Thank you.”

Suddenly, a burst of pink light radiated from Flamegirl, enveloping the both of them. Alpha stared into the light, his rapid breathing and adrenaline lowering. Something about the light calmed him down completely. It was… warm and comforting. He let out a sigh and embraced Flamegirl in return, burying his face into her shoulder and clinging his claws into her back. She brought him serenity, as if what just happened had never occurred. Flamegirl released him, holding his hands as they separated. She blinked, noticing he was transfixed on her. “Wh-what is it?” Alpha couldn’t break away from the light that continued to radiate from Flamegirl. Her long, flowing hair was now shining with the pink light, like a hot flame. “Sorry, it’s just…” He could barely speak, lulled into a state of mind where he could hardly think. He lifted a hand and gently cupped Flamegirl’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful.” Flamey blushed at the unexpected compliment. What happened to the person she just saw a moment ago? It’s as if she had sedated a wild beast, and he had suddenly become docile. She couldn’t say a word. In her shock, Alpha moved his hand to get a hold of her chin. His eyes were no longer fierce… they gently closed as he began leaning in. “Alpha…?” she barely breathed before his lips contacted hers. She could feel the softness of his skin… He was so tender, completely opposite of what had just happened. He broke away after a long moment and looked back into her eyes. “It’s Michael.”

[crassussativum]

ooc: Enemies and Allies- Chapter 8

((We’re on a quick roll now that I have a plot that’s not just character development lol

Chapter 8

Blackwatch operatives used code-names in the field. Crassus’ was Overseer because as a sniper primarily, he tended to hang back. To oversee the whole of the battlefield so he could act tactically on-the-go as the situation called for it. The Blackwatch called Mav Mayhem because six grenades in the span of half an hour- while certainly effective- was excessive. His wild laugh rang through the comms with every boom and Crassus grit his teeth together as the reverb shook his cover.

Geth limbs and servos and whatever else it was that had the machines up and moving with continuous deadly purpose were now just bits of metal and wiring scattered to the winds. Mav had told him they’d only face a handful or two units of the bastards, give the Alliance soldiers a little back up and then be on their way. When they’d touched down on this outpost though it hadn’t been near that simple. The Alliance soldiers were dead or had simply retreated with no word left behind and the Geth numbered near to fifty. Or they had before Mav had planted himself behind an outcropping of rocks and started lobbing grenades one by one.

Crassus covered his head with one arm as the scaffolding above him groaned and shifted. A few large pebbles bounced off his helmet and he cursed hotly. “Six is enough!”

Mav’s laugh echoed in his ears. “That was lucky number seven, big guy!”

And just like that, the area was quiet. Crassus scanned around with his scope as Mav left his cover to explore. There were Geth pieces everywhere, the grenades had seen to that, and some of them twitched sporadically before going still again. The death-throe similar movements had Crassus’ mandibles tight to his face and his stomach in a knot. Geth were borderline sentient but they were still only machines and machines didn’t feel pain: they shouldn’t be twitching like that.

“I’m callin’ this in to Command,” Mav said. “They need to know the Alliance up and left and just how many of these fuckin’ Geth were kickin’ ‘round.”

Crassus hummed an agreement, avidly watching the fingers of a disembodied arm as they  spasmed. It made his plating crawl and he turned away from it, his eyes roving across the high rock walls of the canyon and all the embedded and stationary construction equipment. He guessed the Alliance had hoped to build a real outpost here but they had only just started to before the Geth had arrived. He spotted an eezo powered crane at the top of the canyon, dormant for the moment but he could imagine the hum of the machine when it powered up. They had been common on Invictus and if he remembered correctly, it had been one of the machines to inspire Taren into engineering…

Mav paced by in front of him. “I can’t get a damn signal,” He snarled.

“The Geth probably planted a jammer somewhere.”

“Them or the Alliance-”

The glint of metal registered in the corner of Crassus’ eye. He turned and lifted his rifle without thinking, muscle memory and something like instinct. At the top of that eezo crane he saw the Geth sniper through the scope and he squeezed the trigger twice. His rifle kicked hard against his shoulder but Crassus didn’t lose his stance, watching and waiting… He saw the Geth fall and lowered his rifle.

“I bet the jammer is by that crane,” He told Mav. “High ground, a defensible position and a sniper to protect it. I’d place it under the machine.”

Mav didn’t reply. Crassus turned toward him with a question on his tongue and saw the smaller turian sprawled on his back on the ground. The Geth sniper had gotten him in the split second before Crassus had returned fire. He couldn’t believe it… Spirits, what was he supposed to do? Obviously he’d contact Command and tell them but, Mav… He blinked several times and almost jumped clean out of his armor when Mav lifted his head off the ground and rolled slowly to his feet.

“By the Spirits!”

“I can’t hear a damn thing you’re sayin’, my fuckin’ ears are ringin’ so damned loud.” Mav growled, brushing himself off. “Dunno if you can hear me either actually.”

Crassus reached him in half a step and grabbed the front of Mav’s chest armor, holding tightly to it as he looked the smaller turian over. At the same time, Mav reached up under his jaw and unclasped his helmet to pull it off.

“Fuck, look at that.” Mav pointed to the streak of embedded debris that peeled away the matte black finish of his helmet along the side of it. The Geth’s bullet had only grazed him but it had done enough to send him to the ground and knock out his comms. “I reckon that might legitimately be the closet I’ve gotten.”

Crassus stared at him. “...Really?”

Mav hung the helmet off his belt and shrugged. “Maybe so. I dunno. Lotta folks try to kill me.” He stretched. “What were you sayin’ while I was makin’ sure my head was attached?”

He blinked at Mav again, his mandibles working along his jaw inside his own helmet. A half centimeter in either direction and…  Sometimes he genuinely didn’t know if he wanted to shake Mav or strangle him. “You’re welcome,” He said tightly. “I said if the Geth installed a jammer, the best spot for it would be under that crane.”

The smaller turian looked up at the canyon walls and sighed. “You feel like takin’ a climb up there?”

…

An hour later after they’d climbed up an almost straight incline, Crassus bent forward with his hands on his knees and huffed as he tried to catch his breath. Mav was doing the same next to him.

“I hate this Spirits forsaken place,” He panted. “My fuckin’ head is poundin’, I’ve got sweat poolin’ in my boots and these fuckin’ humans can’t even build proper fuckin’ stairs. And it smells like fuckin’ decomp up here!”

Crassus straightened up and his mandibles flared widely. “That’s because there are bodies up here.”

“...Ah for fuck’s sake.” Mav spat on the ground.

They’d found the Alliance soldiers and even more dismantled Geth. Along with scattered pools of dried blood and what could almost be called a swarm of insects. Mav strode past him with a hand over his mouth and nose, giving bodies a poke with his foot as he went. Crassus followed him more sedately, respectful of the dead even if they weren’t his own species.

“Fuck, I feel bad sayin’ shit ‘bout the stairs now.” Mav muttered. “This ain’t no way to die. Look at this mess.”

“I’d rather not.” Crassus muttered. The Geth had torn them apart and literally in a few cases.

Mav loitered by the operating cab of the crane, running his hand back and forth over his fringe. “Yeah, fair ‘nough I reckon. Shit.” He said. “Alright. I’m gonna wiggle my way in under the crane and see if I can’t find that damn jammer. You just don’t let nothin’ else shoot at me.”

Crassus nodded his head and pulled his rifle down into his hands again. The smaller turian muttered a few more things to himself as he got down on his belly and did indeed wiggle in under the crane, his feet kicking against the dirt until he was out of sight. That he could fit beneath it in his heavy armor was a testament to how small he was. Crassus paced a tight loop around it, his head tilted as he listened to every sound… The buzz of those insects, the creak in the joins of his armor as he sifted, Mav displacing dirt and rocks and whatever else beneath the crane… A footstep not his own. Crassus stopped pacing. The insects had gone silent.

“Mav,” He called. “I think you should forget about the jammer. We need to leave.”

“In a sec, big guy!” He yelled.

Crassus’ every instinct in the seconds that followed told him to run and he marched over to the crane, knelt and reached under. He found Mav’s ankle and wrapped his hand around it, Mav cursed and kicked at him.

“Spirits! You scared the shit outta me!” He snarled.

“Shut up and put your head down so I can pull you out.” Crassus snapped back at him.

“Let me the fuck go.”

“Yes. You should let him go.” There was a click and a whir sound and Crassus stilled even his breathing.