#and i just really really really hate the sound /sweep makes - i think it should count as griefing to afk in public spaces doing it

[gigifujijifu]

Anyone else remember the little 88x31 buttons from older internet days? I've been remembering them a lot lately.

I make ffxiv ones in msp when I'm in queue or my bf is flying me around between quests.

[deadsetobsessions]

Alley Drunk! Danny AU- Pt. 4

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3]

Danny blinked down at the cart, where a red hoodie and pants with red stripes along the side laid over the lip of the cart. Considering they’re in this universe’s brand of Marget- seriously, who names a store Target? If anything in Amity Park was named that, Skulker would have wrecked it in five seconds flat- it’s hilariously on brand. Though, to be fair, this was Gotham’s version too, which meant a lot of security guards (who definitely doubled as goons for the Rogues, Danny was sure) and the vibes were spooky.

“I’m guessing red’s your favorite color.”

Instead of the humorous way he meant the sentence, Jason looked up anxiously and Danny immediately hated himself a little bit more.

“Sh- I can put it back..?” Jason hunched in on himself.

Danny tracked the movement with clearer eyes than he’s had in a long while and ancients, does it remind him of how Dani was in front of Vlad all those years ago. And Danny has spent his entire half life being not like Vlad, so he’s not going to start now.

“Nah, you should definitely add some more stuff. This is no where near enough clothes.”

It really wasn’t. Danny had taken Jason to the store to pick out clothes- “Ther’s a second hand store down the stree’, ya know,” Jason had mumbled when they went through the doors- but the kid had only tentatively put in a small red hoodie and some pants in the cart. Now he had to put this in a way that’ll wipe the stubbornly hesitant look on Jason’s face off.

“Think about it this way, then. You’re repping me now, and while I might be the alley drunk, I’m not the poorly dressed alley drunk, yeah?”

“Oh. Tha’ makes sense.” Jason nodded to himself determinedly, and the kid strode over to the t-shirt section. For all of his confidence, he still glanced back to see if it was okay with Danny.

Well, Dani was the same way before she found her confidence (when she knew Danny wouldn’t abandon her or hurt her) so Danny just gave him a thumbs up before reaching into the rack and sweeping an armful of clothing straight into the cart. Then, he strode over to the jackets and grabbed the ones in Jason’s size and slightly bigger. Oh, he has to grab shoes. He’ll leave that for later, but Danny was going to get those ratty trainers off of Jason’s feet and into the nearest trash can if it was the last thing he does.

The halfa hummed, pausing at the first decidedly not miserable sound he’s made in a while. Dammit, if that wasn’t a sign of Danny’s attachment to Jason, he doesn’t know what would be. To be fair… Danny already committed murder for the kid, which was pretty much something he thought he’d never do, so in for a penny out for a pound or whatever.

He put a significant amount of the budget aside for the section labeled “JASON” so Danny shopped without a worry. Charlie’s ill-gotten assets were a good monetary compensation for his crime of existing near Jason or existing, period.

He picked up toiletries, toothbrushes and the like, when Jason came back sans t-shirt. Instead of a shirt- Danny had actually hoped that Jason would try to get multiple shirts- Jason was clutching a book.

Before he could even voice anything, Danny plucked the book out of his grip and put it into the cart with a disarming smile.

“Oh, good idea. We should get you books too. Wanna go pick out some more?”

“Uh- y’re just gonna get a book, just like that?”

“More than one book, I should hope. You are going to school, right?”

“…Yeah!” Danny couldn’t fathom ever being excited at the thought of school, but as Jason bounced away to peruse the admittedly poor selection of books, Danny couldn’t help but think that maybe he should give this education thing another try. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be less stressful now that he’s not Phantom.

Danny walked to the aisle next to the books and promptly proceeded to shove every single piece of stationary he thought was nice- pens, gel pens, cooling pens and pencils, a thick stack of notebooks, flash cards, etcetera- into the rapidly getting full cart.

Jason came back with three more books- nice, the classics- and froze at the sight of the cart.

“Oh, hey. Getting all of those?”

“Wha’- wha’s wit’ the stuff?”

“School supplies! Quality education starts with quality supplies, you know!” Danny said, a sliver of the grin that used to come so easily to him making an appearance on his face. "Don't worry, I budgeted. See?"

Danny handed Jason a piece of paper, confident that the kid would know if it was good or not.

"Where'd... ya get all of this?"

"Hmm... here and there."

Jason looked up at him, squinting suspiciously. "I hear' Charlie's gone poofed up."

Danny shrugged and put a calculator in the cart. "Oh, I'm sure he's busy."

Yeah, Danny thought vindictively. Busy being dead.

"Ya sound like a walking con," Jason said as he visibly decided to give up fighting against Danny's spending. "We nee' food."

"Gotcha. Well, if you need anything else, just bring it into the cart."

"I want veggies. Frozen, 's cheaper."

Danny nodded, resisting the urge to ruffle Jason's hair.

----

"Hey, you's the Alley Drunk, right? 'Bout that boy you've been toting ar-"

Danny punched the guy in the face, dropping him like a stone. He looked up slowly and swayed.

"Any of you ask about my kid brother again, and I won't bother with being drunk when I hit you."

Rapid nods. Danny shuffled away, satisfied.

----

Two weeks later, after a school day, Danny finds Jason heading to the bathroom with a box of...

"Hair-dye?"

Jason, who was marginally more relaxed and assured that Danny wasn't going to kick him out, nodded.

"Dye's fadin' n' I dun wanna get nabbed on the streets for having red hair."

Danny blinked. "You have red hair?"

"Sure do. See? Roots are showin' again." Jason pointed at his scalp where Danny could see the hair was getting lighter.

"Right. Well- I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you need help, kiddo." Danny said, desperately hoping he hid how off kilter he was feeling well.

"I don't need help, ah've been doing this for ages." The kid went into the bathroom and closed the door harshly. When the lock clicked and the faucet began running, Danny let himself slide down the wall into a crouch, hands cradling his head.

Red hair. Blue eyes. Tan skin. The facial features. The intelligence and empathy.

Danny chuckled hysterically under his breath.

Was Jason this universe's version of Jazz?

"Fuck."

[buckevantommy]

Buck wakes slowly, his sore muscles protesting as he stretches out in the early morning. He needs more sleep, but he can hear tommy moving around the room getting ready for his shift.

Buck hums. "G'mornin'." His eyes are still closed. He takes his time edging towards full consciousness but can't help the smile that stretches his mouth wide as Tommy echoes his words back to him, voice low and gentle.

The bed dips at his hip as Tommy settles beside him. Buck sighs contentedly when Tommy's hand cards through his sleep-mussed curls. "How was your shift?"

Buck makes a face, head tilting this way and that, then deciding to push into Tommy's touch like a sleepy cat. "Gerrard's a real piece of work, huh."

"Unfortunately."

Tommy's hand scritches at his scalp and a whine trips out of Buck's throat. He doesn't want Tommy to leave. He hates that their shifts haven't aligned properly in over two weeks, only managing to catch each other for a few hours of sleep together here and there.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Buck makes a noise of displeasure, his softened smile replaced with a pout, he knows. He folds his arms around Tommy's forearm, keeping him close. He can have his arm back later. And his hand. Buck's not finished with them just yet.

Tommy fits his other hand to Buck's cheek, thumb brushing under his eye. "Hey."

Buck finally blinks his eyes open to find Tommy looking at him, gaze soft and fond and mouth quirking to hold back a smile. Buck takes a breath and exhales in a huff, turning his face to press a lingering kiss to Tommy's palm. He wriggles in place under the duvet, wondering what the likelihood is of convincing Tommy to call in sick and spend the day in bed with him.

"Wish I could bring you to work with me."

That coaxes Buck's smile back. He presses another kiss to Tommy's palm. "Bring your boyfriend to work day should totally be a thing."

Tommy chuckles and it makes Buck want to record that sound and play it on a loop. Tommy fills his senses. He can smell the woodsy note of his aftershave and the ocean pine scent of his soap. The combined scent of their bodies mingled with Tommy's detergent in the sheets. He wants to bottle the redolence and take it to work to sniff whenever he's missing his boyfriend or just having a hard day. Because Tommy's presence soothes him.

"I miss you." His thumbs sweep over Tommy's wrist, his pulse steady beneath his touch.

Tommy sighs and leans down to press a kiss to Buck's birthmark. He melts, but still tilts his head up, pout returning a little, demanding a proper kiss. Tommy obliges. "We'll figure it out. I promise."

Buck wants to believe him. He knows Tommy will do everything he can on his end to get their rosters aligned. He also knows Gerrard has it in for both of them, meaning he'll continue doing everything he can to keep them apart - until Buck gives up and quits, probably. The guy really needs a hobby.

Brushing his nose alongside Tommy's, he nods. "Call me when you're on break? Or if it's not too busy?"

"Of course."

With one last kiss, Tommy pulls away and Buck lets his arm slide from his grip, fingers entangling for a moment before he lets Tommy go. He glances over from the doorway as Buck urges him to, "Be safe."

Tommy nods, his smile a private thing. A promise. "Get some rest."

Buck wants to say it. But they haven't said it. Not yet. Doesn't mean he doesn't feel it, or that he thinks Tommy doesn't. They're definitely on their way, even if Tommy's not there just yet. And Buck has a habit of rushing things and he doesn't want to ruin the good thing they have going. So, he doesn't say it. They have time.

As he listens to Tommy making his way through the house and out the front door, his eyes slip shut again. It's still early, and this time of year doesn't see much sun in Tommy's bedroom in the morning so sleep begins pulling him back under quickly. He lets Tommy's reassurance soothe him as he drifts off, cocooned in Tommy, hugging the covers closer and turning his nose into the pillow. They'll figure it out. Together.

[charliehoennam]

primetime.

a/n: i hate rusty but he brings out my inner hoe byeeeee

pairing: rusty isabitch sabich x f!reader

summary: rusty is overwhelmed by the trial and sought you out to help him forget about his worries.

warning: 18+ ONLY. NSFW. smut, infidelity, c&b torture, suffocation, oral sex, p in v, facesitting, dom-ish reader??

Rusty’s pale blue gaze sweeps over your half-naked body as you come out of the shower, dressed in nothing but a silk black robe as he unpacks the Chinese take-out from the restaurant’s brown paper bag. 

You thank him for receiving the takeout when the desk clerk brought it up to the apartment, smiling at the sight of his messy hair from the shower he took with you.

He smirks back at you and compliments the robe. Leaving half of the containers and sauces in the bag, he turns and pulls you by the hips.

Rusty relishes in the silky touch of your robe, reminded of the silky touch of your most intimate areas. You allow him to kiss you with his hands under the fabric, groping at your ass before gently pushing him back with the reminder that you’re hungry.

Sitting on your lavish couch, you mostly talk about the case he’s been stuck in ever since Carolyn’s death. Between bites and swigs from the brown beer bottle perched on the floor beside you, he confesses things and emotions to you that he feels he can’t confess to anyone.

His lingering love for Carolyn. The troubles in his marriage. The fear of hatred from his children. How jealous he secretly feels to know his wife kissed someone else.

Despite not having romantic feelings towards Rusty, you do consider him a friend. Some friends play golf, shoot hoops or pool. You and Rusty fuck.   

It feels natural for you both. You met Rusty a bit after he began his affair with Carolyn through a dating app. The pair of you were looking for a good talk and fuck and although there were no strings attached on your behalf, Rusty decided to conceal his marriage by hiding hi wedding band.

When you found out the truth, you were livid at Rusty. Not for being married to someone that’s not you – you didn’t love him. You’re happily married to a man who treats you like a queen and is modern enough to have accept your open marriage.

What bothered you is that he didn’t tell you about it. Having sex with other people is only fine when all parties agree to it. He tried to argue that it was the same as your marriage, but you were quick to stomp out his bullshit.

That was when you told Rusty you had to end the relationship with him.

Looking out the panoramic windows of your high-rise apartment, he watches the city from above as you take the dirty empty dishes to the kitchen.

“Isn’t your husband coming home?”

“No. He’s in New York for the week.”

“Does he know you’re seeing me again?”

You pause and glance at him.

“Whatever happened to don’t ask, don’t tell?”

Rusty never liked talking about your husband. Deep down, he felt a little sting of jealousy in his chest. He was never really fond of sharing his toys, but he would never tell you that.

“Just curious as to how you guys make it work?”

“He knows, yes” you reply sitting back on the couch. “And he doesn’t like you.”

“How come he lets you still me?”

“Because choosing who I fuck is decided by me, not him.”

He smirks at your boldness, surprised as he tries to paint a mental image of you talking to your husband about the other guy you fuck.

“I guess that’s only fair” he nods.

“He just doesn’t want me to get into trouble. Your last mistress did end up dead, after all.”

Rusty’s head falls forward as he watches himself wring his hands. You didn’t think before sayin it and his reaction makes you realize how harsh it really sounds.

There’s a tug at your heartstrings that unbridles a guilt you didn’t even know you had inside.

“I’m sorry, Rusty. That came out a lot worse than-“

“It’s alright.”

You can’t tell it’s not. He’s not. Being reminded of Carolyn’s death and the way she was murdered is like a wet rag over a flame.

“I should get going,” Rusty moves to stand feeling like a guest who’s overstayed their welcome.

“No. Stay.”

Your plea comes with a hand on his arm. He looks at your gentle touch and watches it moves to his thigh, slowly caressing the thick muscle there.

“Stay with me, hm?” you whisper as his eyes meet yours.

Cautiously closing the space between you both, you place a tender kiss to his cheek. He closes his eyes, letting your affection melt his worries away. He knows he shouldn’t. It should feel wrong. But his head tilts to the side and meet your butterfly kisses with his lips.

Your legs sweep over his and you move to straddle his lap, quick to unzip his hoodie that shields his shirtless body. His large hands squeeze your thighs and ass here and there as they explore your body.

Your open palms frolic over his furry chest, indulging in the thick layer of dark hair that sends butterflies fluttering around his stomach. Already excited for what’s to come, heat bubbles in his core.

Kneading your ass, his thick fingers slip to your waist to untie the knot of the robe. You let it fall open, too mesmerized by his unyielding kisses on your neck as the silky fabric slides down your shoulders.

Rusty likes to think of your body as a magical map. He knows all the secrets to a world only he knows, filled with hidden paths to the extraordinary highs not even you knew how to unlock.

He knows how to make you come undone; he had made his personal mission to do so and you reciprocated with lust of the same intensity.

Your exposed sex presses against his hardened member. You can feel it as it twitches in his gray sweatpants when his hands capture your breast, squeezing at the soft flesh.

“Take this off.”

His eagerness doesn’t allow him to wait for you to slip your arms from the sleeves, so his hasty hands do the work for you. It forces him to pull away from your neck and cease his bruising mauling. He tosses the t-shirt to the ground; your bra follows and lands on top of it.

Heat pools in your depths like fire under a cauldron as fleeting kisses trail down your sternum and stop in the valley between your breast.

Gravely moans hum out from the back of his throat as he deeply inhales the delightful aroma left on your skin by your favorite body wash.

His hungry lips take their turns altering from one nipple to the other, latching and suckling at the hardening buttons. His restless tongue circles around each of them as he squeezes your breasts together as if he could swallow them both.

Your back arches into his touch which sends waves of pleasure straight to your core, especially when his teeth and growing 5 o’clock shadow scrap along your tender tits.

Skin burning feverishly, you moan his name over and over, telling him how good he’s making you feel. Your praises never fail to ignite something darker in him.

“Lemme taste you again” he breathes against your lips.

Arousal moistens your sex at his request, damp with your lust for him. You nod excitedly just thinking about how well he ate you out just a couple hours ago.

He lays down on the couch, stretching his tall frame along its length. With his legs being too long, he has to bend his knees to rest his soles on the cushion while you watch him adjust, waiting for the right moment to straddle his head.

Fully naked, he reaches for your thighs to pull you closer. You carefully settle your knees on either side of his head and remove the back cushion of his sofa to make room for your position.

Tucking your bare feet under his arms, he impatiently snakes his arms around your frame and grope at your breasts. Your hips lower and you finally take your seat on his face.

His tongue hungrily laps your drenched plushy lips, licking up every drop of your arousal. One of your hands combs through his dark hair while the other rests on the sofa’s arm, keeping you balanced.  

Your hips slowly rock back and forth, hovering over his mouth just enough to let his tongue sandwich itself between your juicy lips.  

Hands gliding down your front, his fingers eagerly creep down past your hips to reach your cunt. They gently pull at your sweet lips, parting them in such a way that makes fire rise to your cheeks at the extreme exposure.

Finding your sensitive bundle of nerves, he suckles at it and alters to and from the circling of his tongue. He drives you quickly closer and closer towards that familiar climax through faint rippling waves.

As the pleasure builds, his finger rubs at your throbbing nub over and over while his tongue delves deeper, hungrily lapping at the sweet juices trickling from your walls. Grinding down against his face, his finger is replaced by his nose, nudging your pulsing bundle of nerves with every thrust.

Rusty smiles to himself watching your breasts bounce. He revels in his ability of making you contort and whine as he pushes you over that mind-numbing apex that has your body trembling with pleasure.

“Fuck!” you breath heavily rolling your hips along his face. “You like that huh? You like it when I sit on your face?”

He nods with dark devilish eyes, holding your hips aggressively to force them down.

“Don’t tap out quick on me, Rusty.”

You smirk almost evilly as you smother his nose and mouth with your pussy, forcing his wiggling tongue to fuck your soaking hole. Watching the veins on his temples throb, you chuckle as the weight suffocates him.

“Atta boy. Taking it like a champ for me. Can’t get enough of this pussy, can ya? Little more. Little more! You can take it!”

You giggle as his eyes begin to glaze with darkness and his hand finally taps your tummy, a silent request to breathe.

“Such a good boy for me, baby” you praise him as he pants breathlessly, reaching his hand down to stroke his stiff aching cock.

“No,” you order firmly with a contradicting smile. “You don’t get to control that pleasure. That’s my job.”

“Y-yes” he pants.

Rusty’s eyes never leave the sight of your pussy, even when you stand and remove yourself from your human seat.

With a nod of your head, you command him to scoot further down as you hand him one of the decorative pillows to place under his head. Your leg lifts again and you straddle him once more, only this time, you grant yourself the view of his dick as his mouth begins its work again.

Releasing his heavily hard and thick member, you push his sweat pants down and slide them off his legs with his help. The second your hand wraps around it, his hands squeeze your ass cheeks.

You press his leaking tip to your lips, pushing your spit onto his head. Judging from the precum, he doesn’t need much, but you like it when things get messy.

Rusty has to contain himself and refrain from combusting when he feels your mouth on his cock. The work you do with your mouth is incomparable and the reason he always tries to be ‘good’ for you – to get himself a blowjob that he’ll touch himself over the following months.

Although you love your husband very much and are more than content with his package, it’s undeniable that Rusty’s is far bigger in length and in girth.

You moan as you take him in deep with your finger and thumb at the base, his tip hitting the back of your throat with ease. As your head bobs up and down, your other hand moves lower to cup his balls and gingerly squeeze them.

One at a time, you’re careful to not apply too much pressure too soon. You work him up to that slowly until you’re able to tourniquet them with your fingers. You squeeze them, making them plump for punishment.  

“Ready to be a good boy again, baby?”

He hums but you feel his head nod between your leg, drenched in the sticky slimy mess he’s made of your cunt.

“You’re not gonna cum, are you?” you smirk gently grazing your open palm over the delicate swollen sack.

He shakes his head eagerly.

You deliver the first slap. Not too hard; just enough to allow to prepare stronger ones. He groans as his body trembles underneath yours.

“Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“F-feels so fucking good!” he whimpers squeezing your ass as he braces for more blows.

The delicious pain overwhelms him enough to lose track of your pleasure, so you order him to get back to work and threaten to stop. You laugh at how quick he is to bury his face back into your sopping pussy.

After a few more and harder blows to his balls, separated by the bobbing of your head and stroking of his dick, he pushes you firmly with a firm slap to your ass.

“Gimme this fucking pussy,” he begs.

He doesn’t bother to wipe your juices off his face as you both stand. You can taste yourself when his lips desperately crash on you. Dipping his larger frame, he taps at your thighs as an unspoken invitation to jump.

His strong arms are quick to effortlessly lift you up until your legs are able to hug his hips. He guides you backwards and pins you to the panoramic wall of sturdy glass.

Using your hand, you align his cock to your entrance and him penetrate you with ease. You moan as you relish in the fullness and stretch of him inside you. He smirks to himself watching your mouth hang open in a daze.

“Let’s give my neighbors a show, baby.”

[moonstruckme]

Hi I love your poly marauders fics so much!! Is it possible for you to write one where the reader has to go to the doctors but she absolutely hates the doctor and needles. Totally fine if not 💗

Thanks lovely!

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Remus has strong-armed you into looking at your ankle again. Almost literally strong-armed you, with James as his lackey, your curly headed boyfriend keeping an arm wrapped around your shoulders that’s as affectionate as it is binding. Remus gnaws on his lip as he prods at your swollen leg, making quiet sounds of discontent at whatever he feels. 

He looks up at you, brows knit together. “The swelling hasn’t gone down at all, dove.” 

“It will soon,” you say faithfully. “It’s only been a couple of days.” 

“You should at least be able to walk on it by now.”

“I can,” you reply. “It doesn’t feel great, but I can walk on it.” 

He gives you a deadpan look, and you can feel James’ silent chuckling against your side. “That’s not what I mean,” Remus says. “I’m sorry love, but you need to get this checked out.” 

You open your mouth, but Remus reads the argument in your face before it passes your lips. 

“By a professional,” he clarifies. 

You huff, crossing your arms in front of you. “What’re they gonna tell me that I don’t already know? Rest, elevate, etcetera, etcetera.” You roll your eyes. James begins to sweep his thumb back and forth on your shoulder, trying to pacify you. “There’s no point in going into some cold office for that.” 

“Unless it’s more serious than we think,” Remus counters. His eyes are worried, but his mouth is set in a firm line. “If you’d only twisted it, it wouldn't have swelled up this badly. And even if it isn’t that bad,” he goes on, bulldozing over the protest that comes to your tongue, “at least they’ll be able to give you a real compress. These bandages get too loose, which probably isn’t helping with the healing.” 

“It’ll heal if I give it time,” you say stubbornly, pulling your leg from his grip and starting to rewrap it yourself. “Stop worrying so much.” 

“Dove.” It’s his no-nonsense voice. “Our deal was that if it wasn’t getting better after three days, you’d go get it looked at.” He ducks to make you meet his eyes, softening when he finds them. “It’s time, sweetheart.” 

You’ve just finished rebandaging your ankle and are deliberating between arguing more or just sitting in silent opposition when you hear the rattle of Sirius’ keys. Remus rolls his eyes (out of habit at this point, you think) when he kicks in the door. 

“You’d think I was eighty, hungry at five thirty in the after…whoa.” Sirius trails off as he senses the sober mood in your home, and his eyebrows pinch when his gaze lands on you. “What’s got you so riled up, lovebug?” 

James hugs you tighter to his side, impervious to your sulking as he rubs your upper arm roughly. “She’s gotta go to the doctor,” he says. 

“Aw.” Sirius pouts, coming the rest of the way towards you to drop a kiss on your head. “Ankle’s not doing so well?” 

“If anything, it’s getting worse,” Remus sighs. 

“Is not,” you snipe back. 

“It’s not going to be as bad as you think, baby.” Sirius squats in front of you, taking your hand in his. “Let’s just go now, yeah? Get it over with.” 

Even Remus looks surprised at that. “Alright,” he says after a second, “yeah, that’s a good idea.” He stands, and so does Sirius, pulling your hand upwards with him like you’ve any likelihood of following it. 

You look at James for help. Even he seems resolved, but his eyes reveal more sympathy for your plight than the others’. “I know you’re nervous,” he says softly, hand brushing your cheek to slot a strand of hair behind your ear, “but do you really think we’re gonna let anything bad happen to you?” 

You sigh, and when James stands you let him take you with him, his arm around your waist to support some of your weight as you limp out to the car. Sirius forgoes his usual place in the passenger seat to sit with you and James in the back, the both of them providing silent support by way of half-hugs (James) and a steadying hand on your leg (Sirius). It’s very difficult to be cross with people who are showering you in affection, but you manage. You sit sandwiched between them with an immovable frown on your face, spiraling deeper and deeper into your thoughts until suddenly you look up and the car has stopped. 

Remus has turned around to face you from the driver’s seat. “C’mon, dove,” he says, and you notice that you’re the only one with your seatbelt still on. You take a breath, finding that your throat has become clogged with tears you didn’t feel coming on. You bite down on your lower lip, hard. 

“Angel,” James sighs, and your guilt for putting them through this almost rivals your anger at them for putting you through this. He unbuckles your seatbelt himself, hauling you up against his side. Your face is hot with shame and unshed tears. “It’s a thousand times worse in your head than it’s actually gonna be, my love.” 

Remus looks genuinely apologetic as he reaches over from the front seat, rubbing your knee. “I hate that you’re having to do something that makes you so anxious, sweetheart, but you’re in pain. We can’t make it better all by ourselves.” You meet his eyes, and he pushes his advantage, giving your knee a little squeeze. “Let’s just go inside, I’m sure it won’t take long. Okay, darling?” 

“Okay,” you assent, following Sirius out of the car and allowing him to tug your arm over his shoulders, helping you hop towards the door. “Sorry I’m making this so difficult.” 

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” Sirius insists, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. James and Remus are both quick to agree. They’re laying on the affection rather thick, and any other time you’d be irritated by the delicate flower treatment, but right now you appreciate it. “We all have things that freak us out a bit,” Sirius goes on. “Remember when James saw that baby snake behind our place?”

“Ugh.” James shudders. “We agreed not to talk about that. I still think we should move.” 

Sirius grins at his boyfriend’s misery, lightly bumping your hip with his. “There you have it, lovely. We’ve all got our things. So don’t worry about this, yeah? We’ll stay with you, and afterward we can hunt down Remus’ comfort chocolate.” 

Remus huffs but doesn’t protest. Later, he’ll bring the chocolate out of hiding to give it to you himself.

[k-n0-x]

༺ ♱✮♱ ¨:·Something Stupid- Chapter 1·:¨ ♱✮♱ ༻

A/N- Hey everyone! I hope you guys are doing well. This story is a longer series of Lucifer Morningstar x reader where you’re Adam’s third wife. This story will have roughly 10 official chapters, but there will be shorter fillers which will be labelled as [previous chapter number].5. 

I also made a playlist in honour of this fanfiction :D

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Enjoy! <3

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🦢♕✶💫☾🥀꧂ 

As you use your wings to sweep down to the sultry streets of Hell, you frantically look around for any stray troops, for them to tell you everything. Anything. 

“Where is this gods be darned hotel,” You think to yourself, along with other incoherent and unfinished thoughts.

But it all connects back to one hanging thought in the back of your mind.

Heaven is a Lie.

What happened to all that “Killing is bad” and “Murder is sin” bullshit that they preached?

This is a genocide. 

All of these demons, from young to old, didn’t do anything wrong, (well atleast, not in this moment)

Is it that hard for Adam to see? 

He’s been feeding you these utter lies this entire time? This news was a bombshell on you at the meeting when that lovely young girl, Charlie was pitching her idea.

Speaking of bombs, a piercing and explosive sound emits from the other side of the city.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

As you traverse the debris of the crumbling city, you spot two familiar faces amongst the face of fire.

One of which that you despised ever since that meeting.

Lute.

The other had her back faced towards the lieutenant. Her horns protruded from her scalp and her long blonde hair billowing in the breeze, unaware that Lute was about to strike. 

“LUTE, NO!” You put yourself in the face of the Angelic weapon, your wings disarming the troop general to avoid her striking down Charlie.

“Y/N? What in the actual living fuck are you doing here?” 

“I should be the one asking the questions here,” You point an accusing finger into the general’s chest. 

“Where’s Adam? I need to have a serious discussion with him. If you see any other troops, tell them to stand down,” 

“You’re not my bos-”

“I said. Stand. The. Fuck. Down. NOW!” You stare Lute down, and she glares at you back. 

She doesn’t say anything, but you could see her biting her tongue.

You turn to Charlie.

“Charlie, come on, we gotta go!”

“But, I- I don’t understand, why are you he-”

“Just trust me on this one okay? Go and make sure no one is in imminent danger. I will handle my husband myself,”

The Princess looks up at you, eyes flooded with admiration, trust, and hope as you soar back into action.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

You swoop in and out of  shattered buildings in fruitless attempts to find Adam amidst the screams and battle cries of both Angels and Demons.

“Adam? ADAM?!” You screech into the crimson sultry sky. 

Another explosive pierces through the sky from not far where you were barely a minute ago.

“Ugh, Lute I swear,” You mutter under your breath and your attention is quickly turned to two shadows attacking each other. You look overhead and see two figures; one of them is adorned with a priest’s garments (obviously, Adam), and the other… well…

Does not have a definable shape whatsoever. 

One moment, it has taken the form of a bird, and the next it has the figure of a snake.

One thing never changed though, a sporting white top hat stayed gracefully on his head in each form.

This ever changing specimen seems to be teasing your partner. 

“Adam? Haven’t seen ya since Eden,” He maneuvered between all of Adam’s punches.

“Gotta say, it really seems like you’ve let yourself go,”

Adam scoffs. 

“You, Lucifer, judging me? You’re the most hated being in all of gods be damned creation!”

Ah, that makes much more sense now.

The shape-shifting demon, finally setting on a figure, with a smirk, almost nonchalant expression on his face.

Dodging the First Man’s bolts of angelic power, Lucifer still doesn’t relent with the tomfoolery.

“Well, your first wife didn’t seem to hate what I had to offer,” He places his index and middle gloved digits between his lips and drags them downwards, his snake tongue between them.

Ooof, that’s gotta hurt.

Well it definitely did. On Lucifer’s end that is for sure. One of Adam’s blows finally managed to hit him, knocking him backwards, and inadvertently knocking you out of your trance.

Fuck, you were supposed to be stopping this.

“ADAM!” Your husband turns to face you, looking from the ground, dumbfounded.

“Y/n?! What the actual fuck are you doing down here?”

“Why is everyone asking me that?!” You draw in a breath, irritated.

Just get to the point.

“Tell your little army to stop. Playtime’s over,”

Adam descends down to you, with disagreement written all over his face.

“Nah,” He smirks.

“What the FUCK do you mean ‘Nah?’ What are you, 10?” 

“Yeah, 10 inches deep in you,” 

Your face distorts into a one of disdain. Marrying is probably one of the worst decisions you made.

“You don’t need to make this any harder than it needs to be,” Then it clicked. An utterly vile, but devious idea struck your mind.

“Dear Adam,” you hum, layering on the most seductive voice you can. Both Adam and Lucifer look at you, both confused at your quick change of tone.

Well this is going to be the most embarrassing 30 seconds of your life.

Alas, you carry yourself with a more fluid demeanor, as his eyes follow you. Though as stupid as he is, he isn’t going to fall for your tricks that easily.

You snuggle up to him, your hand gently caressing his upper thigh, reaching right where the source of all manhood was. Stroking not only his dick, but his ego as well, which you were really going for.

You whisper in his ear. 

“Come back home darling~ you need some time to rest, hm?” You let your fingers circle around his tip. “I’ve been waiting for you for a while now~”

He smirks. Bingo. 

“Fine, but I’ll be waiting for you at home, love,” He says with a wild grin.

“Lovely,” you say through smiling teeth.

Though behind that smile, there is absolutely nothing worthy of mentioning.

꧁ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ❂♕☻☹☻♕❂ꕥ꧂

“Well, I sincerely apologise for my husband’s behaviour. Honestly, I would have stopped him sooner if I found out,” You bow to the group of demons.

Utter despair is written on the entire group’s faces. 

“What’s the matter? I know your hotel has been blown to bits, but at least everyone here is safe,” your tone is uncertain.

“Right?”

Charlie is the first to pipe up to speak.

“Sir, Pentious- he-,” Her voice cracks.

“Oh honey,” you turn to try and comfort her with your wings, though abruptly interrupted by a threatening cough from Lucifer, who was behind you.

You want to comfort the Princess of Hell, but you decide against it and turn to face the group. 

“I just want to say, before leaving, that I am on your side. I know Heaven is the real enemy and I will try to aid in any possible way, though right now I have to be going,” You look at each demon in turn, Lucifer for last, as he gives you a once over, as though you’ve intrigued him in some way.

“Well, erh, farewell. For now?” You give Charlie a tentative squeeze on the arm, and give Vaggie an acknowledging nod, which was returned.

As you spread your wings and soar back to heaven, you come to the realisation of what you’re gonna have to do when you get home.

Or rather, who…

꧁🥀☽💫✶♛🐣♕✶💫☾🥀꧂

Word count- 1,229

[oneweirdbookaddict]

Alright, @undertheopensky

This one’s all for you 😂

Your long awaited sequel to this fic!

Hope you enjoy!

4849 words, slight warnings for one (1) instance of assault, and ngl its angsty and doesn’t really have a happy ending? But it’s not a bad ending either.

Summary: Four hates towns. Or, well… Four hates his town. The one he protected with his blood, sweat, and tears. Sky asks the right questions.

~~~~

It had been a long couple of days when they arrive in Four’s era.

Right outside the smithy’s house, Four scrambling right through the door and tumbling in. “Papa!” The kid shouts, and they take a minute to glance at each other before following him inside.

Finally met the smithy’s grandfather, got settled in, got to rest for an afternoon, and a home cooked meal.

Now they’ve been tasked with trying to get Four to take them around town for a bit so they can get needed supplies.

And they’re rather unsuccessful.

The kid beams up at him unapologetically. “Sorry, Sky. I can’t. I have chores to do.”

“Four-” Time sighs, but there’s no getting the kid to come. Four’s sweeping out the floor of the forge, eyes sparkling, just happy to be home.

“I’ll find you a map if you give me a minute.” Four hums, turning away.

Time sighs, staring at the back of Four’s head.

Sure enough, Four finishes sweeping and leads them to a small office with a strong looking desk and lots of shelves and drawers.

The kid rustles around in one of the drawers for a moment, pulling out a sheet of parchment and studying it for a moment before offering it to them.

“I can’t read this.” Time reminds him, and Four hums again.

“Don’t need to. Red circle is the apothecary, the center of the town is the market. You’ll find anything there- and it’s just a straight shot past the gates.”

“If it’s so easy-”

“I have chores to do.” Four repeats with a poorly hidden grin, already leaving the room.

“Should we find an inn or are we able to stay here?” He asks, and that gets Four to pause for a minute.

“We have room on the floors. Definitely not enough beds- it might be best for you guys to find the inn and sleep in some beds for a night or two. I dunno. Think about it.” Four shrugs, and then he’s gone.

Time sighs yet again, rolling his eye.

“Time, let him be with his grandpa again.” He says quietly.

“It’s not that.” Time says.” “He knows the town, he knows it well. He can take one hour to make sure we find everything we need. We need potions and medical supplies, we need to restock on rations and food. If we don’t find those-”

He smiles gently at the old man.

“We have more pressing things-”

“Time.” He pushes, slightly less gently. “He’s a child.”

All the fight deflates out of the old man at the reminder.

Seems to remember this, looking away.

“You’re right. I’ve… I’ve been too harsh on him.”

He shrugs, accepting the map from Time. “Let’s get this done- he made it sound like an easy trip. We can be back before supper.”

“Sounds good.” Time agrees, and they leave the room to gather up the others to make the trip to the little town.

~~~~

It's an easy, quick trip to town, and they find Four making supper with his grandfather upon their return.

“Supper should be ready in about fifteen minutes.” Four smiles at them, a little smudge of some sort of seasoning on his cheek.

So they get all their supplies packed up and put away, and enjoy their meal.

He sits next to Four, managing to be lucky enough to sit at the table, meaningless chatter filling the house.

It’s the evening when they really speak again, Time sighing and relenting as he, Twi, and Wars ask to spend some time at a tavern.

“Four, we’re going to find the pub, will you come get us before you settle for the night?” The old man asks.

Four’s expression remains the same for a long second, giving absolutely no indication that he heard Time, then nods. “Yeah. The only one is on the side of town- once you enter go to the right as much as you can and then up towards the castle. Can’t miss it. I’ll get you guys around… eleven and a half bells?”

“Sounds good. Thanks, kiddo.”

“Not a kid.” Four hums, and he has to smile.

“It’s what your grandfather calls you.”

“Yes. My grandfather is sixty two- everyone is a kid to him. He’s called grown adults kiddo.”

He laughs at that, and Four’s eyes flick to him.

“Be safe.” Four says softly, oddly… serious in his warning.

“It’s just a town. Little town,” he says, confused. And it is- a small, peaceful little town. Rather reminds him of Skyloft, actually.

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

Four shrugs, already turning away. “There’s a festival or something coming up soon. Just… it may be busy, people may be territorial. They’re not all so open to outsiders.

“They seemed fine when we went to the market.” Wars frowns, though Four merely shrugs before vanishing into a room.

They take a minute to shrug at each other before heading out the door.

~~~~

It was Twi’s idea to… mess around a bit and try to dig up some information on Four.

He definitely didn’t mean for… all this.

But the situation had spiraled well out of their control, and he’s a little too tipsy to defuse it.

So he clutches his sailcloth in his fist to avoid punching someone.

“Oh… he’s… crazy.” One woman sighs softly. “He… he didn’t come back quite the same. A shame, he was such a good boy.”

The bartender glances up, eyes narrowing. “That’s a rather kind way of saying he had a screaming match with himself in the middle of my shop.”

They all freeze. This has gone way too far, they need to end this, this-

“Oh, your anger towards him is unjustified, Mr. Elson. He’s a boy- he’s a boy, and he’s alone and traumatized. He was so young… how is he supposed-”

“Are you kidding me?” The man laughs incredulously. “The kid is absolutely insane. Didn’t come back right in the head. Being twelve at the time don't change that.”

Rage flies through him, and he forces himself to take a deep breath. Time’s eyes narrow dangerously. Wars looks ready to go full war captain mode.

Seemingly oblivious to their reactions, the man continues.

“I mean, sure. I get it. The poor kid is traumatized. But isn’t that his responsibility? He doesn’t need to come around town and make it the rest of our problem.”

Time’s hands shake with rage, and he feels the blood pounding in his ears. War’s hands clench into fists, but it doesn’t hide their shaking at all.

“It’s been almost three years? I think the kid’s almost sixteen. Used to hang around with the princess, was around her age. He should just be better by now.”

“Guys. Let’s go.” A voice says quietly. The last voice they want to hear right now.

The three men turn around tensely and freeze when they see the smith himself standing behind them.

“You’re not welcome here.” The bartender says, and he whips around, barely leashing his anger when Time places a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, Mr. Elson, I apologize. I’ll be leaving shortly.”

“You’ll be leaving now or I’ll contact the authorities.”

“Yes, sir.” Four says softly.

“Yes, sir.” The man mocks. “Get out of here, you freak. If I catch you around here again-”

They leave the man still angrily ranting about what exactly he’ll do if she catches Four around here again, exiting the shop. The words ‘crazy lunatic’ are heard before the door slams behind them.

“Four-” Time starts quietly, but the smith shakes his head, cutting him off.

“Don’t.” Four’s eyes are trained on the ground, ignoring the glares and whispers thrown his way. “Just… don’t.”

“Four…” He says softly, trailing off when Four stops.

Four looks up for a second, meeting his eyes. Something passes between them- he’s not quite sure what- and then Four looks down at the ground again.

Leads them around a block before pausing. It’s busy for so late at night, he notices finally, glancing down at Four. He had mentioned a festival or something.

The kid gulps visibly, expression flickering into an anxiousness he doesn’t understand.

But slowly steps forward, taking a deep breath.

He and Wars share a glance but follow.

People stare and fall silent as they pass, eyes lingering on Four.

Expressions from anger to curiosity to distrust on their faces. One man looks at Four with such hatred he pauses.

"Move.” Four mumbles to him, and he forces his feet to obey.

But the man stops them, stepping into their path and forcing Four to stop.

“You’re not welcome here.” The man says firmly, crossing his arms.

Four doesn’t even look up from the ground. “I’m just passing through.”

“You’re going to take another way. You’re not welcome here.”

Four chews his lip, finally looking up.

“Going around takes an hour, please just this one time-”

“Don’t make me call the guards, freak. Get out of here.”

“Please- one time, just one time, you can watch me all the way through-”

Quicker than he or even Wars can react, the man lashes out and strikes Four across the face.

Four stumbles back, clutching his face, ignoring or not hearing their yelps.

“I said get out of here. We want nothing to do with you. Now scram.”

Four turns without another word and starts back down the path. He glares at the man for a long moment until Wars gently taps his arm- their signal to keep going.

The ranch hand refuses.

“You have no right.” Twi scowls, and the man looks to the rancher. “He sacrificed everything for you.”

“Twi.” Wars mutters under his breath.

The man laughs. Loudly. “It would’ve been better if he’d never stuck his nose in that shady shit to begin with- and then came back all jumbled, talking to himself and having screaming matches with nobody in the middle of the road. You keep that freak away from me, you hear me?! He’s a freak!” The man yells the last part at Four’s retreating back.

Four’s shoulders hunch down, the kid shrinking into himself.

Twi grabs the man by his tunic, shaking the man rather ungently. “He sacrificed everything for you! You don’t even understand what he’s been through!”

“Twilight.” Wars says softly, seriously, grabbing his arm.

The rancher shoves the man away, sending him to the ground. “A freak?! That’s a child you’re assaulting!”

Twi glowers down at the now cowering man, disgust on his face. “You’re not even with his time.” The rancher mutters, turning his back and finally letting Wars drag him down to where Four’s waiting down the street.

Not quite meeting their eyes, cheek pink where he’d been hit.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Four mumbles, taking the turn to leave town.

“Four-”

“They’ll know you’re with me. You guys won’t be able to come back- they won’t want you here either.”

Silence.

Four leads them all the way around- for such a little town it sure does take a lot of time to get around- back to the forge.

Inside the front door, down the hall to his room, vanishing from sight.

~~~~

There’s a long silence where everyone stares up at where the smith had disappeared, then Time shakes his head.

“Leave him be.”

It’s a quiet night, the others taking in their tenseness.

Twi hesitates, looking down the hall where Four had vanished, fidgeting-

“Twi. Leave it.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“I know. Just leave him be.” Time says gently.

“But-” the rancher cuts off, sighing slowly.

“Is he ok?” Wind mumbles groggily, having been woken up as they came in.

“Yeah.” Wars says gently, making his way over to the sailor. “Go back to sleep, you could stand to grow a little more.”

The sailor squawks in protest, but the captain only snickers and affectionately ruffles Wind’s hair.

Gets his bedroll set up next to the sailor’s, settling down. Time and Twi slowly do the same, Twi’s gaze still lingering down the hall.

“I’ll go check-”

“Twi.” He interrupts gently. “He doesn’t want to talk to us. Try it in the morning.”

Another long sigh, but the rancher finally settles.

He stretches out himself, missing the bit of warmth Four usually provided during the night.

~~~~

He wakes up early- very early, the rest are still sleeping and the moon hasn’t even set yet.

He’s suspecting around two chimes, but he can’t tell for sure. Time feels different in Four’s era- it has a strong flow.

Or maybe the surface is making him crazy.

He stands, though, stretching softly and goes in search of the smith. Down the hall, rubbing his eyes.

The room Four had shown him and labeled it ‘his’ is empty when he glances into it.

So he wanders down the hall into the other room, peeking carefully into the room-

Four’s slumped next to a table, surrounded by books.

The room is packed with book after book- on shelves that line the room.

It is a small room- the size of a large closet, really- but it’s still an impressive amount of books.

A small table is shoved into the corner, two cushions on the available sides.

That’s where Four is, curled up on one of the cushions, a blanket over him, book still open in his hands.

He slowly walks the rest of the way inside, stepping carefully over books on the floor to get to his friend and sitting next to him.

Carefully takes the book in his hands, putting a folded slip of parchment in it to mark the page, closing it and setting it aside.

Slowly, carefully, taking hold of the teenager and getting him carefully into his arms-

Four shifts and mumbles sleepily, nestling closer to him with a soft noise of contentment.

“Shh… I’ve got you, kiddo.” He whispers.

Four’s eyes flutter, but don’t open.

He carefully carries the smith back down the hall, tucking him gently into the bed in the corner, the teenager mumbling again and curling into the soft bed.

“Better than that little cushion on the floor, yeah?” He whispers, getting the blankets around the kiddo.

Four’s hand slowly grabs at the blanket, other one finding his hand and clinging to it.

“Shh…” he hums softly, trying to ease Four’s hand off of him… Four’s eyes flutter open, and he freezes.

“Stay with me.” The smith murmurs groggily, slowly releasing the grip on his hand when he nods in shock.

Four manages to scoot to the side of the bed so he can lay next to him, the smithy curling right back into his arms when gets settled.

“G’night, Sky.” Four mumbles drowsily, and he has to smile.

“Sleep well, buddy.”

~~~~

He sits in his bed, gazing out the window thoughtlessly. Sky snores softly next to him. 

Watches the sun slowly rise, the light peek through the window in beautiful shades of gold, pink, and orange. 

Trying not to think back to the weeks after his adventure, but… after a day like yesterday how could he not?

“It’s going to be ok.” Zelda had said softly once, his first time seeing her after everything. “But it’s going to be different.” 

If only she knew how right she was. 

“Four?” 

Sky. 

He glances down, forcing a little smile. 

“Hey, Sky.” He manages, the knight rubbing his eyes and flopping so he’s on his back. 

He’s reminded heavily of a golden retriever asking for belly rubs, and has to resist the urge to smile. 

Silence. Sky looks nervously at him, matching his smile with one that’s equally as fake. 

“You can ask.” He says finally, laying back again to curl into Sky’s warmth. “I… I owe you an explanation.” 

Sky finally does. 

“This is why? Why you hate towns? Why you prefer to stay at the inn, or do research, or… anything other than the market.” 

He nods into Sky’s steady heartbeat. 

I don’t understand, Sky would say, shaking his head as left for the market, leaving him at the inn at his insistence and sometimes begging. 

I don't expect you to. All I ask is that you respect it, he’d shoot back rather sharply. Uncharacteristically sharply. He’d ignore the other’s surprised looks, and they wouldn’t press the issue further. 

He stares out the window some more, then sighs slowly. So much for fighting off the bad memories. 

“After I came back from my… after… after I returned the sword to the palace, something… it changed me. The magic I used had… consequences.” 

He curls into a ball, turning to look at the wall. 

Keeping Sky out of his gaze. 

“I came back weird. Jumbled. I… I…” 

He lets out a broken laugh. “I was crazy. Maybe I still am. I don’t know anymore, Sky.” He whispers. 

Four bodies fuse back into one, but… four minds clash and fight in that one body. 

For a moment, Link is fine. 

And then he’s on the ground, clutching his head, screaming. 

Cursing, sobbing, giggling, yelling in pain, fear, anger, embarrassment, any emotion he can think of flashing through him in waves and waves. 

Zelda ends up running to get his grandfather, bawling uncontrollably herself. 

She’s terrified out of her mind, understandably. 

Papa carries him home- he can’t walk. He can’t speak. He can’t form a coherent, clear thought. 

He can’t do anything for a week. 

Can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t think, just lays in bed and stares at the ceiling, his mind quite literally at war with itself. 

Sometimes he manages to scream when the pain gets too bad. 

Papa sits next to him the entire time, holding him close when he manages to cry, scream, anything. 

Tries to coax some soup into him so he can eat, but…

He can barely swallow. He can't function in the slightest. 

After that week he… can somewhat do the very basics again. Sleep, manage some food, drink water… 

He slowly gets back around to talking- which he immediately stops doing again. 

It’s garbled, stuttered, staccato sentences that make no sense, barely stringing two words together before changing topics completely, and it hurts. 

It hurts real bad. 

The ache behind his eyes the first time he tried… 

“Papa!” He’d screamed, the first comprehensible thing he’d probably said in a month, then spent the rest of the day screaming and sobbing into his papa’s chest. 

He stops trying to speak. 

Moving is difficult and often painful- his movements are jerky, uncoordinated, and slow. 

As if four bodies are fighting for the ‘correct’ way to move. 

After a while, he gives up on moving, too. 

He spends as much of his time as possible sleeping.  

It’s the only way to escape the constant pain, the horrible loudness in his head. 

He… becomes a bitch. 

To his grandpa, to Zelda… to anyone who encourages him. 

Just starts ignoring everyone, doing everything and anything in his power to fight whenever someone tries to force him. 

Spits, scratches, screams, one time he manages a well placed knee into his father’s groin. He’s still pretty proud of that one. 

That attitude, however, changes with a visit from the minish. 

He wakes up one night to little footsteps on his chest, and he finds himself covered in minish. 

On his stomach, his chest, his arms and legs, a few curled up in his hair, chittering happily to see him awake. 

His mind is still too jumbled to understand them fully, but their love and encouragement seeps through to him. Their kindness and affection touching him, making him feel… remarkably less lonely. 

He hadn’t even realized how lonely he’d been- Papa is, as always, moving around and doing work, Dot is doing her princess duties, Father… well, was never around anyway… 

And even though Papa spends as much time with him as possible it’s different now. 

He can’t do the things he could do anymore- he can’t talk. Walk. Anything. 

He’s stuck just… laying there. 

His good arm slowly reaches to gently stroke a dozing minish on his chest, and he realizes he has to get better. 

For Papa, for Dot, maybe for Father, but… most importantly, for himself. 

So when Papa walks into his room the next morning, he gathers everything inside of him and sits up. 

“M- Morning.” 

He’s seen Papa cry one time in his lifetime- when Mama died. 

But now, Papa holds him and cries for a while. 

“I love you, kiddo, I love you so much.” Papa manages, wiping his eyes carefully. “Let’s get you some breakfast. Let’s get you to the table?” 

And with Papa’s support, a stupidly long time, and several instances of nearly eating the floor, they do manage to get to the table from his room. 

Though after that, Papa makes him a wheelchair. 

Walking is still too much- his legs don’t move right, barely support his weight, and wobble whenever he stands. But wheeling himself around… well, it works. 

Not quite easier. Not quite… better. But it works for him. 

He- for the first time in months- can get around by himself. 

Around the house, around the forge, even outside. 

Never to the town- but to the woods nearby, down the trail, just able to spend time outside. 

When he makes the decision he wants to walk again, Papa reaches out to a man from a whole different town to come and see him. 

They spend a week together, the man assessing his movement, what he's able to do, what he’s not able to do, how well he can move different parts of his body, and so on. 

By the second day he has what the man calls a mobility support, that straps onto his arms and has a big, sturdy stick that leans on the ground. 

His movements are still jerky, odd, and unnaturally slow. But he’s walking. He’s walking. 

The man teaches him exercises, stretches, and different techniques for him to do until he’s completely able to walk again. 

The man is completely certain he’ll be able to. 

It takes a lot of work, a lot of pain, a lot of nasty spills, one broken wrist, and another couple months for him to be able to walk without the supports. 

And though his physical strength is returning, or… on the mend, as Papa liked to say, he still struggles with the mental aspects of it. 

The voices. 

His grandfather finds him zoned out all the time- in between bites of food, walking down the hall, reading a book, just standing there with a blank gaze, staring at nothing, lips moving slowly. 

Talking to himself- he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until Papa asks him what he’s talking about. 

His speech is still… stuttered, so he doesn’t do it a whole lot. 

But he can’t. Stop. Talking. To himself. 

Voices in his head all the time- not nearly as loud as when he first put the sword back, but still ever present. 

Telling him what to do, telling each other what to do, arguing with each other, arguing with him, arguing with Papa, conversing with each other, conversing with him, ever present, ever noisy. Driving him crazy. 

He cries one night, unable to sleep, the voices screaming at each other. 

It hurts. 

“Stop it!” He begs, Papa talking softly, helplessly, trying to calm him. “Make them stop, Papa!” 

Papa, of course, can’t do anything for him. 

He screams until he passes out. 

Several times the man who’d helped him walk had to go get Papa because he’d lose focus, start mumbling to himself, and… would stare off at nothing. For hours. 

Sometimes Papa’s able to coax him back to reality, but often times he isn’t. 

He often finds himself… ‘waking up’ to a throbbing headache, his throat burning, sitting on the floor, holding Papa’s hand. 

“Hey, Kiddo.” Papa always said softly, and then held him close while he slept off the nasty headaches. 

Oh… and the headaches. 

Always there, lingering in his head, waiting to stab. 

Sending him to bed for days, nauseating and he can’t tolerate any light or sound or movement. 

“Migraines.” Papa explains softly, massaging his temples as he fights the urge to sob. 

“Hurts.” He manages, knowing it’s only gonna hurt worse if he cries but unable to stop the tears. 

That’s about the time people start asking about him. 

It’s been months- they knew he was hurt, they knew… he wasn’t quite right anymore, but… they expected him to get better. 

He’s not getting better. 

Some days… some days are good days. 

But some are like he had just put that sword back and he can’t think he can’t talk he can’t walk he can only lay there and scream. 

“Want to come to town with me, Kiddo?” Papa asks one day, on one of his good days. 

He considers, blinking at his grandfather. 

“People have been asking ‘bout you. I think it’d do you some good to get out and see some people.” Papa offers gently. 

He considers further, then slowly nods. Carefully moves to get his mobility aids- walking for a while still aches and makes him wobbly- pulling his hair back into a little ponytail. 

And he slowly follows Papa to town for the first time in… five and a half months. 

That’s the first time people really stare. 

He’s winded by the simple walk to town from the forge, he looks ill- he’s pale and trembling. Papa keeps a gentle grip on his arm, steadying him when he falters at the staring. 

“Let them stare, Kiddo.” Papa murmurs, and they keep going. “Just make it worth their time.” 

He hates it. He despises it- the pitying looks, the sympathetic glances at his grandfather, the softness of their voices when anyone actually talks to him. 

Mostly, they talk to grandpa and just stare at him. 

“How’s he doing these days?” The shopkeeper asks softly to Papa, literally staring right at him. 

“Good.” He answers bluntly. Shortly. 

Papa chokes, but not before he catches the proud smile on his grandfather’s face. 

The shopkeeper flushes bright red and doesn’t talk again. 

It’s the same with all of them- no one has the guts to talk to him. Only about him. As if he’s not in front of them, too. 

“I’m sorry your boy is a crip, now.” The mill owner says softly, staring at his crutches. 

He resists the urge to whack the man over the head with one, though it’s difficult. 

Papa ushers him out of the shop without replying. 

“Does his father know?” The bar owner whispers loudly to Papa as they talk for a moment. 

He’s sitting at a table, reminding himself how to breathe. He’s pushed himself too hard. 

In… smoothly… out… out… out- 

“Papa.” He says calmly, and the man flinches and whips to stare at him. 

Papa rushes over to him, hand on his forehead in a flash, asking what’s wrong, what can he do? 

“Home.” He whimpers, struggling to get air in, he can’t remember how, all the voices are screaming loudly at him trying to get him to breathe just breathe in he can’t remember he can’t remember- 

His hands rip the straps of his crutches off, slamming his hands over his ears, sinking into Papa’s hug and letting himself be pulled slowly to the floor. 

He’s choking air down in frantic gasps, hands grasping desperately at Papa’s tunic. 

“Home!” He bawls, and Papa’s much to shocked to say anything- 

Pull yourself together and calm down! We- 

We’re not a we! 

He! He is a him! 

We’re not going home! It’s nice to be outside around people and the sun- 

This sucks! This sucks! Everyone’s staring and no one will talk to us- 

Me! 

Us! 

Me! 

Us! 

Stop freakin stuttering and spit down words back out then! Talk to them first! 

Don’t you even go there- that’s terrible. We can’t- 

He! 

He can’t control that! It’s a stutter! 

It’s a weakness. 

Don’t be a jack-

Knock it off! 

It hurts! 

Stop it! Stop yelling! 

Guys we’re hurting Link. 

I want to go home! 

Well I want to stay out! It’s the first time being out of the house in nearly half a year! 

“Link, son, breathe- slow down for me, kiddo.” 

He crawls into his grandfather’s arms and screams until he passes out. 

Wakes up later with the worst migraine he’s ever had to date- leaving him bedridden for a week. 

He doesn’t realize until later- much, much later- that he’d screamed all of that, out loud, with half the town watching. 

By time he realizes… it’s months later, the town… has spread rumors out of control about him and his little breakdown, and they no longer want anything to do with him. 

He doesn’t tell Sky any of this, of course. 

“You’re not crazy, Four.” Sky says gently, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. 

“Even you guys think it.” He says flatly. He’s noticed the lingering glances when he slips and mumbles to himself, the staring when he jolts back from staring off into space, the way he can’t quite control his movements on his bad days. 

He’s gotten himself injured in a fight more than once because he couldn’t get his arm to move, or his feet to move quick enough. 

“No- no, Four - we don’t. We just worry.” 

“Yeah.” He mutters instead of arguing about it. 

Silence. 

“Has it gotten… I mean… the bartender mentioned it’s been two years…” 

Slowly turning on his back, he looks up at the Skyloftian, sighing. 

“It was different. I knew it was going to be after… after everything. But it didn’t make it any easier.” 

~~~~

[yuri-is-online]

And Your Name Is? (Jade, Leona, Riddle)

Synopsis- After successfully resolving whatever was causing NRC to be trapped in an endless time loop of overblotting and disaster, one last reset should give him a chance to experience a normal school year with you. But instead you find yourself trapped in the here and there, appearing as a vague shadow around the school that vanishes as soon as he catches up to you. The kind thing to do would be to allow you to be forgotten in the chance it lets you return to your world.

But this is Twisted Wonderland where the kind thing is seldom done, and he wants you back as much as you want to find him again.

a/n: Look, I don't know who decided to make MICKY MOUSE a sadman deadwife in Disney's attempt at animal crossing but it gave me ideas. This is shamelessly based off that questline, feel free to request other characters. Everyone deserves a chance at angst. This probably won't be the last time I'll write something with this sort of premise meh

notes: angst with the intent of comfort, Jade is a red flag. Otherwise mild.

Jade Leech

It’s a wonder you ever lived here.  Ramshackle is cold, Jade can’t bring himself to say lifeless for fear of speaking a crueler fate into existence, but the word’s on the tip of his tongue nonetheless.   It’s a pity this is where you call “home,” but he can work with this.  He can sweep up the cobwebs, dust every broken surface before popping the timbers back into place, figure out how to repair the upholstery so long as he sees the shimmery light that forms your shape begin to fill in.  He knows if he reaches for you that you will disappear, so he lets you observe as he keeps you in the corner of his eye.  Jade is careful, methodical, even as his hands shake as he launders your sheets and fluffs pillows on a bed he really wants to burn for its audacity to be so uncomfortable.  He vaguely recalls requesting you make one room of this place into a giant terrarium once, a silly request he’s sure he’d make again if he could just speak to you, for no other reason than to hear you laugh.  But, he supposes as he slips himself into your bed reaching out towards the in between as if he can pull you from the here and there with the sheer force of his longing; he is already sort of doing that.  Just like the Sea Witch keeping creatures in glass bottles he’s trying to replicate the perfect environment for you.  

“Jade?”  

“I’m here.”  he murmurs, not daring to open his eyes just yet, instead reaching for where he thinks your face should be.  “Do you hear me?  It’s past your bedtime, prefect.”

“Jade.”

“It’s awfully lonely here.”  He hates the way he sounds.  It’s too raw, too clear with his intent to be the tease he wants it to be.  “Won’t you come to bed?”

“Jade!”  His eyes open, his hand lands on you, the real you, not a shade made up of his memory, he manages to crush the urge to cry and pulls you up into his embrace. Your eyes are unfocused, confused but moving towards his touch as if you were searching for it.  “W-who.. I have to find…”  You move, on instinct towards his heartbeat, as he slowly strokes your arms to soothe your shaking.  “Jade… I’m looking for-”

“You found me.”  Jade is gentle, careful as he searches over you for any sign of distress or injury, sighing in relief when he only finds confusion. It doesn’t matter if you don’t remember specifics.  It doesn’t matter to him if you’ve forgotten your own name, Jade’s known and loved you for three timelines now, he’ll remind you of who you are if that’s what you want.  In the meantime, he slowly encloses you in the safety of his embrace and tries not to smile too wide as you naturally relax into him.  He will build you a beautiful garden in this world, and nothing will ever harm you this badly ever again, he swears it.

Leona Kingscholar

How many times has he been forced to watch you die?  He’s not sure, his memory clearly doesn’t want to cooperate with him out of fear he’ll consider the failures a waste of energy, consider you wasted energy.  Give in to the self-sabotaging part of him that never wanted to love you in the first place and abandon you to your fate, and yet no matter how many times he held your limp form in his arms he never had.  There was something mildly addicting in the realization that you chose him in every lifetime.  Not that stupid lizard or stuck up diva, him the second born, grumpy, lazy lion.

“Leona?”  Your shade has always been able to speak, and Leona’s always been able to hear it.  It’s like you’re trying to retrace your steps through time, starting with your meeting in the botanical gardens up to your stay in his room.  He tries to tell himself you’re like a flea burrowing its way into his skin, irritating in your presence, unwelcome.  He tries to tell himself if you didn’t mean enough to this world to keep a corporeal form that you shouldn’t mean anything to him.  If Twisted Wonderland rejected you then so should he.

“Leona.”  He hates how alone you sound.  He hates how he can see you around the gardens but can’t hear footsteps, see you sitting on the edge of the balcony but not smell you.  He really wants to hate you.

“I have to… promised… Leona…”  

“I’m here you know.”  he mutters, half asleep under the heavy curtain of vines in the botanical gardens.  “You wanna keep your promise?  Then quit runnin away.”  Silence.  Always silence, even in his dreams no matter how hard he tries to will you back into existence.  He wants to stare you down, he really does, but how is he supposed to be anything but shocked when it's really you in front of him, listless and confused.

“Leona?”  You’re confused, that much is clear.  He wonders, smugly as he rises without complaint for once, if his name is the only thing you remember.  The flicker of fear in your eyes is something he can do without, but if you know his name then somewhere inside that empty head of yours should be the same memories that have been plaguing him.

“I hope you’re prepared.”  his tail swishes in excitement, and though you remain confused he delights in how you remain unafraid.  “For just what you signed up for by callin my name.”

Riddle Rosehearts 

Your shadow likes to sit in the Heartslabyul rose garden.  Riddle is thankful for that, his gaze is hard to avoid here.  He can keep an eye on you this way while he tries to find a solution for… whatever this is.  It’s sickening, really, how useless he is without a rulebook or a study guide to follow.  His memories of the past time loops might be blurry but he wonders if you ever felt frustrated with him in any of them.  Someone as beautiful and wonderful as you constantly choosing someone as boring as him, he wants to be proud.  He wants to point out that he is clearly in the right, in some sort of way, he has to be if he was loved in any way by you.  It hurts him all the more to be so useless to you, to find so little concrete about the here and there and be told by every adult he reaches out to that the only thing they know is that no one who goes there ever comes back.

His dormmates like to keep a degree of distance from you.  Riddle knows that they don’t know it’s you, he’s tried to explain to them multiple times and seen as they fight hard against whatever magic is trying to erase you from Twisted Wonderland to remember clearly who you were.  It’s especially hard to watch Ace and Deuce loop through their worry over you and their anger at having forgotten only to get lost in the fog once again.  He had to stop himself from trying, causing your best friends pain wouldn’t bring you back to them, to him.  Riddle’s stubborn, he can take the confused looks of his house when he insists they let him have a private tea party with the strange ghost that’s taken up residence in their maze.

“I’m uncertain if our professors remember what happened, but I can say with certainty some of the material has changed.  It’s a relief that the quality of our education hasn’t regressed.”  He pours you a cup of tea, working off of muscle memory he can’t recall the context for anymore to make it in a way you must have liked.  “I’ve been taking detailed notes on what my freshmen have been learning, when you return-” his voice cracks in panic as your shadow’s outline flickers “when you return…” he tries, softer this time focusing on gently setting down the tea pot “I’ll make sure you aren’t left behind.  Ace and Deuce will keep their memories this time and we’ll all get to hang out together again, you’ll always have- you always have had a place in Heartslabyul, so please, please come back.”  Riddle likes to think of himself as an adult, but he pouts and cries so easily.  He can feel the tears bubbling up and obscuring his vision.  Hiding the view of your shadow’s shape filling in.

“Riddle?”  He hiccups, undignified, unbelieving the sight he’s seeing.  You look so small, so confused but still so concerned for him, pausing to reach for a napkin to wipe his tears despite how unfocused you otherwise seem to be.  You reach for him, shaky but still determined. “Are you Riddle?” you whisper.  “I’ve been searching for him, I promised not to let go of his hand.”  Riddle reaches for your hand with both of his, leaning into you.  “I’m worried he’s lonely.”

“I was.”  He isn’t crying anymore, Riddle likes to think he never will again as he presses a kiss into your palm.  “You can rest now prefect, you’ve made it home.”

[fiapartridge]

late night talking | jack hughes

summary: jack’s having a terrible day and decides to call you late at night…

warning(s): swearing

kinda not in love with this one but what can ya do!

Jack hated calling when it was late at night because he knew you'd answer every single time— even if it meant sacrificing precious hours of sleep and living like a sleep-deprived zombie by the time the sun comes up. 

But tonight, he just couldn't resist it. 

His day was absolutely terrible. It all started with waking up an hour later than his alarm was set, then missing breakfast with the team because he couldn't find his tan T-shirt anywhere which resulted in him tearing apart his entire hotel room searching for the missing piece of clothing that was simply rolled up at the bottom of his suitcase, then getting a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his new AF1s on his way to the arena, and as the stupid cherry on top, the Devils lost their last road game of the—almost clean sweep—West Coast roadie to the fucking Seattle Kraken. 

And he knew you were tired. You spent all day texting him about all of the essays and projects your professors were assigning you. You were awake until 2AM (New Jersey time), hacking away at all of the assignments. You couldn't wait to go to sleep. 

You finally put your writing utensils away and stored your laptop in the drawer of your desk where it would be waiting to be opened tomorrow for more work. Your hair was in a messy bun and your pajamas were strapped against your body. You were so ready for bed. You pulled back the covers and shimmied yourself in, careful not to move the pink blanket resting at the foot of the bed. 

Skimming through your emails one last time, making sure there wasn't any last-minute work assigned by your professors, you turned off your phone and placed it on the bedside table. Your arm stretched a little farther to click the button on your lamp, but when you saw Jack's caller ID and the photo of him giving you a piggy-back around the Prudential Center, all systems were on high alert. 

You sat back up, pulling the phone to your ear. You were terrified. You knew Jack hated calling you late at night— even though you told him loads of times that you didn't mind. So if he was calling you now, knowing it was 2AM where you were, he must've really needed something. 

The line was silent when you answered. Nothing else other than a faint static could be heard between the two of you.

"Jack?" you called. "Are you okay?"

You could hear his breathing. It wasn't calm, but it wasn't rapidly fast either. It sounded like a boy with something on his mind.

"Hey, Y/N/N," he said. He was so quiet, it felt like you had to lean into the phone to hear him better. 

"It's eleven in Seattle. Why aren't you asleep?" you asked.

"I wanted to, I just," he paused. Static. Calmer breaths. "I just missed you so fucking much, Y/N."

"I miss you, too, but it's only two more days. I'll see you on Sunday. What's going on?"

You couldn't see him, but his head was shaking back and forth on the other side of the line and he was rubbing his forehead like a middle-aged man after seeing his kids scribbling all over the walls. He was stressed and tired and all he wanted was to come home and see you, to sleep in your bed tonight, and to be with you.

"My day was just... terrible. It was unbelievably terrible. It was like one bad thing would happen and then ten minutes later, another bad thing happened. It was like God was just shitting over my entire day. So much fucking shit."

You laughed softly, a slight yawn mixed in between. "I don't think God was resting at the toilet, shitting all over your day, but it sounds like it was pretty bad. What happened?"

He sighed. "No, I should let you go to sleep. It's what? Two o'clock over there?"

"You called, and I answered. Tell me."

He took a moment, like he was actually debating whether to tell you or not. He knew you would go to extreme lengths to get it out of him, and he didn't want to tire you out even more. "We lost."

That was all he said.

Two words.

We lost.

You were confused to say the least. You knew he lost. You kept up with every single one of his games. They won every single road game before that: the Hurricanes, the Ducks, the Kings, the Sharks. So what, they lost to the Kraken? It's not like they won't have another chance to win again on Sunday against the Penguins, or Tuesday against the Golden Knights. There were so many more games to play. What was the big deal?

"Okay... is that it?" you asked. You dipped your toe in, scared that he might blow up and tell you something dramatic like 'it's more than a game, it's my life.'

But the line went quiet again. Nothing more than a bit of static and breathing. But then he talked and you wanted to do nothing more than book a flight out to Seattle and run to him with your arms out. You wanted to be there for Jack— you always did. 

He sighed. "It's just— we were losing for so long and when we were winning again, it felt so good, like we were finally back. Like we were a team again. But then we lost and, I don't know, it felt as if we were back on that losing streak, like it was yesterday. Like none of the road games even happened. We were just— losers again."

You rolled your eyes, and laughed. Yes, you laughed. Jack was confused, too. He wondered why you were laughing. He just poured out his entire thought process, all of his feelings, and you were laughing. Why were you laughing?

He frowned. "It's not funny, Y/N/N."

"I know, I know," you wiped your eyes. You didn't know if you were tearing up because you were deliriously tired or you were just laughing too hard. "It's just— you lost in overtime. You were close. It wasn't an 8 - 1 loss, or a complete shutout. You almost won, Jack. It was one goal that separated you and the other team. So what, you lost one game? This one game won't cost you your chances at playoffs and it won't make me love you any less. No one thinks that you are a loser. I'd rather be with you than a guy that's won every single one of his games. I love you, Jack. Win or lose, it's always you."

"So you don't want to be with Pastrnak?"

You rolled your eyes and giggled. "Not into beards."

He laughed. "Really? Because I think I'm starting to grow something here, Y/N/N."

You scoffed. "In your wildest dreams, Hughes."

"Speaking of dreams, I should probably let you get back to that."

"Alright, just— know that I love you, okay? Win or lose; I'm always gonna come home to you, and I'm always gonna love you."

You could hear the sound of a light switch on the other side of the line. Jack was getting ready for bed, too. He crawled underneath the covers, knowing his teammates were probably out getting drunk somewhere at a bar nearby. But he didn't care about grabbing a beer and throwing all of his feelings into Taylor Swift karaoke with Nico Hischier (that was more of a 'you and Nico' thing). All he wanted was to hear your voice, to tell you goodnight, that he loves you, and that he'll call you again when the sun comes up.

Because to him, you were worth more than a lifetime of wins.

[familyvideostevie]

🐚 SEASHELL: “Can we pretend that we’re good? Just for the night til the morning, I’d take it back if I could, but I’ll never find another you.” With James Potter please and thanks.

omg! you sure can! i was feeling a bit angst in this one, maybe james sticking his foot in his mouth and not realizing it. so here's him doing just that! (it ends nice though, obviously)

--

It's like the entire pub goes quiet when you hear it. James is maybe three paces in front of you, speaking to some girls you think you know. You can't see his face but you bet he's smiling, being kind and handsome and flirty like he always is. You plan to slide under his arm and exhibit a tiny bit of possessiveness as you give him his drink but then you hear one of the girls ask about you.

"Are you two, like, together?"

James shrugs. "Why, are you about to ask me to dinner, Vance?"

In that instant, one of the girls spots you behind James and her eyes go wide. You turn before she can say anything and retreat through the crowd and out the front door, two drinks in hand. The smokers who are chatting seem to see that you're in crisis mode and surrender a bit of the standing room to you.

Frankly, you're embarrassed to be so upset. You and James are not officially together. Some dates, kisses, nights spent together don't amount to exclusivity if you haven't spoken about it. But you know that the boys refer to you as his better half and he calls you on days he doesn't see you and you thought maybe it was going in that direction.

But while James is kind and sweet and lovely, he is also a bit vain and has quite the ego sometimes and he likes to flirt. You know all of this but your chest is aching, even so.

Someone calls your name and then James is in front of you. His face is a mix of emotions you've not seen before on him -- flustered and concerned. "I'm sorry," he says, though you're not sure he knows what he's apologizing for.

"I got you a drink," you say, a bit morosely. A breeze sweeps down the street and you shiver. James whips off his jacket and drapes it around your shoulders.

He deems the drinks irrelevant, taking them from you and putting them on the ledge of the pub. "I'm sorry," he says again. "The girls in there told me I needed to fix what I did, so here I am."

He rubs his hands up and down your arms, brow furrowed. He really does seem stressed. "I don't know what you're apologizing for," you say quietly. "No need."

"There is," he says, frowning. "I was being daft. I should have said we're together, because we are. No need to joke about it."

"Are we?" you say, hating how small you sound. James huffs.

"I guess we haven't put a label on it, have we?" You shake your head. "Well, no time like the present. We've been together for weeks in my head, honestly," he confesses. "I mean, I've been having dreams about you for months. Remus says I say your name in my sleep when I'm napping on his couch."

"James," you admonish, face heating. "I feel silly," you tell him.

"What, you don't want to be together? Now is the time to tell me, darling." You look at him and he looks less worried now, though his eyes flash behind his lenses.

"No, I do," you say, and he grins. "I just feel silly for being upset."

James tugs you in for a hug. You smush your face into his shoulder and feel his chest vibrate as he laughs. "It's kind of hot," he says in your ear. "Being possessive. Feel free to do it anytime."

You smack his chest with your palm. "You're impossible."

"But I'm your impossible!"

"That doesn't even make sense, James." He puts your hand on his elbow before he grabs your drinks and heads for the door to go back inside, flashing you a grin and a wink.

"Now I get to tell the whole pub we're together," he says. "And you get to take credit for all the dumb shit I say."

join the celebration!

[boneblushed]

The Archer

-> you’re drunker thank you should be, sadder than most. Good thing Rafe’s sober and rational.

a/n sometimes, writing IS therapy 😬

You’re staring at the sky when he finds you.

Constellations blur into an obscure patchwork of iridescence, the sweep of greys clouds causing a strange sort of fascination. It’s all very pretty, really. You aren’t. The Earth is beautiful and you’re drunk.

You’ve had too much. Not in a bad way; you were hoping to take the edge off, and you might’ve overshot it just enough to make your voice hoarse. And your vision funny. Good thing you don’t need perfect eyesight to recognise the boy who invited you here.

He’s got this deep, gravelly timbre you’d recognise just about anywhere.

“Here, baby,” he murmurs now, having materialised in front of you with a glass of water. It’s cool and wet as he coaxes it into your palm, a pull of ice down your throat as you tip it back. He sneaks a kiss on the bare, exposed skin as you do so, unable to help himself.

“Mm,” you hum. He pulls the glass away. A gloss of condensation lingers on your lips.

That’s the first thing he notices, guiltily, as he takes a seat beside you. The second thing, the thing that informs his aforementioned guilt, is the fact that there’s cruel, salty tears as the base of your lower lids. You lean forward and look up at him, your eye contact rich with sorrow, and they fall down your cheek like raindrops on petals.

His heart aches so bad he thinks he’s having a cardiac event.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs. He sounds perplexed. More tears fall, and he springs into action, catching them on his thumb.

It’s rough pressure on your cheek. His palm curls around your jaw, his fingers gentle on your earlobe.

You sigh. “M’sorry,” you mumble, chagrined.

More tears. “Why?” He asks.

“Crying again.”

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, and he means it. He shrugs off his jumper and places it on your shoulders, his strong arm around it. The weight of his muscles press warmth into your skin.

You blink in lieu of nodding, lean into his touch. Now relaxing against his side, you gaze up at him, unshed tears wetting your eyes. It’s a sad sort of earnest, and he begins to ache harder. “Can I ask you something?” You say quietly.

“Anything.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “I love you.”

You don’t have it into you to reciprocate the sentiment right now, no matter how badly you mean to. “All your friends are here,” you mumble.

He raises his eyebrows.

“And none of mine,” you add, a stray tear punctuating the insinuation.

“Because they were busy, baby,” he murmurs softly.

“Because,” you breath in shakily, this ugly, heaving sob, “I have no friends.”

“Sweetheart —”

“I have no one.”

Rafe pulls you into him firmer, harder, a squeezing pressure that almost hurts. It’s grounding. “Don’t. You have me,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

You hate being vulnerable like this, especially in public. The stars shine bright above you, ever-present, and the party goes on despite your world standing still.

You blink up at him, the wetness of your tears darkening your eyelashes. Rafe’s chest squeezes. He means it so much it’s going to give him a fucking aneurysm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he answers, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “You’ll always have me. Even when you don’t want me.”

“I’ll always want you,” you mumble, smiling a little, voice muffled by the kiss.

His fingers are rough on your jaw, warm palm dwarfing your neck as he holds your lips against his. “Thank fuck,” he mutters, his roguish grin audible. More osculate pressure. “I’ve already started referring to you as Mrs Cameron in my head.”

[lucentclan]

well! i wasnt expecting this-

I wrote a little snippit for this that I'll put it under the cut, I'm so upset over them you have no idea

despite the war between Lucentclan and Fernclan being over, Newtstar decides that he, Pepperflare, and Violethope will go patrol the borders one last time before the sun goes down. They don't realize the scent of rain or the clouds forming in the distance, as they're crossing the beach, rain begins falling heavily and weighing down their pelts.

"Newtstar!" Pepperflare calls over the now howling wind, anxiety pricking in her paws as the rain brings back unwanted memories of Sablepaw being washed away in a flood four moons ago. "We should really go back to camp! I don't have a good feeling about this."

Newtstars ears flick in acknowledgement, "we need to be sure that Fernclan isn't up to anything. I won't lose anymore cats to those fox-hearts!" He argues back, claws digging into the sand as he thinks of their previous medicine cat, Rippleclaw.

"No sane cat will be out in this weather!" Pepperflare insists, "Especially Fernclan cats! They hate water!"

"I agree with Pepp-" Violethope begins, her meow quickly cut off by a deafening crash and flash of lightning. In the distance, the sound of trees cracking and breaking echo down the mountains.

All three clancats freeze, heads snapping to the horizon where they see a massive wave of water quickly making its way down the hill, rocks, trees, and other natural debris coming along with it. The clancats barely have time to process what was happening before the water reaches them and sweeps them off their paws and into the unforgiving ocean. Their lungs fill with freezing saltwater as they cry out for starclan to save them to no avail.

Newtstar is the first to open his eyes, the yellow a sharp contrast to the darkness around him. Stars now shine in his pelt, and reflect in his eyes as he takes in the vaguely familiar area. He had been here when he lost his first life protecting his clan from a dog the same moon Rippleclaw had been found dead on Fernclans border. It had been nice to see the tom again to be assured that he wouldn't be alone, their starclan guide, and Newtstars own kin, Shardfoam being there to keep him company.

He sits and sighs, watching the water drip from is glimmering pelt and dissappear into the stars beneath his paws. He couldn't help but feel as if he had let his clan down.

Pepperflare and Violethope join him soon, appearing with splashes of salt water and gasping breaths that didn't take any oxygen. The she-cats meet eyes for a moment, confused as they look towards their leader.

They realize the stars at the same time, dismay filling them. Quietly, they step forward to sit beside their leader in quiet mourning.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way," A familiar voice says, a cream tabby tom stepping into sight. Sympathy reflecting in his grey eyes as he looks at the warriors. Beside the medicine cat is a younger spotted gray apprentice, Sablepaw, who is looking at them with the same sympathetic look.

"Rippleclaw! Sablepaw!" Newstar cries, standing. "Whats going on? We can't actually be dead, right? What about my other seven lives?" The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them, needing answers. Beside him, Pepperflare tries to speak but just hacks up a mouthful of water. Violethope remains quiet.

Rippleclaw sighs, "Unfortunately there was no way for starclan to bring your body back, it was washed too far out to sea for it to be possible." He steps to the side, the area behind him now streching out into a vast area, stars littering ground. This was starclans hunting grounds. The medicine cat dips his head, tears in his eyes as his friends try to process their deaths, "Welcome to starclan, my friends. Here you can watch over and guide Lucentclan."

Down below the sky, Quailcall sits outside the medicine den, blue eyes watching the entrance of the camp. It's been far too long since the patrol had left, and the elder was starting to get a bad feeling. He looks up at the dark clouds as it stormed and shakes out his pelt before standing and turning to enter the den.

Sparkfire lays in a nest against the far wall, curled up tightly as she sleeps through the infection in her wounds. The she-cat twitches and whimpers in her sleep, shifting slightly. The tom silently makes his way to sit beside the nest, watching the slow rise and fall of Sparkfires back, half expecting it to stop at any moment.

Quailcall looks towards the entrance of the den once more, dread filling his belly. "Starclan help us." He says quietly before curling up close to the deputy and shuts his eyes in an attempt to sleep until the patrol returns.

sorry for the short fic but i wanted to write for this moon soo bad and got carried away.

What will Sparkfire and Quailcall do now?

[eveandtheturtles]

Hi! I saw that request are open, would it be okay to request Bayverse Raph with a reader he has a deep crush on, being insecure about their body? Thank you so much, I hope you have a good day!

Here you go! Hope you enjoy this Nonnie. I wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a scenario or drabble lol. So I went with this.

Requests are open!

@m1dnyt3-w0lf @scholastic-dragon @madammuffins @turtle-babe83 @leosgirl82 @thelaundrybitch @dilucsflame33 @pheradream-15 @sharpwindow

"You guys know that Donnie gonna win this right?" You sipped your drink watching Mikey holding a game of Twister over his head.

It was game night with April, Casey and you joining the brothers for some shennanigans. You weren't exactly sure how Twister got selected though.

"I do have a superior physique for this, yes," Donnie agreed pushing his glasses up with his knuckle.

"Not if I steal his glasses , he won't," Mikey retorted sticking his tongue out at his tallest brother.

"You should play with us," April suggested.

"Nah, thanks, I'm good." You shake your head. The thought of getting in there with everyone made you deeply uncomfortable. "Plus Leo and Raph aren't playing either."

"That's because Leo's got stick up his butt and Raph ain't as nimble as I am," Mikey leaned in next to you, wiggling his brow ridges.

You snorted and pushed his face away. "I don't think you need a doughball like me in there then," you joked.

A loud sound of glass breaking got everyone's attention.

"Sorry, slippery hands," Raph replied, badly hiding the death glare he briefly send Mikey's way.

"Are you alright?" You asked, immediately getting off of your bar stool and joining him to help clean up.

"It's fine," he grumbled getting broom and a dustpan.

"Let me help," you offered. At the same time you reached your hand and took the duspan out of his hand, brushing your palm over his fingers.

Raph froze a little. "You don't have to, I've got it."

"I know, but it will be faster with help!" You replied cheerfully.

"You should join the others," he told you as he started sweeping the glass shards. Gosh that thing really broke almost to dust.

"Nah, I think they have full house without me there," you brushed that off with a smile. Looking over your arm you saw Mikey dragging Leo to be the one to spin the colour wheel.

Truth was everyone there was just so... fit and attractive, especially April. Meanwhile you... you were just not. With your body rolls, stretchmarks and body hair growing where , according to magazines, it shouldn't. Yeah, it's best to stay out of it.

The red clad turtle humphed something under his breath as he finished sweeping. You threw out the glass. He stomped away irritated for some reason, leaving you a little confused.

You looked at the party going on. Casey was the first to fail. You followed after Raph.

You found him in the gym, angrily starting to pick up the dumbbells.

"Hey, uh..." You hovered by the entrance. "Did I make you angry somehow?"

He paused.

"You've been a bit weird the past couple days and..." You almost jumped out of your skin when he tossed the weights away.

He huffed, inhaling through his nose loudly, then exhale. His jaw was moving as he was clearly working something out. He started to pace.

"Raph?"

"You're being stupid!" He suddenly fired.

"What?"

"You're being stupid," he repeated, "and it's pissing me off! Cause I know what you're doing!"

"What am I doing?" You were getting annoyed and ready to fight him.

"You're thinking!"

"Excuse me?!" Your voice raised.

"No, shit, what I mean is- you- you keep thinking those thoughts! That you're ugly or something," he tried to explain. "That's bullshit you know? You're- you're gorgeous and strong! And- and pretty and you smile so wide and you give best hugs and you don't make me feel like a freak..." He paused staring right at you. "And I want to beat up every single person who made you hate yourself."

Tears swelled in your eyes, so your tried blinking quickly. That took you so completely off guard.

"You are funny and-," he suddenly was in front of you. "I think I might like you." He said that last part quietly. He raised his hand up to your cheek but then quickly dropped it and cleared his throat. "Anyway-"

You cut him off, hugging him tightly. "Thank you."

His arms closed around you tightly. "Yeah, don't mention it."

"Hey, Raphie?" You said after a moment.

"Myeah?"

"I like you too..."

[www-findringo-com]

From Afar

Yuno Grinberryall x Fem!reader

I'm unsure if i should have a specific banner for my series or my stories in general or if i should change it each time, tell me what you think!

cw - unchecked

Plot: Y/N Hanabi is a commoner who has always hated her fireworks magic even though the townsfolk have always praised her. As she grew up, a woman in her life changed her view completely, making her appreciate and slowly understand her "silly" magic.

Even if she started using her magic more, she had no interest in joining the magic knights, and yet during the elves' reincarnation, she helped save the people of the Clover Kingdom. This resulted in the Sorcery King noticing her and convincing her to join the knights, which, after many rejections, she. In the end. Took on the request and participated in the entrance exam a year after getting her grimoire. Once she joined the Blue Rose Knights, something or more like someone was going to completely change ,what once was, her daily routine.

Previous

Ever since I got my grimoire, it's almost as if life at the hostel got busier. I wouldn't exactly be mad about it because it means we're getting more and more clients, but it also means I have to use my magic all the time! But on the bright side, Serene always visited us and helped out a lot. She was the self-proclaimed Paladin of Justice for us commoners. Soon, she became known in my town, and people always asked me when she was going to be back. What a pain... But deep inside, it made me happy to know people liked my friend

"Y/N, darling, could you please go serve out the dishes?" My mom shouted from across the hall. It did sound like a question but if I even dared to refuse I would have been in trouble. I ran to the kitchen since the guest had been waiting for about twenty minutes. As soon as I opened the kitchen door a nervy comment hit my face: "Look who finally decided to stop sitting on their ass and help out!" My cousin spoke. He was the most annoying guy in the whole universe. And, if we weren't family, I would have already beat him up.

"Yeah yeah I'm here. Now give me those dishes before the guests get mad" I commented back and he gave me a snarky smile before handing me about four plates to bring out.

That afternoon I was sweeping the lobby when a shadow towered over my figure. Right after some water was splashed on the floor I had been cleaning for the past hour. "Whoops~" I turned around to be met by a woman, dressed in noble clothes and with the wrinkliest face I had ever seen. On her ugly wrinkly face sat a smirk as she fake apologized for 'accidentally', spilling her water magic on the floor. I was about to lash out on her due to my terrible customer service. But I was soon stopped by an angry voice at the entrance. "Excuse me, Miss. But who do you think you are?" We both turned around stunned, and I was met by none other than Serene. Paladin of justice for us commoners, I guess. The breath of the noble lady hitched, and she fought back: "And who might you be? Let me guess, a lowly peasant. '' She chuckled and looked at Serene funny. "And what if I am? What does that mean to you? That you're a high-level person but lowly scum in the eyes of righteousness? In a world where you can be better than most and be seen as a beautiful person, you chose to be part of the mass and just follow like a wet dog the orders of someone else? People like you are bland, stale, and boring. You're the reason why this kingdom is fucked up" The lady was left shook and speechless. After a bit she grunted and stormed off, letting Serene a clear path to me.

"How's it going, Y/N? D'ya miss me?" She chuckled and extended her arms as if she expected a hug. I laughed lightly and hugged her : "I really really missed you!" We talked for a bit before my father came up to me. "Oh, Y/N, didn't know you had friends coming over!" He greeted Serene. She shook his hand. They chatted for a few minutes but then he spoke to me: "Y/N why don't you go hang out with your friend for a while? we're not having any rushes right now, so feel free to go!" I thanked him before putting away my uniform and quickly reaching Serene. She put out her hand and as soon as I held it, she ran out the door and we started running through town! "Serene slow down. I'm gonna fall!" I shouted at her, to which she just laughed and brought me closer to her.

"Jump," She whispered to me, and I did. Immediately under us formed a sort of cotton cloud, which she used to make us move even faster. "Where are we going?" I asked as the wind hit my face, making me blink. "To the capital silly." She spoke softly as we flew up into the air, and I took in the look of a huge fortified city with a castle slightly taller than the rest of the city. I was in awe at the sight. It wasn't as picturesque as the one from the grimoire acceptance ceremony, but it was still beautiful. I could tell it was a very busy and packed city, even people in brooms were flying to it! Once we landed, I noticed that the city was even more packed and busy than I expected. People were coming from all over, well, mostly kids our age. Serene brought me to a food stand, and she had me try a fried salamander on a stick. The salamander was crunchy and oddly sweet, and then she made me try roaster purple viper, and it was very dry and stale. I hated it!

After an hour or more of going around, I stopped when a huge tree towered over an arena at the center of the city. Serene took a step back before emitting a shocked sound and putting her hand over her mouth. "Oops- I almost forgot why we're here." And at that point, I looked at her in confusion. Once again, she took my arm, and before running, she whispered and winked to me. "Don't worry, you just gotta be quiet," She ordered as she put a finger over her mouth. Right after we started running and she brought me to an entrance at the back of the arena I noticed a few minutes ago. We walked in, and inside were all the kids our age I had seen a few hours prior. "Serene, what is this?" I questioned her as i followed her steps through the round corridor. "This is the Magic Knights entrance exam!" I let out a confused sound before starting to get nervous. "Can we actually be here? Isn't it supposed to be closed off to the public? What if someone catches us? What if not just someone but a Magic Knight Captain?" I was sweating, not because it was July, but because I was scared. Serene was very Nonchalant about it, as if sneaking to the exam was normal to her. "Oh, don't worry, it's going to be fine!" She stopped and brought her arms on top of the stone fencing, which ensured people from not falling off, and on one hand, she rested her chin. Without thinking, I got right next to her and started watching the exam, and then a light clicked in my head. "Serene, look!" I pointed upwards since they were flying around on brooms. "That's the four leaf guy we met at the acceptance ceremony." She faced towards where i was pointing and chuckled. "Didn't know people could be so good at flying on their first time! He must be a very irritating prick. " I giggled with her. Even though of the annoying personality he showed at the ceremony, i just couldn't help but find something about him... Cool? As if he was acting cool just for me to look at him... Oh god what the fuck that is very desperate of me. Wow.

Serene and I kept chatting and having fun when, how I predicted, someone caught us. "Excuse me." We both worriedly turned around to face the stern and serious voice, only to be met by a golden mask with pom poms at the back. On further inspection, the guy was wearing a cape, and on it was the Golden Dawn's logo. For context the Golden Dawn is like the strongest Magic Knight company in the whole kingdom, being composed mostly of high-level nobles with lots of mana and an extremely overpowered captain. Wait a second... THAT WAS THE CAPTAIN WILLIAM VANGEANCE! I could feel my face go pale, and my legs shivered at the thought of being scolded and insulted by a high-lever knight... Before I could try to explain myself, the captain spoke.

"Your Gracefulness Princess Temima, What are you doing here?”

Huh... Princess... What?

Wait, why is he looking deep in Serene's eyes?

…

IS SERENE A PRINCESS???

I stood there shaking when Serene spoke up. "Who the hell is this Princess Temima cause I have never heard a name so stupid. Are you pranking us, you... Masked buffoon? Either way, now if you don't keep bothering us, my friend and I will go away. Please and thank you." She spoke sternly, almost pissed at him. Then she took my hand and we ran out of there as soon as possible. Once we were out, we were out of breath, and before I could ask anything to Serene, she spoke. "I think It's time I bring you home." Oh yeah, she was mad. I think that Captain really irked something in her. Without objection, I let her bring me home, and ever since then, I didn't see her again.

Timeskip few months

That evening, I was grocery shopping with my mom. Lately, I have been a little more upset than usual, so my family tried to get me out as much as possible. "Y/N dear, could you please go pick these things?" She handed me a small piece of paper, and I went on my merry way. Shopping was boring, I saw these people almost every day, and I did the same things every week. I just couldn't take it anymore. My life had become boring, plain, and stale like a piece of dry bread. I was mad at Serene for not showing up again. Not only that, but the fact she disappeared after someone high-ranked called her princess, which made her even more suspicious. If she really was a princess, why would she need to hide it? She's so lucky to be blessed with nobility and so cool to be royal yet help out commoners and peasants. Also, didn't that Vangeance guy call her Temima? Yet I've always known her as Serene, and I was supposedly her best friend! Ugh, she's so weird and difficult. It took me some time to finish getting the groceries before trying to find my mom. It was getting dark and kind of cold when suddenly the whole market heard something break and people screaming. I started coughing, and when I turned around, there was smoke coming from around the corner. The fire started spreading, and people started running. That's when I noticed that they weren't running away from the fire yet from something... Who could be attacking a common town? Without a second thought, I brought out my grimoire. "Firework Magic: Crossettes of Purity!"

I shouted, and from my hands, I shot 2 fireworks which ended in a cross, hence the name crossette, and the two fireworks collided and landed on whatever was attacking us, leaving it stunned. I then shot fire under my feet to launch me near the spot of the stunned foe. Once I landed, and the smoke went away, I was met with the disgusting and maggot filled rotting body of my old neighbor, an ex magic knight. Before I could do anything, the guy got back up again, and as I took in the look of the decaying corpse, something behind peaked my attention. I moved my eyes slightly only to be met by an army of un-dead people and lots of fire around us.

"What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On!”

And this was the second chapter!!! Sadly, I didn't have much inspiration for this, and maybe even for the next pair of chapters, they might be very, very boring, so please be patient with me! I tried to prep some angst between MC and Serene. i wonder if it'll be good! Let me know what you think and leave suggestions or even writing requests if you enjoy my style! see you next week with the next From Afar chapter!!!

-Ringo

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Everybody Hates Neyo

I was possessed by the devil himself and woke up at 4 o'clock in the morning to write this. I hope you're happy, @blueink-bluesoul. You did this to me.

Rating: Mature/18+/NSFT/Minors DNI

Pairing: Commander Neyo x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 928 words of filth

Summary: You really, really hate that asshole.

Warnings: nothing but SMUT; strong language; hatefucking; PIV; rough, unprotected sex; getting caught

Masterlist | Join my tag list here

“Asshole!” you hiss as you storm into your office, tugging off your gloves and hurling them across the room. Rage simmers just below the surface as you pace back and forth, and when you hear the door slide open, you whirl to see it admit none other than the asshole in question.

“What the kark was that?” he snarls as he stalks toward you, his handsome, arrogant face contorted into a mask of fury.

“Get the hell out of my office,” you snap.

“Not until you explain where the kriff you get off thinking you can challenge my authority like that.” He crowds into your space, towering over you with a thunderous expression, but you refuse to back down.

“It may have escaped your notice, Commander,” you spit, “that you have no authority over me.”

His jaw works. “Watch your farking mouth, Admiral, or I’ll give it something better to do.”

“Do us all a favor and get fucked, Neyo.” Your voice is laced with venom.

His gaze drops to your lips, and you read his intention before he makes a move. Oh, shit. His eyes snap back up to yours, blazing with amber wrath. Fierfek, you decide, flinging caution to the wind. You grab him by the belt and yank him toward you, just as his hand flies up to grip your hair. Your lips crash together painfully, and he tastes better than he has any Force-forsaken right to.

Asshole.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth, and you kriffing hate that he’s a good kisser. Is there no justice in the galaxy? Assholes should not be able to kiss like that! The thought irritates you all over again, and you bite down his lip, hard. He shoves you away, wrenching your head back with the hand that tangles in your hair. You grin up at him with savage triumph.

“That hurt,” he growls.

“Good,” you say.

“Last chance to walk away, little girl.”

Gods, what an asshole.

“You’re the worst,” you pant.

“And you want me,” he smirks.

“Fuck you.”

“If you insist.” Still holding your head firmly in place, just in case you decide to use your teeth again, he slides his free hand down the front of your uniform trousers, his thick fingers unerringly finding their way to your cunt and circling your clit roughly before sinking into you. “You’re soaking wet. I kriffing knew it.”

“You’re no-one to talk,” you grunt, reflecting on the unfairness that this unfuckable asshole can find your clit when it eludes so many perfectly nice partners. Of course, he is the marshal commander of the 91st Mobile Reconnaissance Corps; locating things is his specialty. A significant bulge tents the front of his uniform, and you grasp it roughly, grinding the palm of your hand against him. He pinches your clit in retaliation, and you growl at him, baring your teeth in an animalistic snarl.

You unbuckle each other’s belts with frantic urgency—he does it with only one hand, and it’s so kriffing hot, who gave this asshole the right to be so kriffing hot?—and shove down both sets of trousers. He grabs your thigh hard enough to bruise and jerks it up to his waist, and then he plunges into you. The sound you let out is inhuman, and he stills for an instant.

“Don’t fucking stop now,” you snap.

“Sir, yes, sir,” he says, thrusting hard into you, again and again. 

He’s strong as kark, and he fucks you with such aggression that he lifts your other foot off the floor, and you dangle helplessly in the air for a moment, impaled on his cock. It’s an undignified position; you’re an admiral of the Force-damned fleet, by the gods, and you aren’t about to let him take control so easily. You hook your foot on the back of his knee, and the two of you crash to the floor.

He lands with a grunt of pain. “I fucking hate you.”

“I hate you more,” you say, licking up the tattooed numbers on his face.

He rolls you over and pins you to the floor, his hips never slowing their punishing tempo, and he wrests open your uniform collar. You hear the unmistakable sound of fabric ripping, and you swear to the gods, if he ruined your jacket, you’re going to steal his favorite BARC trooper. 

And then that motherfucker bites your neck. You squeal with pain.

“That hurt?” he grits out.

“Ye—”

“I don’t care,” he snaps, and shit, fuck, oh gods—yes—

FUCK!

You come so hard your vision whites out. Your legs clamp around his waist, and you scream loudly enough that anyone passing through the corridor outside your office would have no doubt what you’re doing inside.

“Shit—” Neyo gasps brokenly. He tries to pull out, but he doesn’t make it in time, and he comes inside you, flooding your cunt with liquid heat.

Asshole. Good thing you have the implant, not that he fucking asked. Force, you hate him.

He collapses on top of you, driving all the air out of your lungs, and you tense up to shove him away, but then he slides his tongue languidly over your bruised neck, the soft heat soothing the pain and making your eyes drift closed.

“You have issues,” he whispers in your ear.

“Psychopath,” you whisper back.

A small flutter of movement in the corner of the room has you both snapping to alertness, and you whip your head around to see Commander Bacara rising from your desk chair.

“Well,” Bacara smirks. “That was entertaining.” 

---

Tagging:

@secondaryrealm @blueink-bluesoul @spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella @cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

"Because I care."

Norman leaned over in his chair, adjusting his glasses to the bridge of his nose. He could hear Sammy, the head of the Music Department, from below, screaming at one of the trumpet players.

He rolled his eyes before gazing at what he was doodling. On his page were decent scattered little doodles of the trio. On the left Though, he admitted, his Boris doodles could improve, his ears looking a hint floppy. He stared at the slim wooden pencil in his hand before letting it roll away, it halted at the side of the projector. The projector hummed and whirled beside him, its bulb flickering. He glanced around the booth, a few dusty posters of the cast plastered on the walls. The booth smelled stale, sour even, but at this point, Norman was quite used to it. After all, humans, within reason, can adapt to anything. Strangely, the room felt fiercely chilly, making the back of Norman's neck feel a sort of numbness. He shivered, checking the clock.  6:45. Almost time to clock out.  He rubbed the back of his neck, making his long hair sweep to the side.

He rubbed his eyes, tuning out Sammy's screaming. He felt exhausted. Ever since Henry left, it felt like this studio was slowly rotting from the inside. Sure, new ideas kept springing up, such as Bendyland, but for some reason, Norman felt it just made everything worse. Employees were starting to go missing, pipes began to burst and flood departments, money was going down the drain and on and on. Mister Drew still kept talking about dreams coming true, but his talking seemed more like he was trying to hide something. Something bad. That thought piqued Norman's mind, pestering him. What was really going on? He felt curiosity wiggle in his mind, but he paid no mind to it. 

Norman  cupped the side of his face with one hand and rested on it. He closed his tired eyes, trying not to think about what was wrong with the studio. Because if he did, that would definitely cause a horrible miragane. Then, he heard a voice. Her voice, to be correct. He immediately fluttered his eyes open and almost scrambled to look over the booth's opening. He didn’t have time to think how weird he must’ve looked. His eyes furiously scanned below. After searching the river of bolting musicians and chatty voice actors, he spotted her! Susie seemed to remain oblivious of his staring while exchanging words with Sammy. I should probably go say hello, right? Norman felt his face warm up, but he slowly got out of his chair, only to dash down the stairs. I mean it would be weird if I didn’t, right? When he had reached the bottom of the stairs, he was met with a flood of people pushing and shoving to get from place to place. He stopped dead in his tracks, a wave of doubt and sudden nervousness hitting him in the gut. Crowds weren't his thing. People weren't his thing. Sadly, social anxiety terrorized his mind, his stomach felt like it was being knotted. He stared at the hustling crowd, feeling his shoulders tense up. He shoved his hands in his suit pockets, gritting his teeth. Oh how he HATED rush hour. He played with the thought of retreating to his booth and waiting till the rush was over, however...he knew that she would probably already clock out if he waited. He swallowed, reluctantly walking into the busy crowds. He pushed through, hating every aspect of what was happening. Sharp elbows hit him while the sounds of shoes, muttering, even yelling ringed through his ears. He had to dodge a man holding a case for a tuba. Maybe it was just irritation, but he had the temptation to snap at him. 

Finally, the crowds were thinning and he could see the door leading to the actual music room. After slipping past two loud men, he had managed to stagger towards the wooden door, his hand outstretched to grab the rusted doorknob. Before he could jiggle the knob, the door swung open! Almost whacking him in the face. Luckily, Norman had instinctively taken a step back to avoid collusion, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. A young woman with pink hair came out and noticed him. “Sorry, dude. You alright?” She asked, her eyes apologetic. “Yeah..just be careful. Scared the shit outta me.” He muttered, remembering that the  woman was one of the voice actors here. “Will do!” She said, turning away to dash off. Suddenly, words tumbled out, before Norman could think, “U-uh wait!” The woman stopped in her tracks, turning her head towards him. “Hm?”  “Is..is Miss Campbell still in there?” He asked slowly, his tone meek. The voice actress smirked, replying, “She sure is! But I’d go in there now if I were you before she heads out.” Norman nodded curtly, the anxiety in his stomach still not clearing up. He thanked her, though avoided making eye contact.

  After a moment of hesitation, he reached for the knob and jiggled it. He swung the door wide, only for it to accidentally hit the wall on the other side. The sound of it colliding with the wall caused heads to turn. “What do you want?” Sammy muttered, holding a stack of papers. His pale blue eyes glared at his dark green ones. Norman scanned the music room. Unpacked Instruments remained scattered throughout the stage, eager to become a tripping hazard. The room was almost empty, excluding him and Sammy, only a few musicians remained. The remaining musicians paid him no attention as they were either too engrossed in packing up or sharing words with each other.  Norman was snapped out of his looking around by Sammy loudly clearing his throat. Norman narrowed his eyes at this, beginning to answer, “I’m looking for…” His voice trailed off, stalling. Did he really want Sammy knowing he was looking for Miss Campbell? After all, the whole studio was definitely hunting for things to gossip about. Sammy kept shifting the stack of papers in his arms, raising a brow, “Looking for?? Look, Polk, I don’t have all day y’know. I got to return these to Jack before my fucking arms fall off. WHAT DO YOU WANT?” He snapped, struggling to keep his composure due to the papers. Norman, feeling a spark of irritation, finally gave up and told him. “I’m looking for Miss Campbell. I just thought I saw her down here and-” Sammy's eyes glistened with interest, interrupting him, “What do you need her for?”  Norman stammered, “N-none of your business! I’m just asking. Curious and what not..God.”  Sammy gave him a skeptical look which made Norman want to just retreat. “She’ll be in my office, " I asked her to drop something off for me. Probably be coming back here soon.” Sammy informed, his face scrunched up. Norman stared at the papers in Sammys hands, asking, “Do you need help with those?” Sammy snapped his head up, through gritted teeth, he hissed, “Just stay out of the way while you’re waiting. AND DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING.” Norman rolled his eyes in response, letting out a snort. You knock one violin over and he thinks you’re gonna destroy the entire department. Honestly.  Norman watched Sammy stagger away, amusement tingling in his smirk.  Wonder how long he’ll last before he drops all those.  Still watching the irritable composer trudge towards the doors, Norman couldn’t help but wonder why  Sammy was in such a hostile mood.  I mean more than usual. The music door slammed behind Sammy, causing a music stand to topple over.  Was it just him or was everybody being drained out of life? Or, you know, patience. 

Norman leaned against the wall beside the stage, watching to see if the music room's door would swing open.  A few minutes had passed and Norman was beginning to give into the thought of just clocking out without talking to Susie. The music room was now completely silent due to the remaining musicians walking out of the department. Usually Norman liked the silence, it made him feel at ease. But this was different. The silence was beginning to poke at his mind, making him feel uncomfortable. Uneasy as well. He was now wondering if Sammy had tricked him, he frowned at the thought.

 Abruptly, the door swung open, only for a young woman wearing a pale blue dress to scurry out, her heels making an audible clicking sound against the rough wooden floorboards. Her hair bounced off her shoulders as she whipped her head and noticed Norman.  Her eyes stretched as wide as spoons while she hastily walked over to him. “Norman! I'm so sorry for making you wait! Sammy told me you wanted to speak with me?”  Norman was startled at her appearance, she looked ill. Her pale skin, trembling hands and tired eyes, it didn’t seem like her. Of course she was still beautiful in Norman's mind, forever and always, but she seemed so.. fragile. And not like the confident young woman who had a teasing nature like he had remembered. He looked at the corner of her lips, a faint black smear. “Are you alright?” He asked, his tone quiet. He watched Susie almost recoil back at the question, which bewildered him. He took a step closer, worrying plaguing his mind. “Susie?” Susie exhaled before plastering a warm, but weak smile at him. “I'm fine, Norman. You don’t need to worry about me.” Norman wanted to be convinced, but his gut was yelling at him that something was wrong. “Are you sick? I..I’m sure Mister Drew will let you take a few days off.” He said, trying not to show that he was worrying. Also, in the back of his mind, he wasn’t actually sure Mister Drew would give her a day off.  So far, no one had been getting a day off it seemed. It felt like everyone was just praying they’d make it till the end of the day. Or praying they could make it to the infirmary. He could even recall Tom complaining how he and GENT had been working relentlessly, hardly getting the time to see their loved ones. He really hoped Susie wasn’t overworking herself. His thoughts were cut off by Susie's response, “Just feeling a bit tired after today's work, that’s all. I’m surprised you aren’t exhausted yourself.” She smirked, folding her arms at him. Suddenly, her smirk just vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Her shaking hand covered her lips as her body jolted with her coughing. She turned away from Norman, her cough sounding painful. Between coughing Norman heard her trying to reassure him that she was alright. Was it just him or was that black smear darker now?  Norman felt his heart sink. She had just lied to him. But why? Norman shook his head, repressing the urge to argue with himself. “Guess I’m a bit under the weather today, huh?” Susie joked, but the amusement in her tone was crushingly dull.  Without thinking, Norman took her cold soft hand into his, gently saying, “C’mon, let’s take you to the infirmary.” He saw Susie opening her mouth to protest, but then glanced at her hand in his. Her pale cheeks were now painted a light rose. She nodded curtly, strands of her hair tickling her forehead. 

The walk to the infirmary was silent. Neither one of them dared to utter a word. It still stung Norman that she had lied to him, but he couldn’t focus on that.  Also, he was currently mentally banging his head against a wall. He shouldn’t have just grabbed her hand like that! Politely suggesting to go to the infirmary would’ve probably been a better solution. Not grabbing someone's hand and making them. His face burned with embarrassment..and also how they were still holding hands.  She hasn’t objected so that’s..good? Damnit, Tom was right, I am fucking hopeless.   He let out a sharp exhale, trying to just focus on the task at hand. 

 Finally, the entrance for the infirmary was coming up ahead, its entrance having no door, just an open space where the door should’ve been. Cheerful posters were stuck on the wall, most of them starring just Bendy. Besides the friendly decor, there above the entrance held the sign, NOT SICK, NOT PAID. Its black bolded letters practically yelled at the two. There on the very back wall held an outdated fading calendar. 

The only sounds that could be heard was the sound of their footsteps hitting the floor. The room had two big filing cabinets on the right, as well as a supply closet, which Norman guessed is where they keep First Aid supplies. At the very end lay two cots. Norman winced at the sight of them as the cots looked terribly uncomfortable and held stains that Norman didn’t wanna even know about. On the left side, there were just a few wooden chairs placed there for waiting patients or visitors. 

Finally, he let his hand slip away from Susie's still cold ones. “Hold up, I have an idea.” He said, already walking towards the supply closet. “Norman, stop, you really don’t have to do this.” Susie spoke in a hushed tone, her eyes pleading with him. But for once in his life, Norman felt determination flow through him. “Just hold on.” He said, before turning to meet Susie's wary  eyes. “Please?” He implored, his eyes softened as well as his tone. Susie let out a sigh, but nodded her head in defeat. Norman watched her slowly walk towards one of the chairs closest to the entrance. She carefully tucked in her skyblue dress, being cautious not to get it caught on the chairs' sharp edges. “Fine. But Norman? I’m giving you about five minutes to do whatever. If your plan isn’t ready by then, then we’ll be going with my plan. Which is going home.” She muttered, her voice gentle, but firm. Norman nodded his head vigorously, exclaiming, “Great! Five minutes should be plenty!”  His face brightened, but deep down, the clock was ticking and pressure was on.  

He walked over to the closest, reaching for its handle. After jiggling the handle, the closest door popped open, making a deep creaking sound. Inside held shelves filled with the typical stuff you would expect to see in an infirmary's closet. There on the top shelf held a metal case with the red cross sign. Second shelf held rolls of bandages, glass jars filled with cotton balls, swab sticks, popsicle sticks and bandaids. Plus a bottle of rubbing alcohol for disinfecting wounds. On the last shelf held folded white sheets. The gears started turning in his head and he got to work.  Norman bent down, carefully reaching for a few white folded sheets. A loose strand of hair brushed against his cheek, but Norman ignored it, too focused on what he was doing. He got up quickly, heading to the first cot his way. Near the cot was a wooden end table, where Norman put the folded sheets. He picked up one, unfolding it and fluttering it over the cot, letting it gracefully lay down. He tucked the loose ends of the soft sheet into the metal frame of the cot. He made sure to do this on both sides. He grabbed another sheet and lay it on top of the first one, unfolding it. The second sheet acted like a thin, but silky blanket. The rest of folded sheets on the end table were plopped to the head of the cot as a pretend pillow.  Surprisingly, Norman had one minute left, to perfect his “masterpiece”, he gently took the trim of the “blanket” and folded it over itself by only just a few inches.  He smiled at his simple creation, before turning to meet Susie, who looked pretty surprised.  “Done.” He said, motioning towards the cot. Susie's face flushed, but a small warm smile tugged on her lips. “It might not be very comfortable, but I hope the sheets make it look more appealing.” He stated, his tone apologetic.  Susie shook her head, getting up from the chair. “It’s definitely an improvement.” She declared, chuckling a bit, but then stopped. She began to speak, “Norman, It’s nice of you to care, but honestly-” Before Norman could realize it, he cut her off, “You need rest.” Susie's eyes looked torn at him, but she let out a short sigh. Norman was about to think she was going to argue, but then she spoke, “You did do all this in under five minutes..oh fine! But, I’ll only take a quick nap, alright?” Norman nodded, feeling mild relief that she accepted. He watched Susie slip off her black heels and hop onto the cot, getting the makeshift blanket to lie on top of her. “I must admit your bed making skills are impressive.” She admitted, shifting to sit up on the cot. “Thank you! When you have to grow up making your own bed AND your younger brothers, you kind of perfect that skill.” He laughed softly, feeling the knots in his stomach easen and untangle. Susie let out a laugh, an actual happy laugh. It sounded beautiful to Norman. Norman smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets. He slowly turned away towards the entrance, but stopped when he heard Susie speak, “Where are you going?” He turned back to her, asking, “Do..you want me to stay?” He felt surprised, but almost flattered as well. “Well it would be nice to have some company just before I rest. And, it’s not like I have a whole lot of time to speak with you these busy days.  Most of the time I can barely find you actually!” She exclaimed, amusement sparkling in her dull eyes. Norman guiltily shrugged his shoulders at her, quietly muttering “Sorry about that.” He stood there for a minute, processing. Then after standing like a statue for a whole minute, he turned towards the chairs and grabbed one of them. He hoisted it up before placing it almost at the foot of the cot.  He slowly sat down, the wooden chair letting out a low creak. It felt uncomfortably hard against Norman’s back, but he didn’t complain. He crossed his leg and leaned back.  

The two talked for a while. About interests, dreams, opinions and mostly just about daily things. Norman also humoured her with stories about Johnny when he was little. It was so worth making her laugh. After an hour of talking, the flow of conversation was now thinning as Susie looked more and more tired with each passing minute. Norman could feel wary himself, but in a content way. He heard Susie letting out a yawn before laying down. She rested her head on the little mountain of folded sheets while she stared at Norman through tired eyes. Norman folded his arms, tilting his head down and closing his eyes. Abruptly he heard Susie mutter something to him. Without opening his eyes, he spoke, “Pardon?”  “I asked, why are you doing this for me?” Susie repeated, her tone faint. Norman fluttered his eyes open, staring at her. It was a simple question. Norman opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Instead, something tickled his throat making him cough. Once he coughed he couldn’t stop. Norman felt his lungs burn while his throat felt sore. He drew a hand to cover his coughing, when pulling his hand away, he noticed it was stained black. His body jolted with every cough and with every cough  his lungs tightened till he couldn’t breath. His vision turned black. He opened his mouth to yell for Susie, but only more ink came up. No air, just ink. Just ink. Like everything else. Every living thing. 

He woke up with a jolt, gasping. Norman's hand grabbed his chest. His cold inky chest. He touched his face. Tried to at least. There where his face should’ve been was a hard metal projector.  He slowed down his breathing. DId he even need to breathe? How was he breathing? Was  he breathing? He could feel ink inside. Was the ink breathing for him? Didn’t matter.  He looked around him, pipes steamed above him while the sound of walls groaning. The room was mostly empty, only a cot, desk and few boxes filled with reels remained. He just sat there in the corner. He felt his throat have a lump in it. Not by the ink, but from sadness. He didn’t know if that was just a dream or a memory. Probably just a dream even though it felt so..vivid. He remembered Susie's laugh which stabbed his heart. Then he thought about her question. The question he didn’t answer. “Why are you doing this for me?” Through the speaker connected to his projector on his head, he whispered through a static voice, “Because I care, Susie. Because I love you.” He clutched his legs, bringing them closer to his chest and buried his projector head in them. “Because I love you.” He quietly repeated with a sob.