#and touching them all the time now that that barrier's been broken

[sysig]

Dying about stick figures rn (Patreon)

[ramblingautisticman]

After they get together, Wade is instantly pulling away from physical contact. He is wearing the mask more, wearing long sleeved shirts and huge hoodies- even if it's the summer- and the whole thing really confuses the shit out of Logan.

It wasn’t like they had no physical contact before. Wade would wrap an arm around his shoulder when they had finished a mission, he would lean on him while they watched TV. They would end up holding hands while walking the dog and cuddled up to each other half asleep on the couch. Logan thought that when they officially started dating, it would be even worse. Not worse- but more. Honestly, he liked the gentle touches. Logan hadn't had that in so long, hadn't had someone touch him that softly or kindly with no fear on their face, that if felt special. Made him feel good and safe and cared for.

Then, all of a sudden, it stopped. They started dating, and not even two days later, it stopped. No more leaning, no more holding hands or cuddling, nothing. And then the mask started being put on more- even when they had no mission- then it was long sleeved shirts and hoodies. Quickly, Logan became all too familiar in seeing Wade head to toe covered up, even in the dead of summer.

Logan didn't bring it up for a few weeks- thought that maybe Wade just needed some time to adjust- but then a month had passed and they barely touched. He just wanted to hold hands while they walked Mary Puppins again. To feel Wade's head on his shoulder as they watched TV. To wrap his arms around Wade as they slept. To kiss him on the cheek for the first time. That was it.

Logan had his suspicions. It wasn't hard to put the dots together. And so he tried to bring it up. He tried to broach the subject casually, sitting at the table eating breakfast while sat opposite Wade.

"Ya not hot in that big hoodie there?" He asked, hoping that maybe just starting with the hoodie would be a good idea. Would be simpler. "What you on about? It's not even that hot." Wade had lied through his teeth. It was boiling in this apartment- the hottest week of the year- and the air con had broken a good few days ago now. He could see and smell the sweat on him. "Don't lie- Wade- just take the damn hoodie off." But he doesnt- he just makes some joke about how hot Logan is instead while finishing the last of his cereal, then heading over to the couch and pressing play on whatever he had paused.

And it hurts. He wants Wade to trust him with this. To let him help. He wouldn't date Wade if he didn't think he was attractive- both inside and out. Maybe he hasn't been has obvious about that as he should have. Maybe Wade is just feeling insecure. Whatever it is, Logan is going to help.

So he hatches a plan. He sits down one morning while Wade is still asleep, and writes down a list of everything he is going to do to help, and to prove he really does like everything about Wade (he isn't ready to say the big scary 'L' word yet). A plan that would respect Wade's boundaries while still breaking down that barrier that had been built.

Step 1) Start giving Wade his favourite snacks.

This would probably seem stupid to anyone else, but Logan knew Wade. He knew that he only had a few foods and snacks that didn't make him feel nauseous or sick (thanks to the good old cancer he had), so buying snacks for Wade that he knew he could actually stomach seemed like a nice but simple gesture to start with. Make Wade aware that Logan payed attention and remembered these things. He needed to work up to bigger stuff later. Make sure Wade didn't freak out or notice what he was doing.

And that's what he did. He bought Wade a few packs of his favourite chips (or crisps (the writer is british deal with it)) and gave them to him when they were sat on the couch one day. A spontaneous gift. Wade seemed more excited that Logan had remembered what kind and flavour they were than about the actual chips themselves, which was fine with Logan. Completely fine. Seeing Wade so happy at a simple gesture was both joy inducing and kind of sad. Had no one else ever remembered his sensitive stomach? Remembered that he had cancer? Whatever. It didn't really matter, because Logan was going to remeber every little detail he could.

Step 2) was a little harder. It involved a little more thought and care, and a little more risk.

Step 2) was to Get Wade a hoodie that smelt like Logan.

Again, something that seemed normal in any relationship, but he wasn't sure how Wade would react. He hoped that because it was a hoodie, and because Wade was currently wearing a lot of hoodies (the same 2 in rotation), it would be a well appreciated gift. He didn't know if Wade would want to change out of the 2 hoodies he was already comfortable in- he wanted to try though. Plus, having something of his boyfriends would be a good gift. Prove that he wanted people to know Wade was his. That he wasn't ashamed. And maybe he just wanted Wade in his clothes. So he headed to the store.

He got one in the same red as his suit, made sure that it was thin enough to not make Wade actually melt in the heat but thick enough to keep him warm in the cold (if he was still like this when it became cold again, he wanted to make sure he wasn't going to freeze), and proceeded to wear the hoodie around for the next few days. Logan made sure Wade was either out or not watching when he wore it, wanting it to be a surprise.

And eventually, a week later when he deemed it good enough, Logan left it out for Wade with his clothes for after he showered. Wade comes out with the new red hoodie on, and Logan can't help but smile at the other.

This is where Step 3) comes in. Step 3) Compliment Wade as much as possible.

"You look real good in that hoodie." He said, stepping closer to the other. Wade laughs a little, sounding slightly embarrassed, and just shrugs a little. The hoodie is massive on him- Logan's huge muscular build is far bigger than Wade's waisting away skinny body- and it looks like Wade enjoys that, because he is wrapping himself up in it like a blanket. "Smells like you. You're a sneaky guy, aren't you Peanut? Plus, it matches the mask. Very well done." Wade responds with an obvious smirk under said mask. "So you like it? Because you are very, very handsome right now. Also cute." Logan mutters, matching that smirk.

And okay, Wade directs the conversation somewhere else then, but he hasn't taken the hoodie off in a week and Logan takes that as a good sign. He also never combats his compliments. He never responds, but he never directly disagrees, which seems like a second good sign.

Next step it is then. Step 4) Start using pet names.

It's not that he doesn't already, it's just that he doesn't really use the normal relationship pet names. Bub and Mouth is about all he has for Wade right now, and he wants to expand on that. Logan likes using pet names for people he dates- people he likes (loves) in a romantic way- he just hasn't really used any yet. And he wants to change that.

"You want jelly (jam (again, british writer, deal with it)) on your toast sweetheart?" "Baby, do you think Mary needs a new bed? She's chewed half the corner of this one." "Honestly princess, I don't think anyone on this stupid show is even thinking about plot." And Wade seems to like every single one, because every time he says any of them (even if it's not the first time), Logan can hear his heart rate pick up, and he freezes for a moment before going back to the conversation.

And he keeps those three in rotation- the three Wade seem to like and the three Logan thinks fit the best- and Wade never tells him to stop, so he doesn't.

Step 5) is honestly one of his favourites, because Step 5) is calling Wade his boyfriend around other people.

He starts of light. Casually mentioning that they are dating to their friends when the see eachother for the first time in awhile. Then when they are out and about, and he casually mentions that "Oh yeah, just out with my boyfriend" "Yeah, just grocery shopping with my boyfriend" "I've got a date with my very handsome boyfriend after this" and he always makes sure Wade hears him.

He wants Wade to know that he isn't ashamed of people knowing they are together- he actually likes it. Being able to show off his handsome boyfriend to his friends or in public is very much fulfilling Logan's masculine side, and Wade is a blushing mess everytime. He can tell, he doesn't need to see. Wade is stuttering over his words, nodding along with whatever Logan is saying.

It's adorable and Logan wants to see it more often.

After another 2 months of dating, and a good two months or repeating his little 5 steps, Wade seems slightly more comfortable. Logan doesn't push him- doesn't want to break what trust he is building- and he accepts every slight change with gratitude.

Wade slowly gets alittle closer as they sit on the couch. He sometimes rests his leg against Logan when they sleep- and he doesn't seem as afraid to flirt back and forth for awhile now.

And now, he can try Step 6) Talking with Wade.

It's the most terrifying step of the 6. That's where all of this careful build up could shatter beneath his feet and he could ruin everything, have to start all over again. Or, Wade might pull even further away than he had at the beginning. But he knows he has to do it- wants to do it- and so he does. It's worth the risk.

So one night, while Logan and Wade are sat together watching some shitty late night shopping channel, Logan decides to bring it up. Not so casually this time.

"Hey Wade, can I ask you something?" He asks, his voice calm and soft, using the others name to hopefully make it seem a little more important. Wade turns away from the TV, fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie (he only takes it off when it doesn't smell like Logan, and makes him wear it until he does again), a small nod. "Yeah- what's up babycakes? If its to ask if I think you'd be good on Bake Off, I may have bad news Peanut, because I've seen your attempt at making pancakes, and that would not make Paul proud." Wade jokes, his voice having a tiny hint of nervousness too it, and Logan is kind of glad for the joke but less for the nervousness Wade is expressing.

"Nothing bad, I promise- I just...I want you to know that I care for you. Alot. No matter what- and if you aren't comfortable touching and taking your mask or hoodie of that's okay. I-....well...I just want you to also know that I'm okay if you do. If you do want to take them off aswell. I do like how you look- ya know that, right? Like alot. And again, if you aren't comfortable I get it- but I also need you to know that I think your super handsome and hot either way. Sorry...I'm not great with this kind of thing- but I'm trying..." Logan rambles on like an idiot, something he doesn't do often, but he needs Wade to understand. Needs him to know. He isn't sure if it works or not, because for awhile there is a deafening silence filling the room.

Logan starts to panic, because, why was Wade so quiet? And still? Had he overstepped? Had what he dreaded would happen actually happened?

But all of a sudden, he hears quiet sobs. Which makes him freeze. "W-Wade?" He asks, his voice breaking a little. He had made Wade cry. Wade was crying. Shit. Shit. Shitshitshitshit. This wasn't how it was meant to god. He really had fucked up, and he wasn't sure how he was going to fix i-

"I'm sorry." Is all he hears, cutting him away from his thoughts, and his heart breaks even more at that. "Hey- no, why are you sorry baby?" Logan asks quietly, moving alittle closer to Wade. He desperately wants to reach out and wrap his arms around Wade, pulling him close and rub soothing circles on his back, but he doesn't want to make Wade feel worse. He respects Wade's boundaries.

"Because I'm such a fucking mess....I'm ugly and-and I just...you can't really think that- can you? Your so fucking stunning and I'm....and I'm me! I'm covered head to toe in fucking scars and-and they aren't even good looking scars- and....and I just....I'm sorry.. I can't be...be normal.. " and every word is breaking Logan's heart even more. How the hell could Wade think that? Any of it?

Logan like- no- loved every single thing about Wade. His stupid jokes, his rambling, his cute little voice he put on for Mary Puppins, how he always helped any kids that asked for it, his body, his voice, hell- he even loved the nicknames. He loved everything this man did, does and will do. No matter what.

And here Wade was thinking he was ugly- thinking he was some fucking disgusting creature. Logan should apologise to him for failing to do what he set out to do. Failing to prove to Wade he loved him no matter what.

"Wade...listen to me right now. I...I love everything about you. Everything. I love every scar and every blemish because that makes you, you. I think you are the best boyfriend in the multiverse, and I am so fucking happy that you are mine. That you chose me, the worst version of me. I think you are a handsome, sexy, extremley good looking, kind, gentle, crazy, person, and I love it all. And I want to see you baby, I havent seen your face in so long. I want to see your pretty eyes again and that stunning smile- and I want to hold your hand in public, to kiss you on your cheek, to cuddle you at night- I want all of that. So...so please...please- if you want and only if you want....take the mask off- of just the hoodie. Please? Because I promise, I am going to spend the rest of my days proving that everything you think about yourself is wrong. That anything negative is positive." And maybe this is another messy ramble, but Logan doesn't care because he can't let Wade keep thinking like this. He gets having bad days- knows that there will come days in the future where Wade wants to wear the mask and the hoodie for a day, but he can't let him feel like this all the time. He can't. He won't. He refuses.

Logan stares at Wade, patiently waiting for any reaction. Anything at all. And there isn't one for a moment, until Wade is slowly pulling his mask off. As soon as he does, Wade looks at him scared, tears rushing down his face, eyes looking anywhere but Logan.

And it's been so long since he has seen that face- that face he fell inlove with- that he can't help the tears in his own eyes start to rush down his cheek. "Hey...there you are." He whispers, a small smile spreading across his lips. It feels so good to see him. To actually see him.

"H-hey..." Wade whispers back, his voice sounding broken and too quiet, and Logan is determined to fix that. "Can I...can I touch you? Just your cheek or hold your hand? If not that's okay. Take your time. I'll be waiting as long as you need." Logan says softly, waiting for Wade to shut him down- the mask being off already such a huge step, but suddenly he is nodding and Logan is placing a gentle hand on Wade's cheek, gently running his thumb over the scared skin.

In this moment, he can't understand how Wade thinks he looks ugly, because to Logan? To Logan he looked like he was sculpted by the gods themselves. Wade looked like something out of a painting. He looks so stunning that Logan just can't understand.

Wade must see this in his eyes, because Wade quickly looks confused. "You...you really do mean all that.." He says, and Logan nods with a smile on his face. "Of course I do. I love you Wade. Nothing is going to stop that- and...and I hate that you feel this way about yourself because you are the most beautiful person I have ever laid my eyes on...and I'm going to keep my promise. I'm going to prove every word." And this time, Wade looks like he understands. Like he truly believes, and Logan can't help but lean in and softly press their lips together.

This time, Wade doesn't pull away from the touch, instead, he finally leans in.

[elronds-meleth-nin]

Healing Hands

This is just a short little fic, based on this post here. The tall, broad High-King demanded a drabble aside from the ones I'd already started about him, so what else could I do? He is the High King, after all. 🥰👑

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Gil-Galad (RoP) x Half-Elven!Reader

[A/N: This is just fluff.]

Warnings: Spoilers for RoP s2e8, non-graphic descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood, soft!Gil-Galad, affectionate teasing, romantic tension, healing injuries, Gil speaking Quenya, battle aftermath, minor angst with a happy ending.

~*~

Did she truly think she was being subtle with such a limp in her step? The High King and his Herald had led their soldiers and the survivors of Eregion into a valley, establishing around it a protective, magical barrier using the rings of power.

Together, the pair had healed Lady Galadriel, but as they settled her in a soft, flat spot to recover, Gil-Galad saw his lady, clad in her own black-splattered armor, attempting to limp away unnoticed.

"Go. I'll stay with Galadriel," Elrond volunteered quietly, and with a grateful nod of acknowledgement, the King hurried through the trees after her. He hadn't even remembered seeing her struck, but obviously she had been if she was limping.

She didn't get very far. At the edge of a small clearing, he found her sitting with her back against a tree, struggling to remain conscious. His breath caught when he saw how pale she'd become. She'd clearly been hiding this for quite some time.

Without a thought beyond healing his lady, Gil-Galad dropped to his knees beside her and began slicing a window into the leg of her trousers. The cloth parted easily at the behest of his dagger, and at the waft of cool air over her skin, her eyes fluttered open.

"Ereinion?" Her voice was so shaky and quiet. "I'm sorry. Didn't...want to bother you..."

"Hush, I am here, now," he murmured as he beheld the broken-off shaft of an arrow embedded in her leg. She'd lost quite a bit of blood if the dark, drenched fabric of her trousers was any indication. Thankfully, the arrow was not lodged too deeply, and she'd left enough of it exposed for a healer to grip in order to remove it. "Fool of a girl, you should have come straight to me."

She let out a weak laugh at his affectionate scolding.

"Calling your favorite patient a fool? Ondórëa ingaranya," she murmured cupping his cheek and drawing his eyes to her own. There was no real acidity in her tone. Gil-Galad took courage in the fact that she still had enough clarity of mind to tease him. He had, in fact, healed her before, but the injuries were always insignificant and superficial. And, she'd never actively hidden them from him before.

What cause had he given her to do so? Had she been embarrassed?

Without hesitation, he turned his head just far enough to kiss her palm.

"I humbly beg your forgiveness, meldanya." He hoped that she knew he referred to more than his playful jab. He also knew that to call her such, to allow such a slip, would be tantamount to a confession for which he was not certain that he was prepared. But, to call her anything less than his beloved would be a lie. Furthermore, to do so in the aftermath of such rampant death and destruction would summon within his heart guilt in such quantities that he could not abide.

Turning his attention back to her leg, he laid his palm as lightly as he could over her thigh. He whispered in Quenya, allowing the magic from his ring and from his own healing abilities to seep into her skin and numb her pain. Working quickly, he removed the arrowhead and pressed his hand over the wound, murmuring some of the same healing spells he and Elrond had used on Galadriel.

Fortunately, though, this was not a cursed wound as the former had sustained from Morgoth's crown, nor was it as severe. Her skin glowed readily beneath his touch. Within moments, the skin bound itself shut and his lady shuddered in relief as a trickle of light penetrated the canopy of trees overhead to mingle with their own.

Her hand had fallen limply away after mere moments, but Gil-Galad retrieved it once his work was complete, grasping it gently between his own blood-stained fingers. Her pulse beat steady and strong in his grasp, and his eyelids fluttered shut as he breathed a sigh of relief. She would be alright. She had survived.

"Did you mean it?" She breathed, and he was so surprised that she was conscious that his eyes snapped immediately to hers. Despite the dirt and grime coating them both, he felt entirely exposed beneath her gaze - vulnerable and transparent before her.

He relished the sensation of being known so completely. To everyone else, he was Gil-Galad, the High King of Lindon, the bastion of strength from which his people drew their courage when darkness threatened.

To her, he was simply Ereinion. The feeling was more pleasant and intoxicating than he could possibly express.

"You called me your beloved," she continued. "Did you mean it?"

How could he deny it? He loved her. He had for centuries. Since the moment she set foot in Lindon nearly three hundred years before, Gil-Galad had surrendered to the realization that his heart would settle for no other. Her light was beyond compare, shining into even the most uncertain parts of his heart which he hid from all others. She drew him out so easily, comforted him simply by smiling in his direction. She was his strength, his courage, his most luxuriant pleasure and joy.

But, he was a king. Because she knew him, she also knew better than any other how taxing his position was. Over time, he'd convinced himself that she would not wish to bear the burden of ruling by his side, so he'd remained silent - reluctant to steal her own contentment and joy by forcing the responsibilities of a ruler upon her. She deserved to have a life unburdened by the weight of a crown.

In his secrecy, however, his heart had grown accustomed to a more profound loneliness than he'd ever previously known. On too-silent nights in his chambers, he longed to hold her close and whisper poetry in her ear - he'd composed more verses in her honor than he'd expected his heart to harbor. On tranquil mornings before the rush of the day's duties began, he ached with the need to see her curled peacefully in his arms as the light of the sunrise spilled in through the windows.

No longer. After today's battle, Ereinion could no more hold his tongue than the pair of robins who sang so freely in his gardens each morning.

"Yes. With all of my foolish heart, I meant it," he admitted, his heart singing with every word, and she lifted her free hand, threading it lightly into his hair. The King savored the feeling. Never before had she touched him so brazenly - he'd made it clear that she was more than welcome to, of course, but she never availed herself of such liberties.

He bent lower, hoping to encourage her by making his person easier to reach. He felt her bare wrist brush against the tip of his ear - sharper than her own, thanks to her half-mortal parentage - but he could not hide his blush nor the light groan she tugged from his chest.

"You have tempted me...enchanted me since our first meeting. I have eyes only for you, but if you do not feel the same, I swear on my honor that I will not torment you further." The King's oath came from the most sincere depths of his heart. For her, he would. Much as it would pain him, if she wanted nothing to do with his feelings, he would bury them deep so that only he would feel the ache. She would suffer no discomfort at his hands.

Her lips met his, stopping his spiraling thoughts in their tracks, and all his worries fell away beneath the most delicious relief. They were as soft and sumptuous as they looked - as he'd imagined them to be - and Ereinion didn't hesitate to return her affection. He may have healed her leg, but with that once simple act, she had healed the King's heart.

~*~*~

Elvish Words (Quenya):

ondórëa ingaranya = my hard-hearted/pitiless high-king

meldanya = my beloved

~*~

Taglist:

@bigblissandlove1 @gandalfthepimp @horta-in-charge

[ellssbellss]

I may or may not have been awake for about 48 house, so I wanted to ask a request before I fall asleep.

The hosts when their SO was up for 2 days straight doing work and starts to slip when get to the host club and acting a little bit too much like the Kyoya.

been thinking about this more than my actual story lately, and i have terrible writer's block, so hopefully this will help! {thank you, anon for the idea!}

The Host Club and their Sleepy, Cranky S.O. {Ohshc X Gender Neutral!Reader}

.oOo.

"mon amour? you need to wake up, darling." tamaki's voice whispers gently in your ear.

the darkness that had surrounded you minutes ago suddenly vanishes as you open your eyes, your head swiftly lifting off of the hard surface that you had rested your eyes upon just a few minutes ago.

it had been just a few minutes, right?

coming out of your tired daze, you feel a warm hand under your chin, and your eyes are turned to meet the concerned, violet gaze of your boyfriend. he is positioned above you, one soft hand resting the club's table in front of you and the other on your face, trailing gently from the point of your chin to the roundness of your cheekbones as his thumb runs gently over the skin there.

"my love, do you know what time it is?" his voice was like butter as dips his head a little deeper, worry creasing his perfect face as he watches you lean into his touch almost automatically.

"mmph..." through his stress about your exhausted state, he giggles slightly as you sigh and shrug, your eyelids dropping more with each second. "i don't know, love."

"it's nine, (y/n)."

"what?" any haze that had chained your brain was broken as you shot out of his gentle hold.

straightening your back, you peer towards the large windows that created a barrier between the club room and the outside world, seeing an endless night erasing any of the natural light you had experienced when you walked in here after class.

"it's nine o'clock?" panicked, the chair screeches across pristine tile as you grab at the things scattered across the table. laptop, charging cords, notebooks and pencils all make their way into your grasp as you hurriedly shove them into your bag. "why didn't you wake me up sooner?"

tamaki had watched the stress bunch up in your shoulders the minute you broke away from his grasp. he watches it wind into your muscles and face as you close up your pack and swing it around one arm, hastily pushing the chair in.

"you look like you needed your rest." he says softly, taken aback by your harsh tone. "i talked to my father to let us stay here a little while longer, since i know you have been working really hard on that project you have, and i thought-"

"exactly!" without raising your voice, he feels the sharp frustration rolling off the tip of your tongue, and it pierces something tender as you whip around to face him. "i have been working so hard not to get behind on my schedule, and now that's all out window. why didn't you wake me up like I asked?"

yellow eyebrows raise as you bite back at him, and he is getting whiplash from the sudden venom in your voice. "i tried, (y/n), but you didn't wake up!" his hands move in an pleading gesture. "you shoved my hand off when i tried to shake you and faced the other way when i kissed your cheek. the end of the world couldn't wake you."

your lips purse as your eyes squint and roll, and you stomp towards the door. stuttering, your golden retriever boyfriend follows behind as you nearly rip the door off it's hinges in your haste.

his words are rushed as he rushes to follow you out of the club room as you make your way down the long, empty staircase. "truly, you're not as behind as you might think, angel, not with all the work you've been doing?"

"you would think, huh?" another frustrated sigh escapes you, but it's more tuned towards yourself than anything. you push through the grand entrance of the school.

tamaki chases you out into the moonlight. his tall form stops in the doorframe though, when he sees the way the pale light drapes over your figure.

your usual bright stance sags in the night, and the hand he loves to hold rakes harshly through your perfect locks before it disappears to run down your face.

"(y/n), mon amour, what's wrong?" you hear his dress shoes click against the pavement. long arms wrap around your waist from behind, and a soft cheek nuzzles against the side of your face. tamaki tightens his hold, encouraging you to melt into his form. "talk to me."

after nothing more than a second, you do, because how could you not?

your head falls back as your spine molds into the bends and divots of tamaki's long torso, and a deep, shuddering sigh ripples out of you.

"i'm sorry, my love." tamaki feels your apology vibrate against his chest. "i just-, i've been extra stressed lately."

"about your project?"

"yes."

"why, angel?"

your neck twists, and you meet your prince's gaze in the complexity of his embrace, and tamaki sees the deep circles under your eyes. he notes how they had darkened since the last time he noticed them.

"i just have a lot riding on my grade for this course. my mother is counting on me for the future of her company, and if this project doesn't go well, then..."

"stop it." the comforting hug he had wrapped you in briefly vanishes as his touch pulls against your uniform. his fingers travel up your waist and forearms, gently grasping your shoulders as he spins you around to face him. "stop thinking like that."

when you're looking at him, his hands run up the rest of your body to your face, holding your jawline in his touch. "you've been working and worrying for two days, mon amour. you haven't been taking care of yourself, and there is nothing more important than your wellbeing."

his tone is different from his gallivanting, and incredibly endearing, dramatics. it's gracefully intense, like when he helped a struggling doctor find his way to his estranged daughter. the way he looks at you is also fierce, love and determination swimming in his purple irises.

"tamaki..."

"why haven't you been taking care of yourself?"

"i haven't had the time!" your voice tries weakly to defend yourself, but tamaki raises another eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "there isn't enough time in the day for me to work as hard as i have been and get a full night's rest."

"then why haven't you come to me about it?"

"i...i don't know." defeated, there is a drop in your gaze as you give up trying to defend yourself. "i thought i could do it on my own."

"you don't have to do anything on your own. not when you're with me." tamaki bends slightly to get into your line of sight. "you know you can talk to me, (y/n); that i'm here to give you anything and everything you need."

your (e/c) eyes whip back up to him. "i know that, love, but i-"

"no buts. you come to me if you need me. that's how it has always been for us."

the moonlight reflects off the small amount of wetness in your eyes, and tamaki's serious expression crumples. all of your stress and exhaustion breathes out of your body at his words. he smiles softly as you bury your face in his chest, placing his hand on your hair and another at your back, kissing the side of your head.

"i need you." your voice sings through the night, into the air as it's carried into the rose garden, red petals fully in bloom.

.oOo.

kyoya has seen this look before.

the tension of your lips as they writhe over your teeth. the slam of your footsteps as you make your way over to your usual seat across from him. especially the small smile you give to whomever greets you.

the smile that doesn't reach your eyes. the smile that falls immediately after you give some random excuse to dismiss yourself from the conversation, and you let it fall because you think no one is looking.

but kyoya was watching.

"good morning, (y/n)." he greets over his laptop as you click open your own, and you meet his gaze briefly before turning your attention back to your computer, giving him the same dismissive smile.

being that he was your boyfriend, that hurt a little.

"good morning, kyo."

he lets his eyes linger on the bored, dull look that you attach to your screen, accompanied by your sluggish movements and purple smudges under your eyes. a dark eyebrow quirks from behind his glasses as your chest rises with a sigh, and your face crinkles despairingly at whatever you are working on.

"what are you doing?"

your lashes flick up to him once more before returning back to your task at hand. "i'm working on the budget."

he blinks a little at your reply. "still?"

the tension from your mouth seeps into your form at his question, and you shift in your seat. "yes, love, thank you so much for pointing that out."

lips parting slightly at the sarcasm in your voice, the club's director raises his fingers off of his keyboard, favoring to clasp them under his chin instead as a more calculating gaze sweeps the figure of his beloved.

he catches an eyebrow twitch, a flare of your nostrils, the way your head bobs slightly before you shake it, as if that could erase the pure exhaustion radiating from you.

yes, kyoya has seen this look before.

in the mirror.

"how much sleep did you get last night, my dear?"

this time, you don't even look at him when you answer. you just shrug at him, too focused on your typing to really concentrate on a reply. "i don't know. maybe an hour or so-."

a sharp flare of concern rises in his chest before you spin your computer on it's base, shoving the screen in his direction with a wary look in your eye. "does this look right to you? i feel like something's missing."

his hands are still at his mouth when he glances at the spreadsheet you two created together, the perfect, color coded numbers arranged into straight columns.

but his brow furrows even more the longer he looks at it. lowering his hands to the device, kyoya pulls it closer to him as he scrolls through, skimming the text for any sign of error or miscalculation.

he finds none.

"(y/n), this is perfect." his pupils dart across the page behind his frames. "i have no idea what you're stressing over."

the laptop is pulled away from him once more as you run a hand through your hair. "no, no." you hit the backspace button on your keyboard, tired eyes squinting over the excel sheet. "something isn't right."

your aggressive typing fills the air once more, a little more frenzied and anxious than a minute before.

kyoya leans back in his chair, still observing. "(y/n), have you been working out this budget since the time i sent it to you?"

"of course."

"that was two days ago."

"i know."

he stands, pushing out his chair, but you don't notice. "have you slept at all?"

"not really. i've been going through the math, the incoming inventory. sure, it looks perfect now, and we are within this month's spending range, but i know there's a way to save more money. if i could just-"

"that," the lid of your computer is suddenly pushed down, closing the screen in front of you. a pale hand with pianist-like fingers attached to it splays across your protective case. "is more than enough, then."

"kyoya!" you sit in front of him, shock emanating from your face as his name is gasped from your lips. "what the hell?"

kyoya leans in front of you, one hand bracing your laptop closed while the other slips into the pocket of his trousers. his raven hair falls into his eyes a little bit, but the gray color is still piercing and raw.

"my dear," he pulls away slightly, adding pressure onto your computer so that it drags to his side of the table. "you need to take a break."

"a break?" you rise as well, trying to keep a cool demeanor. but your director could tell that your patience was thinning. "i'm on the brink of figuring this out, and you want me to take a break?"

"you already have figured it out, (y/n). i looked it over. you found the solution."

"but it could be better."

quickly, kyoya rounds the table, walking into your space to grab one of your hands.

he places both of his palms around one of your own, trying to get through to you through his touch instead of his words, even if the connection was small.

"how much sleep have you had in the past forty-eight hours?"

abandoned by the distraction your work gave you, you now face your boyfriend head on as he studies your movements.

since the moment you met him, kyoya has always watched you intently. as a man who didn't involve himself with anything that he didn't care greatly for, the process of dating him has and will always include him taking the time to observe and study you; to commit your mannerisms to memory. gray irises will forever notice how you bounce your leg underneath your desk when you have something to say but won't say it out right. or how you take your (f/h/d) in the morning, and the exact brand that you use.

or how your face lights up when he comes into view from down the hallway, and you excuse yourself to meet him halfway.

or how you always seem to kiss him with soothing, deep movements, which always encourages him to respond in kind.

but, very rarely is that intent stare coupled with concern.

yet, here it was, bathing his beloved gaze as he waits for your reply, leaving you with an aching heart. you think back to they way you've been acting, cranky and stand-offish, and a pang of regret sparks in your stomach.

your hand adjusts slightly in his as you hold onto his grasp, albeit a little nervously.

"you want the truth?" your beautiful eyes break his gaze as you stubbornly shift in place.

"always."

"not very much. maybe three hours." he swallows as that sharp flare of concern burns into an engulfing flame in his torso. "in total."

A disappointed frown etches onto his handsome features, but it's not angry. it's sad.

sad that he didn't see your exhaustion before, not in it's totality. he saw your frequent yawns and the way you tended to drift off mid-conversation, but he was busy with work as well, and couldn't connect the dots until now.

"(y/n)-"

"i know, i know. it's not the best." you take a deep breath and look at him with more confidence, ready to admit to your actions. "the perfectionist in me kind of let loose. i'm sorry, i just wanted it to be the best that it could be. for the club, ya know? for you."

tugging on your clasped hands, a deep hum resonates from the ootori son as he draws you closer. soon, your hands naturally loop around his neck while he settles his hold at your waist.

his forehead rests on yours as he sighs deeply, and you close your eyes as his low voice reaches your ears. "i think the best thing for me and the club is for you to get some rest."

he smirks a little as he feels you giggle tiredly against him. "yeah, i think you're right."

kyoya chuckles softly as he raises his forehead off of yours to place a kiss in the same spot. "i'm always right, my dear."

.oOo.

"hikaru! stop it!"

arms caged yours as you writhed against his chest. your legs were wild as they kicked up into the air, barely missing your boyfriend as he picked you up from where you had sat on your desk.

"put me down right now! what are you even doing?"

he grunts a little as your swinging legs hit his calves before throwing you down on your bed. unceremoniously, the bed frame creaks with your weight as you land face first into your duvet.

a loud huff escapes you as you turn around from your position, seeing hikaru standing at the foot of your bed with his arms crossed, a victorious smile plastered onto his sharp mouth.

"well, i asked you to take a break from your studying. and you said 'make me.'" his fingers come to either side of his head to create quotation marks. "so i made ya."

"i didn't mean literally, jackass." you grumble as you shift. your palms push your body up off the bed and spin you so that you are seated properly on your comforter. scooting roughly to the edge of your mattress, you barely stand up before your pushed onto the bed again.

"hikaru!"

"nope. not gonna happen."

"i need to study!"

"that's what you've been saying for the past two days!" his rough voice sounds exasperated as he gestures wildly to you. "in the clubroom, in the cafeteria, on our facetime calls. shit, (y/n), i don't think there has been a single second where i haven't seen that textbook open in front of you."

he points to the hefty calculus book open on your desk, three quarters of the pages turned to one side.

"that's what studying is!" you move to get up again with another frustrated sigh. "my test is tomorrow, my love, i can't afford any breaks right now."

this time, instead of simply pushing your back onto the bed, hikaru pins you down. in a flash, golden eyes fill your vision as his fingers clamp around your wrist. when you fall back, his weight takes you down as he flops heavily on your chest.

"you're not going anywhere, baby. not until you tell me what's going on."

"nothing is going on." you huff, blowing a few of his ginger strands out of his face. "now get off me."

"i don't believe you." ever the stubborn twin, hikaru makes a point to wiggle his body on top of yours to amplify the fact that you have no hope of pushing him off. "and i'm not moving until i believe you."

"what?" you bite back.

a more serious tone laces his voice as he scans you. "today, during club hours, you looked like a zombie."

you shoot him a blank look. "thanks."

"a gorgeous zombie, but still."

"not helping."

a crease forms between his eyebrows at your usually soft, bright tone crackling into dry one. "you were dragging your feet, and talking to yourself more than usual. it was creepy."

you rolled your eyes, and hikaru watches as the bags under your eyes moved with the motion, his jaw setting into a firm line.

"so i'm not getting off of you until you tell me what's been up your ass lately."

offended, you gasp and writhe once more, trying to break free of the surprisingly strong grasp the hitachiin twin has on your wrists. "i don't have time for this!"

he chuckles a little at your flustered expression and sinks more of his weight onto your figure. "well, if you're not going to take a break, than i will. i think i'll take a little nap on this comfortable bed."

realizing he doesn't need to pin your arms down anymore with all of his weight on you, he lets go and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his arms and legs sprawling out over your uniform.

"don't you dare, hikaru!" you say as you try to bring your arms underneath him to push him off, but he's just a block of dead weight.

his breath hits your ear, and you can feel the mischievous smile on his lips. "oh, wow, this is a bumpy mattress." wriggling, he adjusts so that he locks perfectly into your body, and a deep sigh emits from his lungs. "that's better."

another weak push strains your muscles before you give up completely. flopping back onto the mattress, you let out a frustrated groan.

"hikaru, please."

"oh, the mattress speaks?"

"my love."

laughing, he presses a kiss onto the column of your throat. "what's up, baby?"

like a weighted blanket, hikaru's body flush against yours has calmed your heart rate slightly, and all the exhaustion and stress that you have been feeling suddenly comes to a head.

your arms lift from your sides to wrap around his toned back, and you turn your face into the divot connecting his shoulder and his collarbone, inhaling the comforting scent of his cologne and laundry detergent.

"i've been awake for the past forty-eight hours."

his chest rumbles with a sympathetic hum. "i know."

"i'm tired."

his head pops up from the embrace, and sincerity shines in the liquid gold of his irises. "let's take a nap, and then we can figure something out afterwards, yeah?"

you can already feel your eyelids dragging over your pupils. "yeah, that sounds nice."

as you succumb to your fatigue, you barely register the way hikaru rolls off of you. his warmth returns when you feel an arm wedge itself under your waist and pull you to him so that you can lay on his chest with ease. the other wraps around your shoulders, and you feel his breath tickling the top of your head as he settles in beside you.

"thanks for telling me, baby."

.oOo.

"so, i think because i found the magnitude of this vector, than i should be able to find the acceleration, right?" kaoru asks, back hunched over his desk, spinning a pencil in his left hand as he concentrates on the paperwork in front of him.

when he doesn't get a response, he stops fidgeting and looks over to you: his incredibly intelligent, and usually helpful, partner.

you're sat next to him, slaving away at your laptop while he watches the blue light practically burn your retinas.

well, sat is a strong word.

you slouched, your neck barely able to keep your head on your shoulders as you worked at his desk, fingers robotically clicking at your mouse and dragging images to their predetermined place, your graphic design coming to fruition with each release of a button.

"(y/n)?"

at the sound of your name, your spine flinches slightly as it straightens. you whip your head towards him with such a quick motion, that he winces at the twist of the muscle, hoping you didn't get whiplash.

his hopes are dashed when you immediately face the front, bringing one of your hands up to massage the nape of your neck.

"are you okay?"

"i'm fine," you breathe, exhaustion sprinkled in your sigh. "what did you need?"

cautiously, kaoru slides his paper over to you while you shift closer to him, pulling your chair over until your legs touch underneath his desk.

"i don't know if i got this problem right."

through a yawn, your eyes scan his homework, everything coming together in a blurry font due to your lack of sleep. you can barely make out his handwriting on your best day, so the fact that you hardly think straight doesn't really help.

but you couldn't let kaoru know that.

"it looks good, babe."

he quirks a ginger eyebrow, glancing between the paper and then back up to where you sat.

"yeah?" he asks, studying you carefully.

"for sure."

"okay, well then," your boyfriend flips the paper over, where another disarray of words meet you. he scribbles something out before circling an answer choice from his options, then looks back at you. "that must be right, too, yeah?"

you nod, blinking slowly. "mhmm." you turn to look at him, a small smile on your lips. "you're so smart, love."

his lips curve up into a half-smirk as he tilts his head, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. golden irises squint as he glances over your face once more. "it's a smiley face."

your smile fades. "huh?"

the sneaky twin gestures towards the paper again, and after rubbing your palms over your eye-sockets, a happy face penciled in lead comes into accusing focus.

"i drew a smiley face, and you said i was smart." kaoru summarizes, a deadpan tone only being interrupted slightly as he laughs through his sentence. "what is going on with you?"

a frustrated whine ripples past your throat as you rest your head in your hands. your voice breaks into a quiet groan, and while your volume doesn't rise, your disappointment does. "god, this essay is making me lose my mind! i can't even think clearly, let alone write three more pages of this shit."

"hey, woah." kaoru rests his hand against your spine and rubs it, moving his hand back and forth in calming motions. "talk to me."

another deep sigh rushed out of you as you talk behind your hands, and your poor boyfriend can't hear a single thing.

the hand on your back glides to the side of your face, bringing your chin up and out of your grasp. he locks his gaze with yours as he leans back in his chair. "try again, babe."

"this essay makes me want to jump off a cliff."

"and you were gonna do that without me? i thought we had an agreement."

"shut up." despite yourself, you laugh.

the fingers on your chin shift to your scalp while he laughs with you, pushing only a few of the stray hairs away from your face. "have you slept?"

"not well."

kaoru notes a redness in your eyes he didn't see before. "not well, or not at all?"

you roll your eyes a little, but he knows it's not directed at him. you're disappointed in yourself. "a mix of both." hastily you look back at him, widening your eyelids a little at a poor attempt to look more awake.

"but it's no big deal!" your voice is a little too bright. "i can catch up on sleep once i submit this paper."

the gingered twin squints his eyes, but to your surprise, he shrugs, spinning in his office chair as he refocuses on his work. "yeah, i guess you're right. i get it."

your mouth was slightly agape at the fact that that actually worked. "you get it?"

"yeah. sometimes, people just can't sleep enough with everything going, ya know? i only got two hours of sleep last night, so i understand what you're going through."

there's a pause. kaoru fights a smirk as he scratches an equation into the top right of his paper.

"what?" a concerned voice reaches his ears, and he almost feels bad for lying. "only two hours?"

"mhmm." he hums, not even giving you a second glance.

"kaoru," the sweetest whine escapes your lips as he feels a hand on his shoulder. he steels his expression into one of confused nonchalance as he faces you again, only to be met with the spot you get between your crinkled eyebrow when you're worried. "why didn't you tell me?"

"what do you mean? it's not a big deal."

"yes it is!" your other hand reaches his opposite shoulder, and he turns to face you fully, reveling in your touch as you move to cradle his face. "sleep is important, babe, you can't just-"

his grin widens as a flash of realization flutters across your face. The worry in your features melts into a blank expression, and he laughs as you push his face away from yours, muttering a "jackass" under your breath.

the sneaky twin closes the distance though, pulling your chair ever closer to his to where nothing was standing in his way to pull you to his lap. you resist slightly, pouting as your sat into the space between his legs, but a natural, familiar gravity pulls you towards him anyway, and your face rests gently in the crook of his neck.

"rest for a couple minutes, okay? your paper will be here when you wake up."

a contended sigh seeps out of you as your exhaustion bubbles up to the surface. your eyelids begin to drop when you speak into his neck. "and what about you?"

kaoru's arms come to wrap around your folded form, burying you closer into his chest. "i'll always be here."

.oOo.

mori had gotten used to your talkative nature. being a man of little words, you complimented him well with your bright, energetic commentary about anything that excited you.

he supposed that he hadn't just gotten used to your bubbly personality shining through your lovely voice, he had come to love it; to rely on it.

so, when you entered your usual sparring session with your heels dragging on the wooden floor of the dojo, not only did the air feel off, he felt off.

your white gi hung off your rounded shoulders, the karate belt around your waist haphazardly tied in a knot at the front. and while you still looked as stunning as ever, mori could feel the confusion and worry well up in his chest.

he stood up from stretching out his hamstrings, his long body gracefully walking over to you to greet you with his usual hug. your smile was tired, and when you wrapped your arms around his thin waist, he felt you snuggle more into his hold and release a breath.

still gripping his waist, you looked up at him, your grin still exhausted but content when you propped your chin on his chest to meet his eyes.

"hey." you said, and your voice was airy and cracked.

"hi."

"how was your day?"

"good." his palms tightened on your back. "yours?"

you could barely keep your eyes open as you shrugged. "meh. it was interesting."

"yeah?"

"yeah." still, even in your tired state, you inched your face closer to his, a dazed look in your eye. "but we can talk about it later."

a disbelieving, good-natured scoff left him as a sharp exhale, your boyfriend knowing full-well that would not want to talk about it later. but he met you halfway, and your lips met in a lazy, soft kiss as he lowered his head to yours.

you had nearly put all of your weight onto him at this point, and as you sunk into his grip, he arched his back to counteract the force. his hands glided from your waist to your cheeks as he tilted his head, smirking slightly at the warm hum that left your throat.

pulling away, he kept his forehead on yours as he held you. a breathy left glazed over his face when you separated from him, and he opened his eyes to see a light curve on your plump lips.

"thanks, takashi. i needed that."

that brought all of his worries rushing back.

"(y/n)..." and you opened your eyes at the way he said your name. since mori wasn't the most vocal man you've been with, you learned to pick up on his tonal cues.

your name could be spoken in many ways. a gentle breeze as he tells you that he loves you, a deep inhale as you, yet again, prove your the clumsiest human alive, or maybe a groan in the late, late hours of the night.

this one was a mild warning, forming at the front of his mouth as he stares at you, deep brown eyes boring into yours with earnest.

"what?" you didn't want him to ask. but, he was kind and loving and really fucking stubborn. so, of course he was.

"what's wrong?"

a whine bubbled to the surface of your soft pallet as you dropped your face into the crook of his neck, even if you had to stand on your tip-toes to do so. abandoning your hold on his waist, you preferred to bring your arms up and around his shoulders, locking them around the back of his neck.

"i don't want to talk about it."

"what happened?"

"nothing, really. i promise."

"doesn't feel like nothing. here," gently, you felt a pressure on your hips as mori pushes you out of his hold, instead moving to grab your hand as he leads you to a traditionally decorated wall of the dojo.

letting go, the stoic leans his back against the wall before sliding down, tucking his lanky form into a sitting position before inviting you to do the same. "sit with me."

and he looked so sweet, his gaze hardened on the surface but filled with emotion and weight within it's depths. so how could you say no?

plus, he really wouldn't stop until you told him.

taking a spot next to him, you let your head roll onto the back of the wall before resting it on his shoulder. and the spot was so comfortable, so familiar, you wanted to fall asleep right there.

mori was stubborn, yes, but he was also patient. he waited like a boulder against the tide as you gathered your thoughts, loyal and permanent and determined to help you through whatever was plaguing you.

in your thoughtful silence, he imagined the stress you had been baring when you were assigned that presentation in class. even if you were energetic and outspoken, he knew public speaking terrified you. the pure panic that had erupted in your irises when you told him about the ten-minute powerpoint you had to put together in three days told him everything he needed to know about how your weekend was going to go.

that was two days ago, and he had suggested this impromptu sparring match to give you a little bit of a break. physical activity always cleared his head when he was stretched, and he figured if he could remind you how strong you were, then you could convince yourself that this would be a piece of cake.

but the bags under your eyes and the unanswered calls from him on your cell-phone made him think that this had been harder on you than he had originally expected.

a small snore broke him out of his thoughts, and he looked down at the source.

your eyes were peacefully closed, and your lips were parted as deep, calm breaths washed in and out of your chest. he relaxed slightly into the wall, and smiled as you cuddled closer to him in his small movement.

kissing the top of your head, he rested his cheekbone upon your hair as he rested his eyes as well.

you two would talk later. it wasn't physical activity you needed, or even a helping hand if you had let him.

all you needed, really, was a little bit of rest.

.oOo.

"(n/n)-chan! (n/n)-chan!"

honey bounced up to your desk as you typed away, usa-chan banging against the side of his calves as he stopped at the end of your chair. "wanna play with me, (n/n)-chan?"

you barely spared him a glance, but your eyes met his with a quick shake of your head as you returned your urgent glance to your laptop. "not right now, honey. sorry."

the blonde's bouncing stopped, a little to awe-struck at your rejection to feel sad about it. he was more confused than anything. you never said no to him.

a deep, apparent wrinkle appeared between his brows as the boy-lolita tugged on your sleeve, causing your fingers to slip off the keyboard slightly as you typed. "please?"

"what the-?" your hand having slipped, it gently brushes the cup of tea near your working space, and you gasp before rolling your eyes. "no, honey. i told you, i can't. go play with usa-chan, okay?" you quickly pulled your sleeve out of his grasp and got back to your work, leaving him deflated at your side.

this time he was pouting, and the wrinkle on his forehead turned from confused to determined as he walked around to the opposite side of the table to crawl into the chair across from you.

"what are you workin' on?"

this time your eyes flicked up to him for a longer moment. you wondered why he couldn't leave you alone, but you guessed it was better that he was sitting over there rather than pulling at your uniform and keeping you from your work. "the club's website."

he gasped as he swung his legs on the chair, too short to reach the ground from this height. "ooh, are you making it pretty?"

a sigh came from deep within you as your eyes squinted, zooming in on something on the other side of your screen. "you could say that."

"what are you doing to it?"

you shrugged, still focused on your work. "formatting, graphic designing, boring tech stuff."

"cool!" honey excitedly places his palms on the table, seeing if he sat up straighter, he could get a better view. "how do you know how to do all that?"

you suspiciously scanned him over as he edged closer, pulling your computer forward on the table. "lots of practice."

a high-pitched hum exudes from the third-year as he tilts his head, almost fully on the table now, but something has caught your eye, and your back to your furious typing, not noticing how close he's gotten.

his voice sounds distant in your focus. "couldn't you take a break? for cake? a cake break?" he giggles, but his smile falters when you don't hear his joke.

"haven't taken a break in two days, honey. not gonna start now." your voice is low and inattentive, trailing off as you scroll through the columns and columns of pictures and texts.

still crawling towards you, his brown eyes widen slightly. "two days?" he gasps, and begins to count on his fingers. "that's uhhh..." honey counts his fingers under his breath for a moment before he brightens with an answer. "forty eight hours worth of work! did you even sleep?"

"nope. no sleep. kyoya needs this done by tonight."

"what?!" at that, honey stands to his full height, his small but strudy weight easily supported by the desk underneath him. you jerk back as he points a finger in your face, his voice still young but firm as he speaks down to you. "you need to take a nap right now!"

"honey!" the blonde has your full attention now. "get down!"

"nope!" his pink lips pop the 'p' noise as he shakes his head defiantly. "not until you agree to sleep! kyo-chan can wait."

your hands come up in an exasperated motion and you stand up, pushing your chair out from under you. "honey, this table is not stable. you're gonna fall if you don't get down!"

"will you take a break?"

"i can't!"

"well, then i'm not coming down." folding his arms across his chest, he puffs it out, a proud look on his face.

his confident aura melts, however, when the table shifts with his dramatic movement.

you suck in a breath as honey throws his arms out to balance himself, barely keeping the table at bay as he wiggles side to side.

"okay! okay, i'll take a ten-minute nap! just, please sweetheart, get down from there."

even in the midst of chaos of his own making, honey still finds the. motivation to negotiate. "twenty minutes!"

"fine!" you round the table and extend your arms, and he leaps into them as you pick him up. your heart rate slows as you hold him while the table falls with the loss of his added weight, your tea and computer skidding to opposite sides of the tile.

blankly, you look at honey as he winces at the impact, and then at the dark aura that slowly begins to crowd around your frame.

"i can pay for that." he promises.

.oOo.

your knee bounces under your desk as you watch haruhi's eyes flick over your screen, the words you spent two days writing reflecting back in her dark brown eyes as she reads your work.

your hands are clasped in front of your lips, keeping you from saying anything like 'i changed my mind!' or 'okay, you can stop now', because you're pretty sure haruhi would ignore you anyway.

she had insisted on reading your short story. it was something you did in your free time, and it was something she knew you took pride in.

sometimes, if you felt courageous enough, you would submit them into newspapers, or maybe magazines and blogs if you were really going all out, this past weekend being one of those times. day in and day out, you sat at your writing desk, typing away for what felt like mere seconds as the story in your mind began to unfold onto the pages in front of you. barely any food and close to no sleep rendered a masterpiece of literature, or at least that was what haruhi had assured you she would call it if you let her proof-read it.

your natural host promised that it would take her only a few minutes to read the whole thing, and then you could be on your way to submit it to the magazine's editor. plus, it was the least you could do since you basically ignored her calls and used up all of your study-date time to edit and revise your concluding paragraph.

but finally, finally, after many torturous seconds, your girlfriend leans back. her hands wrap around the edge of your macbook to only shut the laptop halfway and push it aside, turning her full attention back to you.

very briefly, you pulls your hands away from your mouth to ask the question you've been dreading. "what do you think?"

the gentle look that haruhi always wears stays frozen for a moment, but slowly starts to melt into a soft smile as she meets your nervous gaze. "it's good, love. it's really good."

straightening, your eyes widen as you bite your lip. "really?"

her smile gets brighter as amazement floods your cheekbones. "really."

"oh my god." releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding, you throw yourself into the back of your chair. pulling your palms up and around, they rake over your face before scratching through your hair, a groan morphing into a laugh as relief sputters out of you. you feel like you need to say it again, probably louder for good measure. "oh my god! you really liked it?"

the honor student's deep laugh joins yours as watches you bask in a job well done. "why would i lie about that?"

touching down to earth, you shrug, your hands falling into your lap. "because you love me, and you would do anything to make me happy?"

she snorts, leaning forward as she is drawn into your space. "you're right. i do love you. probably just enough to never lie to you again."

a teasing smile curves your lips as you fake offended disbelief, scooting closer so that your knees slip between her own. "again?"

brunette eyebrows work upwards as haruhi mirrors your smirk, nodding as she gets even closer. "mhmm."

"and what have you lied about, haruhi dear?" her breath is mixing in with yours now, and she keeps her kiss barely out of reach, her lips grazing yours as she responds.

"about letting you leave tonight."

"wha-?" your eyebrows knit as haruhi shoots out of her chair, and before you can protest, she is straddling your hips, one of her legs on either side of you as you blush at her sudden proximity.

"haruhi!" but even if your voice sounds surprised, you hold her closer, your palms coming to rest on her thighs.

"when was the last time you slept?" she asks, suddenly serious as she cups your face in her hands.

"last night." you say, but she squints at your response.

"for how long?"

"enough." you whine, bringing your hands around her waist, encouraging her to be flush against you. "don't worry about it."

"(y/n), you look exhausted. i'm going to be worried about it."

you look at her for a moment before realizing that she isn't going to back down. shoulders slumping, you drop your head onto her shoulder, hugging her close to your body. "two hours. maybe."

a displeased noise expels from her throat, but suddenly you feel slender fingers rubbing your back, toying with the hairs on the back of your neck. "you need to sleep."

making a grunt of blind agreement, you melt into her hold, the excitement and anxiousness you felt about your story being blown away by a gust of drowsiness. the scratches on your scalp weren't helping.

"like right now." she emphasizes, and tries to wiggle out of your hold, but you were stronger. tightening your grip around her slim waist.

her shoulders shake with another endearingly low laugh as she hugs you back. "let's get to the bed, love."

you don't think you've ever slept deeper in your life.

.oOo.

starting to write again, and i used this as a little exersise to get back into it. hopefully it can tide you over! i'll see you soon :)

[fratttymatty]

A New Type Of Art

(All characters are 18+)

Luke had always been the kind of guy who didn’t fit into a mold, and he liked it that way. He was an artsy, liberal college sophomore who spent more time with his paintbrush than his textbooks, more time discussing philosophy than politics. His long, blonde hair was usually in a messy shoulder-length style, a reflection of his creative, laid-back personality. People often joked that he looked like he’d stepped out of a 90s indie film, and he was fine with that.

He was proud of who he was—gay, unapologetic, and fiercely liberal. His friends in the dorm loved him for his passion, his endless debates on everything from climate change to gender fluidity. He wore the brightest colors he could find, mismatched patterns, and unashamedly displayed his individuality through his clothes. He didn’t care if people stared—he wanted them to. Being different was his art.

Luke was someone who lived openly. He was out, loud, and proud. He believed in change, in equality, in breaking barriers. But then something strange happened that would turn his world upside down.

It started when he wandered into the obscure little gallery downtown. The art was... different. No, it wasn’t just different—it was weird, unsettling even. All the paintings were of men—clean-cut, athletic, stoic figures that seemed too perfect, too polished, as if they were all carved out of the same mold. They stared down from their frames with proud, almost smug expressions.

Luke felt a tug of unease, but his curiosity got the better of him. He walked deeper into the exhibit, looking for something new, something that would spark his imagination. But what he found was something far more unsettling.

The curator, a sharply dressed man with cold eyes, suddenly appeared at his side.

"You’re not from around here, are you?" the man asked, his voice smooth, almost hypnotic.

Luke didn’t know how to answer. “I just came to see the art,” he said, glancing at the paintings again, the faces of the men still haunting him.

The curator smiled faintly. “Art is not just for seeing, my friend. It’s for becoming.”

Before Luke could ask what he meant, the curator’s hand landed on his shoulder. And everything changed.

Luke awoke with a start, his heart racing. The room was unfamiliar. The air smelled different—stale, almost like rubber or plastic. He rubbed his temples, trying to shake off the sudden dizziness that had overtaken him. His mind was foggy, his thoughts spinning like a broken record.

He glanced around. The walls were bare except for a few sports posters—one of a football team, another of a group of athletes holding up trophies. A large computer sat on a desk, the screen blank but sleek, high-tech. The bed he was lying on was too small, too clean.

Then, something caught his eye—a full-length mirror on the wall. He stumbled over to it, his feet feeling heavier than usual.

The reflection staring back at him was... not Luke.

It was a completely different person. His face—his features—were different. His once soft jawline was now square, his cheekbones high and pronounced. His blonde hair was gone, replaced by a rich, dark brown mane that was tousled perfectly, messy but in a way that looked effortlessly stylish. It was a little wavy, but in a way that made him look... well, hot.

The messiness of his hair gave him a rugged appeal, like he’d just rolled out of bed after a late-night party or a spontaneous game of pick-up basketball. His chest was broad, and his body had more definition—muscles that didn’t exist before now rippled under the tight-fitting T-shirt he wore, and his skin had a deep tan that made his features pop even more.

He reached up to touch his hair, the strands feeling thicker, softer than he remembered. There was a strange sense of satisfaction in how it fell around his face, like he was born to have it that way. As his fingers ran through the tousled locks, he caught the faintest whiff of cologne—something strong, athletic, and masculine.

Something inside him—a feeling that had been buried before—shifted. This was right. He was... supposed to look like this.

And then, as if to confirm it, a sudden wave of memories flashed before his eyes—high school memories. Football games. High fives with his teammates. Laughter with his jock friends. A pretty girl’s smile as she flirted with him in the halls. The vague recollection of endless hours spent playing Call of Duty in his friend’s basement, of sports cars and parties. The memories were his now, and they felt... good.

He glanced back at the mirror again. The face staring back at him was someone completely new—someone named Ethan Clark.

Ethan.

It sounded... right. It felt like the right name for the guy he had become.

Ethan’s first full day in this strange new life was a blur of sensations, conflicting memories, and awkward realizations.

He stood in front of his high school locker, the red-and-black track jacket feeling tight against his shoulders. The hallway buzzed with activity around him—students laughing, chatting, rushing to classes—but his attention kept wandering.

He couldn’t help but notice the girls.

They were all looking at him—some giving him shy smiles, others openly admiring him, especially the ones who whispered to each other and then giggled. Ethan had no idea how to handle it, but something inside him surged at the attention. It was like he wanted it. He liked the way they were looking at him. The way his tousled brown hair framed his face just right, the way it somehow made him look cooler, more attractive.

He caught a glimpse of himself in a locker mirror, and his heart skipped a beat. He looked good—like a guy who played varsity football, who could crush a bench press, who wore his hair just so in a way that drove girls wild. It was different, but it felt natural. Comfortable.

“Hey, Ethan,” one of the girls said as she walked by, her gaze lingering on him for a second too long. “You’re looking extra hot today. What’s the secret?��

Ethan blinked, confused at first. Was she talking to him? She smiled, and he suddenly felt this unfamiliar surge of confidence flood his chest. Without thinking, he ran a hand through his dark hair, giving her a slight smirk.

“Just, uh... woke up this way, I guess,” he said, his voice rougher, deeper than it used to be.

The girl giggled, clearly charmed, and kept walking, throwing him one last glance over her shoulder. Ethan watched her go, a mix of pride and something else stirring inside him. He couldn’t quite place it, but he didn’t need to.

This was who he was now. The guy with the dark, messy hair who turned heads, who was adored by girls, who fit right in with the team, the jocks, and the “normal” crowd. He was straight, athletic, confident—and he had no idea who he was before. The memories of his old life were slipping away, like sand through his fingers.

He walked down the hallway, his steps firm and sure. The world was different now. And for the first time in a long time, he was okay with it. In fact, it felt pretty damn good.

As Ethan settled further into his new identity, he quickly realized he was getting a lot more attention than he ever had before. It wasn’t just the girls; the guys on the football team were treating him like one of their own, giving him high-fives, calling him “bro,” and acting like he was the man.

He loved it. And he made sure everyone around him knew it.

One day, during lunch, he walked into the cafeteria with his new crew—a group of jocks who clearly saw him as the alpha in their little pack. The guys were laughing and slapping each other on the back. Ethan’s loud voice cut through the chatter as he cracked a joke about how the girls were practically throwing themselves at him now that he’d "finally started dressing like a real man." His comment earned a chorus of laughs from the table.

“I swear, bro, these chicks don’t know what to do with themselves,” Ethan said, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his now perfectly tousled hair. “Like, calm down. I’m just a normal guy.”

He smirked as the guys around him laughed, but the joke was all too familiar to him now—this was how they all talked. How the guys had to talk to be part of the crew. The alpha energy. The mocking of others. The jokes about the ‘liberal snowflakes’ and the ‘woke culture.’

“So, bro, what do you think of that chick in your history class? The one with the, like, big eyes?” one of his teammates asked, nudging him.

Ethan’s lip curled. “Pfft, she’s cute, but, like... I’m not really into the whole ‘intellectual’ thing,” he said with a scoff. “Girls should be, you know, fun. And pretty. That’s the only thing that matters. Politics are for losers anyway.”

The guys around him laughed, and a few clapped him on the back.

Ethan’s transformation was complete, or so he thought. Each day that passed, the remnants of his old life—the life of Luke—faded into oblivion. The whispers of art, of activism, of painting vibrant canvases of rebellion and love, all became distant echoes, drowned out by the thumping bass of his new life. The image of his blonde, shaggy hair, the colorful shirts, and the feeling of freedom in being himself—they were all gone now. Ethan Clark, the confident, athletic, and straight high school senior, was who he was meant to be.

And honestly? He couldn’t be happier.

The guy who once hated the idea of conformity, who argued endlessly with anyone who didn’t share his beliefs, had morphed into a version of himself that didn’t question anything.

Girls flocked to him. He flirted effortlessly, his tousled brown hair always falling just right, his posture always leaning casually against the locker with a smug smile that made their knees weak. He could tell that they adored him—hell, everyone adored him. The jocks respected him, and he’d even made it to captain of the track team. He was the star athlete, the alpha in his group, and nothing felt more exhilarating.

The few times when a flash of Luke’s old world would flicker—like when he’d overhear a conversation about climate change or a new art exhibit downtown—he’d feel a weird, nagging sense of discomfort, but it never lasted long. He’d push it aside with a loud joke or by tossing a football to one of his buddies, and the feeling would evaporate.

The most recent instance had come during a heated debate in his government class. A kid who sat in the back—one of those annoying guys with a patchy beard and a mind full of "woke" ideas—had dared to challenge Ethan's casual dismissal of LGBTQ+ issues. Ethan had shrugged it off with the kind of condescension that only someone truly at ease in his masculinity could muster.

“Dude,” Ethan had said, his voice dripping with arrogance, “I don’t know what kind of crazy world you’re living in, but we’re not doing that whole ‘gender-fluid’ thing here. I’m straight, I’m proud, and I’m not going to sit here and listen to some liberal lecture about equality. It’s simple: be a man, get a girl, and stop with all this nonsense.”

The guy had opened his mouth to argue, but Ethan had silenced him with a mock chuckle. “Honestly, I don’t have time for this bullshit,” he’d said, and with that, the room had gone quiet.

The looks of approval from his teammates and the laughter from his group had only fuelled Ethan’s growing sense of power. He was right, and everyone else was just wrong.

It was after that incident that the strangest thing happened—one night, alone in his room, Ethan stood in front of his mirror, adjusting his hair for the hundredth time, as he always did. His tousled, perfectly messy brown locks had become his trademark, and he ran his fingers through them with the kind of pride only a high school jock could have. He looked good. He knew he looked good. And for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to enjoy the full force of that knowledge.

But then... it hit him.

The reflection wasn’t the problem—it was what was missing.

For a brief, disorienting moment, he could almost see it—the flash of blonde hair, the open, unapologetic expression, the vivid colors in his clothes. The warmth of a smile that wasn’t just for the girls or the boys who wanted to be his friend. It wasn’t just for the applause or the attention—it was a smile that came from being who he was, not from performing for everyone around him.

But the moment passed quickly, replaced by the face in the mirror that he now recognized so well—the face of Ethan Clark, the confident jock, the proud guy who didn’t care about the world of art or politics anymore.

For a second, though, Ethan’s gaze faltered. There was a slight hesitation—a small, uncomfortable ripple in the stream of his new identity.

“What the hell are you doing?” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. The thought felt foreign, even stupid. He smirked at his reflection, his confidence quickly returning.

“Get over it, man,” he told himself, his hand running through his messy hair again, his grip tight as he styled it just right. “This is who you are now. This is who you were meant to be.”

The unsettling sensation lingered, but only for a moment. Ethan stood tall, shoulders squared, and he smiled—genuinely, arrogantly—at the guy in the mirror. He had everything now. He was popular. He was strong. He had girls after him and the guys at his back. And most of all, he didn’t care about anything that didn’t fit into this new version of himself.

The weeks passed, and the echoes of Luke’s old life grew quieter. Ethan’s friendships with the other guys on the football team deepened, and his bond with the girls only grew more intense as they swooned over his rugged good looks and cocky charm. He spent less time reflecting on his past—less time worrying about the strange feeling in his gut that tugged at him when he thought about what he had lost.

One night, at a house party thrown by one of his teammates, Ethan stood with a group of his closest friends, a drink in his hand, and the girls around him laughing at his latest joke. Everything felt perfect. It was what he’d always wanted—what he’d deserved.

One of the girls, a blonde who’d been flirting with him for weeks, pulled him aside, her voice low and sultry. “Ethan, you’re like... so different from other guys,” she whispered, brushing a lock of his messy hair out of his face. “You’re just... amazing.”

He grinned, the compliment going straight to his head. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the familiar rush of confidence flood him. “Well, babe,” he said, his voice smooth, “I’m just a man’s man.”

The girl laughed, leaning in closer, and Ethan kissed her on the lips. He’d become so used to this attention, this life of being the center of everything. It was a feeling he didn’t just enjoy—it was the only feeling that made sense anymore.

But as the night went on, as the alcohol and the party noise blared around him, a thought flickered again in the back of his mind. It was small, almost imperceptible, like a whisper from a distant past he couldn’t quite grasp. A memory of a world where being himself didn’t mean fitting in. A world where being free meant embracing everything that made him who he truly was.

The thought came and went, but this time it was different. It didn’t make him feel scared—it didn’t make him feel sad. It just... faded.

Ethan Clark was who he was. The boy who had been Luke was gone now. Completely gone.

And as Ethan kissed the blonde girl again, he couldn’t help but smile. He was everything he was meant to be.

There was no going back. There was no reason to.

Ethan’s transformation was complete. Every morning, he woke up in his new life, slipping effortlessly into the role of the popular, athletic jock—his tousled brown hair falling perfectly into place as if it had always been this way. His body was strong, chiseled from hours of training, and he was the star of the track team. More than that, he was a leader among the jocks, a natural at commanding attention without trying. He had the kind of quiet confidence that came from knowing he had it all, and he knew the girls were obsessed with him.

The girls couldn’t get enough of his athletic frame, his perfectly styled hair, and the cocky, yet irresistible smirk he threw their way. He had a certain swagger now—one that came from both his physique and the newfound belief that he deserved to be admired. Ethan was a magnet for attention, and it felt so good.

But there was something else—something he didn’t always let the jocks see.

Ethan had always been a gamer. Sure, he was now the track team captain, the guy everyone turned to for advice on their bench press, but late at night, after practice, when the house parties were over and everyone had gone home, Ethan logged into his gaming setup.

The gaming chair, the massive monitor, the LED-lit keyboard—it was all tucked away in his bedroom, hidden behind a door that only his closest friends knew about. But even now, as captain of the team, as the guy who’d casually broken the 400-pound squat record and was getting invited to college recruiters' camps, Ethan was still that guy—the gamer who lived for the thrill of the digital battlefield.

He had always been good at it. No, scratch that—he’d always been great at it.

Every night, he dominated the leaderboards in Call of Duty and Fortnite, racking up kills with ease. He had his own Twitch account, but it wasn’t for the fame. It was just for the adrenaline, the rush of hearing the ping of a headshot, the satisfaction of topping the scoreboard with his friends.

There were nights when he played until 3 a.m., still wearing his track hoodie, drinking a monster energy drink, the glow of the screen lighting up his face as he obliterated opponents. He'd be wearing his headset, yelling at his buddies—laughing, trash-talking, keeping it light. No one knew about his online identity, but to Ethan, it was just as important as any track medal or touchdown. It was where he could be himself without the weight of the jock persona, without the expectation of being perfect all the time.

The football field was where Ethan thrived. The air was thick with the sound of cleats pounding the turf, the shouts of coaches pushing their players harder, and the constant rhythmic thumping of the ball hitting the ground. Ethan, naturally, was right at the center of it all, a strong, imposing figure in his football gear, his dark hair peeking out from under his helmet, his chest heaving with every breath.

As the captain of the football team, Ethan had earned the respect of every player on the field. They respected his strength, his unrelenting drive, and his ability to motivate others. He was ruthless in practice, always pushing the team harder, making sure no one slacked off. But despite his hard-nosed approach, he kept a certain arrogance that kept the guys in line. He wasn’t just the captain—he was the guy who set the tone for the team, the one who was feared and admired in equal measure.

Today’s practice was intense—punishing drills designed to improve agility and reaction time. Ethan’s muscles burned with the effort, but he wasn’t about to let up. He was determined to lead his team to victory this season. They had a big game coming up, one that could secure them a championship spot. And Ethan was more than ready.

He finished his sprints with ease, his lungs pushing through the burn, his legs feeling stronger with each stride. The guys were panting behind him, but Ethan didn’t even break a sweat.

“That’s how you run,” he said, smirking as he jogged back to the sidelines, his teammates panting behind him.

“Jesus, Ethan, you never slow down,” one of the defensive linemen, Jake, said between breaths.

Ethan threw him a lazy grin. “That’s because I’m built different, bro. You’re just not on my level yet.”

The guys chuckled, and Ethan felt the familiar swell of pride. He loved it. This was his world now. It felt right. The jocks who had once laughed at him in high school now admired him. The girls who had once ignored him now threw themselves at him. Ethan was the epitome of what every high school athlete dreamed of becoming—the guy who was good at everything, effortlessly cool and untouchable.

But then something caught his eye—a flicker of doubt. It was subtle. One of the guys on the team, Alex, had been showing Ethan something on his phone earlier in the locker room. He’d been talking about the new Star Wars Battlefront game and how he was crushing it with some of his online buddies. Ethan barely registered it at the time.

Now, as he caught his breath, he couldn’t help but think about it. Alex had mentioned a team—a clan that all played together late at night. The more Ethan thought about it, the more he realized that even though he was crushing it on the field, there was something oddly thrilling about those nights alone in his room, the camaraderie of his gaming friends, and the rush of winning in a world that didn’t care about how many touchdowns he scored or how big his biceps were.

His thoughts were interrupted when Coach shouted across the field.

“Clark! Get your head in the game! We’ve got a season to win!”

Ethan snapped back into focus, mentally shaking off the random thought. He was Ethan Clark, football captain, jock, the guy everyone looked up to. That was who he was.

Later that night, after the last of his teammates had left, Ethan headed back to his room, dropping his gear on the bed and collapsing into his gaming chair with a deep sigh. His muscles ached, but the comfort of his familiar setup—the glowing RGB lights, the cool click of his mouse, and the hum of the PC booting up—was like an old friend welcoming him back.

He was back where he belonged.

Ethan fired up Call of Duty, glancing over at his phone to see if any of his friends were online. Sure enough, a notification popped up: “Your Squad is waiting.”

He grinned.

Sliding on his headset, Ethan clicked “Join” and immediately heard the familiar voices of his gaming buddies flood through the speakers.

“Yo, Ethan, we’re about to wreck some noobs. You ready?”

Ethan’s grin widened. “Always, bro.”

As they dove into the game, Ethan’s body relaxed, his muscles still sore from practice, but his mind fully focused on the game ahead. This was where he felt free. This was where he could shut out the expectations of being the perfect athlete, the perfect teammate, the perfect son. Here, on the battlefield of the game, there were no rules about how to act or what to be. It was just him, his friends, and the rush of winning.

The hours slipped by in a blur of headshots and jokes. The adrenaline was just as real as it was on the football field, maybe even more so. Ethan was still the dominant force here. His reflexes were sharp, his aim precise. He dominated every match, and when they won, the rush was the same as it was when they hit the game-winning touchdown.

"Man, you're on fire tonight," one of his buddies, Tyler, said, laughing.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk curling his lips. "Just like always, bro. Who else can carry the squad like I do?"

The guys laughed, and Ethan reveled in the sound of their praise. It felt good. It felt right.

For a moment, as the squad geared up for the next round, he thought back to earlier that day on the football field—the sweat, the cheers, the hard work that had earned him his place as the team captain. Then, without even realizing it, his mind drifted back to his gaming chair, to his gaming world, where everything was just as real.

He wasn’t just Ethan Clark, the football player, the alpha jock. He was Ethan, the gamer, the guy who could lead a team to victory in both worlds—whether on the field or behind a screen. And for the first time in a long while, Ethan felt a sense of balance between these two sides of him. He had it all.

In this life, no one could touch him.

And that was exactly how he liked it.

Ethan's life seemed to revolve around two worlds: the football field and his gaming chair. But then there was Sophia—his girlfriend—who lived somewhere right between them, a perfect accessory to his newfound high school popularity.

Sophia was the blonde girl everyone noticed—the type of girl who was the center of attention at every party, with a laugh that made guys turn their heads and an effortless grace that made other girls a little jealous. She was the kind of girl who belonged on the arm of a guy like Ethan—athletic, handsome, and undeniably cool. And now she was, and she knew it.

The two had started dating a few weeks ago, and it had been a perfect fit. She was beautiful, outgoing, and obsessed with the idea of being with someone like Ethan—someone who could give her all the status and attention she craved.

Ethan wasn’t the kind of guy who spent a lot of time on his emotions, but when Sophia smiled at him, he couldn’t help but feel a certain rush of pride. He'd caught her eye first, but now she was his, and it felt good. There were whispers in the hallways, and every girl who tried to get his attention was met with the same smug, “I’ve got my girl” attitude. It was the kind of confidence that only someone who knew he had everything could pull off.

Sophia didn’t mind the attention. She was used to it, and she loved the way Ethan’s popularity amplified hers. It was a match made in high school heaven.

Later that day, after practice, Ethan found Sophia waiting by his truck, her arms crossed, a playful smirk on her face. He had been walking out with a couple of the guys from the team, talking about the upcoming game, but when he spotted her leaning against the tailgate, all conversation stopped. His friends shot each other knowing looks, and one of them, Alex, made an exaggerated “Ooooh” noise.

Ethan didn’t even acknowledge them. He made his way over to Sophia with that familiar swagger, not caring if anyone was watching.

“What’s up, babe?” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Sophia grinned, her eyes gleaming. “Not much. I was just thinking about how awesome you looked out there today. You were like, on fire.”

Ethan couldn’t help but smirk. “Of course I was. It’s what I do.”

She laughed, the sound high and melodic, and stood up straight. “Well, I’m glad you’re on fire... because I was thinking you could use some company tonight,” she said, teasing him a little as she walked toward the passenger side of his truck.

Ethan raised an eyebrow as he followed her. “What kind of company?”

She shot him a wink as she slid into the seat, settling in with a practiced ease. “Let’s just say I have plans for us—and they don’t involve any football or video games tonight. Just you and me, Ethan.”

Ethan grinned, his chest puffing up with pride. This was the life—the kind of life he’d always imagined. Popularity. Strength. A beautiful girl who loved him.

It was almost too perfect.

As he drove off, his mind wandered briefly, but it wasn’t to his old self—the person he used to be. There was no trace of Luke anymore, no reminder of the boy who’d been scared to even talk to a girl like Sophia. No, this was his world now. He was Ethan, and Sophia was his, and that was all that mattered.

At least, that's what he told himself.

[evilfrogcereal29]

Pizza guy!Nikto - Chapter 1

(ok... This is going to be like, maybe one of the most weirdly specific fanfics you've ever read. For context: I work at a pizza place IRL. Thats it. Thats the only context. I was at work and. Thought about Nikto working there too. That's all you need to know. Enjoy :]!!!

This is going to be a Nikto x GN!customer!reader, but reader is NOT introduced in this chapter.

Cw/tws: mentions of violence- including towards an animal! I think thats all? Enjoy :)!!

NOTE: all text in red & italics are Nikto's voices

Nikto was bored.

Retirement was miserable, and Nikto found himself restless day in, and day out. Unable to find peace while wasting away at home. Sure, he had lot's of retirement money, but he had this urge to work, to kill. He would give anything to be on a plane to another mission right about now, but he was too 'broken'. That's what they basically told him. Too mentally unwell to keep working. A hazard to his own team.

Heh.

What the fuck do they know? They don't know what goes on in his head. So what he broke that recruit's arm? They touched him when he warned them of the consequences. Or who cares that he hit one of his higher-up's service dogs with the buggy? It should've been servicing it's owner, not under the damn vehicle! He's not a danger, the other voices are!

Speaking of voices, they aren't reacting well either, metaphorically biting away at Nikto's psyche each day he did fucking nothing. He felt useless, and they reminded him of that. You idiot, you deserve your suffering for being the way you are. Broken. Broken little solider.

He still gets calls from his mates in the service, especially Krueger, who always makes sure to call as often as possible to keep the man updated on missions, even if they didn't concern him anymore. He suggested that Nikto pick up a part-time job, not for the money, but the work. God (and Krueger) only knows what Nikto's mind gets upto when left to its own devices.

Nikto scoffed at first, he didn't like the idea of working at some measley fast food job, he was above that. He crawled through the fucking trenches and ripped out the throats of women and men, and would be reduced to... What? Cleaning a fucking stove? Heating up processed foods for weak civilians? No. He wouldn't. The voices mocked him, this is what we've been reduced to? Patheic.

And then the rot set in.

Krueger had been very insistant on a visit the second he had time away from work, flying out to see Nikto even as the man ignored his texts and calls. He wasn't dead, Krueger knew that, but he also wasn't in a good place. He couldn't let his companion live like this pathetic slob. Cause that's exactly what he was becoming.

Water and alcohol bottles littered the floor, stacks on stacks of old, half eaten take-out. Junk that should’ve been tossed long ago created walled barriers throughout the house. It was a scene out of horders, and the smell was awful. Christ. Krueger was no clean freak, but this? He'd rather sleep next to corpses than this cesspool of rotting filfth, and in the middle of it all, sat his balaclava-ed, smelly friend on the sofa. Krueger grimmaced, taking careful steps. He nearly stepped on poor Sputnik, who had become content with spending her days lazying about, peeing in places without Nikto's knowledge, and eating off his leftover scraps of food, growing just as lethargic as her owner.

"Nikto... Scheiße..” he would almost be outraged at the man’s carelessness if he didn’t understand how the other functioned, without a job, without a purpose, Nikto was truly a nobody. He lifted the man’s head with a gentleness, an action only someone like Krueger could get away with, looking into those glazed-over icy blues.

“This is… this is bad Nikto..” he mutters, eyes filled with..love? Concern? Something Nikto wasn’t used to often. Nikto finally shows evidence of life as his eyes flicker up in wordless understanding. Krueger continues,

"I can't stand to see you like this. You can't stand being like this. I'm going to help you."

Krueger lifts his friend up, albiet with mild arguing and growling from the disguntled bear of a man that Nikto is. He sets Nikto's cheap laptop on his lap and types in job sites, which already has Nikto tense.

"Krueger- чёрт побери! you're acting like my fucking mother-"

"good, about time someone comes in and wipes your ass, if not yourself." Krueger grumbles, scrolling through the job offers, "what's your SNILS...?"

After a painstaking back and forth, and Krueger prying for all of Nikto's personal info, he sent in a few applications on his friend's behalf. Patting the other on the back as Nikto's thumbs rubbed at his temples, fighting back the urge to pulverize his only real friend. You really should, he's a nuisance...

"this is... Not ideal.." Nikto finally grumbles, finishing the last of some lukewarm whisky from the bottle.

"none of this is, meine freund, but this...Is worse." Noone has ever seen them like this, so...domestic. In reality, this was as hard for Krueger as it was for Nikto, The Alligence wasn't the same without the Russian, fighting wasn't the same. Krueger rested a hand on his shoulder.

"everything is going to change, can you try to change a little with it?"

Change? Krueger wanted him to change? Was that even possible? He'd been so set in his ways ever since the incident. But the look in Krueger eyes let Nikto know that there wasn't really a choice.

What are you kidding? You could change as far as you could throw a boulder! Never!

He sighed, deeply. His shoulders slumping miserably as he exhaled.

"fine. But If we don't like the job-"

"ja, ja, you don't have to stay. I get it. I can't make you." He interupted, waving his hand dismissively, "but don't just give up right away. Can you promise me that?"

Nikto hated making promises, he hated feeling like he owed anyone anything, he didn't take on debts or deals. Go ahead, make more promises you can't keep. We know the truth.

Yet here he was, being interviewed by an elderly couple, who pitied him for his past as a solider.

"me and Martha are going to see how you fair in the kitchen, and if that's turns out to be too overwhelming we can move you to a more simple job like delivery. Just bring the customers their pizzas." The eldery man said with an acknowledging smile.

He nodded to the man, Michael, reaching across the table to shake his hand, thanking him begrudgingly for this... 'Opportunity'. Thats damn well what it was, but Nikto didn't quite see it that way yet. As he left with a work shirt displaying the place's name and logo, he felt his heart drop. And a shrill, annoying voice invading his mind.

You are truely a fucking Развалюха. Good luck ever trying to live a normal life!

And now Nikto was worried.

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Hai :3 I hope you enjoyed this first chapter, I wanted to introduce reader in this first part but it was getting long and I also just wanted to get something out. There will be more chapters for this, but they might be kind of slow to come out😭 work takes up a LOT of my time tbh, but also working inspires me cause...yk pizza place setting so- its a double edged sword. But if you enjoyed pls like and reblog it means sm♥️♥️ ty for reading!!

And to the person who sent me an ask in my inbox about the relationship dynamics between NiktoKrueger + criminal!reader, I see u and ur creative vision, I started writing something today in response ;) just gimme some time!!!

Also an @ list for some mooties who I think would like to see this :3

@simp4konig @lizzy019 @fishsinsareacknowledged @zoloftwithdrawalnausea sorry If I missed anyone, lmk if you'd like to be tagged (or not tagged) in future chapters!!

[moonsandmobilityaids]

The First Time

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: It's in the name Warnings: Sex (group sex, virgin!reader, oral - fem receiving, p-in-v sex, multiple creampies), sexual dysfunction Series Masterlist

The routine has always been to kiss one boy at a time rather than all three together, but tonight is different. Tonight, you find yourself in the middle of them, your senses overloaded with their unique scents and the feel of each touch.

And through it all, you can't help but wonder how something that should feel so wrong could feel so right. But then Remus's teeth graze your collarbone, or Sirius's fingers trail along your side, or James's lips brush against yours, and you stop thinking altogether. Because at that moment, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

The buttons of your shirt are undone, one by one, with a patience that belies the eagerness in Remus' eyes. The fabric parts under his touch, revealing the thin vest beneath and the promise of more skin to be explored. Sirius hovers close, his breath warm against your ear, heavy with anticipation.

James sits back, watching as Remus works, a slow smile curling his lips. His gaze is intense, filled not with jealousy but with shared excitement, a promise of what's to come.

As Remus peels away your shirt, gentle as a whisper, James leans in, capturing your lips with his own. The taste of him is intoxicating—sweet and heady, laced with a hint of mischief that sends a shiver down your spine despite the heat pooling low in your belly.

Your senses are overwhelmed, awash with the feel of their hands on your skin, the sound of your names whispered like sacred vows. There's a rhythm to it, an unspoken understanding as they take turns in their touches, their kisses, each one seemingly more desperate than the last.

The realization hits you like a wave, crashing through the fog of pleasure: they care about your needs, your comfort. This isn't just about them—it's about you, too. They communicate without words, their actions painting a picture of unity, of shared desire. It's a dance only they know the steps to, and you're the lucky one invited to join.

Despite the pain that lingers, a dull throb at the edge of your consciousness, you can't help but feel wanted. Desired. You're not just a broken thing to be pitied or fixed—you're a partner, a lover. And they're willing to explore you, to learn the map of your body and discover what makes you gasp, what makes your heart race.

Your hands find the hem of James's shirt, your fingers brushing against the hard planes of his abdomen as you lift the fabric. A pause in the kiss allows for the shirt's removal, revealing a chest toned by years of Quidditch and mischief. The air stirs as he discards it, a soft thud echoing as it meets the floor.

His lips return to yours, more fervent now, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth, seeking entrance. You yield, allowing him to map out the familiar contours, each stroke sending a wave of warmth through your body.

While Sirius continues his exploration of your neck, his nimble fingers dance across your collarbone, tracing the outline of your vest until they reach the top of your breasts, exposed by the plunging neckline. Every touch leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake, a testament to the electric connection between you all. Leaning back, you let your head rest against Sirius's shoulder, your body moulding to his as if it were made just for this purpose.

Remus remains situated between your legs, his attention never wavering from the task at hand. His breath hitches when his palm makes contact with one of your breasts, the thin fabric offering little resistance. "No bra?" he murmurs, a note of approval colouring his words.

James pulls back from your lips, watching as Remus's thumb rubs over your nipple, coaxing it to harden even through the barrier of your shirt. Heat flushes your body, pooling low in your belly. Your breath catches, the sensation almost too much.

Sirius's lips brush against your ear, his voice a low whisper that sends shivers down your spine. "Do you like that, love?" His breath is warm, sending a wave of goosebumps across your skin.

You nod, finding words are beyond your grasp at this moment. The electricity sparking through you leaves no room for speech. You turn your head to capture Sirius's lips with your own as James slides off the bed, leaving you with the other two.

"Where is he—" You start to ask, but the question dies on your lips as Sirius deepens the kiss, his fingers threading through your hair. Remus's hand slides down your chest, tracing a path that leaves your skin tingling in its wake. The worry of James's absence fades into the background, replaced by the heat of Sirius's mouth on yours and the way Remus touches you, like he's trying to memorise every inch of your body.

When James returns, he carries with him a small tube that he places next to you before climbing back onto the bed. He kisses your bare shoulder, his lips warm against your skin. Remus's hand slips beneath your vest, and you can't help but gasp at the contact, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric.

You break away from Sirius then, turning your head to capture Remus's mouth with your own, your heart pounding in your chest as his fingers trace the curve of your breast. He meets your kiss eagerly, an unspoken promise lingering between you. His eyes hold nothing but admiration when they meet yours again, the affection in them making you feel cherished and desired all at once.

James's hand trails down your arm, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that leave a tingling path in their wake. The touch is feather-light, but it sends awareness coursing through you, focused intently on the places where he makes contact.

Sirius's lips descend on your neck again, and your hands move of their own accord to Remus's jumper. He chuckles low in his throat, lifting his arms to allow you to tug the garment over his head. His skin is warm under your touch, and you can't resist the urge to explore the planes of his chest with your fingertips.

The movement catches James's attention, and he follows suit, his own fingers dancing across the ridges of Remus's abs. Sirius shifts from behind you to beside you, his mouth moving lower to press heated kisses along the curve of your collarbone. His hands work at the straps of your camisole, tugging them off your shoulders as James assists him until the fabric pools at your waist. The sensation of their combined touches on your bare skin sends a shiver of pleasure radiating from every point of contact.

Remus's touch persists, his fingers tracing the curve of your breasts, a mixture of carefully calculated movements and unrestrained primal need. He leans down, his hot breath ghosting over your nipple before his mouth closes around it, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, your back arching with the sensation.

As Remus lavishes attention on one breast, Sirius mirrors his actions on the other, his warm breath causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. His teeth graze lightly against your sensitive flesh, eliciting a soft moan that echoes in the quiet room.

James watches you intently, his dark eyes burning with desire. His hand moves slowly down your body, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. He reaches the waistband, his fingers lingering there, dancing along the edge.

"Is this... what you want?" James's voice is barely above a whisper, the question laden with unspoken promises. His eyes search yours for affirmation, lingering on the anticipation shimmering in their depths.

You can only nod, words failing you as heat rushes to your cheeks. Remus senses the shift in the air and pulls back from your chest, understanding passing between him and James in a look. A small smile plays on his lips as he watches James, whose gaze never leaves your face while his fingers make quick work of the button on your jeans.

The zipper follows suit, the sound amplified in the silence of the room. Your breath hitches in your throat as you lift your hips slightly, allowing Remus to tug the denim down your legs, followed by the fabric that had been bunched at your waist. The fabric pools at your feet before being discarded carelessly, leaving you in just your underwear.

Remus leans down once more, this time pressing soft kisses along the edge of your panties. His warm breath teases against your skin, drawing goosebumps in its wake and eliciting a shiver that runs through your entire body.

Your fingers trace the outline of James's arousal through the barrier of his trousers, and a soft moan escapes him. His eyes darken with desire, his lower lip caught between his teeth in an unconscious gesture of restraint.

"Keep that up," he says, his voice rough with need, "and I won't last."

The warning is there, but it doesn't deter you—it only fuels your determination. Your hands work deftly to unfasten his belt, the metallic click echoing in the silence. As you navigate past the final layer separating you from him, James sucks in a sharp breath.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb tracing the curve of your jawline as he watches you. The tenderness in his gaze contrasts sharply with the raw hunger coursing through his veins—a dichotomy that sends a shiver down your spine.

While you're focused on James, Sirius and Remus ensure they're not forgotten. Remus's fingers hook into the waistband of your knickers, hinting at removing the last barrier between you. Sirius's mouth finds your neck, his kisses leaving a trail of heat behind and his hand cups your breast, thumb gently teasing your nipple.

You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding when Remus finally peels away your underwear. He discards them without a second glance, his attention fixed on the prize before him. His lips replace his fingers, kissing up your inner thigh with agonising slowness. Each press of his mouth is a promise, leading to the place where you need him most. You can feel his warm breath there, and it takes all your self-control not to buck up into him, to demand the contact you so desperately crave.

But he doesn't rush. He knows what's at stake — your condition demands careful handling. They all do. It's why they move in measured rhythms, taking their time, letting each touch sink in before adding another layer of sensation.

Your gaze falls on Remus again, and your breath hitches as you watch him press kisses to the inside of your thighs. James notices your distraction, the slight shift in your focus, and seizes the opportunity.

Slowly, he unfastens his trousers, sliding the fabric down his legs along with his boxers. His arousal springs free, hard and heavy against his stomach. With a swift kick, he sends his discarded clothing to join the other garments strewn across the floor. For a moment, he pauses, his eyes locking onto yours once more, silently asking for confirmation. "Is this what you want?" he whispers again, needing to hear your answer.

A nod of assent escapes you, your lip caught between your teeth as the anticipation coils tighter within your belly. James' lips descend upon yours once more, a soft counterpoint to the rough hands that map the contours of your body. His mouth leaves a trail of fire down your neck, settling on the swell of your breasts while you reach for him, your hand finding his length.

Remus' mouth finds its own path, his tongue pressing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs before moving higher, leaving you gasping and reaching out blindly for something—anything—to anchor yourself. Sirius focuses his attention on your other nipple, his fingers twisting and pulling in rhythm with his ministrations until you're arching into his touch, a low moan escaping your lips as he begins to undress.

Even through the haze of desire clouding your mind, you can't help but notice Sirius as he sheds his clothes, the planes and angles of his muscular body drawing your gaze like a moth to flame. Your heart beats faster, an echo of the primal need coursing through your veins as your hand reaches for him, wrapping around his hardened length. He jerks at the contact, a groan slipping past his lips as you begin to stroke him, feeling the pulse of life beneath your fingertips.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathes out, the raw need in his voice mirroring your own as you squeeze him tighter. You feel him twitch in your grip, a silent testament to the power you hold over him in this moment.

Remus lowers himself between your legs, his breath warm against your skin before his tongue makes contact. You gasp, not at the intrusion but at the sensation that follows—electric and all-consuming. It's almost too much, the way he laps at your clit, but Remus is nothing if not thorough, taking his time to map out what makes you sigh, what makes you moan.

Sirius's fingers find yours around his erection, guiding you in the rhythm that pleases him most. His cock twitches under your combined strokes, and you close your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to revel in the feeling of power, the contrast of his hard length against your soft fingers.

Remus doesn't stop; he continues his ministrations, circling your entrance with his tongue as you gasp at the sensation. You shift your hips to give him better access, a low groan escaping your lips when he hits just the right spot.

Meanwhile, James's fingers tighten around yours, guiding your hand up and down his length in time with his thrusts. His mouth never leaves your breast, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin and drawing soft whimpers from you. His movements grow more urgent, his cock twitching in your hand as he nears his climax.

Before he can, Remus slips a finger inside you, stretching you open. You're not sure when he managed to grab the lube, but you're grateful for the slickness that allows him to slide into you with ease. The sudden intrusion steals your breath, your back arching off the bed as you gasp for air.

"Jesus, you're so tight," Remus murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire. He begins to move, his finger sliding in and out of you while his tongue returns to its assault on your clit. It's too much, all of it—the sensations, the pleasure, the sheer overwhelming intimacy of what they're doing to you.

James doesn't move, his gaze still heavy on your skin. The way he watches you, the heat in his eyes—it's intoxicating, a silent plea as powerful as any touch. His breathing is ragged, matching the frantic rhythm of your own heart. "I want to be inside you," he confesses, the words leaving him in a broken whisper, filled with a yearning that mirrors your own. He pulls away from your chest, and your body aches for his touch, even as the anticipation sends shivers down your spine. You nod, a silent acquiescence, because the words are stuck in your throat, too heavy with desire to break free.

"Say it, love," Sirius urges, his voice a velvet caress against your ear. His hand moves against yours, guiding you, showing you exactly how he wants to be touched. "Tell James what you want."

The command sends a thrill through you, a sharp current of need that has you squirming beneath their touches. It's wrong, so wrong—the fact that they're making you do this, that they're watching—but the protest dies on your lips, replaced by a breathless whisper of surrender. "Fuck me, James."

Remus doesn't hide the satisfied smirk that plays on his lips as he withdraws his finger, slick with your arousal. He offers it to Sirius, who takes it without hesitation, wrapping his lips around Remus's digit. The sight is obscene, the implication clear: They'll share everything tonight, even this.

James wastes no time. He reaches for the lube, pouring a generous amount into his hand before applying it to himself. His movements are controlled, purposeful, as he positions himself at your entrance. You feel the coolness of the lube against your heat, and it sends a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the chill of the air.

"Look at me," James commands, his voice soft yet firm. There's a question in his eyes, an unspoken check-in to make sure you're ready for this next step. "Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you."

You nod, your breath hitching in your throat as anticipation makes your heart pound against your ribcage. "I'm sure." Your words are more breath than sound, but they carry the weight of your desire.

The first touch of James is a gentle exploration, the tip of his erection sliding down your slit, teasing you. The sensation makes your thighs twitch, your muscles tightening around empty air as you instinctively seek more contact.

"Please, James," you whimper, your voice barely audible as you tilt your hips up, welcoming him. The plea hangs in the air between you, a testament to your need.

His response is immediate but unhurried. You feel him press against you, slowly parting your folds. The sensation of him entering you is foreign and you gasp, a sharp intake of breath that echoes through the silent room. There is discomfort—a slight sting as your body adjusts to him—but beneath it, an undercurrent of pleasure promises to unfurl.

"Easy, love," James murmurs, his hands holding your thighs apart as he moves with careful deliberation. His gaze remains locked on yours: intense, unblinking, searching for any signs of distress. "You're so tight... so perfect."

Each slow thrust sends waves of sensation coursing through you, each retreat leaving you aching for more. His hands grip your hips, guiding you to meet his movements.

Remus keeps his position close by your side, his eyes studying the way you and James fit together. His fingers brush against your nipple, the sensation causing a shudder to pass through you. He's been watching, touching, keeping a careful eye on how both of you are reacting. But he hasn't joined fully yet. His jeans still encase his lower body, though the bulge pressing against the fabric is noticeable. You don't want him to feel left out.

With a sigh, you reach down and start to undo the button of Remus's jeans, pulling them just enough for his erection to spring free. His eyes widen as he realizes what you're doing, and he's quick to help, lifting his hips so you can pull the denim down further. Soon, the jeans join the rest of the clothing on the floor, lost in the growing pile. Your hand wraps around him, thumb tracing the vein on the underside of his length. The contrast of his skin against yours sends another wave of desire coiling in your belly.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," Sirius murmurs, his voice husky with desire. Your hand moves in tandem, stroking their lengths, trying to offer them the same pleasure they are so keen on giving you. You attempt to respond, but James's next thrust steals your words, replacing them with a moan that vibrates against Remus's flesh. Your grip tightens reflexively around both men, eliciting a groan from Sirius and a low growl from Remus.

Remus's eyes flash, a storm of emotions churning within them before they settle back on your hand. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing growing more ragged with every stroke. It's an intimate dance, your hands exploring the heated skin of both men while James continues to move within you. There's a sense of harmony amid the frenzy, each touch fuelling the fire that threatens to consume you all.

James's sudden movement makes it difficult for you to maintain your hold on the other two. Their cocks, slick with precum, slip from your hands only to slap back against their stomachs. But you don't let that stop you. With a low murmur of reassurance, you reach out and touch them again, slowly stroking them. You can feel their bodies trembling under your fingers, their breaths hitching in anticipation.

For a moment, James is still inside you, his strong body pressing against yours, his cock filling you completely. Then, with an animalistic growl, he begins to move, thrusting steadily in and out of you. He varies his pace and angle, searching for the spot that will send you over the edge.

The pleasure builds until it's almost too much to bear. Your toes curl and uncurl with each stroke, nails digging into the sheets below. The tension in your core tightens, winding like a coil ready to snap. You're so close, teetering on the precipice of release.

"Such a pretty picture," Sirius murmurs, his breath fanning over your lips before he leans down to capture them with his own. His kiss is demanding, intoxicating, and you find yourself eagerly meeting him halfway.

Your senses are overwhelmed—the feel of James moving inside you, the taste of Sirius' mouth on yours, and the sight of Remus watching with such intensity—it's enough to make your head spin. Sirius pulls away slightly, leaving your lips tingling. He runs his thumb along your lower lip, tracing its softness before leaning back down and catching it between his teeth. You gasp, the unexpected sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

"Oi, be gentle," Remus chides, but there's no real heat in his words. Instead, a wide grin plays on his lips, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "We wouldn't want to break her."

But their concern is unnecessary; you're far from fragile. You revel in the attention, in the way they can't seem to keep their hands off you. Your body responds to their touches, arching into them, seeking more.

"I've got you," James promises, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your skin. The words are both declaration and reassurance, a testament to the trust established between you all in this intimate act.

"Fuck," you gasp as he begins thrusting harder. Each movement is deliberate, designed to elicit the maximum amount of pleasure. You can feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein as he slides in and out of you. The sensation is overwhelming, a heady mix of pleasure and pain that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

Remus watches you and James, his eyes dark with desire. He can see how much you're enjoying it, how your body moves instinctively to meet each of James's thrusts. It's a sight that sends a jolt of arousal straight to his cock, making it twitch in anticipation.

His hand moves lower, finding its way to your clit. He begins to rub slow, teasing circles around it, watching your reactions closely. Your hips buck slightly at the touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips as the pleasure intensifies.

"Fuck," you breathe out, the word barely there. The sensation of James filling you combined with Remus's skilled fingers on your clit is too much, overwhelming in its intensity.

Your body tenses as pleasure surges through you, radiating from your core to every nerve ending. It's a deluge, threatening to consume you, and you're helpless in its wake.

Sirius watches you, his grey eyes darkening at the sight—your flushed cheeks, your chest rising and falling rapidly, the soft gasps escaping your parted lips. He leans down, brushing his lips against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You shiver, not from cold but from the anticipation of his touch.

Every sensation is heightened, every touch sending new waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. The room is filled with the sound of heavy breathing and soft moans, the air thick with desire.

You're so close, teetering on the edge, but there's something holding you back. A barrier that's kept you from reaching this peak for as long as you can remember. It's frustrating, maddening even because you want nothing more than to let go, to experience that release. And you hope—no, you believe—that they can help you get there. They must sense it too, because their touches are purposeful, fingers lingering in places that make you gasp, eyes locked onto you with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt.

Remus's voice is a soothing balm, grounding you when everything else threatens to unravel. His lips graze your ear, his words barely more than a whisper yet they echo loudly in your mind. "Relax, love. Just focus on the sensations, on what feels good. Don't think about anything else."

You attempt to do as he says, to lose yourself in the blend of sensations: James inside you, hitting that spot deep within, and Remus's fingers circling your clit with a tantalising slowness that is driving you closer and closer to the edge. Sirius's lips are relentless against yours, and then they're trailing down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"Fuck, I'm close," James pants against your ear, his thrusts growing more desperate. He takes your mouth again, swallowing your cries as you roll your hips in time with his movements.

Remus's hand continues its unhurried dance over your clit, while his other grips the sheets beside your head, his body poised above you as though he's drinking in every reaction, every gasp that escapes your lips. His eyes never leave your face, adjusting his pace based on the subtle shifts in your expression.

James's rhythm becomes erratic, the catch of his breath in sync with each forceful thrust. You feel him hit that spot again, and your body convulses around him.

Meanwhile, Sirius is all over your upper body, pressing kisses to your skin, licking and sometimes biting softly. The pleasure coils tighter in your belly with every touch, every kiss, every stroke of a finger or tongue. You feel the pressure building, familiar yet different because it's them, and you whimper into Sirius' mouth, your hips moving in tandem with James's thrusts and Remus's ministrations.

"Look at you," Sirius murmurs against your lips, one hand cupping your breast while the other rests possessively on your waist. His thumb brushes over your nipple in time with Remus's circles on your clit, and you gasp, your body arching off the bed as the sensations overwhelm you.

James's grip tightens on your hips, his thrusts growing more insistent as he fights against the urge to find his release. His lips move over yours, his breathing ragged and uneven. You can feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the telltale sign that he's teetering on the edge.

You want to join him there, to let go and tumble into the abyss of pleasure, but something holds you back. The pressure builds inside you, a dam ready to burst—but not yet.

A low growl escapes Remus's throat, the sound vibrating through you and adding to the symphony of sensations. James is close, you can sense it in the frantic rhythm of his hips, and they won't stop until they've seen you undone. But you're not there yet, and the thought of asking them to hold back—

The idea is laughable, really. As if you'd want them to stop now.

James's movements become erratic, a silent plea for you to come with him. His gaze locks onto yours, dark eyes filled with a desperation that mirrors your own. "Shit, Y/N... you're..." He chokes on his words, the compliment lost in the haze of pleasure.

You feel him twitch inside you, a sign that he is teetering on the edge. "Can I cum, love?" His voice is ragged, strained by the effort to keep his composure.

"Yes," you whisper, craving the warmth of him spilling inside you. "Please, James."

His thrusts become more erratic, more urgent as he chases the bliss that is just within reach. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, drawing him even closer as if to ensure that not a single sensation is lost between you.

A low growl rumbles in his chest, growing louder as he plunges deeper, harder. You feel him throb inside you—a pulse, then another—and then he's there, caught in the throes of ecstasy. "Fuck, Y/N," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he spills himself into you. He stays like that for a moment, savoring the aftershocks before gently pulling out.

The absence of him leaves a hollow ache within you, the phantom sensation of James still lingering. But the emptiness is short-lived as Sirius positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging at your sensitive flesh. With a single, slow thrust, he fills you, eliciting a moan that echoes off the stone walls. His eyes roll back, and he groans loudly, the sound resonating through you and setting your nerves ablaze once more.

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight," Sirius grunts, his fingers digging into your hips as he starts to move. Each thrust is measured, deliberate, coaxing your body to respond to him, to open up and take him deeper.

Between the three of them, they're relentless in their pursuit of your pleasure. Sirius's hands move from your hips to nudge Remus's fingers away from where they've been teasing your clit. His own fingers replace them, applying steady pressure that sends jolts of pleasure through your core.

He circles the sensitive bundle of nerves, then applies pressure up and down, creating a rhythm that has your back arching off the bed. Your hips buck with each stroke of Sirius's fingers, each thrust of his cock filling you, each flick of James's tongue against your nipple.

"Sirius..." The word is a breathless plea, torn from your throat as the coil within you tightens further. You're close, so close, but you need just a bit more. "Please..."

Without hesitation, Sirius leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His movements become more urgent, his fingers working in tandem with his thrusts. The world narrows to the sensation of them—the taste of Sirius's mouth on yours, the feeling of him moving within you, the relentless attention James is lavishing on your tit.

"Look at me," Sirius rasps against your mouth as he pushes deeper still, each stroke stoking the fire within you. Your fingers tangle in the dark curls at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, losing yourself in the intensity of his gaze. It's almost too much—the relentless pleasure, the potent mix of lust and affection—but you're far past the point of caring.

Beside the bed, Remus watches, his hand stroking himself in time with Sirius's movements. Something primal stirs within him, a need to claim and possess, too strong to ignore. He moves forward, standing over you both, his gaze predatory. Reaching out, his thumb brushes over one of your nipples, making you gasp—a sound that sends a jolt of arousal straight to his core.

He leans down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers promises that make you squirm with anticipation. "You're so beautiful like this... so open for us."

There is a feral grin on Sirius's face, his thrusts growing more erratic as he fights to hold onto control. His grip on your thigh tightens as he angles your leg up, your ankle coming to rest against his shoulder. It stretches you, a sharp twinge of discomfort that you ignore, focusing instead on how it changes the angle, hits just right—

"I'm close," Sirius grunts, his voice strained. "Fuck."

The warning goes unheeded, or perhaps it's not meant to be heeded at all. Your world narrows to this: the feel of their hands on your skin, the taste of Remus on your tongue, the stretch and fill of Sirius inside you. It's overwhelming, a sensory overload that blots out any lingering pain and leaves only pleasure in its wake.

With a final, deep thrust, Sirius groans, his body stiffening as he finds his release. He collapses beside you, chest heaving, one hand reaching out to pull you into the warmth of his side.

But Remus isn't done. Sirius and James may have had their fill, but Remus hasn't had his turn yet, not properly. And especially not when you haven't found your climax yet.

"Can you handle another round, love? Or do you need a breather?" Remus's voice is gentle, tinged with concern. Even in this moment of lust and desire, he's careful, always checking for your consent. He knows how sore you must be, how tired—but the thought of being inside you sends a thrill down his spine that he can't ignore.

"Please," you breathe out, the single word barely audible yet carrying so much weight. You're on edge, your body pulsating with the need for release. Your lip finds its way between your teeth as you shift your hips slightly, silently begging him to continue.

The corners of his mouth lift into a smirk, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Say it again," he teases, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin, raising goosebumps in its wake.

"Please, Remus...I want you inside me," you plead, the words tumbling out in a shaky exhale. The request hangs heavy in the air, thick with desire and unspoken promises of pleasure.

The words sound like a litany, a sacred invocation that breaks from your lips unbidden. It is all your body can utter, every fibre yearning for completion, your mind teetering on the brink of surrender to these men who seek only to pleasure you.

Remus's expression shifts to one of predatory satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with the knowledge of what he's about to claim. He moves between your thighs, positioning himself at your entrance, his cock an insistent pressure against your slick folds. A soft nudge precedes the slow glide of him filling you, eased by the layers of cum coating your inner walls. Anticipation coils tighter within you, your breath hitching as your hips tilt up to welcome him deeper.

"Merlin, you feel... incredible," Remus growls into your ear, his forehead resting against yours as he begins to move. Each roll of his hips meets you in a rhythm that has your breath hitching with pleasure. His thrusts are slow, calculated, hitting that spot deep within you that makes you keen and clutch at him.

He pulls back only to surge forward again, the pace gradually increasing until you're both lost in the sensation. His eyes, usually so kind and warm, now burn with a raw intensity that captivates you. He doesn't break eye contact, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face.

The speed of Remus's thrusts pick up, each one more powerful than the last. You can feel every inch of him, the way he fills you completely, leaving no room for anything else but this overwhelming pleasure.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Sirius's hand moving in a steady rhythm along James's length, who is hard once again under his touch. They watch, their own pleasure mirrored in the way they stroke themselves while taking in the sight before them. It's a tableau that sends shivers down your spine, an erotic dance where you and Remus are the center. 

You rock your hips in rhythm with Remus's, matching the pace he sets. It's a silent plea for him to continue, to chase his own pleasure alongside yours, even if it means losing control.

"Fuck, Y/N," he gasps out as you shift once more, your clit brushing against the base of his cock in a way that sends a ripple of pleasure through you both. It's a sensation that edges you closer to the precipice of release, and from the hitch in Remus's breath, you know he's not far behind.

His breath catches, a low growl escaping him as he thrusts into you with renewed vigour. The bed creaks beneath the force of it, but you barely register the sound over the pounding of your heart in your ears. Your bodies move together, a mess of sweat and tangled limbs, each thrust pushing you higher until you're teetering on the brink.

"I'm close, love," Remus grits out, his rhythm faltering as he nears completion. His hands clench on your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fights to maintain control.

The thought of marking you, claiming you as his own in this most primal way, is overwhelming. You can feel your body coiling tighter, an echo of his urgency growing within you. But the pleasure remains just out of reach, a teasing promise that leaves you straining for more. Frustration wells up alongside desire, and tears prick at your eyes as you try to relax, to surrender to the sensations coursing through you.

But it's not enough. The barrier remains, solid and impenetrable, resisting every effort to shatter it. And with each passing second, the task seems more daunting, the path to release steeper and more treacherous.

"Take a breath," Remus murmurs, a note of concern creeping into his voice as he senses your struggle. The line of his brow furrows, sweat trickling down the side of his face despite the chill in the room. His movements within you continue, each one measured and deliberate, a testament to his restraint even as the pressure builds.

His eyes, a tempest of hazel and gold, never leave your face, searching for any sign of discomfort, any hint that he should stop. But what he finds instead is the raw intensity of your gaze, mirroring the storm brewing within him.

A shiver runs through him, not from the cold but from the heat they're generating together. His resolve crumbles, giving way to the primal need coursing through his veins. With a groan, he surrenders to the inevitable, quickening his pace as the promise of release beckons.

"Love, you feel amazing," Remus grunts, his biceps bulging as he thrusts with unrestrained fervor. His voice is a low rumble, the sound vibrating through your body and adding to the sensory overload. He hits that perfect spot within you again and again, each contact sending white-hot jolts of pleasure coursing through your veins. His thumb finds your clit, circling it in a rhythm designed to drive you over the edge. But instead of the relief of climax, there's only a mounting frustration, a painful hollow ache. Tears spill from your eyes, not from pain but from an overwhelming sense of being denied what you crave most.

"Do you want me to stop?" Remus asks, pausing mid-thrust. His concern is palpable, even as his body screams for release. You shake your head, clutching at his shoulders.

"No, don't stop. Please..." Your voice is barely a whisper, lost in the sheets beneath you. The need to see him find his own pleasure is too great, outweighing the gnawing emptiness inside you. You want this for him, need him to feel every bit of the satisfaction the others have found. But the denial of your own release becomes a torment all its own.

"I'm close," Remus admits, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Tell me if it's too much."

You can't respond with words, only a nod of affirmation that you need him to continue, despite the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. Sirius's lips press against the sensitive skin of your neck, drawing a gasp from your lips as James leans over Sirius's shoulder, his hand cupping your breast.

"Shh," Sirius murmurs into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "You're so beautiful like this..."

The flattery is lost in the feel of Remus moving inside you, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge. It's exquisite torture—the pleasure building but never quite cresting. Your body is wound tight, straining for release that teases at the fringes of your senses.

And then it happens—Remus drives into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt. His cock twitches inside you as he finds his own release, each pulse sending waves of pleasure through your core. You can feel every spurt of his seed filling you up, marking you as his in the most primal way possible. A low moan rumbles in your throat, a sound you hardly recognise as your own.

For a few heartbeats, Remus remains still atop you, his chest heaving against your back as he catches his breath. He presses a soft kiss to the nape of your neck, the gesture tender and intimate amidst the aftermath of your shared passion. Then, slowly, he pulls away, his spent cock slipping free from your body. 

"I'm sorry, love," Remus murmurs, his thumb brushing away the dampness that's pooled beneath your eyes. "We'll do better next time."

His voice is a balm, soothing yet laced with its own form of agony. Because it's not about them doing better—you know they'll try—it's about you being able to reach that elusive end.

"Next time," you echo, the words sounding hollow even to your own ears. It's not a question of their effort or willingness to guide you there; it's a matter of your body betraying you, refusing to grant you the release you so desperately crave.

The disappointment is palpable, thick in the air like a fog that refuses to lift. And behind it all lurks a seed of doubt, sprouting tendrils of fear that whisper maybe it's not possible, maybe they can't bring you there—not because they won't give their all, but because you're unable to reach the precipice.

"It's okay," you whisper, forcing a smile onto your face when what you really want to do is crumble. "I just... want you to feel good."

There's a softness then, a gentleness that belies their earlier urgency. Sirius and James lean in, each pressing a kiss to your cheek, their lips warm against the cool tracks of your tears. Their hands move with a tender kind of reverence, wiping away the remnants of your crying, their touch a balm.

[sleepiexx]

Better Than Your Average Sleep Medication

Carlos Oliveira x fem!Reader

Note: it is real hard trying to find words to describe a vagina and a penis without getting cringy

Summary: Carlos is a pal and helps (Y/N) fall asleep.

Warnings: afab reader, smut

Word Count: 2074

(Y/N) and Carlos had been spooning in bed for hours, though neither could sleep. Ever since the Racoon City incident, insomnia seemed to take over more and more.

“I can’t sleep,” she huffed, “can you?”

He shook his head, “Me neither.”

She hummed in dismay, “It’s like ever since everything went down, all I’m seeing when I close my eyes is RC and those… things.”

His eyebrows furrowed. He knew the feeling, of course, but some part of him felt that he was partially to blame. Although, realistically, none of it was his fault, shit added up. He’d thought back to it a million times. What he could have done different, saving (Y/N) sooner, better, not putting her on the subway car that got ripped up by Nemesis, moves he could have used on Nikolai to grab the sample and save those infected. It was all dead ends, yet the simple fact that he had worked for Umbrella gave him a sense of responsibility toward (Y/N) and helping her in the aftermath of the tragedy.

(Y/N) herself had grown attached to Carlos in the midst of the disaster. Although she hadn’t known him before, he protected her every step of the way. Even taught her to protect herself. The trauma bond they built was what made it so easy for him to wiggle his way into her life outside RC. To repair what he felt he’d broken.

He’d take it all one step at a time. Now, his mission was coaxing her to sleep. But how to take her mind off of everything? A thought popped into his head, as though there were a lightbulb shining above him.

“I have an idea on how to help, do you trust me?” He asked.

“With my life.” She murmured.

He nodded, voice seemingly deepening, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Before she could voice her confusion, his hand moved down from where it was wrapped around her side to gently press against her bare stomach where her shirt had ridden up. He gave her time to object before slowly slipping his hand toward the waistband of her night shorts. She allowed him to put his hand in her pants, breath hitching as his hand slid over her underwear.

She bit her lip as his fingers traced up her clothed pussy, testing the waters. Steadily, he cupped her, pressing his hand directly against the area where she felt need growing. With his middle and ring finger, he once again traced her from vagina to clit, letting them linger in the clit area where he pressed down, slowly moving his fingers in circles.

She let out a quiet moan, feeling herself growing wetter.

“Does that feel good?” Carlos husked.

(Y/N) let out a shaky breath, “Mhm, so good.”

“Are you okay if I take these off?” He muttered, lightly snapping the waistband of her underwear against her skin before continuing drawing patterns into her covered clit.

“Please,” she whimpered.

He wasted no time, pulling down her shorts and underwear at the same time and tossing them somewhere to his side. Still in the spooning position, he grabbed her top thigh and pulled it back so it was flush against his own, spreading her out for easy access.

With the barrier between his fingers and her vulva gone, he dipped the tips of them into her vagina, wetting his fingers so he could glide them across her slit. His fingers now lubed up, he graced her clit with his touch once more. She gasped at the feeling.

He started off slow but quickly fastened his pace as she moaned for him.

“Nnngh Carlos,” she whined, writhing in his arms, back arching.

“So responsive,” he cooed, placing kisses to the crook of her neck.

Her mind became fuzzy, taken over by pleasure. She closed her eyes, chewing on her bottom lip in attempts to muffle at least some of her moans. Her jaw went slack at the feeling of Carlos licking up her neck before biting down and sucking.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She cried. She tapped on his arm to get his attention. “Inside… need you inside me.”

“My fingers or-”

She cut him off, “Your dick, need your dick, Carlos, please.”

With the state of his penis, he wasn’t one to object. The combination of her moans and her squirming right up against his crotch had him rock hard. But, ever the gentlemen, he still wanted to help her finish at least once before penetrating her.

“Would it kill your drive if I got you to cum on my fingers first?” He asked.

She shook her head, “Mm-mm.”

With her okay, he didn’t hesitate. Now that he knew he had to prep her to take him, he gently slid his middle finger inside of her, having his thumb take over rubbing her clit.

After pumping just his middle finger in a few times, he added his ring finger. He curled them inside of her before going back to pumping them in and out. As he got into a rhythm, his mouth drifted back to her neck, going back to where he left off in marking her up.

“Carlos,” her moans spilled out more frequently as she felt her orgasm fast approaching, “I’m- fuck, ‘m close.”

He detached from her neck, tilting his head up so his lips brushed her jaw. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yes, oh god yes.” She shook as her orgasm tore through her, cumming all over Carlos’s hand. He smirked against her jaw, fingers never once stopping until she came down from her high.

When he finally pulled his hand out, she turned over so she could look at him. Her gaze shifted from his lips to his eyes before she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and pulled him in for a passionate kiss. He reciprocated, pulling away only to laugh.

“Someone’s eager, huh? Why don’t you let me pull my cock out before you swallow me whole?”

Dazed from her recent orgasm, she whispered a quiet, “Please.”

“Your wish is my command,” He muttered. He stood and took off his shirt, pausing for a second when he got to his pants and looking down at her, “Take off your shirt for me, yeah?”

She nodded, scrambling to pull her shirt over her head. She tossed it across the room like Carlos had done with her other articles of clothing and went back to watching Carlos strip.

He pulled down his pants, leaving his underwear on so that he could drag out her eager gaze watching him. Ever so slowly, he slid his boxers down off his legs and stepped out of them. Her eyes widened at his size. She hadn’t realized how much he was packing until now.

He walked to the edge of the bed where (Y/N) was splayed out, ogling him. He took his penis in one hand and laid it on top of her stomach, showing her how big he really was.

As she felt the weight of him on her stomach and saw his length and girth, she murmured, “Jesus you’re huge.”

He tilted her chin up so she was looking directly into his eyes. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I want this.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated for a short moment, looking into her eyes and finding only pure desire (and maybe a little bit of adoration too, but emotions are too much to deal with for one night).

“I’ll start slow and then you tell me when you adjust, okay?” He asked. She nodded in agreement.

With the reassurance from her desperate gaze and eager nods, Carlos wasted no more time.

He rubbed his penis down her vulva from clit to vagina, slowly pressing the tip in. He carefully pushed in, inch by inch, keeping watch of (Y/N)’s facial expressions to make sure she wasn’t in pain. He planted his arms on either side of her, leverage for when he would eventually start thrusting. His arm muscles tensed when he bottomed out, she had a similar reaction, tensing her jaw.

When (Y/N) finally adjusted, she tapped his forearm, “You can move.”

And he did. He started off slow, exploring her body to find out her inner workings. What made her tick, what pleasured her to the highest extent. His experiments offered high reward.

As Carlos switched up the angle ever so slightly, (Y/N) let out a loud whimper. His eyes flitted to her face and he leaned down so his cheek would be flush against hers.

“Oh?” He rasped, thrusting again in the same spot, pleased with the noise that spilled from her lips, “Did I find your sweet spot?”

He knew without a doubt that he had, but he wanted her to admit it. He smirked as she nodded and whined, “Mhm.”

Carlos sped up the pace, keeping the exact same angle. (Y/N) clenched hard around him, leading him to let out a long moan, closer to his fast-approaching end.

As he nailed her g-spot over and over again, she reached her hands up to grip his back. He adjusted too, moving his arms so that they wrapped around her waist, one hand on her lower back. He took their close proximity as a chance to kiss her, bodies and lips pressed together as Carlos continued thrusting. They exchanged muffled moans and saliva, both dreading having to separate for air.

After they parted, Carlos felt her tap his shoulder, he looked down at her, ready to stop in case she was about to tell him to do so. “What do you need, princess? You want me to slow down? Stop?”

(Y/N) shook her head, “Mm-mm, I wanna mark you, can I mark you?”

Carlos laughed at the question, “Baby, if you saw how many marks there are on your neck right now, I don’t think you’d feel the need to ask. Go ahead.”

She nodded, trailing kisses across his neck and collarbone, moving lower. He groaned loudly as she bit down right on his upper pec, sucking on it for a good length of time to ensure it left a mark. She kissed where she bit and then continued kissing his neck.

He could feel his resolve breaking down but he was dead set on making her finish first. He slipped one hand down to her clit, fingertips gently rubbing patterns into it. As she felt herself on the edge, she buried her head into the crook of his neck and bit down. He grabbed her jaw and pushed her down into the pillow, making her whine.

“No hiding, sweetheart, I wanna watch you cum.”

He got his wish, with Carlos’s words being the tipping point, (Y/N) came. Her orgasm was intense, mouth open, moaning, practically clawing up Carlos’s back.

As Carlos got close to his own end, he let out a whimper. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, where do you want it?”

“I’m on birth control, just stay inside me, please.” She pleaded, shaking.

He did not object, spilling inside her while whispering sweet words of praise in her ear, “Atta girl, just like that. Fuck, such a good girl.”

His erratic thrusting slowed and he gently pulled out. He couldn’t help but watch his cum leak out of her, mesmerized at the sight. As it leaked onto the sheets, he finally realized he should probably clean up.

After kissing (Y/N)’s forehead, he leaned in and whispered, “I’ll be right back,” before heading to the bathroom to wet a washcloth with warm water. He hurried his way back to the bedroom so he could clean her up.

He looked at her apologetically while she winced at the feeling of the wet washcloth touching her sensitive heat, “I’m sorry baby, I’ll hurry up.”

She nodded and tried to muffle any sounds of discomfort and leftover arousal that escaped her mouth from the contact.

“All right, all done.” He muttered, tossing the dirty rag into the clothes hamper.

She looked down at herself, “there’s cum all over my side of the bed.”

“We’ll just have to snuggle on my side then,” he smiled, crawling into bed and patting the area next to him, “I’ll deal with it in the morning, don’t worry.”

She nodded, cuddling up to his side.

“Goodnight, Carlos.” She whispered.

“Goodnight, (Y/N)”

[hearted-anon]

Broken eggs, mended hearts

Words: 1317

Note: minjeong

T/w: angst, soft tickles

Lee: Jeongin

Ler: Minho

Jeongin smiled brightly as he held the carton of eggs in his hands, staring at it like it was an ancient artefact that had just been restored. The staff briefly explained his mission to the maknae, resisting the urge to melt themselves with how innocent he looked; what was not to like about him looking up at you with such adoration?! Waddling out of the room, his task was simple: keep his egg babies alive, all of them. However, his mood flipped with a simple action.

“Haha!” Minho snickered triumphantly as he crashed not one, not two, but all of Jeongin’s eggs down into the sink, his babies spilling out their insides as the shells lingered on the older’s hands. Meanwhile, the youngest stood frozen in spot, only able to watch after wrestling in a futile attempt to save his mission. Quietly, he began washing down what was left of his failed mission while the members walked away with happy smiles, pursing his lips into a thin line.

“Wait wait-!” Minho exclaimed as he tried to close the door to the room, the rest of the members giggling along. All except Jeongin, who was tugging at the older’s sleeves aggressively.

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN GIVE ME FIVE MINUTES!” Jeongin yelled back, taking the entire group by surprise. Anger was practically seething through his teeth, hands clenched into fists so tightly they were as pale as Minho’s skin. The atmosphere began to grow tense, so thick a knife could cut through and serve a slice before the maknae stormed off, leaving the group in complete shock of what had just occurred in the room. Time seemed to slow down, Lee Know snapping out of his guilty daze when a door slammed shut so loudly it rang through his ears like a gong.

It wasn’t often that the roles were swapped in the group, it upset the members with the unorthodox ways both Minho and Jeongin were acting towards each other, avoiding even meeting the other’s eyes for a brief second. However, one simple thing told them apart: their expressions. The younger wore an unwavering scowl on his face, everything he touched crumpled and wilted, and every door opened slammed the wall with a thud. The older’s face was morphed into an ashamed frown, flinching whenever the sounds of metal cracking sounded, and jumping whenever another wall cried for help.

“I know you’re upset, but it gives you no right to act like this. Yang Jeongin, look at me. Go to your room and reflect, now.” Chan’s stern voice was easily distinguished, the sounds of feet thudding throughout the hallway coming after. This time, the maknae didn’t slam the door, didn’t openly curse when something went even the slightest bit wrong; it seemed the leader managed to temporarily break the upset barrier the fox had put up, chest squeezing knowing that it wasn’t entirely his fault that he was acting this way.

“Min, you need to go see him and apologise.” Chan sighed, eyes weary as he tried to coax the cat to make things right. Minho knew he was right, he had done nothing but sulk the entire day, putting zero effort into rectifying his mistake and just worsening the situation.

“But I can’t! W-What if he’s upset, slams the door, or-” Minho wailed, he felt so weak, tears streaming down his face as his mind engulfed himself in thoughts of any possible outcome. Usually he was meant to be the ‘emotionless’ one, yet he found himself cracking so easily under the pressure when applied just right.

“Yes you can. He’s just as distraught as you are, please.”

“Innie, can I come in, please?” Lee Know barely managed to get out, fingers curling around the wooden door as he saw a clump on the bed. It was unresponsive, but since he wasn’t yelling any insults, Minho took it as a sign that he could enter. Tip toeing his way in, he sat down on the soft bed, cringing internally when it creaked under the new weight. He stared at the clump of fluffy fabric under him, before taking the risk and peeling it off gently.

“Hyu- Hyung..I’m sorry..” His heart was sliced in half as he was met with a sobbing Jeongin, eyes completely bloodshot when he came up to cling to the cat, tears rolling down his scarred cheeks. Cooing softly, he doesn’t miss the opportunity to scoop the maknae up and into his arms, cradling him back and forth. He didn’t even know what the fox was sorry for, pressing a gentle kiss to the wet skin.

“Shh..you didn’t do anything wrong, I’m sorry for going overboard on the eggs..” Minho whispered, like a caress to the younger’s head as he tried to soothe his cries. Despite his exterior, Lee Know felt himself wanted to bawl alongside his member, but he held back, seeing how upset and guilt-ridden Jeongin was for something he had no wrong in. After what felt like hours under the radiant moonlight, only hiccups rang through the room, Jeongin clinging onto his hyung for dear life.

“C’mere, let me cheer you up.” At first, the fox stared up curiously, making the bunny giggle at the puffy eyes he was being flashed with. Bringing his hand down, he gently scribbled over Jeongin’s stomach, earning a quiet squeak before he dissolved into giggles. His hands shot up to cover his face, cowering behind his happy grin.

“Ah ah, let me see your face.” Minho tutted, his ministrations stopping for a moment to pull the maknae’s hands down, and again scribbling against the taut tummy. His hand that was snugly wrapped around the younger’s waist for support drummed against his side, eliciting a shocked squeal from below him; how adorable was that?

“Hyuhuhung hyung! Plehehease!” Jeongin whined, but didn’t push at the invading fingers on his torso, his hands simply curling around them like a child; his face heated up at the happy squeal that Lee Know let out from his small action. A dimpled smile became evident on his face slowly and steadily, cracks of dried tears forming when he crinkled up his eyes to continue his giggle fit, he swore that this was the epitome of adorable.

“I love you~” Minho ignored the younger’s endearing pleas, taking the hand on his stomach away to wipe away the dried tears, the rest of his nails scribbling ever so gently onto his cheeks. Jeongin shrieked with bubbly giggles, shaking his head side to side in a fruitless attempt to rid the nails on his scars; they were too sensitive for this..

“Ehehehe! H-Hyuhuhung!” The maknae tries again with his breathless begging, beginning to curl up into a tiny ball to ward off the fingers; of course it never worked. Minho could’ve sworn he himself was smiling so hard his cheek bones began to hurt, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop the wide grin; Jeongin’s cuteness was going to be the death of him right now.

“Yes? Mr Giggles?” The cat teased lightly, the hand on his side now softly digging into the skin between his ribs, snickering when Jeongin arched his back with another sweet squeal, it made him want to bash his head into a pillow from the overriding cuteness aggression that washed over him in waves.

“Noho more! Plehehease!” Once the maknae had become a puddle of teary, snort-filled giggles, the older relented, once again wiping away the same tears; but now with an all different, more comforting reason. He didn’t miss the opportunity to give one last scratch to his scarred filled cheeks though, making the younger snort endearingly. Pulling him up, they both went in for a long, long cuddle, feeling the negative weight on their shoulders be relieved.

The next morning however, Jeongin had quite the ‘stress relieving’ session, and Minho had a great start to his morning.

[formosusiniquis]

today is a new day to find you

Eddie is having the worst day known to man. It might qualify as a catastrophic event. Missing homework, lunch spilled on the cafeteria floor, broken strings at band practice, and that's not even touching Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington who keeps talking to him like they're friends. Steve Harrington who has become a new person overnight. Steve Harrington who keeps making hypotheticals about time loops. Steve Harrington who is somehow the best and worst part of his day.

AKA my @steddiebang fic!!

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Tommy Hagan & Steve Harrington & Carol Perkins; Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler; Corroded Coffin & Eddie Munson WC: 57K | Rated M | Tags/Themes: Time Loop, Sort of No Upside Down AU, Angst w/Happy Ending, King Steve Growth Arc

Check out my fantastic artists who brought this fic to life, I've been so blessed to have them pick out my fic to make art for! You can find @sammichtastic on twitter at sammichesnstuff and her piece here! You can find @milkychai on twitter too at at milkychai and their piece here!

And a special thank you to my Beta @rainingingeorgia who really helped whip what you're seeing into shape!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five (FINISHED)

It was, in a word, fucked that he had to take gym a second time along with the rest of senior year. It was, in several words, absolutely fucking bullshit because he had actually passed gym the first time. Surely, his senior gym credit should still count, even if he’d treated it like office hours to set up deals with meatheads in a venue that didn’t actively put him in harm's way. Well, mostly out of harm’s way, as the blood spotting his uniform shirt can attest.

Hell, there were some days his last block gym class was the only one he’d attend. Slipping in with the bell at 2:15 in time to be the last one in the locker room and out on the line for attendance. Now he’s being forced back through it for what? No seriously, for what? Surely there was some other elective that could fit in this block, shouldn’t the second year senior get first dibs at study hall or something.

Maybe if he complains enough about the loss of his civil liberties. His freedom of expression is being taken from him by forcing him into this shit uniform. Maybe if he’s a big enough headache they’ll just let him leave. He’s learned the rules to enough of these little sports, there had to be a test he could take to prove that he doesn’t need to be a walking target on a volleyball court.

Not that he thinks Jenny Marshall meant to peg him in the face and give him a bloody nose, but the sentiment stands. Between the shorts and the blood he looks like a sad shaky shelter dog or something.

There are, of course, some fringe benefits. Eddie may have to wear the signature Tiger green, but so does Steve Harrington, who definitely has the legs for the outrageously short gym uniform they’re forced to dress out in. And if he’s going to keep looking for that silver fucking lining like he promised Uncle Wayne he would; thanks to Jenny Marshall he gets to ride the bleachers and watch pretty, pretty Steve Harrington bounce around in those shorts for the rest of class. Maybe a more bronzed lining than silver, Harrington hangs onto the sun warmed summer glow even with the October chill creeping in. Freckled thighs with nary a tan line in sight Eddie lets himself wonder if the rumors that had circled the big 18th birthday bash are true: when Harrington’s not in the swim team speedo he doesn’t swim in anything at all.

The volleyball net that Steve is playing at, floppy and torn, is more of a suggestion than a barrier. Now that Eddie is benched, it’s Harrington’s five against Hargrove’s four. The tides haven’t changed in anyone’s favor.

Billy had placed himself across from Harrington at the start of the game, his patience rewarded now as they rotate positions and the King is once again opposite him in the front row. That not-barrier doing all it can to keep the two a foot apart, Hargrove pacing in the eighteen inches of space his position in front of Steve allows. Jenny and her nose killer serve send the ball over to Hargrove’s side of the net. They get it up in the air again and Hargrove smacks the ball down hard between Steve and Sarah Smith. 

It hits the floor with a thwack that makes Eddie wince. Almost drowning out Billy’s mean little laugh, but there’s no missing the smug look on his face. The far too proud of himself smirk he sends somewhere to the left of Steve. 

It’s for Steve though. Definitely for Steve.  

The usurper to the throne, Hargrove has been sniffing for weakness that Eddie was pretty sure wasn’t there. The closest Harrington has ever come to failure was last year’s attempts at Nancy Wheeler, one he seemed to give up as soon as it started.

Tommy H. would be the reason, if Eddie had any guesses. He tried to base an NPC group around the Harrington court once. Tommy a loyal knight to a mostly inept king. Tommy who sidles up close to Sarah, despite his own maiden the Lady Carol playing one net over, smirking the same smug smile as Hargrove -- maybe another weak spot in the Harrington reign -- he says something loud enough to embarrass Sarah if the way she flushes and scurries closer to Harrington’s side is any indication but not enough for Eddie to make out.

He never did get the character balances to work in the game. He scripted and broke down motivation and drive but every time he just couldn’t figure out what Hagan did for Steve. Couldn’t figure out why Harrington kept his so-called friends around.

Gym takes too damn long to end. Or maybe it ends too soon. The final bell that releases him from his prison like Cthulu from the deep is buried quickly under the ringing in his ears as Steve Harrington is calling his name. Resignation fills his spirit, but when the King beckons you wait.

[frozenjokes]

Toys Like Tape Measures (And A Brand New Splint!)

tw for drugging, though only in the medical sense. however, because of the language barrier, Mumbo doesn’t understand what’s happening really, so if that makes you uncomfortable I would skip

“Alright, so here’s the deal,” Mumbo heard Scar before he even reached the clearing, and he couldn’t be more excited. Scar was back, (and Grian was there too) he was finally back after being gone all week! “Today we’re going to fix that splint- ope- don’t make that face at me yet, let me explain, let me explain. I promise it will be 100% safe.”

“So many things- so many things, Scar, but you are not a doctor, much less a veterinarian- how do you even think this is going to work? Mumbo won’t even let us touch him, what makes you think anything about this will be safe?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of research, Grian! I’ve talked to every large animal vet I know, and a few fish people as well! This big ol’ bag on my back you’ve been nagging me about has everything we’ll need! Well, except the fish. You’re going to have to catch a few of those.”

“Scar! Fishing in this spot isn’t even very good and you know it, if you needed fish, why wouldn’t you bring any.”

“Forgot.”

There was a small silence before the two humans burst into the clearing, climbing through the path they’d ended up making through the brush by walking through so many times. Mumbo surfaced to greet them, though they were still preoccupied with each other.

“Of course,” Grian groaned, sighing as he threw down his bag, “Guess I’ll get to it then.”

“That’s the spirit!” Scar beamed, patting the other human hard on the back, who made a soft oof sound before scuttling away, moving to hide its face from Scar as it turned a reddish color. Odd. Usually Grian would yell at Scar for doing something like that, rightfully so (Mumbo still didn’t understand why Scar would randomly hit his friend), but instead Grian was far more meek. Had something happened? Maybe since Scar was hurt, Grian was taking a more passive role than normal. Mermaids were gentler with sick friends as well, and Mumbo knew quite well he could get away with more when he was unwell.

But it was good to see Scar looking healthy. His shoulder was still bandaged, visible under his shirt, but he couldn’t be feeling too badly given his bright demeanor, and his movement didn’t seem to be impaired at all. Thank goodness.

If it was even possible, Scar brightened further when he spotted Mumbo, happily throwing off unnecessary clothes before hopping right into the water, showing absolutely zero signs of fear. Oh, that was a weight off Mumbo’s back; he didn’t even realize how worried he was about Scar being afraid of him until now, until Scar very clearly wasn’t. Good, good..

Mumbo met Scar in the shallows, deep enough that he could keep his tail from dragging on the sand, but shallow enough where he could navigate with his hands; he was in near constant pain even with a week to recover, and while slow, pulling himself along the bottom with his hands caused the least agony on his tail. His splint was sufficiently broken now, only getting more uncomfortable with every passing day. At this point, Mumbo was just waiting for it to fall off; trying to figure out how it was attached was far too painful, though he had tried briefly a couple of times (with little success).

“Hello, Mumbo!” Scar greeted him, “I’ve got something you’re going to like. I’m pretty sure you like human stuff, so you’ll get a kick out of this.” Scar held up a small silver object, round, but not quite circular. Mumbo moved to get a closer look, though he couldn’t lift himself very far out of the water, so Scar crouched down to get it closer. “Tape measure.”

Mumbo squinted. “What.”

“Tape measure.” Huh. Weird word. Usually human words weren’t that long, though, maybe Mumbo had only learned the shorter ones. Was this a human tool? Mumbo attempted to snatch it, but Scar was faster, jumping back with a surprised look on his face. On his perch, Grian laughed.

“I told you! I told you he’d try to take that, and you won’t be getting it back.”

“Well he can have it if he wants, but not before I’m done!” Scar huffed, then turned back to Mumbo, speaking sternly, “No.” Mumbo stared, unamused. He could have guessed Scar didn’t want him to have its human tool, that didn’t change the fact that he was going to take it.

“Scar,” he tried, reaching out a hand a little slower. Maybe it wouldn’t see? ‘Your human object. Give me.’ he continued in a whistle due to the lack of human words, but Scar only huffed, an incredulous smile across its face.

“No!” Scar repeated a tad more forcefully, but Mumbo could see the smile on his face, he knew well enough he could keep trying. Mumbo moved a little forward, hoping to get within reach, but Scar stepped back, then back again, rolling his eyes, “You’re going to make measuring you really difficult, Mumbo.”

“Yeah,” Grian said from across the way, a small laugh in his tone, “I’d say I’ve got plenty of time to catch something.”

“You will, but this is not the reason!” Scar yelled back, pointing an accusatory finger, but the smile never left Scar’s face, and soon his focus was squarely back on Mumbo (who definitely hadn’t tried to snatch at the device while it was distracted).

The tool made a soft whirring sound as Scar pulled on one end, a flat yellow line appearing from inside the device, then snapping back when Scar let go. Whoa. What was that? What was the purpose? Scar moved a little bit closer, pulling the yellow line further this time, but when Mumbo managed to touch it, the line snapped back into the silver device with a sharp crack. Huh. Was it alive? Maybe it was shy? It looked a little bit like a snail..

“What.” Mumbo said, hoping for more information, but Scar only put his hands on his hips, making a show of his annoyance.

“I can’t show you if you keep trying to take it from me!” Nonsense. Guess Mumbo would just have to take it to figure it out for himself.

The next thirty minutes was an odd dance of Scar struggling to keep his distance while also trying to line up the tape measure with Mumbo’s body, and Mumbo would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying the game. The tape measure hurt if it snapped back on Mumbo’s hand, but if anything, that only made the game more exciting. Even with the limited use of his tail, he found himself splashing far more than usual, a certain recklessness brought about only by play. He didn’t even want the tape measure anymore (lie), he just wanted to keep up the game. Scar did not like the game as much, less and less as more time passed, but Grian seemed amused at least, occasionally looking over to laugh when Scar stumbled or outright fell over.

“I could use a little help here if you don’t mind!” Scar called, and Grian laughed again, the sound coming out more like a cackle.

“I thought you had it handled? You kept insisting you were fine, what changed?”

“He just won’t stop moving! Listen, I’ve measured plenty of animals, but they don’t usually have hands! He’s being impossible- he knows I’m not trying to hurt him and he knows I need him to stay still and he’s just not listening! On purpose! This was supposed to be easy!”

“He looks like he’s having fun, I wouldn’t want to rain on his parade.”

“Grian! Help me!” Scar cut himself off with a yelp as Mumbo lunged for the tape measure, but he didn’t get far with his limited mobility, so Scar stepped easily out of reach. He was lucky Mumbo couldn’t use his tail, lucky. With another short laugh, Grian got up from where he was fishing, making his way gingerly off the rocks and giggling as he went before stepping into the water as well. Ah, so another challenger joins the fray!

Though, with Grian holding one side of the yellow line, Mumbo couldn’t quite grab at it anymore, the whole thing bending and snapping like it might break in two if Mumbo wasn’t careful. And that wouldn’t do, no no, how could he figure out its purpose if it was broken?

Instead, he stilled so he could watch instead- wow the line went out so far! How much could fit in there? How far could it go? Mumbo moved to follow the humans’ movement, but they seemed to want to pull the line the length of Mumbo’s tail, chirping nonsense to each other the entire time. At least Scar looked excited; it was always nice when Scar was happy, nice enough that Mumbo didn’t mind all that much that their game was effectively over. Mumbo didn’t love how close they were getting, but a small flash of his teeth was enough to get Grian’s attention, who communicated to Scar in Mumbo’s stead.

It wasn’t very long before the two of them were satisfied though, Grian easing the yellow line back into the tape measure. Mumbo took his chance, lunging as quickly as his impaired mobility would allow, but Scar surprised him by turning around instead of jumping away like normal. While Mumbo was scrambling to keep himself from running face first into Scar’s legs, the human tossed him the tape measure, the thing plopping heavily into the water. Mumbo gaped for a moment before grabbing it, but when he resurfaced, Scar was walking toward the shore, chatting away with Grian like the tape measure didn’t mean anything at all. Well.. okay.

No matter! Mumbo had a new toy, and first he wanted to know just how long this yellow line was. The answer was very long. Mumbo lodged one end under a rock and swam as far as the line would allow, and while he was quite impressed with the length, he was even more excited when he let go of the metal base, the whole thing shooting back in the other direction. Yes! Yes! Mumbo did the same thing at least seven more times before getting a little bored, then experimented with the tape measure above the water, where it snapped back much faster. The height of his fun was setting the end of the yellow line under a rock on the surface, bringing metal end to the other side of the cove, then letting go and watching the thing skirt across the water, splashing all the way. He was relatively sure he made some sort of trill or other noise in his excitement, as Scar and Grian’s laughing caught his attention. Mumbo cringed a little, suddenly very aware of their eyes on him, but his embarrassment was short lived, outweighed by the joy of funny human trinket.

Mumbo would have spent the rest of the day playing with the tape measure, but something else caught his eye. Scar was working on something- no, he was making something. Mumbo had never seen a human make something before- not in the way Mumbo liked to do! Scar’s creative process looked very similar as well, which is to say, all the materials he brought were strewn all over the grass, wildly unorganized as he fiddled with different parts. Most of his materials were long metal rods, but there were also some leather looking pieces, and what looked like parts of white tubing as well. What was he up to?

Mumbo shimmied as close to the shore as his tail would allow, hoping to grab Scar’s attention. “What. What. What,” he said in human, hoping the extra emphasis would translate through the repeated words.

Scar looked up, clearly amused, but seemed to struggle with explaining, starting and stopping speaking several times before settling with, “For you.” Not very helpful, and Scar knew it, making a couple of vague gestures at Mumbo before giving up and going back to his project. Well.. that was fine. Mumbo would just have to watch.

Scar was mostly focused on the leather piece, positioning it in a circular way and winding the metal through to create a cage-looking structure. The leather was adjustable too, Scar fiddling with a buckle on the front to make the entire thing wider or smaller. Mumbo was particularly fascinated by the white pieces though, much flatter than the rods, which Scar only weaved through one side. Why? He tried to ask again what the human was doing, but was only offered the same non-answer.

“Oh!” Grian made a surprised noise from his place on the rocks, and Mumbo saw his line tighten. If only he was fast enough to snag whatever was on it off the hook, but alas, Grian was already reeling in a decent sized fish. Scar hopped to his feet and Grian let out a celebratory noise of his own; it was so cute how humans got so excited about every catch. Though, in all fairness, Mumbo would have been quite chuffed catching a fish that size, especially this hungry. Maybe if humans really didn’t eat the fish they caught, they’d be open to sharing.

Grian scooped the fish off the line with a net, maneuvering the hook out of its mouth before walking it back toward the shore to Scar, who cheered all the while.

“Right,” Grian said as he hit the sand, “You want to give this to him? I’m assuming you’re going to drug him or something.”

“That’s the plan. I was considering a tranquilizer, but I don’t want to make this experience traumatic or anything, and hauling a big ol’ rifle out here might put a damper on some of the trust we’ve established. Hopefully this way he’ll just be real relaxed, maybe even take a nice little nap.”

“You’re not trying to put him to sleep? What are you giving him?”

“Not necessarily, but I doubt he’ll be able to stay awake. Trust me when I say he won’t be in pain, definitely not. And I brought a cone, too, just in case he freaks. I came prepared, Grian, prepared I tell you. I’m no large animal vet, but you could say I’ve been quite involved in many a procedure.”

“Scar, what are you giving him?”

“Like.” Scar paused, tapping the smile on his lips, “A lot of morphine.”

“Morphine?”

“Works on fish. Mumbo’s big, he can handle it, and anyway, it’s the safest option for everyone involved. Are you worried about our friend, Grian?”

“I’m not- how did you even get morphine, Scar?”

“Scar’s not taking any more questions at this time, please call back later. In the meantime, hand me that fish so we can get this show on the road. I’ll stay with him as long as he needs me, but I’m not expecting anything to go wrong here. Still, the sooner we start, the better.” Scar got to his feet, taking the fish net from a gaping Grian and heading back to his bag. Mumbo couldn’t quite see what he was doing, but Grian followed quickly after, fretting the entire time. What, was something wrong with the fish? Scar didn’t seem to think so.

Maybe Grian hadn’t wanted Scar to give Mumbo his catch, but Scar did regardless. Mumbo was more than happy to accept the gift, only throwing Grian one mildly guilty look before devouring the whole thing. He didn’t feel very bad, not really; clearly the humans ate well enough, and given he was having a hard time hunting right now, this seemed fair.

Eating only served to brighten his mood, and with the slight weight off his chest, watching Scar continue working on his human device was all the more fun. Grian went back to fishing on his rock, but he was acting more anxious than normal, stealing glances toward Scar and Mumbo just about every time he cast his line. Though, it didn’t take very long for Mumbo to stop caring, far more intrigued by whatever Scar was up to. It was crazy how much better he was feeling; usually the joy of eating didn’t carry so far after a meal, but when Mumbo was this hungry..

And then it hit him; he wasn’t in pain. The lightness he was feeling was from the lack of hurting- oh that couldn’t be good. What kind of fish was that? He hadn’t even looked! Please say he hadn’t accidentally poisoned himself… Mumbo didn’t feel nauseous though. And if he’d poisoned himself, he imagined he’d be feeling a lot sicker. And he had so much energy! Anyone with this much energy wouldn’t be poisoned, that would be ridiculous! He should do something- go somewhere- hunt- he could do anything! … Nevermind.

Not in pain, no, but tired, goodness, maybe he was dying. Probably not. But maybe. Honestly, he didn’t care all that much. Scar was looking at him an awful lot now, though Mumbo wished he would focus on his invention instead so Mumbo could figure out what it was before he died. Hm.. It kind of looked a little bit like his splint, didn’t it?

…

The gentle touch of skin on scales. A presence around his neck, tight, mildly uncomfortable, but not enough for Mumbo to want to do anything about it. A crack, loud enough to frighten him, to open his eyes, but there was no pain, so it must not have been bone. Something was draped over his eyes, dark like home. It was nice. A couple of clicks told him of Forces, big and near and moving; he should probably swim away, but that’d be quite a bit of effort, wouldn’t it. Maybe another time.

His fins rose and fell with the presence and absence of touch. Not unpleasant. Not until they tried to lift him.

Pain like thorns lit his blood, everywhere, pain, pain- Some sort of noise escaped his throat, something animal, and he moved without coordination- it hurt, everything hurt now. Distantly he heard them, humans, why were humans here? Talking, they were talking nothing, repeating the same words again and again, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Couldn’t they see he was in pain? Why weren’t they helping?

Too much time passed before his attackers released him, but wasn’t sitting in the water the same as before. It was awkward, unpleasant honestly, but he stopped struggling quickly. Too painful to move. Too much effort.

He wanted to curl up. Somewhere dark, somewhere enclosed and safe. Something hard stopped his movement. Guess that was that.

But maybe that was fine.

Whatever had been there was gone now. Nothing else was trying to hurt him. That was good. That was enough.

…

The humans were talking. They were loud, Mumbo could hear them, though his face burned just slightly, a dry feeling. Was he above the water? It didn’t much concern him.

“He’s still asleep, Scar.”

“That’s fine. Normal, even. He’s going to be fine; if he was going to have any bad reactions, I’m pretty sure we would have known by now. I’ve been keeping an eye on his breathing, and it’s stayed consistent this whole time. He’s okay.”

“You said four hours. It’s been five.”

“Yeah, for a human on a human dose. I also told you I don’t know exactly how it’ll work on a mermaid. I doubt anyone knows. I gave him quite a bit more than a human dose anyway, and I’m pretty sure he needed it. He was freaking out when we were trying to get the splint on.”

“I just don’t like the fact that we drugged him without being sure how he’d react.”

“I don’t know what else you wanted me to do, Grian. He was not going to let us touch him, and I don’t think there’s any world in which we could have explained what we were trying to accomplish. Tail injuries could be fatal for mermaids, we don’t know. How’s he supposed to eat if he can’t swim? It’s not like we can weigh him. This was the safest option.”

“You really think we couldn’t have explained it to him? He’s smart, Scar, he’s really observant.”

“I don’t know, I think there’s a chance. But what would happen if he got scared? Even a human might’ve panicked, even if they knew every detail about what we were doing. And you know how strong he is- I’ve still got bruises on my arms from where he grabbed me. He could have hurt himself or us completely by accident.”

A long silence. “I know.”

A longer silence.

“So when’d you change your tune?”

“What?”

“About Mumbo. Nearly every day two weeks ago you made sure to remind me how you were totally going to kill him and sell all his parts or whatever, but I haven’t heard a peep from you since Monday. Did you come out here without me and have some sorta spiritual experience or what?”

“I- no. Of course not. I’m still planning on doing that, I just decided I’d spare your feelings and stop talking about it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes! And anyway, with you paying me egregious prices for my fish, I’m not exactly hurting for money right now. So it’s fine. I’m not in any rush.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Stop- stop talking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t believe me.”

“Well, Grian, that’s going to be a problem because you’re right, I don’t believe you.”

“I- how dare you! I am going to do it! I could do it right now even, but I won’t, and not because I don’t want to, but it wouldn’t be fair, not while he’s all drugged up.”

“I see.”

“Stop it!”

“I believe you, I believe you.”

“No you don’t!”

“Shhh,” Scar said, his voice dropping, “No fighting,” he trailed off, and the silence was charged with something new, something Mumbo picked up on even in his half-asleep state.

“No fighting,” Grian repeated softly, “He wouldn’t like that.”

“Mm,” Scar acknowledged him quietly, but spoke no more words, and neither did Grian. That, or Mumbo had just fallen asleep again. Possible, all things considered. That was okay.

[folkloresthings]

..send ten more requests you say .. well . i’d love to ask for northanger abbey with fernando alonso, and the nightmare comfort trope?? idk if u can reuse tropes for different drivers but i figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask ty !!

RIGHT HERE. ❨ fernando alonso x reader ❩

it was said that the things that plagued a person’s day came back to haunt them at night. stress accumulated in dreams, maximised by worry and exaggeration, sending one tossing and turning and waking to imagine the worse. despite having a boyfriend who risked his life every weekend, this wasn’t much of a problem for you.

until now. fernando had crashed during free practice — nothing severe or serious, the car had barely a scratch on it, but it had scared the daylights out of you. you’d been walking on eggshells around him all day long, like he’d crack if you touched him too hard.

“i’m fine, mi amor,” he had assured you, kissing your temple as you made him his fourth cup of tea. “it was just a bump.”

but it had got you thinking. about how dangerous his job was, how easily something could go wrong and he could be taken from you. you’d never had to visualise it until now, and the image of fernando spinning across the track was playing like a broken record in your head.

what was next? spinning until he slammed into the barriers? until the engine blew and caught on fire? until he couldn’t get out? this montage of what could be flashed in your head until you were jolting awake, a layer of cold sweat shining on your skin. your breath ragged and chest pounding as you reached to find the warmth of your lover.

the mattress was cold on his side, clock next to it flashing near midnight. you remembered then going to bed alone, leaving him downstairs to work with a kiss. he had emails to get back to, and an episode or two of a show you had no interest in. no matter how you tried to calm yourself without him beside you, you needed his comfort.

throwing back the covers that smelled vaguely of you, your bare feet padded across the wooden floors until you found fernando. basking in the soft glow of his laptop and the television screen, he looked handsome as ever. sensing your presence, his eyes flickered up immediately. a smile graced him first, noticing the shirt he used to own falling loose on your frame.

but the emotion flooding your features soon turned his worried, the gloss in your eyes soon piecing the puzzle together.

“corazón?”

“i had a bad dream.” you feel like an idiot saying it. like some young child come to confess at the door of their parents bedroom, sheepish and embarrassed but desperate for comfort. fernando’s face softens, arms opening wide for you.

you waste no time in hurrying over to him, curling up in his lap and tucking your face away in his chest. strong arms wind around you, squeezing you tight to his front. he says nothing, simply letting your emotions ease around his gentle embrace.

“about the race?” fernando wondered, voice muffled where he’d pressed his lips to the crown of your head, peppering soft kisses and whispering sweet nothings. you nod against his chest, not quite trusting your voice yet. “sweetheart, i promise you it will be okay.”

you looked at him then, killing him with the pain that’s floating in your eyes. “you can’t promise anything,” you whisper. “anything could happen.”

fernando quiets, knowing your words are the truth. he’d been in the sport long enough to know how dangerous it is, seeing things spiral out of control far too quickly. he tugs you close again, a hand cradling your head close to his front.

“i promise you, it’ll be fine,” he repeats, voice stern and assured. you blink up at him, wanting desperately to believe him. his eyes are so loving, so eager to spend more time with you, that you do believe him. he’s capable of anything, or so you’ve come to think, so you know he can make it all okay.

“come to bed?” you plead quietly, knowing you’ll never be able to fall asleep again if he’s not next to you. fernando smiles, soft and just for you, picking you up by the waist to carry you the whole way to the bedroom. safe under the covers, away from any harm his car might cause him, you hold on tight.

“i’m right here, mi amor,” he whispers, arms sliding around your waist until you’re practically on top of him. “i’m not going anywhere.”

[stobinesque]

27. things you said through a closed door (Steddie)

here you go!! love a good through-a-closed-door convo 💙 rating: M (for frank discussions of sex) | wc: 679 cw/tags: hurt/comfort, erectile dysfunction, internalized ableism

“Come on, Eddie, just talk to me, please.” Steve’s back is pressed against the bathroom door where he feels like he’s been sitting for hours.

“No.” Eddie’s voice is muffled by what Steve is afraid might be tears, and not just the barrier between them.

“You…you don’t have anything to be embarrassed or ashamed of, you know that, right?”

Eddie laughs, but it’s derisive. “Oh, I don’t, do I? That’s real rich coming from King Steve.”

Steve hisses and thunks his head back. “Don’t…don’t do that, Eds,” he says softly.

There’s a weighty silence on the other side of the door. “I’m sorry.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s uh…it’s happened to me before, too, you know?”

“Yeah?” Eddie’s voice is small.

“Yeah, with, ummm, Ali Langfield?” His eyes blink open, and he stares up at the ceiling. “We were making out, and I took her upstairs at whatever party we were at—she seemed down for going all the way, but” Steve twists a wrist back and forth in his other hand. “I’d had too much to drink that night, so I just…couldn’t get hard. No matter what we tried to do. And— yeah, I guess it was kind of embarrassing? But honestly I think she felt worse about it than I did.”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, of course she did, Steve. She was probably thinking it was because you didn’t think she was hot enough, or something.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not the point. And it’s not what was happening. I just— I don’t think you think that about me. And I don’t think you’re, like, less of a man, or something. It happens to everyone.”

“Steve, the only time it happened to you was because you were drunk. This happens to me all the time now, and it’s not because I’ve had one too many beers, man! It’s because I’m broken.”

“I don’t care— ”

“Gee, thanks, Harrington.”

“Fucking stop that, okay?” Steve reaches up to yank at his hair. “Let me finish. And stop trying to push me away.

“I don’t care if you can’t get hard, and I don’t care if you’re broken. I don’t think you are, but I don’t think it matters, either. Because if you’re broken, then so is everyone else! That’s what this means, okay? You can’t watch someone die, and find out monsters are real, and then walk into hell, and somehow come out on the other side of all of that whole, Eddie!

“All of us—each and every one—is broken in some way. Some visible, some not. But if you go around slamming doors and throwing up walls every time someone finds one of your cracks, some day you’re not going to have anyone left to help pick up the pieces and glue them back together.” Steve exhales, heart thudding like he’s just run a mile.

“I love you—and I want you—however you are. If you can’t get hard, then we’ll have sex you don’t need to be hard for. If you don’t want me to touch your dick when it’s soft, I won’t. And if you do—I’ll touch you wherever and however you want, for as long as it feels good, because that is what having sex is supposed to be about. Not whatever dumb idea you’ve let assholes like fucking Mike Lewenski or something get stuck in your head. Okay?”

There’s silence on the other side of the door.

“Eddie?”

Steve falls backward with a yelp as the door is yanked open on him.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry!”

Steve rights himself just as Eddie starts frantically fluttering around him, his flapping hands hovering over Steve’s head, patting his shoulders, and eventually settling at the tops of his arms. Steve braces himself as his boyfriend clambers into his lap, and presses their foreheads together.

“I don’t even know who Mike Lewenski is, Steve,” Eddie murmurs.

That startles a laugh from him, giddy and free. “It’s a good thing he’s pretty unimportant, then,” he says, reaching up to pull Eddie into a kiss.

Eddie follows.

send me a pairing and a prompt!

[mcflymemes]

MISCELLANEOUS SENTENCE PROMPTS *  collection #5

take a nap with me.

please don't go.

you talk too much.

don't bother with any male chauvinistic compliments.

such disdain can not and must not be tolerated.

my handwriting is so bad, sometimes i think i should've been a doctor.

i wouldn't say no to getting lost with you.

we've got the element of surprise on our side.

i had to carry you for a while. it wasn't pretty.

anything broken?

i'm very impressed with you.

drinks all around!

now what is that supposed to mean?

i guess freedom is purely relative.

can you repeat that? i wasn't listening.

i'm not a threat. i won't hurt you.

what sort of trouble are you looking for?

when you're ready, we can get out of here.

i couldn't find your gun.

well, i thought you might be a little angry.

oh don't tell me. let me guess.

keep that thing away from me.

glad you think i'm hot... i guess.

hope that wasn't a family heirloom.

how has work been?

i don't think the world is full of criminals and full of murderers. it's full of nice people.

it could happen to anyone.

is your head clear yet?

will you go find yourself another suspect?

don't ask me any questions. i'm calling my attorney.

i'm trying to watch the game!

that's been known to happen.

i could wait.

can i ask a personal question?

how can i be angry looking at you?

i don't want to cut down on my standard of living.

don't catch a cold out there. wear a jacket.

you sure do know how to work a crowd.

what brought you here tonight?

i don't think you care too much.

that was... unexpected.

are you in charge of this mess or not?

this isn't what it looks like.

i just go where they tell me to.

i hope this isn't a bad time.

do you see something wrong?

here's your scarf. you dropped it.

i miss the way you used to touch me.

that's a stupid idea.

did it rain last tuesday?

can i sit in this?

that's not my problem.

did you have anything specific that you wanted to talk to me about?

i'm beginning to be very fond of you.

i didn't realize i drank that much.

may our enemies never be as happy as we are at this moment.

if you wait a while, we can go home together.

screw the rest of them. make them squirm.

that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.

i meant to do that.

everybody is a suspect.

it's noble of you to come galloping to the rescue.

i know that. you told me.

you see, artists are very, very delicate.

you'll always have everything.

there's just one more thing i need to ask you...

can i use your phone?

i wasn't snooping.

can i take you out to dinner? my treat.

isn't that peculiar?

thanks for stopping by.

i usually don't drink anything i can't pronounce.

i just don't want anybody else to have it.

mind if i smoke?

what do you think of this?

i really appreciate your taking the time to chat with me.

why do all these people feel that they know me?

i can't tell you what a big help you've been.

as you travel through life, you'll encounter many barriers to happiness.

you're safe. i promise. i'm right here.

over my dead body.

that must have been very hard, losing someone you love like that.

this didn't need to happen.

i must have your name.

what's the matter? did i scare you?

what did you pay for those shoes?

i'm not very good on details, that's why i write everything down.

you didn't have a fight or anything, did you?

i've never met anyone quite like you. can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

are you still with me?

i guess it slipped your mind.

let's go inside. we'll be more comfortable.

do you mind if i grab a blanket? it's freezing in here.

just for the record, i love you.

maybe you should take the couch tonight.

maybe it would help if i knew where i was taking you.

[shady-tavern]

Preview for "Firsts" the August Patreon Short Story

Years ago, back when monsters roamed free, seven rulers banded together and each sacrificed their most important First to chase the trespassing monsters out of their kingdoms to their home land beyond, one that all seven kingdoms bordered. 

There, each stretch of land that touched the Wild Lands was protected by a Keeper, ensuring the barrier keeping the monsters out would not be broken.

The story was an old one by now, but no less true. Humanity had flourished and grown in the kingdoms, but the Wild Lands remained wild and untouched and it teemed with ancient magic.

It was a dangerous and deadly place, should anyone be foolish enough to set foot inside it. For the barriers kept the monsters out, but humans could walk freely past it, not that it did them any good. They were not welcome after all.

Mai was the third generation of Keepers of her kingdom and where it had once been a great honor and a respected position, these days she was more busy chasing unruly teenagers and curious children away than she spent ensuring the barrier remained strong.

Other kingdoms had not been as lucky, she knew that. She had felt a ripple in the barrier every time one of the other Keepers failed in their duty. 

Mai had no idea how the monsters had done it, but one after another, they had lured the Keepers close, had gotten them to give up one of their Firsts. A memory, a secret, a gift, a piece of handmade art and a tear shed. Even a first kiss had been given.

By now Mai was the only one left who hadn't given the monsters anything, not that they weren't trying. Many had visited the border where her small home stood, old but well taken care of. They had tried to trick her, had tried to bargain with her and had even tried to seduce her. And they certainly had lied to her.

They had told her fantastical tales where humans were the ones entirely and completely in the wrong. They told her about a time where monsters only left the Wild Lands to nourish and guide the magic in the human kingdoms.

Mai knew a different story. One where monsters had come to steal the magic, where chasing them out was necessary to protect what the kingdoms had left.

The royal family, meanwhile, was panicking, no one had expected the barrier to deteriorate this quickly after all. It had happened very fast, almost all at once and now they wanted to make sure Mai would uphold it no matter what.

She was lucky she wasn't placed under constant surveillance anymore. She had been, at first, until there had been enough reports to the king that she wasn't foolish enough to fall for a monster's sweet words and even sweeter lies. Her entourage of knights had been called back to the capital soon after that.

She was glad to have her home and privacy back, to no longer endure the presence of eyes watching her at all times. The only one who spent quite a bit of time with her now was the one monster that refused to give up.

"Good morning, dear Keeper," he greeted her as she went on her usual rounds, checking the barrier and ensuring her little warning system was in place so she knew when someone foolish wanted to try and approach it.

She had no idea when, but somehow it had become a very popular dare among the kids and teens to try and get past her and beyond the barrier. To bring something back from the land of monsters. As if anything but death would await them there.

The monster who accompanied her on his side of the barrier had introduced himself as Breeze and visited the border multiple times a week. Sometimes he was there in the morning, like right now and sometimes he dropped by in the afternoon or evening.

At first, Mai had ignored him, but he had kept chatting at her until he had found enough spots to poke at to make her respond. In the end, it had been easier to greet him back and answer so he moved on sooner.

"Good morning, Breeze," she answered, glancing up to see him crouching on a large branch.

He grinned at her, flashing sharp, sharp fangs and his silver-white wings fluffed slightly and settled again. His claws lightly scratched at the bark, though he didn't press down hard enough to actually hurt the tree.

Mai occasionally wondered what First he wanted from her since he never gave her a proper clue. Sometimes he tried to make her step past the barrier to join him, saying he wanted to show her his world. Sometimes he wanted her to give him flowers from her side and sometimes he really wanted a bite from her lunch.

But all of those might be a First, so she never gave him anything, even if under other circumstances, she wouldn't have hesitated. It made her feel quite mean to refuse him even the most innocent of requests, but she couldn't risk it.

For one, she was pretty sure the king would behead her if the monsters could return to the kingdoms and two, the monsters themselves would probably try to kill her once they had what they wanted. No matter how much Breeze had promised that they were nice, she never knew which of his words were lies and which weren't.

"You look like you slept well," he said and straightened, stepping off of the branch and flaring his wings to lightly touch down on the ground before her. The barrier was an invisible thing that could only be sensed, so they could look at and speak with each other without issue.

Mai had to admit that he was beautiful, his long hair braided and decorated with flowers and beads and his wings shimmered in the sunshine like something otherworldly. If spidersilk was actually a thing outside of storybooks, she was certain it would have the color of his wings.

He flared them proudly when he noticed her looking and Mai swiftly returned to her task of tending to the land around the border. He followed along, chatting easily and she hid a smile when one of her dry remarks made him laugh.

There was a lightness to Breeze that made him look like he weighed nothing as he walked, hopping onto stones and downright drifting over fallen branches.

As they parted ways a little while later, he once again tried to ask her for something, "That ribbon in your hair is so pretty, could you get me one too?"

"Have a nice day, Breeze," Mai said, turning away so she wouldn't have to see his disappointed face. If she was honest, despite her determination to not give in, it was getting harder to tell him no. Secretly, deep down, she wished they could actually be friends, despite knowing that he most likely lied to her a lot.

"Have a nice day, dear Keeper," Breeze answered, his voice softer than before and it made the bad feeling in her chest worse.

But she couldn't fall for it. It would cost her everything and knowing that the monsters wanted to get past the barrier, she couldn't trust any of Breeze's words either.

She spent the rest of the day receiving visitors from nearby villages and towns, who came to her to get talismans and warding stones and other little things she had made, her own special kind of magic. She wasn't allowed to leave this place, so people had to come to her.

Mai couldn't help with everything, however, no matter how much she wanted to. She could ward places against curses and protect people from ill intentions, but she couldn't heal sickness or control the elements. Sometimes she wondered if it wouldn't have been better to be born a mage rather than an enchanter.

After another walk along the barrier and a chat with Breeze, she returned home to write letters to her family, sending them off in the shapes of fast little birds that zipped away to vanish into the horizon.

She missed her family quite a bit and they managed to visit her once a year at most, since it wasn't exactly an easy or cheap journey. The king had promised to give more money to her family, but so far it hadn't been enough to let them visit more often.

The evenings were always calm and quiet around here. She listened to the wind rustling through trees and the calls of woodland animals, crickets chirping in the warm breeze. It was a quiet life, not a bad one and she did enjoy her alone time, but...it felt empty all the same.

Where at first it had felt like a big accomplishment to have her hard work recognized and to be hired as a Keeper, now it felt dull. There was nothing for her here, no more things to study and learn unless she asked a villager to order and deliver books for her and no further expectations and goals to work towards. All she had to do was ensure the barrier wouldn't fall.

It made her feel like her life was stagnant, as if she had already reached the end of the road before she had even properly learned how to walk.

Some days it felt like Breeze was the only one who genuinely cared about how she was doing, who greeted her with bright smiles and sharp grins and wanted to get to know her more and more.

If only it wasn't a lie, a ruse to get her to give him a First.

*.*.*

Summer had reached its zenith when a letter arrived and Mai received the news that her mother had fallen ill. Her mother had kept quiet about having a cough since spring but it had only gotten worse. She hadn't wanted to worry her daughter, had sought out doctors and even an alchemist specialized in healing tonics, but none of them had been able to help.

A terrible, foreboding feeling gripped Mai as she read the letter her brother had written. Maybe it was the tiny smudged spot, like a tear had fallen onto the paper, right above the words 'I don't know how much longer she has', but Mai's vision was blurring.

Her mother was dying and she couldn't even go see her. There was no way her mother would survive the journey here and it would be cruel to demand it just so that Mai could spend a few more moments with her.

The last thing her brother had written was 'At least you will remember her as she was, rather than as she is now.'

She sat there for a long time, long enough that when she got up for her second round of the day, it was far later than usual. To her surprise Breeze was still there, perking up when he spotted her and looking relieved.

"Hey there, dear Keeper, what kept you -" He fell silent for a second and jumped down from his usual branch, getting as close as the barrier allowed and his voice was soft and kind when he asked, "What's wrong?"

It was all a lie, Mai knew that. A trick to get from her what no one else had ever gotten. So she looked away from him, staring at a tree further away to try and keep herself from tearing up. 

She didn't fully succeed and her voice was a little shakier than she liked when she said, "My mother is sick. She'll be dead soon."

She didn't wait for Breeze to answer but started her round, focusing on her tasks rather than the way grief and worry were gripping her heart in a tight fist. 

"Hey, woah, slow down!" He hop-flapped after her, his expression so genuine she almost believed that he actually cared. "What does she have?"

"Pneumonia, but medicine doesn't help, she's too weak," Mai answered, keeping her gaze resolutely focused on her hands and away from him now. A mage might have been able to help, but mages were rare and far too expensive, even for the kingdom's Keeper. "Can you please go-"

"Wait here!" he downright shouted and took flight, leaving Mai to stare after him in surprise. His large, powerful wings carried him away easily and swiftly and he vanished from sight within seconds.

Mai wasn't quite sure why, but she stayed where she was, her heart heavy with grief and her stomach full with sadness. She waited as the minutes ran together, staring into the forest and the sun slowly sank towards the horizon.

Breeze returned just as she was about to move on, clutching a little vial that he tossed at her. She just barely managed to catch it in time and the liquid inside looked like moonlight had gotten bottled right off of dark water.

"That should help her," he said with a smile so bright it seemed to make all the shadows vanish. At her utterly dumbfound expression, he laughed before he softened. "We're not so bad, you know."

"I can't give you anything in return," she whispered, her voice croaky and her fingers tightened around the vial. If this really could help, if this really saved her mother, there was no way she'd ever be able to pay him back.

She was never allowed to pay him back, either.

He waved her off. "We're friends, dear Keeper. Now go."

"Thank you," her voice was breathless and full of emotion and his sharp gaze was bright as he watched her turn and rush back to the house.

It was only later, after she had sent the vial flying towards home, swaddled in fabric and enchanted paper, that she realized she had never finished her round. It was too late now, the light was gone and she wouldn't be able to see anything.

She was too restless to sleep however, tossing and turning until she got up with a sigh. She stood in her little home for the longest moment, before she decided that while she couldn't give Breeze anything, she could lose things, couldn't she?

The next morning, Breeze found a basket of food on a stone beyond the barrier and when he looked at her in surprise, his wings rising slightly behind him, she shrugged. "I'm not giving it to you. I'm not giving it to anyone. It's not mine anymore."

He laughed, bright and cheerful and downright dove for the basket. He was eating and talking as they walked side by side, complimenting the food and asking her for more, for things he could take back to his friends and family.

"I can't give you anything," she told him as they parted ways and he tossed the basket back at her. 

In the afternoon, the basket waited for him anew, this time filled with little cakes and muffins and he was very happy indeed. He seemed even more eager to talk and it helped Mai keep her mind off of her mother. She could only hope the medicine worked.

It took four days for another letter to arrive and the contents made her burst into relieved tears. The medicine had worked. Her brother was ecstatic, asking her where she had gotten it from, if she had managed to speak to a mage after all. Their mother was finally recovering.

That afternoon, she not only left a basket of food, but also one of her favorite ribbons, the one Breeze so often admired.

"I lost it," she told him firmly when he stared at her in surprise, clawed fingers holding the embroidered ribbon like it was a priceless treasure. "I'm not giving anything to you."

"I know, dear Keeper, I know," he said softly. "Your mother, she's alright then?"

Mai smiled at him in ways she hadn't before, bright and wide and relieved. "Yes, thank you."

"Oh, it's been my pleasure, believe me," he said, not looking away for a moment. "You were worth the effort."

Ah, more sweet words and while they made her smile, she felt a small pang all the same. Though, despite waiting for him to ask for anything, for a First, he didn't. He just walked beside her, the ribbon wound around his fingers and held carefully and the basket carried in his other hand.

When he departed, he left one of his feathers behind, beautiful and shimmering. Mai took it home, despite knowing that it probably wasn't the best idea. She shouldn't encourage him more than she already did.

It did make her wonder, however, more than ever before, just why the monsters had gotten chased out of the kingdoms. Had the kings and queens not spoken with them beforehand? Breeze had helped her without expecting anything in return and if he had hoped to get a First as payment in return he certainly hadn't asked for it.

It could be a trick of, course, to garner her trust, but...she didn't think so. Or maybe she just didn't want to think so.

So maybe, maybe he had done it just because he had wanted to help. If he was this good, that stood to reason that other monsters were as well. Surely, if they weren't all that bad, there had been no reason, no need, to create a barrier.

It wasn't like she could go and conduct any research, however, since she had to stay here, but...what if Breeze really didn't lie to her? About anything he had told her?

It was dangerous to question herself, to question his intentions, to question the existence of the barrier. She couldn't let the barrier fall, she was the last one keeping it up, keeping people safe.

But...was she keeping people safe?

*.*.*

If you liked this or you would like to read more, please consider checking out my patreon or my masterpost! If you want to join my tag list, don't hesitate to let me know! Thank you all so much for your support, it truly means the world to me, I very much hope you'll enjoy this story!

[poisonheartfrog]

Here's my piece for the Limited Life edition of @trafficzine, about Pearl, Big B, and Grian dying outside the border in the finale:

The rules of the game can’t be broken, but they can be bent. 

That’s what brings Pearl, Big B, and Grian to a barren hilltop in the middle of the night as Grian explains his trick for getting across the world border. 

Pearl is exhausted after their many trips up to, down from, and across Skynet, and she can tell her allies feel the same. They’re all covered in dirt, blood, and scrapes. Big B is restless, constantly checking over his shoulder and shifting his weight from foot to foot. Seeing him so nervous only makes the pit in her own stomach worse.

Grian is better at hiding his anxiety, but it’s still there in the ways his hands twitch as he sets down a dispenser.

She’s hanging a lot of hope on Grian being able to pull this off, that there really is a way beyond the border.

Pearl reaches her hand out towards the barrier in question. There’s no surface there, nothing to actually touch, except maybe a slight buzz of magical energy. She still feels air under her fingertips, but it’s as unyielding as a solid slab of stone. Diagonal bands of teal light inch along the border, casting eerie shadows across her hand.

Cleo’s blood is under her fingernails. She wants more.

The click of the dispenser going off snaps her attention back to Grian’s contraption. A dark oak boat sits on a puddle of water, split in half by the border. Grian climbs in and rows through like it’s nothing.

Pearl gasps. “That’s so cheaty. I love it.”

Big B laughs, a look of slight confusion on his face. “So wait, what?”

Pearl guesses it’s her turn now. 

She drops a boat in its condensed item form into the dispenser. She flicks the lever. Nothing happens. Did she already make a mistake? No, she flicks it again and the dispenser does its magic, conjuring a whole boat in front of her.

She lowers herself down into the boat and her left shoulder passes through the border without her even trying. She feels that slight current of energy again, a little stronger this time.

She pushes off the ground with one oar and pulls forward with the other, with the usual gracelessness of rowing a boat on dry land. The border is closer and closer and then with a shock of static electricity throughout her whole body, she’s on the other side.

Once out of her boat, she swings her axe down to break it back into an item. The diamond blade bounces off the wood without even leaving a mark.

Grian goes back to get Big B and the pair row through triumphantly.

Once they’re all on the other side, Grian lets them in on a wonderful secret. “Here’s the thing about being beyond the veil,” he says, “we’re already dead.” There’s a glint of mischief in his dark eyes.

Grian does always have a flair for the dramatic, but when he swings a sword at her to demonstrate, it hits her with about as much force as a feather. She attempts an axe swing back at him and then Big B. It similarly fails to connect. Her whole body feels a bit numb, now that she thinks about it.

Her time is still ticking away, but she feels like she can finally breathe instead of thinking how much she wants to rip someone’s throat out with her teeth.

As Grian demonstrates that they can still break blocks and damage mobs inside the border, she gives Big B a conspiratorial smile.

He grins back, his face lighting up under his war paint.

They’re here. They’re really here, where even her standing on this grass should be an impossibility.

Maybe being the last ones standing isn’t so impossible either.

Grian forges ahead. Pearl follows behind him, with Big B after her. 

Grian swerves too far from the border and winces like he’s been punched, despite there being nothing around. 

Pearl can’t blame him because she immediately makes the same mistake. There’s no way to know when you’ve gone too far, only the sudden phantom pain. Why would there be? They’ve already ignored the universe’s equivalent of a giant flashing sign that says “Don’t go here!”. If you die from going farther out, that’s just paying the price.

So Pearl hugs the border. She reaches her hand towards it and from this side her fingers pass through it as easily as if it really was just air.

She draws her hand back and slings her axe over her shoulder.

This might be one of the best ideas Grian has ever had.

It really does feel like cheating. The play is almost over and they’re sneaking around backstage instead of finishing their scene. It’s invigorating, the feeling of a trick well played, of breaking the world apart at the seams.

The trio keeps on walking. As they leave a spruce forest for a rocky plateau, Pearl watches two spiders climb the border, each of their eight legs waving as if they were swimming in mid air. There’s something almost hypnotic to the motion.

“We obviously can’t spend the next few hours here, but-” Grian breaks off in surprise when he sees the spiders.

“I don't know about you, but I could spend the next few hours here.” Pearl replies.

Grian laughs at the spiders and Big B lets out an uncertain “oh”. 

Grian runs ahead. Big B stays back with her. One hand grips the hilt of his sword.

His red eyes meet hers with a pained smile and he says “Well you know, Pearl, I can't- I can't.” 

She can’t acknowledge the seriousness in his voice because that would mean breaking the spell. Big B can’t be almost out of time. They can’t be anything other than safe here.

So she laughs and runs on ahead.

“That’s true.” She admits quietly.

A little while later Pearl and her allies reach the ocean. She dives in, now leading the charge ahead of Grian. Big B still hangs towards the back with very reasonable caution. 

Swimming in full plate armor is about as easy as rowing a boat on land, but Pearl makes do. She spots a school of tropical fish and kills one with her axe only for its body to drift out of reach in the current. 

It probably would have tasted terrible anyway.

She pops her head back above the surface. Behind all the bamboo and sugarcane, the Mean Gills’ base is deserted. The beach house has certainly seen better days. Half of the foundation is scarred and splintered from TNT blasts and the porch is littered with broken glass.

Scott and Martyn are probably still up on Skynet, which means their crops are free for the taking.

Stealing from them one more time can’t hurt, right?

Pearl tears wheat and carrots from the soil. Most of them go flying out of reach farther inside the border, but she manages to keep hold of a few.

The group briefly discusses where the Mean Gills might be and then all get a good laugh when Grian drops his loaf of bread in the ocean.

As they approach the corner of the world, Grian points towards the TIES base. “Scott’s clocked us.”

The Mean Gills and what’s left of TIES are spread out behind the squat base of the stone tower and its defaced bowtie. Etho sits on a horse, watching them from the path. Martyn and Impulse charge down the steps towards the beach while Scott cuts across the hill.

Pearl swims on ahead, watching as their enemies take position on top of dirt and stone eyesore of Etho’s mob farm. She can’t can’t wait to see the look on Scott’s face when he realizes they’re invincible.

Scott stands right at the edge and peers down at them, his bow in hand. His clothes are tattered and a bit singed. There’s grim determination in his eyes as he nocks an arrow and pulls back the bowstring.

“Hello!” Pearl smiles up at him as cheerfully as if they were meeting up for lunch rather than trying to kill each other. 

“Hi!” Scott fires. The arrow misses as Big B echoes her hello.

“How’s it going?” Pearl says, just as brightly.

Scott responds with another arrow.

It hits, piercing her armor and lodging just above her heart.

The pain is even worse because it’s unexpected. Grian was wrong. You can try to bend the rules as much as you want, but they will snap back into place like a rubber band. 

“Ow! What? They can get us!” She cries out.

They barely even had a plan, just a naive hope that they could hurt their enemies without getting hurt themselves.

The fight breaks out in earnest, arrows and shouts flying with abandon.

Pearl dives towards the seafloor and grabs fistfuls of the arrows that miss, barely noticing the ones that find purchase in her body.

“Oh no, I’m dead.” Big B says matter of factly.

Pearl lets out a horrified gasp as she sees his body dissolve into smoke.

Adrenaline propels her through the water. Scott and Impulse congratulate Martyn on his kill. If she could she’d strike them all down right then and there to avenge him.

But Scott and Impulse keep shooting at her and she has no way to fight back. She can barely pay attention to what’s going on through the pain.

Where did Etho go?

Where did Grian go?

If only she could just swim a little farther.

The seawater turns pink with her blood. The armor that failed to protect her is now dragging her towards the bottom. She tries to breathe but her lungs only fill with water and sand. 

In the dark seconds before respawn she reminds herself that she still has time.

Before the light comes pouring back in she remembers that Big B doesn’t.