#felt wrong to just leave it to collect dust for the rest of time

[gremlinscomics]

Throws this @concerningamountofcrows and scurries away-

How dare you have such a cool sona, now look what you've done, ya got sketched

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards: Part 4

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 3.0K

Author's Note: This is the second part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

There was an odd pain radiating from your temple, stretching around your forehead to the back of your scalp, pulsating. What happened? you wondered. As you reached up to press your palm into the epicenter of the pain, you felt a distinct sharp pain radiating up your side from your ribs, spreading down through your back. It was enough pain to justify saying your entire torso felt like it was on fire. A sharp hiss escaped from between your teeth as you finally managed to bring your palm to your temple, the ache still pounding. You ran one hand up your side to find it bandaged, a wooden splint strapped to your side to keep you from bending. Something very bad had happened. You tried to recall events leading up to now, but the memories were foggy. Something about rain and darkness? Your body remembered biting cold, but other than that, you struggled to pull anything from your subconscious. Right now, you were just exhausted, both in mind and body.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with an odd sight. A wooden ceiling, vaulted high above you. You squinted, unsure if the pain in your head was distorting your vision. The roof of your cabin was much lower and certainly didn’t have the ornate carvings lining the beams. You managed to turn your head slightly, your neck sending a shooting pain through your spine as you clenched your teeth. Unless you were dreaming, this wasn’t your cabin.

To your right, there was a small wooden side table with four ornately carved drawers. Atop it was a washbasin with a dirty red rag draped over the side, and a single candle burned down almost to its base, the wick and flame high and flickering. Across the room was a large window with brown curtains hanging from the beam above it. On the window sill stood a series of bottles and candles—perfume bottles, perhaps. Below that was a chest carved with various markings, some of which you could make out as stars. Fighting against the pain, you craned your neck to look at the fireplace, where wood cracked and split as smoke curled up the chimney. Resting next to the mantle was a series of weapons: swords, knives, an ax, all left haphazardly as if someone had thrown them down some time ago and left them to collect dust.

Your head sent another pang of pain through it as you squeezed your eyes shut, your head falling back to hit the pillow again, which was soft, warm, and inviting. You let your hands fall back to your sides, instinctively curling into the warmth of the soft fur at the side of the bed. You let your fingers run idly through it as you tried and failed once again to orient yourself. Thinking too hard sent the pain burning through your skull again, and every breath felt as if someone were dragging a knife down the length of your side.

You must have fallen asleep, because when you next opened your eyes, the light in the room had shifted to the oranges and yellows of evening. Struggling once more to turn your head and look around the room, you noticed the washbasin had been removed and the candle replaced with a taller, newer version. Someone had come in while you were asleep. When you reached down your sides, you noticed the wooden splint had been removed and the dressings replaced with smoother, cotton bandages. Not only had someone been in the room with you, but they had also nursed you.

You tried to sit up. Another blast of pain, and a small inadvertent squeak from your mouth, and your head fell back to the mattress. When you turned your head, you recognized the male standing in the doorway, but couldn't quite place him. Your eyes squinted at him, mouth slightly open.

“You’re awake,” he finally spoke, making his way across the room and setting a basin of clean water on the side table before wringing out the rag within it. He reached across to run it across your temple, and you jerked to the side, causing another roar of pain as you squeezed your eyes shut and groaned.

“You can’t move like that,” he warned, pulling his hand back, the water dripping onto the floor. “You haven’t fully healed, and every time you move, that rib recracks.”

A broken rib. So that was the cause of the pain.

You groaned slightly as he placed the rag back in the basin and took a step back. You gave him a long look up and down. Yes, he certainly seemed familiar. His tanned skin, covered in swirling black tattoos running down his arms and up his neck, barely visible above the collar of his black shirt. His face was hardened yet kind, with hazel eyes meeting yours as you continued to try to decode this familiar stranger. His hair, soft black waves, swooped down over his forehead, and the most familiar part of him were the large bat-like wings protruding over his shoulders, the talons on the top glinting in the light of the fire, now blazing at the foot of the bed.

“Do you not recognize me?” he asked after you seemed satisfied with your visual investigation.

You rested your head back down on the pillow, your neck nearly giving out from the strain of holding it up, which felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds. You choked back a slight gasp as your neck spasmed. “No,” you finally got out. “Should I?”

The male’s brows furrowed, and a hint of concern flashed across his face as he clasped his hands behind his back. “We met a few nights ago, both at the Starlit Stag Inn. You were in the room adjacent to mine.”

You pulled through the memories, recalling your initial interaction, walking in to find him lounging on the chair. Memories seemed to be coming back, slowly.

“You were in my room,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut.

The male let out a light chuckle as he pulled a wooden stool from the wall, planting his large frame onto it. His forearms rested on his thighs as he leaned forward, clasping his hands. “I would argue you were in my room, given I was there first.”

You opened one eye, the other still clenched shut, to look at him. His face was soft, inviting, handsome for sure, but what struck you most was the seeming care he took in looking at your face, which you were sure was battered and bruised based on how it felt.

“Well,” you replied, “I guess I’m sorry about taking over your space.”

He smiled again, his scarred thumb stroking the top of his other hand as he looked down at it. “I was more than happy to share.”

There was a pause as he looked back up at you, now staring toward the ceiling, ragged breaths escaping from you as you tried to peer through memories, searching for what had happened over the last few days.

“What do you remember?” he finally asked.

You blinked a few times. Rain, cold, pain, male voices echoing, saying such foul things, and before that, purple flowers, your mother. “It’s fuzzy,” you finally said, tears building at the corner of your eyes, though you weren’t sure why.

“Seemed like you knocked your head pretty hard,” the male said, gesturing to your temple. “Though I can’t say what happened to the rest of you, you were pretty battered when I found you”

“Found me?” you asked, a tear slipping down your cheek, though it was on the other side, and the male couldn’t see it as you shoved the sadness deep down.

The male nodded. “You were lying on the river bank, soaking wet and freezing. I assume you’d somehow fallen into the river and hit your head. You don’t remember any of that?”

That would explain the blasts of pain.

“What river?”

The male’s eyes furrowed again, apparently you knew less than he thought. “The Frostvale.”

“Frostvale, as in the Illyrian Frostvale?” you clarified.

The male chuckled again. “I don’t think there are many others named that.”

Frostvale was where your mate had taken you one summer, to spend the weekend swimming in the cold water rushing in from the eastern sea. Your mate. Oh gods.

You suddenly tried to shoot upwards, but the pain pushed you back down.

“Whoa, whoa,” the male warned, rising from his seat and rushing over to you.

You screamed as the pain radiated up your side and seemed to erupt from your mouth.

“You need to be careful. Your ribs are shattered,” he warned, pulling back the blankets slightly to check your bandages. It was then that you realized you didn’t have a top on and that the bandages around your midsection barely covered your breasts. You gasped quickly as the male went to adjust the bandage, but you whipped out an arm to push him back, slamming into his chest, pulling the fur blankets up.

“No!” you screamed at him.

He threw his hands up in defense. “Alright, alright” he conceded. “That was fair. But you need to not move so much. You already punctured your lungs twice just while you were sleeping.”

That explained the wheezing, hollow, raspy sound emanating from your chest.

“Half of this week has just been trying to keep you still,” he said.

“A week?” you suddenly realized, your eyes widening.

The male nodded, lowering his hands and returning to his stool. “Yeah, you’ve been out for about four days.”

You gulped down the anxiety growing in your stomach. You’d lost four days, and who knows how many more from the injury. You suddenly ran through how far you would have made it from your cabin, realizing your original plan to escape had altered based off of this slight mishap.

You learned, after more questions, that you’d been away from the cabin for the last seven days. A full week without being found or going back—the longest time you had made it, although the injury certainly aided in that. But what you found strange was that since you had woken up, and the entire time you had been unconscious, the slimy voice of your mate hadn’t wormed its way into your mind. You shuddered at the thought of being unable to get away from your mate's coercion, insults, rages, and any other commentary he might throw down the bond. You silently thanked the Mother for whatever grace had been gifted to you.

The male looked toward the washbasin and then back to you. You followed his eyes. “I need to clean the gash on your head,” he said.

“I can do it,” you retorted.

The male frowned. “You can’t sit up. If you lift your arm above your head, your lung is going to pop, and I’m not even sure you have enough strength to hold yourself up for more than a second.”

You weighed your options, your eyes darting between the washbasin and his face. He sensed your hesitancy and finally responded, “I promise I won’t do anything. I just want to wash your wound.”

He held his hands up again as if in a peace offering. You gulped, still not fully sure why you felt so against this male touching you. Something in you felt incredibly hesitant about those wings, but you couldn’t quite place why.

The male sucked his lips between his teeth and peered around the room, his eyes landing on the fire mantle. He stood slowly as you watched him. You tried to cover yourself more, but pulling the blanket up caused a small fire to radiate through your back. The male seemed attuned to your nerves and said, “I’m going to get up and grab something from the mantle, and then I’m going to come back here and sit down.”

You nodded approval, and he gave a small nod back before he stood, continuing to face you, hands drawn up before himself while he walked slowly to the mantle. Your breathing paused as you waited. He reached up and grabbed a single hunting knife from the top. You suddenly panicked, trying to sit up, in fear of what you didn’t know. He wasn’t coming at you, wasn’t menacingly brandishing the knife, and yet you felt an inherent need to flee. When he saw your reaction, he quickly placed the knife on the floor, standing again, hands drawn up to his shoulders, palms facing you.

“It’s okay,” he reassured as you grunted at the pain. “I’m sorry, I should have told you what I was getting.” He pointed a finger down at the floor. “I was going to let you hold this while I cleaned the wound. You can hold it to my stomach, and if I go too far or you feel unsafe, you can defend yourself.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, confused at his remark. He was willingly giving you a weapon and asking you to stab him with it if you felt uncomfortable. “What?” you asked.

He looked at you, pausing, eyes meeting yours. “I just thought you might feel safer if you had some control.”

You tried to wipe the confusion from your face. He wanted you to stab him. No, he wanted you to have a way to stop him from hurting you. Even if he didn’t plan on hurting you, he wanted you to be able to stop it. You didn’t say anything, just continued to look at him.

“Are you okay with that?” he asked. When you didn’t respond, he added, “Look, I don’t know why you aren’t healing faster, but I’m worried that letting that fester is just going to make it harder and harder or deadly.” A pause. “Plus, I’ve been working hard at cleaning it for the last few days, so having you ruin my work doesn’t seem fair.” He gave you a small smile.

You nodded, and he smiled again, saying, “Alright, thank you. Now, I’m going to lean down and get the knife. I’m going to put it next to you on the bed and then step back until you take it, okay?”

You let out a sound of agreement, and he slowly crouched, one hand descending to grab the blade, the other still held in the air. He stood back up and slowly walked to the side of the bed, putting the knife next to your hand and taking a step back, both hands returning to the air. You quickly gripped the knife, and through the pain, held it up, your upper arm still propped up by the bed.

“Doing okay?” he asked. You nodded.

“Okay,” he pointed to the washbasin, “Now I’m going to grab that rag and dampen it. Then I’m going to run it over your forehead to clean it. It might take me a few rounds before it’s clean, and I am going to want to stop to look at the wound, but I promise I won’t let my hands touch you. Is that okay?”

You nodded your agreement. He nodded back. “I’m going to have to lean over you a bit, so you just keep the knife steady. You can rest it against my stomach.” You nodded again. He paused momentarily, “And please don’t accidentally stab me, if you’re going to do it, make it count.”

He slowly walked forward, grabbing the rag and dipping it into the water before wringing it out. He then brought it to your forehead, wiping it gingerly at first, his eyes focused on the wound. You held the knife to his stomach, pressing the tip gently into his shirt, feeling the hardened muscles underneath.

You gulped a few times, your sight locked onto his face and hands as he tended to you. He spoke the entire time, telling you what he was doing, alerting you when he was going to move, and warning you if things would hurt. At some point, you let the knife fall from his stomach, but you couldn’t decide if it was comfort or fatigue. When he was finished, he tossed the rag into the basin, scrubbing his hands clean and then wiping them on his pants.

“I probably should have opened with my name,” he chuckled to himself. “It just seemed like you were more preoccupied than niceties would have allowed. I’m Azriel.”

You looked at him, your fingers tracing the knife handle. “I’m Y/N,” you responded.

“That’s a pretty name,” he replied, turning back to you.

You smiled lightly, not looking towards him, just tracing the carved woodland animals on the handle of the knife.

“Look, I—” he started, then stopped, pondering his response. “I don’t want to intrude, and I know you’ve got some amnesia from hitting your head, but I just—” He paused again. “That first night, in the tavern, I came into your room and woke you up because you were screaming and—” He stopped.

You gulped, your eyes filling with tears, and you sniffled them away. You didn’t know why this kept happening. Why did you keep allowing yourself to the brink of tears in front of this stranger? He watched as your eyes reddened and lined with silver. “We can talk about it later,” he said, then smiled, picking up the basin and propping it on his hip. He looked toward your torso. “Would you feel more comfortable if a female looked at your ribs?” he asked.

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat that built before you could cry and nodded your head. Azriel smiled slightly, aware of the oncoming storm, and said, “I’ll send a female up here tomorrow morning.” He turned, walking toward the door, his large wings narrowly fitting through the entrance. Before reaching behind him to pull the door shut, he paused and asked, “Do you like berries?”

You nodded again, unable to speak for fear you might sob. He threw you another smile before ducking his head and leaving the room. Then he shut the door, leaving you alone as your tears began to fall and you coughed out long sobs that sent your body radiating with pain. You were stuck here, in a room, unable to move, with a male you didn’t know. You gripped the knife in your fist before pushing it under the fur blanket as your exhaustion hit you again, and your weary body succumbed to sleep.

Authors Note: Thank you for everyone who has been keeping up with the story and interaction and a special thanks to those who asked to join the tag list, it means to much to know there are people out here genuinely enjoying my works!

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll

@fightmedraco

@marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx

@romantasyreader28 @minnieoo

@mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf

[tkomptgoedluv]

a burning hill.

icantbelieveiletyougetaway pt.2

pt.1 here | pt.2 | pt.3 here | pt.4 here

joost klein x f! reader

tags: f! reader, non-famous! reader, reader still really needs to see a therapist, established friendship, joost has always been down bad and no one is surprised, quite angsty, lots of comfort, all characters are dutch and speak in dutch but dialogue is written in english for obvious reasons.

word count: 2,494.

warnings: references to SA, detailed mentions of non-specific mental illness, rpf.

notes: pt. 2 is finally here! i’m sorry it’s taken so long and thank you all for waiting <3 — i really can’t tell if i hate this part or not. it feels both dragged out and rushed, but i wanted to add more backstory to their relationship and leave a half-open ending incase anyone wants a pt. 3. i apologise if it’s awful. enjoy! 💋

── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──

you hated hospitals.

you weren’t quite sure why, it wasn’t like you’d ever spent enough time in one to actually form your own opinion until now.

but you did. you really, really did. they were too cold and the lights were too harsh, you couldn’t stand all the bare white walls, and seeing so many sick people all together made you feel nauseous. especially the older ones — if it wasn’t for the steady beats of their heart monitors, you would’ve assumed that they were already dead.

you weren’t like them; you weren’t sick. if it wasn’t for joost and his promise of buying you a pack of your favourite cigs, you never would’ve come here. you were the type to take a few ibuprofens and carry on as if nothing was wrong, as if simply taking a couple steps around your living room wasn’t enough to make you cry.

as it turns out though, that actually would’ve made things a whole lot worse for you.

apparently you needed a lot of different stitches in a lot of different places from how badly he had torn you up. the doctor even praised you for coming in when you did, saying that you could’ve died from several different infections had you left it all untreated. you tried not to let yourself think about that for too long.

the good news however, was that it was all an easy fix somehow. the stitching, whilst absolutely horrible, didn’t take longer than an hour or so and you were given just enough painkillers to last until all the bruising goes away. really, not a lot of time had passed before you were being discharged with a stack of leaflets all advertising local therapists. you chucked them into the very first bin that you saw.

you fucking hated hospitals.

it was snowing again by the time you made it out of the main doors, small specks of white collecting in your hair and wetting your eyelashes. you loved the cold and especially the snow, but it was something that you really could’ve gone without right now. the cold that consumed you only worsened each ache and pain that you felt, from the tops of your shoulders all the way down to your knees.

you were already shivering by the time you reached joost. he had perched himself on a nearby bench, a cigarette in one hand and what looked like a paper bag of pastries in the other. it brought a toothless smile to your face, the kind that could actually reach your eyes, when you realised that he still remembered.

it had been three years ago that you had first met joost and the rest of the group; two and half since that day. you hadn’t seen it coming, not when you had been doing so much better than you ever had before. you were going out more and socialising, eating better, and staying on top of the little things like the dishes and laundry. for once you actually felt human and not like just some basket case.

you weren’t ready to wake up that one morning, a fine layer of frost dusted across your bedroom window, and feel like you couldn’t move. you laid there and watched the sun fight to be seen until it dipped below the skyline, leaving you to wallow in the dark, alone. you’d ignored every buzz of your phone until they eventually stopped, and still cried when they did. you cried until your eyes grew heavy, having worn yourself out beyond the point of staying awake.

when a quick knock at the door had woken you up from your sleep, you ignored it like everything else. you curled up further in on yourself and prayed that whoever it was would just give up and leave you be, that they would walk away and let you rot in the sanctity of your own bed. it was there that you listened to their knocks slowly turn desperate until they stopped, only to be followed by the sound of your spare key turning in the lock.

as light flooded in from the hallway, the open door engulfing your small studio in shades of orange and yellow, you heard your own name break the silence.

“psst, hey it’s me, it’s joost. are you home?”

you cried again, right then and there at the sound of his voice.

with your whole entire heart you adored all of your friends but with joost it was just…different. it was on the very first day of that music festival you’d bumped into him, oblivious to who he was and how he was one of the names on the lineup. he still wishes that you could’ve seen the look on your face when he took you backstage, letting you watch his show from the wings. after that, the two of you had more or less been glued at the hip.

for seventy-two hours straight, you had spent every minute with him and the rest of his friends. they all welcomed you in with open arms, and for whatever reason seemed to love almost as much as he did. stuntje was already referring to you as his ‘little sister’ by the third day, and nathan was set on making you a permanent fixture in the group.

but you were still you, though. the more everyone pushed to get to know you, the more of an effort you made to keep them all at an arm’s length — for both your sake and theirs. except you never really could with joost, and now he was there, fumbling around in your living room as he tried to make a beeline for you in the dark.

no one had heard from you in two days.

what had felt like mere hours, a single afternoon at most, had been two days. that was why he was there with you, sat on the edge of your bed with a hand rubbing your back, begging for you to talk to him. when you wouldn’t, he offered you the compromise of at least joining him for breakfast and revealed a small bag of pastries before you could say no.

“i had a feeling you’d be hungry; call it a mother’s intuition.”

through all of the tears and snot, he’d made you laugh. it was weak and hoarse, and made the very back of your throat burn, but it was still a laugh. joost had taken it as a yes and helped you sit up, fully committing to the bit and ‘mothering’ you in every way that he knew how, like slipping his own hoodie over your head the very second he saw you shiver.

it was like that you had sat and ate each and every single one of the pastries with him, and later forgave him for all of the crumbs you were still finding in your bed a week later.

and now here he was, almost three years later, clutching yet another bag of those pastries in his hand. you became thankful for the snow when your eyes began to turn red and water, your bottom lip starting to tremble ever so slightly. you could blame it on the cold then, blame it on something rational like a snowflake getting in your eye instead of admitting that you were crying over croissants.

“hey! how was -” joost almost slipped on a patch of ice when you near-enough tackled him, burying your face in his chest as you wrapped your arms around his middle. the sheer force of it knocked the cigarette from his other hand; he seemed not to notice. “hey…you good?”

a cold hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers gently scratching the back of your scalp.

“you remembered the pastries.”

even as the words were still coming out, they felt silly; you felt silly. nobody with their head screwed on straight would be getting all teary-eyed and weepy over their friend picking up some breakfast. besides, there was still the chance that for joost, that was all it was — a sweet but small thing that he could do for you on a day guaranteed to be awful.

but joost just wasn’t one to do things small. there was always intent and meaning in everything that he did. you knew there had to be something else behind it, something worthy of all these tears in your eyes.

“well yeah, i’ve got that motherly instinct, remember?”

you laughed as you pulled away from him, wiping your sore eyes with the palms of your hands. there was no point in trying to blame it on the cold or the snow anymore, you knew that just from the big doe-eyed look that joost gave you. he’d caught a glimpse of your wet cheeks and the penny had finally dropped.

it almost hurt him knowing that for even a moment, you had honestly thought he wouldn’t have remembered the pastries.

that day — two years, six months, and thirteen days ago, was burned into his memory whether he wanted it to be or not. he hadn’t known much about you back then, but knew enough to know that you hadn’t gone M-I-A for two days simply because you were caught up with work or family. he also knew that showing up to your place unannounced and uninvited was a bold move on his part; you hadn’t known a great deal about him, either.

joost wasn’t very good at losing people. when you meant something to him, you were like family, and joost couldn’t quite cope with losing family.

honestly, he already really liked you and liked having you around, and that only made it worse for him when all of a sudden you weren’t anymore. you’d been at every one of his shows, every group-meet at whatever bar was deemed most convenient for the night, and every video shoot that was in desperate need of another extra. in his defence, he had tried calling first. infact, he’d called you around six times before turning up on your doorstep that morning.

joost pulled you back into him, resting his chin on the top of your head. it wasn’t your doubt in him that stung like the cold that nipped at his fingertips, but how you could never find it in yourself to believe that someone would want to do something for you. especially him, because surely you knew by now that he would do absolutely anything for you, right?

the words were on the very tip of his tongue. with you in his hold, the both of you together in the snow, he really wanted to say it. wanted to promise that he’d buy you those pastries every day for the rest of his life if you asked him to. wanted to squeeze you and shake you and tell you that of course he would, because you could ask him to jump and he’d only say ‘how high?’

instead, joost simply smiled when he finally let you go. he had to trust that it said everything he wanted to say for him, because you wouldn’t ever let him actually say it, would you? but now also wasn’t the right time, either, because the snow was falling harder and he could feel the tremor in your hands as he held them.

“cmon, you’re coming back to mine.”

you didn’t argue, nor did you resist when he started to lead you in the direction of his house. it made the most sense; it was a lot closer and despite all of the pain medication you were on, you still didn’t feel like walking. plus, you really liked joost’s place. it was bigger than yours, and nicer, and felt a lot more like home than your own flat did sometimes.

he was still holding onto your hand as the pair of you headed back down the highstreet, slipping past the few others that were brave enough to face the weather. with your head kept down low, you never saw how joost keep looking back at you every couple of steps, searching for any signs of hurt or pain.

“you know, you still haven’t told me how it went in there. everything okay?”

“yeah, everything’s fine.” you hesitated saying anything further and only continued once you felt a small squeeze of your hand, a quiet way of coaxing you to keep going. “they had to stitch me up a bit — said i have to take it easy and that i’m going to be on these pain meds for a while, but yeah. i’m gonna be okay.”

“i should’ve broken a lot more than his nose.”

immediately you shook your head, a few strands of hair falling in front of your eyes as you did so.

“no, you shouldn’t have. you shouldn’t have even done that.” it was hard to miss the scoff that immediately followed, as well as the few swear words that joost then muttered underneath his breath. “i should’ve broken his legs, actually.”

you pulled on his arm hard enough to get him to stop, and to turn and face you. there was nothing left of that sweet smile he once had, only a hardened jaw and a look that seemed to worsen the bruising around his eye.

“you and i both know that you’re not that guy, joost. you don’t do things like that.”

“i would for you.”

the way he said it, so obviously as though he shouldn’t have even had to say it at all, took you back. joost was a lot of things, a lot of kind, wonderful, stubborn things, but he wasn’t violent. last night was the first time you’d ever seen him behave like that; it had scared you then, and to hear him say that he’d do worse if he could, scared you now.

he wasn’t like you, he actually had something to lose. if those videos from last night got out, the ones of him throwing punches against three different guys, that could cost him everything. festivals could drop him from their line ups, brands could double back on their partnerships, other artists could pull out on their collabs. you couldn’t make sense of why none of that seemed to matter to him, why his whole career seemed to be an afterthought compared to you.

you couldn’t be worth all that trouble.

“why? why for me?”

joost really did have the worst luck, didn’t he?

had it been any other day, any other place, joost would’ve been screaming from the rooftops by now. he’d let not just you but the whole of amsterdam know just how much he was stupidly head over fucking heels for you. here you were, asking him to speak those very same words that he’s been swallowing down, because finally you were ready to hear them.

how bittersweet it was, that it just wasn’t the right time.

“i’ll tell you later, schatje. promise.”

[sociopathicartist]

In case I don’t tell you enough, I love you.

a letter from sans directed to you, his lover.

y/n,

it’s been five years since monsterkind was freed from the surface.

it’s been four years since i’ve met you.

it’s april, and i’m still missing you.

maybe it’s stupid of me to miss you considering that i left your house only a few hours ago, and i’m laying in bed writing this on some loose paper i found on my floor while i think of you.

weirdly enough, the silence in my room is now unsettling compared to how calming it used to be. i guess the fan in your room blowing wind on your bed that i’ve yet to see turned off has grown on me. or maybe it’s the rain sounds you always have playing on your tv that clash with the fan that grew on me.

or maybe it’s you that's grown on me.

sometimes when i have a nightmare or i can't sleep i play fan and rain sounds on youtube to help me rest, not even thinking consciously about it anymore. it always just makes me feel like i’m back in bed with you with my eyes closed, waiting for you to come back from the kitchen with the glass of water that you wanted.

i wish that i could sum it up and say i can't find the words to describe how i feel, but that’s a lie. i know exactly how i feel about you.

tracing my phalanges along the little scars and nicks of your skin when i’m next to you never fails to entertain me. neither does running my hand through your hair, or twisting the rings on your fingers, or kissing you quickly for the 1000th time. i never thought i would be fond of that sort of stuff, i never thought i was a guy for any sort of romance.

i guess i just never realized that all i needed was the right person to give it to me. all i needed was you.

i’m not the best writer. even my lab logs from the rare times when i help alphys with her scientific tests are messy and short out. it’s almost like having all these thoughts about you is starting to eat me alive. i guess i have nowhere else to put them but on a piece of paper. if we ever get married one day like i hope we do, i’d like to give this to you. who knows when that will be though, so i guess this letter will just sit in one of my drawers collecting dust until i can give it to you. it kinda sucks to think about the fact that these words might never reach you, but that’s the way life is. it sucks most of the time.

i get this weird sinking feeling in my ribs near where my soul rests sometimes. it’s mostly when i think about how i miss you. sometimes my hand reaches up and brushes up and down my shoulder blade when i’m lying in bed alone, mimicking the motion that your hand does to me all the time when we lay together. i don’t even notice it happens anymore, but when i do and i realize you’re not actually there, that’s when that weird sinking feeling happens. it also happens on the rare thought of you not being in my future one day, even though i know that won't happen. i know you wouldn’t leave me.

i can’t help but wonder what this feeling was before i met you, and why i never got it.

was i just empty all the time?

even though i remember in great detail why my depression was so bad back then, back before i met you, i guess these happy years with everyone have slowly washed away that feeling. i felt so horrible for so long, and i didn’t care to ever try and get better because there was no point back then, but for some reason whenever i try to think of what was there in my life that i had like this, it’s almost numbed away from my memories. it’s like a bad nightmare that got washed away with the morning light.

that’s not to say i’m not thankful and glad i’m doing better now. sure, i’m still working things out, but who isn’t? i don’t think i wouldn’t have ever actually gotten help if it wasn’t for you, though. you’re really the only person who's ever seen me so clearly. i love how i don’t even have to tell you if something is wrong anymore, you just look at me and know. did you know that i’ve never had anyone take the time to notice the small difference between my genuine smile versus my resting and permanent one? the day you pointed that out to me was the day i realized i liked you.

i also thought it would take me a while to realize when i liked someone seriously. i think the last time i ever had a crush was… actually, i can’t remember. in the movies and books, it’s always the same scenario of ‘i like you but i haven’t liked anyone before so i don’t realize i like you until it’s too late’ but that wasn’t the case. i knew the moment i liked you.

it was this odd twinge in me that just kinda sprung throughout my bones. i think it’s the same equivalent of getting butterflies in your stomach, but without a stomach. i noticed your looks before, and i guess this sounds weird to say, but it was like after so long of friendship that i actually… noticed you.

you looked so beautiful, and you still do.

the shock at work and from other people was really funny when they found out we were dating. i don’t think they ever actually thought i’d find someone to settle down with. our friends knew better though. as shocked as our friends tried to act, it was pretty obvious that they were expecting it. i can’t believe it was that obvious that we liked each other.

there’s no big resolution to writing this. i just felt like writing it so that i could share the feelings i feel about you but that i forget to say when we are around each other. it’s not like i can get a single word in with how much you smooch on me though. not that i mind.

it’s not to say that if my puns ever get too much for you, or if you decide that i’m too lazy and you feel like you can’t leave, you can. i just really don’t want you to. i have a strong feeling that you don’t ever want to leave either.

i can’t wait to see how the rest of our lives turn out together. when we move in, get married, and just enjoy each other’s time. i know it’s crazy to hear from me, but i can’t wait to do the dishes with you and put away the laundry as you fold it. i can’t wait to enjoy your company every day one day. i know it’s a bit selfish, but i hope that things stay like this forever.

i hope that you get to read this one day, and in case i don’t tell you enough, i love you.

[prowlspaparazzi]

NSFW, fem human, voyeur, Optimus gets curious and checks security cameras to see where you went

- In an uncommon occurrence, Optimus Prime found himself alone at the base, or so he believed. He knew Arcee, Bumblebee and Bulkhead were having leisure time with their human friends.

- Ratchet was out, which was the uncommon part. He had made an offhand comment about his servos stiffening up. Optimus proposed collecting some energon remnants could help. There were some detected in leftover mines that were drained by Megatron's troops. But, any piece counts.

- But the last one unaccounted for was you... Optimus had greeted you earlier, but didn't bid you goodbye. You normally always leave with a goodbye, so you must be somewhere in the base. Optimus approaches the base terminal to access the security cameras. He could go looking for you, but there were some areas of the base the bots didn't fit into. Like the kitchen.

- Optimus checked the kitchen cameras, and failed to spot you. A quick glance to the couch to his left on the platform suggested you were here. Your things were still here after all. Optimus turns his attention back to the cameras, switching to the next place to think of. The barracks.

- The barracks were meant for human soldiers. A decently sized room with two rows of bunks. A few beds were less dusty than the others from the one or two times the humans had sleepovers.

- Optimus spotted the dusty beds, but one was free from dust and finally, he spotted you. His mind was put at ease. It seems you had gone off to take a nap? But your hand is moving and between your thighs…

- "Hm..." Optimus hummed in confusion. What were you doing on the bunk if you were not sleeping? A small whine left your lips, and suddenly it clicked.

- Self pleasure was not an unknown concept to Optimus. But he rarely felt such an urge, if at all. He had other things to do to think and occupy himself with. However, human sexuality was unknown to him. He only had a basic understanding of the human reproductive system, so he was a little surprised to find humans would engage in something like this

- Optimus blinked hard, realizing he was staring and looking quite closely. He had seen enough, and he should give you your privacy. You had gone to the barracks after all, away from everyone else to engage in your self pleasure.

- A curious part of him began to stir however. He had seen diagrams of human reproductive organs of course, he had done some research on human biology when he came to earth. But seeing how your fingers seemed so eager to rub your sensitive parts piqued his curiosity further. The little bud and folds squished and contorted under the touch of your fingertips. That was something diagrams didn't tell him. Of course it was like the rest of the fleshy human body. But Optimus had never seen this before, and the knowledge-hungry archivist mind of his wanted to see more.

- Optimus forced the tab closed. He had watched you pleasure yourself through a security camera. That was wrong, and an invasion of your privacy as well. He felt guilty for doing so, and quietly berated himself for doing so. The thought of apologizing to you diminished as quick as it came. No, he would only stir up trouble that didn't need to be stirred.

- He closed his eyes in hopes to focus on another thought. But he could only see the image of you on the low res security footage laying on your back with your legs open. Your fingers eagerly but tenderly rubbing your clit. And those noises he'd never heard you make before filing his audials even with the tab closed…

- Primus, why couldn't he have just turned it off once he realized?

- The thought of pleasuring himself in his berth room appeared in his mind. Optimus was quick to push away the thought, he had disrespected you enough as it is. He'd need to take a drive, asap. He called Ratchet back to base, opened the groundbridge for him, and as soon as he was able, he was off to patrol.

[kolechiart]

Do you have any strange hill high headcanons with the main trio

* sure! i got a couple under my belt at this point but to preface one of the main headcanons i have is that the magical oddities of the school carry over and infect the students as much as it does the teachers, giving each of them a unique curse of sorts that fades away once they leave school grounds - this concept dictates the rest of this post!

templeton 🧪💡

curse turns into him into a wooden puppet - though one that is old and dull in colour. human enough sure, his sweater does most of the heavy lifting noticeably off not helped by worn paint and chipped, dented wood. he looks more like a test dummy than a children's toy-

the meaning here is obvious enough, to highlight his gullible, easily swayed nature, but one that'd still be lost in him anyway as most things are. looking deeper brings to light a more charitable reading of him being naturally curious and easily adaptable to any situation.

most noticeable feature is that he glasses are his eyes and he is still able to see out of them when they're no longer attached to his face. they aren't hiding anything however and if removed will only reveal a hallow, blank face that's prone to being vandalised with red marker-

it's hard to tell if he's really…alive in this form and he doesn't need much of anything at all. sleep? water? food? all concepts that feel strangely unfamiliar all of a sudden and the fact he's prone to going in a lifeless, ragdoll like trance whenever he stressed does little to help.

becky 🐭🧶

curse turns her into a stuffed toy mouse - one that is been well used and therefore she's stitched together like patchwork quilt a mixture of soft felt, torn cardboard and floral patterns. she feels as if she has crawled out of a grandmas sewing tin but can't say that she minds.

what she does mind is that how this is clearly mocking her for being meek and anxious, quick to bolt and otherwise be scatteredbrained under pressure. as true as that may be it also hints at her softer, kind nature and how that her impulsive can be just as much as a blessing.

tends to undo at the seams when anxious, causing her to fall apart in a more literal fashion. she insists that the only painful thing about it is the sheer inconvenience of it all but upon discovering she's still has full control of her body when it's in pieces maybe it has more uses-

very creative and artistically gifted, another's trash is her treasure! or even maybe a new coat or earrings. big into upcycling and is fond of making personalised trinkets for her friends but tends to have a hard time letting go of clutter. you never know when it'll be useful, mitch!

favoured pass time is exploiting templeton and using him as a blank canvas for him to paint or otherwise experiment on with her more out there crafting. after all he is built like a mannequin, it's only fair.

mitchell 🐺🚀

curse turns him into a werewolf - though one made from hardened, worn plastic instead of plush soft fur and that combined with his segmented, ball jointed limbs gives him the appearance of an action figure! maybe one that has been collecting dust on a collectors shelf

he's disgruntled by this, viewing it as backhanded way to poke fun at his lack of attention span and given the nature of the curses he isn't exactly wrong in thinking that. however it's also in reference to his unwavering, doglike loyalty and general easy going, playful nature.

he was more enthusiastic upon discovering that body modification was something that came almost natural. from extending his arm to flick becky's ear from the other side of the room to swapping out his hand to a nerf gun pranking just became his main line of defence.

naturally he brute forced himself to become an makeshift engineer and with the help of becky's scrape collection alongside templeton's brainstorming he's able to craft up all sorts of makeshift tools and devices for every niche, hyper specific situation imaginable!

the only thing stopping him from terrorising everyone around him is his lack of foresight and how many of his ideas do not pan through because are you sure physics is an actual, tangible concept and not something made up so that they can bore you to tears in class-

[purplesoulcollection]

Unnatural Love

Part 11 Synopsis : Name has being transmigrated into the world of I'm Not That Kind Of Talent without ever reading the novel. She's not being reincarnated as a human but as a devil as well. Hi There! I want to let you know that this fanfiction story isn't solely my creation. I borrowed the concept from @quqiwo2. I haven't actually read the novel either, just some spoiler to the end.

I hope you'll excuse my spelling and grammar mistake, because English not my first language.

When I arrived both Deon and Cruel had already been attacked.

Before I had the chance to joined them and become a sudden weight without any plan, the screen popped up out of nowhere.

What?! Does this mean I have to hold on until the typical tragic moment unfolds? Or is it to enhance the surprise's impact?

“But when? I don't have any attack skills?” I finally realize that i need the strategy before jumped in.

I only possess a handful of skills at the moment, but I believe I can make my way out of here while carry these two brothers.

When I looked at the order, it looked like Cruel would be stabbed in the heart.

Shield!!!

Finally his sword was brushed aside. No time to be relieved

"You guys okay?"

This screen feels quite sinister. If I let the moment slip by, there's no way to stop the disaster that follows.

"Adele!!"

"The explanation will come later. Now let's run away first!"

I noticed the skill that can only be used a single time. Still, I realize how awesome it is to have that skill, even if it's just for one occasion.

I hit yes and swiftly lead both Cruel and Deon out of this place. The skill effect truly makes me feel overpowered; I dash like those anime characters who zoom past, leaving the rest of the group in the dust with no hope of catching up.

Because of that ability, Cruel, Deon, and I were able to evade the assassins. I successfully led them both out of harm's way.

Where did I take them? Does anyone have any idea?

Yes, it is true.

Deon's home is filled with influential individuals. Lofty's soldiers are just hanging around there. Their eyes wide open, don't believe their eyes when I brought both brothers alone, so I quickly instructed them to stay put and be ready before heading to the house.

The times is up when i toss them both to the sofa while I'm lying on the floor, regardless of manners or dirty floors.

I feel drained and a bit grimy as I lie on the floor with no energy left.

I'm completely out of breath and utterly exhausted now that the activity has come to a halt. My heart was racing, pumping blood quickly and intensely, and I can feel aches in every part of my body, particularly in my legs and hands, which really pushed beyond their limits, after carrying two adult men whom both in the shock from the wild ride they just experienced, and they haven't responded yet.

I'm tired, even though I have the help of skills, it feels like I have exceeded the limits of my abilities. Super strength is a really cool skill. It's a shame to have a skill that can only be used a single time.

We're in the silence before someone spoke up.

"Older brother... "

"Why, why are you protecting me...?"

Ding!

Then Deon fainted after the screen appear, make both Deon and I check him right away.

"Deon!"

"Deon!"

When I saw Deon had fainted, I was taken aback for a moment before I managed to collect myself. I leaned in to check for his breath near his nose and felt for a heartbeat, hoping he was just unconscious.

"I think he fainted due to excessive emotions."

"Who are you?" said Cruel began to take notice of me and started asking questions.

I felt really uneasy being questioned by someone I didn't know, especially since I sensed they might harm me if I said the wrong thing. But he's still Deon's brother.

"Fiancée... " I said with the low voice.

"He doesn't have a fiancée." He claimed like he know him better than anyone else, and that was true.

If I feel that way, then there's really no point in deceiving him. "I'm his girlfriend from the demon world."

Cruel looked stunned, looking at my face, looking for any indication of my deception reflected in my body language, before finally laughing out loud.

I was amazed to see someone who had just released a menacing vibe suddenly shift their behavior so quickly.

"My brother's taste is strange too." He spoke that with a downcast expression and gloomy face.

It seems he has finally revealed his darker side, possibly reflecting on his near-death experience. Perhaps he's considering leaving Deon to navigate this world on his own, having made a sacrifice for the greater good which is literary not.

"Cruel please, I urge you to speak with Deon as soon as he wakes up. He feels that you and your parents dislike him and even want to harm him"

"I accept the grudge."

And his irresponsible words made me scream at him.

"Just do as I say!"

"This is the only chance you can make peace with Deon and make him happy."

"I tried so hard to save you two so that you can make peace, stupid brother!"

"Do you really hate him? Your brother? If so, why did you save him from that killer?"

I directed my anger at him, but he responded only with silence. His brow furrowed deeply, his hands were tightly clenched, and he bit his lips as if trying to suppress his emotions.

"I want to hate him... But I can't." His voice is soft, like he has no power to hate Deon who kill their parents.

Why is he even saying this to me, the one who should hear this isn't me!

"So, just confide in him. I think there is a misunderstanding between you." I still tried to persuade him but it's clearly that he didn't want to hear me at all.

"War is the cause!" he exploded in my face. There is no hope for me to talk to him again.

"I will take Deon to his room. I ask for your coordination, Cruel Hart."

I left Cruel by himself and escorted Deon back to his room. He sleeps deliriously. I couldn't help but think, is it a pleasant dream or a troubling one for him?

The screen says that he will cure Deon's split personality. Will this end well? The screen doesn't even ask my opinion whether I want to cure it or not, why?

While Deon was unconscious, I ordered Remember to tighten the security at this house. I don't said who's gonna in charge of the guarding.

In the end it left Lofty troops to guarding. Everyone already knows their reputation, so nobody dare to mess with us.

But there are definitely Lofty members who visit Deon who still unconscious for a few days.

Deon's health is a constant concern for them, especially since he's unconscious without any visible injuries or bruises. It's puzzling for them to think of their strong captain in such a vulnerable state.

I also informed the palace because of our sudden disappearance from the hunt with a letter. Remember helps me to send it.

Cruel himself stayed in one of the guest rooms here. But he just kept quiet and ate the food that was delivered. Only he refused to get out.

So I think Cruel is no problem at all. He can take care of himself.

I'm also still visiting Deon. Just a reminder, the housework is all taken care of by Remember, so I have nothing on my plate right now.

Seeing him not waking up in the few days becoming so tired for me. I want him to be up and showing his shy side while still being attentive to my needs.

'Hurry up and wake up, Deon.'

Why do I become so sad when I see him lying like this. He appears even paler than usual, with his skin looking more lifeless than before, almost resembling a literal corpse. What if he never been awake again?

Even though just a few days ago I saw him happy, laughing and talking with me. He who laugh at my silly actions and he who also sad when i sad.

Why is he lying like this now? Is it because he's the protagonist?

I found myself unexpectedly in tears, and soon enough, I was sobbing as well, even though there was no clear reason for it.

Why, why does this heart hurt so much?

Then TING..

I notice this and feel stuck, almost paralyzed, forgetting that I've been crying. It feels like my heart has plummeted from a great height.

Ah, apparently so...

I have loved Deon.

Finally...

Initially, I accepted Deon's expression of love, but it wasn't out of love itself....

Deon is undeniably a handsome guy, and he would definitely be the most attractive person around. I admit that fact.

But who could truly fall for him so quickly without getting to know him better first? He tends to share his feelings a bit too soon for my liking, before I have the chance to understand him on a deeper level.

But that time, I find myself in a tough spot and truly need some support. Even if it means relying on someone else, I’m willing to accept his love.

I'm evil to Deon, i admit that, but he was the one who started it first. I never asked him to confess his love when I wasn't feeling well.

It feels hard to turn him down too, especially since he seems so vulnerable to break like I am.

As time went on, I got to know him better, and we began to laugh and share special moments together. Perhaps this is was the right time to start realize that I was falling in love with him.

And I pressed yes to accept the reward.

I’ve actually known what I wanted to ask since the very first time I arrived here. It's such the obvious one.

“Why am I being transmigrated?’’

'My fate, your ass' i curse this screen in my mind, not voicing it at all

“What should I am doing now? If this is my fate.”

'Does that mean I can only love him for a short time? Why?'

“Am I going to die if the demon king dead?”

I'm seeing the final question and just looked at it without saying anything. I should mention that I'm content, eager to return to my own world, and completely ready to leave this disappointing place behind without any regrets.

I really should have said that...

But why…

Why my heart feels so hurt, like transparent hand squeezed my heart. Make me burst out of cry. Even harder than my cried before.

'Why do I have to love him now when I know I’ll be leaving soon? It feels so unfair; it’s like the universe wants me to care for him just to make me suffer.'

I cried so intensely that I had to lay my head on the bed, overwhelmed by sadness and trying to stifle my sobs so I wouldn't disturb his sleep. My mind and my heart are at odds with each other. Wanting to go back and wanting to stay here.

And then i feel someone's hand on my head. "Don't cry" he said that with a soft and cracked voice. I realized whose this voice.

This voice...

"Are you awake, Deon?" My head ups to seeing Deon already open his eyelids, show his amazingly red eyes. His eyes looks worried with my condition.

"Why are you crying? I hate seeing you cry." He inquired as he wiped away my tears. I allowed it, even resting my head against his hand. I long to feel his rough hand and the warmth he brings to my life.

"Because you didn't wake up." I sobbed at him. Pouting my face to look more ludicrous and being topped by my wet face. He only crackled his breath and look at me warmly.

"Now I'm awake, so no need to cry."

"That's why I don't cry anymore." I dried my tears and wrapped my arms around him. I didn’t mention why I was crying as he held me close.

“Deon.” I reach out to him after he’s been examined by the doctor, nourished following his brief coma, and feeling much better. We’re both lying in bed together. I lay side to him while he's looking at the rooftop

“What?”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” He's still not looking at me. Is he lying?

But I'm not the quitter, “Is there any parts that hurts?’’

“No?”

Then I have to point my concern, “Your feelings, what about your feelings?”

“Peace.”

Impossible, don’t try to fake around me, Deon.

"Do you want to meet your brother? So you two can talk."

"---" Silence ahead.

"Deon, I think- I really think, why don't you have a good talk with your brother. Maybe there is a misunderstanding between you and your family"

"What misunderstanding?" His voice took on a sudden edge as he attempted to convince himself that there was absolutely no misunderstanding. He's look at me with shaked pupils.

But I also know that it no longer having use to him. He already know that fact too.

"Of course I also don't know, that's your family privacy. But your brother should know. If there wasn't a misunderstanding between you, your brother wouldn't have tried to save you from that killer, right?"

"He hates me and wants to kill me. Even though he is my brother..." He still try his best to resist the idea. His feeble attempts at resistance make me feel a sense of sadness for him. Yet, he really needs to change.

"You actually want to forgive him, don't you?"

"N-no..." His defense finally took a hit.

"Otherwise you wouldn't have called him big brother back then."

"___" He glanced downward, shutting his eyes tight and covering his ears with his hand, attempting to block me out completely. Yet, my voice broke through his final barrier.

"Admit it, Deon. Or he will give up his life again for you."

He was trembling and shaking as he removed his hands from his ears. Hit the nail.

"Instead of regretting it later. Talk to him, especially since he's your only family left."

"But, but if... This is just a misunderstanding at all. Father, Mother..." He can't even finish his sentence, but i know the what he's talking about.

"I'm sure they will forgive you. Those who didn't run away from you when you came home proves it. They love you so they give you their life"

"Mother, father... "

He wept, tears streaming down his face. Though his sobs were quiet, he couldn't help but lament about his parents and the regrets he held regarding them. At last, he came to terms with that truth.

I wrapped my arms around him, wanting to offer some comfort in this moment. I wanted him to know that I’m right here by his side. As I gently ran my hand along his back and through his hair, I could feel my shoulders getting damp from his tears.

Hoping that he can repent and forgive himself.

For himself and his family...

"Cruel, come in!" I stand in front of Deon's room with Cruel. I had to really pull this bigger guy than me just to get us here. Why he have to be such an unsupportive person?

"You don't want to come in?" He looks at me with his pitiful but still nervous one.

Why he looking at me like that, your pitiful gaze doesn't make me want to make the easy way for you.

"No, I've comforted him as best as I could. Please don't blame him too much or say harsh things to him. He himself knows best that he was wrong." His tears also bring me sadness. Love is so complicated that I find myself feeling sympathy for him.

"You really care about him."

"Because I am the girlfriend who loves him."

Then Cruel Hart enter his room and I turned around. Giving both people the privacy they want.

To Be Continued

[cultofdixon]

Just You

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • He knew the prison would be temporary. He shouldn’t have put bad vibes out into the universe then he wouldn’t have almost lost you. But he was thankful he had you with him…even if there was a whole new threat • ANGST/SFW/NSFW - unprotected sex [no glove, no love] / grinding / cum eating • TW: Canon Violence / Injuries / Anxiety / Scars

Requested by: @kaylakern4

Where is she

Where is she

Where the fuck is she?!

Daryl snapped out of his anxious thoughts feeling the familiar soft hands grab onto his bicep. He turned to find Y/N staring up at him as his attention focused on her forehead bleeding and how she looks like she’s been through hell. But then he remembered—-

“We gotta get out of here”

“Haven’t you heard me?! I’ve been saying that for a few minutes! We gotta go!” Y/N pulled at his arm as the two ran out of the ruins of the prison.

Please look at me.

Please look at me.

Bring it up. Please—

“I think my head is still bleeding…but I…there was no time to grab shit and book it. I just grabbed what I needed most” Y/N frowns on the other side of their little campsite as Daryl took that as the opportunity to get up from his spot pulling his rag out from his back pocket.

Daryl sat beside her dragging the pack they managed to scavenge taking the canteen out. He pours some of the water on his rag before giving her a look asking for permission, waiting for her to eventually nod not knowing exactly what he was doing. Then he lightly dabs her head lac cleaning the blood off her face. Her beautiful face. Checking to see if it had gotten worse with all the running they’ve been doing but thankful it was just a cut. A scary cut that bled that much.

“Thank you Daryl…”

“‘Course” Daryl put everything away and before he could get up from his spot, Y/N tiredly rests her head on his shoulder.

“Why does this keep happening to us…”

“Makes yea wish there was somethin’ more permanent I guess”

Y/N brought herself close to take in his warmth that he was more than happy to provide even if he was terrified to wrap his arm around her.

What’s wrong

What’s wrong

Y/N.

“D, you see that?” Y/N gestures to what looks to be an abandoned country club. Daryl followed her lead to the place as he wanted to be first to enter in case of anything but Y/N took out her knife and went ahead.

Daryl followed close while wishing she’d look at him and tell him what’s on her mind. Since leaving the prison, the light she carried faded and it was eating him alive.

“Think anything here is worth the trouble?”

“The first aid kit on the wall is.” Daryl pushes past Y/N as she looked through the clothes that were scattered everywhere in the room they were in. “We can patch up your head”

“Sounds good…” Y/N picked up a green sweater more so green earthy and not neon. She took the opportunity of Daryl’s back facing her so that she could change her shirt into the sweater.

The archer turned toward her at the wrong moment and quickly swung back feeling the heat rise to his face after catching a glimpse. Y/N adjusts the sweater brushing off a bit of the dust that collected on it before noticing his tense figure.

“You can look now” She says almost in a whisper as Daryl kept his gaze to the floor up until he was within arms length of her. Y/N took out of the presented first aid box what she’ll need before letting him put it away. “Think we can squat in here for the night?”

“Yeah just. Let me help yea and then we can barricade the door just in case”

After taking care of such, Y/N got a fire going in the middle of the main dining hall. As she tosses more newspaper onto the fire to build, she felt a blanket rest on her shoulders. Y/N didn’t say a word right off the bat knowing Daryl did such as he makes his way to sit on the opposite side of her. Which sparked something in her to say—

“We can share”

Daryl quickly looks up from fiddling with his knife when she said that as the silence made Y/N’s confidence lower thinking she crossed something. But the archer picked himself up and sat beside her feeling half the blanket drape over his shoulder making both scoot closer to the other.

Wrong time

Not the right place

But when will it ever be

“Daryl…”

“Hm?”

“I’m scared” Y/N frowns feeling Daryl’s arm wrap around her to bring her in his embrace. He held her, let her get comfortable in his space…resting her head in his shoulder and bringing her legs over his lap.

“Me too, sunshine…me too”

When morning broke, Daryl always woke first and knew he was holding Y/N as they are both awake most the night. But he didn’t expect her to be asleep on his chest the next morning. He didn’t move or say a word…he was enjoying this moment. Until they were both spooked by the sound of a walker hitting the barricaded door. Y/N lifts herself up and off of him but still had a hold on his vest when Daryl sat up.

“They can’t get it. We’ll be okay”

“I know…” Y/N realizes she was holding onto his clothing and let go before standing up. “Think we should move?”

“Just take it out, hold up here a few more days…” Daryl suggests watching her nod in response as she leaves to take care of said walker causing a ruckus.

The two explored more of the club finding pretty much nothing of use besides some cans of food…mainly fruit cocktail…empty liquor bottles, a lot of money that Daryl started to collected but both came to the conclusion that it’s worthless in the apocalypse, and finding empty rooms or full ones with the deceased.

Another night came in and Y/N took the lantern she found in the outdoor shed they checked to one of the empty rooms with a few couches. She set it on the window turning it on to illuminate part of the room as Daryl rests the blanket they shared on the couch he assumed she would take.

“You’re the one with no sleeves…you need it more than me”

“Nah, I’ll be fine” He sighs upon impact of sitting on the dirty couch across from Y/N’s. “Could be worse”

“True…it could” Y/N shut the door and pushed an end table in front of it just in case. Daryl should’ve done that so she could’ve adjusted before him.

Talk to her

About anything

Try to at least

“D”

Daryl snapped out of his thoughts to find Y/N sitting with him on his couch. “Yeah?”

“Do you think we’ll find any of the others?”

Be optimistic or be honest

Which will she feel better hearing

“Daryl…be honest with me”

Shit. Daryl shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ll head out tomorrow…maybe follow the tracks to find’em”

“You think we’ve lost some of them?”

“Honest?”

“Please”

“Probably…” He frowns, relaxing once more when Y/N brought her head to rest on his shoulder. “But hopefully we didn’t…just. Feel bad for losing who we did before we separated”

“Hershel…”

“Mhm…” Daryl continued to carry that frown, even when the beating of his heart grew faster the second Y/N brought herself close resting her hands on his face.

“You know it wasn’t your fault right? None of us could’ve seen that happening”

“Why do yea always know what to say…when I don’t know everythin’ on that beautiful mind of yours?” His confidence spoke through on that last bit but more his honesty. Daryl knows best what it’s like to keep everything inside and not share until he was at his breaking point. But it took her…spending time with her at the CDC…to the farm…and the prison…being able to trust someone he cares for so deeply, that he would hate for the one he loves to not trust him enough to speak up.

But it was more so the words were stuck in the back of her throat as Y/N suddenly felt the tears roll off her cheeks. Causing Daryl to feel a bit of regret when asking that question but he instinctively took her hands into his, squeezing them.

“Y/N…I-I didn’t—-“

“When the prison first got shot at…I was afraid I had lost you right then and there…but when I saw you looking around in the courtyard searching for something, I couldn’t have been happier to know you were alive. I just…couldn’t find the words earlier” Y/N sobs feeling him rub circles with his thumb on the top of her hands bringing her tearful eyes to look. “I can’t sit here without you knowing that—-“

“I know” Daryl interrupts, catching her confused expression that made his face heat up realizing what he was trying to say. “I know how yea feel…cuz I’m the same way…toward yea”

The archer thought his words stunned her but given the way she leaned toward him, he knew to close the space…pressing his lips softly against hers. The first kiss lasted a second, but he didn’t hesitate to go in for another that slowly turned into a more heated moment. Y/N snaked her arms around his neck bringing him close as he gripped onto her thighs.

They parted to catch a breath as Daryl continued to hold her thighs feeling her shift in his touch. He pulls away for a moment only for Y/N to anchor her hands on his broad shoulders bringing her into his lap. Feeling his hands return to her thighs bringing them to her ass pulling her more into him.

“I don’t want to wait anymore, Daryl”

“Take what you want from me, sunshine”

“I just want you” Y/N returned her lips to his feeling his hands bring themselves to the small of her back under her sweater to feel her soft skin. She pulls back once more watching Daryl lean forward to capture her lips once more before pulling her sweater off of her, locking eyes with her waiting for permission. “I’ve always wanted you…so please, have me too”

“Just you. I only ever wanted you” Daryl assures her, bringing his lips back onto hers moving their position to have her laying on the couch and him towering her with her legs wrapping around his torso to keep him there.

The archer couldn’t help himself when bucking his hips in her center to get a small gasp to escape her when they parted. He trailed his lips to her jawline, down her neck leaving a few hickeys that brought out more of her sweet music. Y/N couldn’t help herself but grind up against him to get some friction to fill the need as Daryl couldn’t help but pin her hips to the couch resulting in a whine to escape her lips.

“Daryl…please”

“Please what, sunshine?”

“Please fuck me” Y/N begs not wanting him to pull away but he did such to unbuckle his belt as she followed suit by pulling herself up to get her jeans and panties off that once Daryl got himself out of the confines of his pants, he grabbed the ends of her jeans pulling them off.

Daryl tosses her jeans onto the pile with his pants and her shirt. Next with his boxers and her panties. He pulled her back toward him by her legs hearing her squeak to the action before gluing her attention to the size of his cock when he positioned such to gather some of her slick.

“Fuck…all of this for me?”

“Only you. Always you” Y/N moans, bucking her hips every touch of her sensitive bud from his tip.

His woman…fuck, his woman watches as he positioned himself at her entrance glancing up for any signs of discomfort when he started to push himself in. Fucking tight Daryl grunts leaning forward over her bottoming out in her staying still until she adjusted as she brought her arms around his torso.

“Please move…fuck me, D. Mark me as yours”

“Mmm. You know I will” He growls started to buck his hips thrusting nice and slow at first.

Y/N held onto him feeling him hit that sweet spot instantly making it impossible to keep quiet. She gripped onto the back of his vest when he started to pick up he pace while also bringing his dominant hand to rub circles on her clit. He felt the way she clenched around him that she was getting closer and didn’t tell her not to or anything like that. He wanted to feel all of her for their first time.

“Fuck. Daryl I—“

“Let go sunshine, I’ve gotcha” He grunts hiding his face in the crook of her neck feeling the tugging of his shirt given her reaching climax along with the moan to rip out of her.

Daryl was careful when reaching his own feeling her legs wrap around his torso for him to hit that sweet spot with his thrusts. The second he felt he was close to release, he pulled out and came on her stomach. He hovered above her panting with her as she releases her death grip on his vest bringing her fingers to her stomach taking some of his cum and bringing it to her mouth. She locked eyes with him while tasting his release resulting in a satisfied hum from her and a groan from him.

“You tryin’ to rile me up?”

“Mhm…”

After cleaning up and getting re-dressed, Daryl got up for a second to grab the blanket from the opposite couch bringing it over to theirs. Y/N, the second the archer sat down, brought herself to lay on him making him move her for a second to bring his legs onto the couch. She pulled herself up more so that she could rest her head in his chest feeling the blanket drape over her and Daryl wrap his arms around her.

“You should get some sleep”

“It’s barricaded. You can sleep too D” Y/N looks up at him smiling when he kissed her forehead.

“Fine, sunshine. Then we can look for the others in the morning”

That was the plan and they started by following the tracks in hope for any sign. Daryl was already protective of Y/N and vise versa…now it was a bit more intense when they know how the other felt.

Daryl suddenly brought Y/N close when he heard something. That something being footsteps that only grew from one pair to six as this unknown group made themselves known and surrounded the two. Causing the archer to ready his crossbow and his partner to reach for her gun.

“Now now. You two look lost”

Silence

“Hm. Well…we ain’t here to make trouble of any kind” the one that was obviously their leader didn’t take long to make himself known. “Just wondering somethin’”

“We ain’t gonna make trouble. Just leave us be” Daryl states covering Y/N as she suddenly jerks forward when a hand smacked her behind.

“Damn got a nice piece of meat with yea. Mind if I—-“ Suddenly the man that spoke met the other end of Daryl’s bolt as he didn’t hesitate to take him out for touching Y/N. That didn’t sit well with the group as the others suddenly raised their weapons pointing to the archer.

But the leader told the group to lower their weapons and back away as he draws closer.

“Gentlemen…we know what’s ours and what isn’t. Len here clearly couldn’t tell by the marks she’s got that she’s been claimed. Don’t poke the bear alright?” He laughs shortly after saying such. “Names Joe…and we’re looking for somebody and given by the looks yall carried before we jumped yea, that you were also looking for some people”

“What do you want” Y/N frowns feeling Daryl suddenly take her hand squeezing in but also directing her out of the stranger’s line of sight.

“You help us find our guy, we help yea find yours. We’ll protect each other as long as you follow our rules”

“Which are what?”

“Whenever somebody sees something they like and yells “claimed” it’s theirs. Be lucky we didn’t let Len take your woman by those standard form of rules…now do we gotta deal or what”

They didn’t want to at first. But it would be a bit easier finding the others in larger groups. More people to cover bigger areas.

But being the only woman full of men brought on a lot of staring, even if your heart already belongs to someone and in their terms you already belong to someone.

“I don’t have a good feel about this D…” Y/N whispers bringing herself as close as possible to Daryl as he noticed the two Harley and Billy were looking at her until he locked eyes with them.

“I don’t either…but I’ll keep yea safe, and the second there’s a window. We’re booking it” Daryl whispers to Y/N resting his forehead against hers.

But that window was finding Rick, Michonne, and Carl on the road…and little did they know that Rick was the one that killed one of their own.

“Joe. Don’t do this. These are good people” Daryl made himself present to the situation as Y/N was trying to figure out a plan that didn’t hurt anybody. But that was never going to happen.

“See…now that’s where you’re a liar” and that triggered another Claimer to suddenly grab Daryl forcing him against the car and starting to beat up on him.

Rick was about to say something when suddenly Y/N came out from the tree line about to grab onto the claimer when another, Harley, grabbed her and forced her to the ground pinning her. That action on top of another claimer Dan, pulling Carl out of the car preparing to do the worse. Triggered Rick to do the unthinkable by killing Joe by ripping out his jugular with his teeth stunning the remaining claimers to give the window they needed. Michonne killed Tony without a second thought and made a beeline for Carl shoving Dan off of him. While Daryl got a hold of the claimer’s neck and snapping it before taking his machete and striking the one lunging for him. Then suddenly stabbing right through the head of the one that was strangling Y/N.

As Y/N shoves the body off of her coughing like crazy, Daryl dropped to his knees tossing the machete out of his hands to hold her face getting her to focus on him and focus on her breathing.

“I’ve gotcha. You’re okay. Just take a deep breath” He said repeatedly until she did as she tries to pull herself up to hold him but he got the idea and instantly brought her into his arms gripping onto her for dear life. “I’ve gotcha sunshine…we’re okay”

“We’re okay” She repeats through tears holding him and looking back to see Rick holding onto his son. Y/N sighs from relief that they didn’t lose any of their own.

The morning came a few hours later with Michonne resting in the car with Carl sleeping on her. Rick took a breather with Daryl sitting beside him and Y/N keeping a look out.

“We didn’t…we didn’t trust’em. And were gonna leave but thank god we didn’t.”

“You came at the right time. Granted. You didn’t need to get beaten in the process. Scared the fuck outta Y/N…didn’t know y’all were close like that”

Daryl looks over in a protective manner seeing Y/N is perfectly fine in that moment as he turns back to his brother.

“Takes time to find your person”

[reigningqueenofwords]

Let Me Prove You Wrong

Pairing: Sam x plus size!reader Word count: 1,498

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex Request: Anonymous. Hello! I’m in a Sam mood. Dean gets laid alot and I would like something where the reader is kinda chubby but adorable and dean leaves with some girl from the bar and she notices Sam is annoyed by it. She thinks she’s unloveable even though she hasn’t told anyone and tries to cheer Sam up by going home and playing some board games. It ends up taking an sexy turn as Sam is interested in her but she doesn’t see it because she thinks she’s unloveable. She admits it to Sam and he proves her wrong.

Read on AO3

Sam rolled his eyes as he watched his brother leave with some bottle blonde. “Whatever.” He mumbled. Shaking his head, he downed the rest of his beer.

You were on the way back from the bathroom when you saw his face. Sam was the brother you had a thing for, not that you’d ever say anything. He had the body of perfection. You? Not so much. Once you reached the table, you smiled at him. “Come on.”

“What?” He glanced up at you.

“I say we go home and break out the board games.” You had some under your bed that never got used. Between hunting, and Dean…they collected dust.

That dimpled grin made it’s appearance before he got up. Sam loved spending time with you, it didn’t matter what the pair of you were doing. You’d been hunting with the boys a couple years now, and sometime along the way, he’d fallen for you.

And kept his mouth shut.

He figured it was safer that way, and he didn’t think you were interested in him. So, he suffered in silence, taking your friendship and being happy with just that.

“Go get snacks, Sammy. I’ll get the games.” You smiled up at him before turning towards the hall.

He watched you with longing for a moment before letting out a soft sigh and heading towards the kitchen. He knew all your favorite snacks, and figured he’d grab those first.snacks, and figured he’d grab those first.

“Dude!” You groaned. “Again?!” You didn’t understand how every time you played Monopoly, Sam got the best properties. You didn’t land on them once until he’d bought them.

He laughed, causing you to push him lightly. “You might as well just give me all your money now, Y/N/N.” He held out his hand.

Glaring at him playfully, you stuck your tongue out at him. “Nope. Not happening. One of these days I will be victorious!”

That made him laugh even harder. “We’ve played this how many times in two years and you have yet to beat me?”

“Shut up, Sammy.”

After he slaughtered you in Monopoly, you grabbed Clue. “Harry Potter edition!” You grinned.

“You want to play Clue with a hunter?” He smirked.

“I’m a hunter, too!” You pointed out as you set it out on the table. “And…it’s Harry Potter. Shush.” You were looking down as you pulled everything out, so you didn’t see the look he gave you. He loved how excited you got over things like this, and how your face lit up. “Who do you want to be?” You asked, looking up with a smile.

He shrugged. “I’ll be Ron.”

“I’ll be Luna.”

“I think you’re more of a Hermione.”

You blushed, handing out the house point tokens. “This is supposed to be played with more than two people, so we can always fudge the rules a bit.”

By the time you made it through Clue, and Sorry!, you were both somewhat sore from sitting. “Hey, I didn’t know you had Twister.” He grinned, grabbing it out of your box of games.

You shook your head and blushed. “That’s, uh, because I don’t play it.”

“I can tell. It’s still in it’s plastic.” He pointed out. “Why don’t we give it a shot?”

“No, it’s getting late, Sammy.” You lied.

He moved a bit closer. “I’d like to get tangled up with you, though.”

You stared at him, not sure what was going on with him. People didn’t look at you like…that. “Uh, what?” You asked.

“I’d like to play Twister with you, get tangled up with you, and see if maybe we can move on to other types of…‘Twister’ after.”

By now, your face felt like it was on fire. Literally. It was burning up. You shook your head. “No, Sammy. I-” Tears welled in your eyes. “I’m not the type of girl that guys fawn over, lust after, or fall in love with.” Grabbing your games, you started to pack up, Sam staring at you in shock. “It’s okay, Sam. I know that you’re just annoyed that Dean left with that bar skank.”

That did it for Sam. He took the box from your hands and made you face him. His hands cupped your face as he kissed you deeply. Your hands gripped his hips. “I love you, Y/N.” His breath hit your face. “I’ve loved you for a long time.”

“Sam, I’m not someone who’s lovable.” You told him quietly.

“Let me prove you wrong.” His hazel eyes locked with yours. “In any way I can. In every way I can.” You blinked, causing a tear to fall. Without hesitating, he gently licked up the tear. “Let me make love to you, let me make you breakfast in bed, make your coffee just the way you like it, make you mad when I leave a wet towel somewhere. Let me prove it.”

Something in you made you nod. Made you want to let him try. If anyone made you feel safe, it was Sam. “Okay.” You told him with a small smile.

Grinning, his hands slowly moved down your body to your thighs, surprising you when he was able to lift you, causing you to squeal slightly. “My room, or yours?” He chuckled.

Your arms were around his neck as he held you up. “Yours.”

Sam had placed you gently on his bed, his lips brushing down your neck. His hands pushed up your shirt, your bodies moving apart just long enough for him to pull it off of you. He rolled his hips as he laid between your legs. You felt the obvious bulge in his jeans. “That’s all for you, baby girl.” He groaned in your ear.

Your hands pulled his shirt up, feeling the tiniest bit brave at the moment. He grinned when his bare skin touched yours. Reaching behind you, he unhooked your bra, and you knew that was from practice. It joined your shirt elsewhere in his room, forgotten.

He moved down your body, worshiping your breasts. His tongue flicked against your nipples, making you whimper. Watching your face, he smirked when he sucked on one side, and then the other. “I can’t wait to hear you.”

Biting your lip, you watched as he kissed down your stomach, not the least bit bothered. You were chubby, you knew that. It was why you didn’t view yourself as lovable. You were nervous, but trying to push that down. His hands undid your jeans and pulled them down, taking your underwear with them.

“Sammy…” You breathed as he moved to lay between your legs.

He grinned at you. “I got you, baby girl.”

Before he let you reply, his face was buried between your legs. His tongue was moving against your clit, his hands gripping your thighs. Having someone go down on you wasn’t something you’d ever been a fan of. Until now. Sam growled against your soaking pussy, devouring you. You gripped his hair, your hips rolling slightly. Feeling him suck on your clit, you cried out for him. Your legs were shaking as he slowed down.

He crawled up your body, his eyes meeting yours. “Make love to me, Sammy.” You breathed.

“Anytime.” He smirked, getting out of bed long enough to strip the rest of the way.

His erection sprang free from the confines of his clothes and you inhaled. Even his cock was perfect. How was that even possible?

Sam settled between your legs, smiling down at you. “Are you sure?” He asked you gently.

Cupping his face with your hands, you pulled him in for a loving kiss. “I’m sure, Sammy.” You grinned.  

His lips moved against yours as he rolled his hips forward. You moaned into his mouth, your hands moving to grip his shoulders. As he rocked his hips, his lips moved to your neck. His touches were feather light almost, but held such love. His hand moved down your side to grip your ass, his thrusts becoming harder. “God, you feel so good.” He groaned, his forehead on your shoulder.

“Sammy!” You gasped as he changed the angle.

Moving to look at you, his eyes locked with yours. “I love you.”

It seemed to click for you more than ever that Sam fucking Winchester loved you. “I love you, too.” You breathed, smiling at him.

His face lit up before his lips captured yours. His hand went from your ass to grip the top of his headboard. “Sam!” You cried out as he slammed into you, his groans making you throb. “Fuck!” Clenching around him, your fingers dug into his skin.

He growled against you, close to cumming himself. Finally, he thrust into you one last time, moving to hold you tight. He chuckled as he buried his face in your neck.

“What?” You asked, still smiling.

“Who thought playing board games could lead to me finally telling you how I feel? Let alone fucking you?”

[only-lonely-stars]

ERROR: Remove Incompatible Software

Oneshot – (FFN) (AO3)

Summary:

After the loss of Nya, everyone in the Monastery is grieving. While Pixal has found a constructive outlet, not everyone has done the same. Meanwhile, Zane makes a choice that he may come to regret. (Set between Seabound and Crystallized.)

Pixal sighed, setting down her tools for the first time in three hours. She'd been working tirelessly in the Monastery's garages, just as a Nindroid would. The enormous projects the Ninja requested wouldn't build themselves, and while she always grossly exaggerated the time necessary for construction, she usually worked on tight tolerances.

Even tireless Nindroids need a break.

After a moment, she stretched, listening to her joints grind from a lack of grease. All the lubricant in her joints had worn away while she worked over the past few days. She'd need to add more before her next working session in order to prevent rust and abrasion. Maybe Zane would help her reach the hard-to-access paneling– he always had before.

Zane…

He hadn't come down to the garage in weeks. It was silly of her to miss him so much, but it felt like he was gone. Zane knew that she spent nearly all day, every day, down in the garages building the equipment the Ninja needed. Usually he would join her when he was able, but not anymore. Now he refused to enter any space that bore signs of Nya's former presence. He had exiled himself to his own room, it seemed, and wouldn't budge for anyone.

Not even for her.

Pixal sighed again. There was nothing to be gained by missing him. She would simply have to go upstairs and find him if she wanted his company.

These days, going upstairs to the Monastery felt like entering a different world. No longer was Pixal safe in her garage, filled with tools and metal and things to tinker with. No longer did she have a gentle reminder of Nya everywhere she looked– she had to deal with the mess of six grieving men, along with all of the things they neglected. Every memory of Nya was hidden by a layer of neglect and tears. The picture frames hadn't been dusted in weeks.

Jay was long gone. Kai was planning on leaving…

It was only a moment of time until Pixal was left alone permanently. Was that her fear speaking for her?

Whatever it was, Pixal did not know. She stepped over an old pile of gaming equipment that hadn't been touched in weeks and made her way along the familiar path to Zane's bedroom door.

After a brief pause to collect herself, Pixal knocked on Zane's door.

No response came.

She knocked again, and this time she heard Zane's voice. "Come in, Pixal."

The flat tone of his voice struck her as being odd, and Pixal filed away the concern in her random access memory for later usage. She opened the door to see Zane standing in front of a mirror, his chest compartment open as he looked into it.

"Zane?" Pixal closed the door behind her. She folded her hands and came to stand next to him. "What are you doing?"

"I am examining my construction," Zane said quietly, eyes fixed on the mirror. He was staring at his internal components, eyes grazing over the wires and switches. "What is it you need, dear?"

"I was wondering where you were." Pixal frowned. "What are you looking for?"

"My emotion meter." Zane sighed, tapping a finger against the metallic piece in question. "Given that I no longer have a memory switch, this is the closest I can get to forgetting recent events."

Alarms began to sound in Pixal's interface, but she silenced them and rested a hand on Zane's arm. She gently removed his hand from his emotion meter, holding it in her own hand. "Is that relevant at the moment? What is wrong?"

Zane was quiet. "Pixal… are you grieving Nya as I am?"

She frowned again. "Of course I am. She was my friend too."

"Yes. She was." He hung his head. "How selfish of me to think I am the only one grieving."

"Zane, do not be so hard on yourself."

"Why not?" He looked at her now, pain written across his face. "I do not have the right to hurt so much over this!"

"What? Who told you that?" Pixal seized his hand. "Zane, that is not true. Nya was your sister too! You have every right to grieve. So many bad things have happened recently, Zane."

"Then I am even worse." Zane looked away, eyes closed tightly. "I cannot withstand this, Pixal. This grief too much to bear."

"Of course you can. Ninja never quit, Zane. You never give up."

"I have already given up, Pixal." He shook his head. "And I am sorry."

"Sorry for what? Have you done something wrong?"

"No. I am only about to do something wrong."

"Then stop!" She reached up to take his face and make him look at her, but he refused her touch. "Zane, what are you planning on doing?" She pleaded, touching his cheek. "Please, do not shut me out."

Zane took a long time to respond– fifteen seconds and thirty-seven milliseconds, as her interface unhelpfully displayed. "I want to turn off my emotion meter."

"What?!" Pixal exclaimed, finally being rewarded by Zane looking at her in alarm and shame. "Zane, you cannot do that!"

He sighed, looking incredibly tired… and more alarming still, afraid. "Pixal, I'm ready. I backed up every one of my files twice. I can't withstand this hurt."

"But you must process your emotions! You cannot ignore them or force yourself to forget!"

"It is not ignoring them if I do not feel them!" Zane snapped. "Pixal, I am suffering more than I can explain! I can't keep feeling this!"

"And do you not think I understand? Do you think I don't know how you feel?!" She glared at him. "Zane Julien, I was there when you died! I watched you sacrifice yourself and freeze the whole city! I was the only one who knew you survived for months! Do you think I do not know loss?!"

Zane shrank away. "Of course not! I am simply saying that this is the breaking point."

"Or you are being selfish, and fearful too." She prodded him in the chest. "Zane, you are a ninja and a nindroid. Neither are cowards."

He took her hand by the wrist and moved it away, stepping back. "You don't understand."

"Oh, I understand perfectly! You don't want to process these emotions. You want to stuff them away, like every other time." She crossed her arms. "I may love you, Zane, but I can't listen to this nonsense. Do you even hear yourself?"

"Do you even hear me?!" Zane accused.

"Of course I do, and I hear nonsense." She shook her head. "You're making a mistake."

"Maybe you think it is. After some time, when I am able to process my emotions, I will turn them back on." He reached for his emotion meter. "For now, I must abide by rational thinking."

Pixal turned her face away, too angry to watch him flip the switch. "Then this is the end of us, isn't it? All because of one small choice."

"I don't want to do it." His voice was small, scared. "I just want to stop hurting."

She closed her eyes tightly. "This won't help. All you'll do is hurt more later."

"I don't know what else to do."

"So you resort to something only we Nindroids can do, just to stop the pain?"

She didn't get a response for another seventeen seconds and ninety-eight milliseconds.

Zane spoke, his voice was flat and emotionless. "I am a Nindroid. It is logical to take advantage of my many dissimilarities to organic beings."

The emotionless tone of Zane's voice made Pixal close her eyes even more tightly. She fought back tears of sorrow and anger, but she could feel them building in her artificial eyes. "You turned off your emotion meter."

"I did."

She took a deep, mechanical breath and looked at him. "Then you cannot even love me, can you? You cannot feel."

Zane looked at her with a blank expression– eyes dark, brows straight, mouth only moving to speak. He had never looked more robotic. "My opinion of you has not changed."

"Your opinion. But you can't feel love." She closed her eyes, turning away again. "Do you understand what you have done?"

"I have made it so that I can no longer feel emotions," Zane noted robotically.

"No. Not that." She shook her head, looking at him through her tears. "You've ended our relationship. I won't stand by this. Until your emotion meter is back on, we are through."

Zane didn't react. "I see."

She shook her head, ready to burst into tears. "I can't even look at you."

"I am sorry to hear that."

"You're not sorry at all!"

"I am using common colloquial speech intended for expressing sympathy."

"I don't want your sympathy! I want you to understand me." Pixal turned around fully, making her way to the door and opening it without hesitation. "I hope you have the presence of mind to understand that I am angry."

"Yes. Perhaps a cold shower will be of assistance."

"I'll be in the garage."

No response came. Pixal exited Zane's door and closed the door behind herself.

Pixal stalked the whole way back to the garage, anger radiating through every part of her mechanical body. She shut off her tear producers until she reached the garages. She went to her nook– a corner filled with old blankets and pillows that radiated safety to her.

Only then did Pixal cry, and cry she did.

The only being with whom she could ever be compatible was gone. An uncaring robot stood in his place. She'd lost the love of her life, and worse, he couldn't even feel sorry about it.

She was left alone with her emotions now. No one would care. No one would come. Until Zane came to his senses, she didn't even have him.

Pixal had every right to be angry, but all she could do was sob.

[st4rgzer]

Can you write a about the reader loving Matt sm but knowing he doesn’t like her back. Liek don’t have a super happy ending but also don’t have a super sad one. Do it inspired by me and …

UNREQUITED (matt sturniolo)

summary: the reader experiences some unresponsive feelings from a special someone

genre: angst

cw: taylor swift references maybe…? Is that a warning? Other than that I really don’t think theres much

a/n: as always, @iha8you ‘s request, ly, also dw you’ll get him🙏

This winter had been hell for me, it was always my favorite holiday, the cool air, snow, when it rained and I got to stay home playing boardgames with my mum, or I finally got to read that book that had been collecting dust on my shelf for ages now that it was dark and rainy. No, none of it this year. Every time I hung out with him I held my breath, in fear I’ll do something wrong, take too much space, become too much of a liability. Its stupid, just stupid, I’m his best friend, known him since i was 16 years old, but he seemed so much more older, and wiser.I belittle myself next to him, instead of just letting go, I take a mental note of every little gesture he does that correlates in any way to me, every choice of words, I save them to then divulge them later. It’s draining, not knowing if its just all in your head. If you’ve got it wrong…

“y/n? Hellooo, are you there” i snapped out of my meditative state.I was cross legged on my bedroom floor with two of my closest friends, I didnt even remember what we were talking about anymore.

“yeah sorry i was just distracted” I sighed tying my hair back into a low ponytail and resting my hands on my knees

“we were talking about Matt? Y’know you actually have a chance with him, did you see the way he talked to you earlier?” My friends were only feeding into my delusions, the other nodded in agreement. Even if he did actually see me like that, i dont know what i would do, we’ve been friends since highschool, everything would just be too weird and messy, it wouldn’t be right, no, not with me, not with him.

“No, guys, stop, you’re all just talking nonsense and it just makes everything worse” I groaned, placing my head between my hands.

“C’mon, who could ever leave you?” She says giggling, looking over at my other friend, it wasn’t funny, not in that moment at least. I felt despaired, I know it’s obvious I like him, maybe no one actually takes it seriously when i throw in some extra compliments once in a while of some flirty remarks, but I never try to hide it, except the real thing of course. I know my love should be celebrated, I shouldn’t settle for someone who just tolerates it, but I keep going back to the same thing, always, no matter how many people I see, no matter how many excuses I make to not hang out, its like a moth to a flame, I know im bound to get burnt, trust me. My friends keep convincing me, I feel petty having to listen to them try and make me feel better. Sometimes I come close to actually getting serious then I just think its a waste of time, he just always assumes im fine when my eye contact becomes non existent and my words get mixed up, I dont think he notices it at least, I dont think he ever notices. I guess this means im just doomed, It doesn’t matter how many times my friends reassure me, how many “glances” i pick up from him, Im never going to be one of his main concerns, unrequited. Im always just dimly lit, just enough. I should start trying to accept, settle, “always the bridesmaid, never the bride”.

a/n: this is kind of sht i wrote this at 1:00am, I’ll write more with requests🙏😊😊

[millenianthemums]

i can’t sleep because i keep thinking about this one short story collection i read as a kid… maybe one of you out there knows what it is

i don’t remember the title, author, or cover design, but it was a collection of short stories for a younger audience themed around aliens and UFO encounters. it was very lighthearted and pro-alien, which was why i loved it so much. i was always hunting for any alien media i could find as a kid, but most of it didn’t hit the spot because the aliens were supposed to be scary, and i was the opposite of scared of aliens. i felt like this author really understood me, the friendless tween who LOVED sci-fi and aliens, and believed on some level that the real reason he didn’t connect with others was because he wasn’t actually human, and one day his benevolent alien peers would come whisk him away to space and save him from his shitty life on earth. turns out i was just autistic. but still.

the story i REALLY want to find was about a woman who receives a signal from aliens saying that they were searching for humans who were unhappy or alone on earth, offering to take them to their planet where they can be happy and understood. so she follows the clues they gave and meets up with like 10-20 other desperately lonely people who are following the same signal, and they all search together and eventually find the ship. but the aliens see how many people came and say “we’re sorry, we can’t take all of you, and it would be wrong to just take some and leave the rest behind. so we’ll have to leave all of you here.” and the humans are really upset, begging the aliens not to leave them alone, but the aliens say “you’re not alone.” and the humans realize they had found the community they needed in each other.

it should go without saying that this story DESTROYED me. if i had gotten a signal like that from aliens at the time in my life when i read that book, i would have left a dust cloud behind me SPRINTING to that spaceship. i also probably would have jumped and grabbed the hull and refused to let go if they tried to leave without me. i was like 12. anyway, i really wanna find that book. mostly because i remember thinking that author really GOT it, in a way that nobody else i ever talked to about aliens seemed to, and i wanna know how they’re doing

[jojotier]

i'll be real with you nothing has radicalized me quite like the experience of seeing les mis live. and not bc of the themes of the show or anything, because like, les mis is an excellent show don't get me wrong, but just metanarratively.

because walking to my cheap ass seat in the theatre i was jostled by assholes in full tuxedos, heard derisive sniffs from ladies with pearls around their necks, overheard a dozen conversations about what new overpriced restaurant just opened up in the city. I'm only lucky that the cheap seats were filled with people like me- younger, not necessarily white and not necessarily ultra-wealthy- who could ease the atmosphere.

the show itself was beautiful. i dont think i'll ever forget that particular Valjean's rendition of 'bring me home'- it was the highest, most perfectly angelic version i've ever known. the rebels at the barricades touched my heart because there I could see in them myself and those i knew- artists and dreamers, who still wanted to do better, to make sure everyone up top did better.

the end always rubs me a bit the wrong way. Marius just gets to go back to living in relative wealth and prosperity while all his lower-class friends are dead and gone; perhaps he'll do good beyond the end of the show, but we'll never see it. in terms of the show itself, it rubs me the wrong way, but i don't hold it against the show either- it's likely a result of the source material and the time in which the show was written.

but even so, despite that, as i stood with the rest of the crowd for a standing ovation, it was impossible to ignore how that effected the audience. because as i filed my way out of the theatre, those same rich patrons from the best seats with their furs around their necks and drink laden in their voices, were wiping teary eyes and gushing about how wonderfully brave those rebels were, how tragic their deaths, how it was simply the most marvelous show.

all the while, keeping a mistrustful eye on the poor tranny in somewhat ill-fitting clothes, dressed sunday best but no better. wondering in whispers whether they just let anybody in. because certainly, they loved every character on stage. they felt enjorlas' death as though their own damned child's. but the moment Marius can go back his life of refinement, so can they- they can dust off their gloves and gossip about the newest Manolo Blannik collection. they were more than happy to leave the barricade behind.

i don't have that luxury. the barricade lives within the walls of this house, lucky as i am to live in one. it only takes one fire. one hail of shrapnel. it takes one storm to blow everything i am trying to one day have away. if only i were some abstract concept, maybe they could spare an ounce of pity; if they had no choice but to watch me from beyond the veil. but i dared to occupy the same space as they, and it was an injustice that easily outweighed their cursory sympathy.

never before had it been cemented just how much of a different world the truly rich live in. it took me months of saving for a lone ticket and nothing else; for them, it would have merely been a drop in the bucket to have the best seats, the best wine, the best clothes, all to make a spectacle of watching poor people die.

and isn't that the greatest irony? les miserables is a story about poor men trying to either cheat the system which is rigged against them or abolish it for something for everyone, and yet, it attracts the wealthiest as flies to honey. never once do they question themselves. never once do they question the system. if they had that introspection, they still wouldn't do a damn thing about it.

after all- what's more entertaining to the rich than watching the unworthy masses struggle to matter in a system oiled only by their blood?

[sol-saggitarius]

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞...

❝ I got so used to your presence that the mere second you’re gone, it turns my world completely upside down. ❞  

Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 775

Warnings: None!

Author Note: Hello hello! This is one of my first fics I’m posting on Tumblr. I’m slightly nervous haha.. But nonetheless this is a sampler for how I write and I hope you enjoy and come back for more! I’ll be posting two more sampler fics in the near future so look forward to it.

Synopsis: Ever since you two have met, you’ve always been around him. But then suddenly one day you don’t greet him as per usual.

Love was never part of the equation of the life that Leona had thought for himself. All he ever wanted was a peaceful life of rest and relaxation. A life away from his repressed emotions, between his school life and the life he had back home. Just a simple life of resting under the beautiful midday rays of sunshine. 

One fateful day, as some would put it, you had clumsily tripped over his tail. An unfortunate accident of course, but he still felt the pain no less. His low growl pierced your core as you apologized, hoping that at the very least he'd ask you to just leave him alone. As with your luck, you happened to be running late and in a hurry. As if he were reading your mind, he just sighed and shooed you off like dust on his clothing, albeit he was still quite irritated. Nonetheless he was (mostly) back to his peaceful nap and that was all that mattered to him.

As time went on though, he found himself always running into you. Whether it was in the hallways, maybe some of his classes, trouble with some of his dorm mates, or even just you coming around and saying hi, you were almost always there. It became a regular event at one point. He expected you to show up in one way or another, that was a given to him. But then one day, you just stopped. Never in his life had he felt that sharp pain in his chest, like a needle being put into a pin cushion. This miniscule action has completely flipped his routine upside down. Ruggie was run ragged trying to get Leona out of bed and even more ragged when he was trying every move in the book to make sure Leona didn't stay back again. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he asked Leona why he was sulking like a depressed housecat. To that, Leona became defensive and stated he just felt more irritated than usual and he didn’t know why, which wasn't out of the norm. Somehow Ruggie knew this was a lie. Whether Leona knew it or not. Being by Leona’s side had given Ruggie a third person perspective onto the things that tend to occur around the lion prince. One of those things was of course, you. He saw you everyday having a little one sided chat with Leona, a simple “hello!” or “how are you?” followed by a “humph”or “buzz off”, to which you always responded with a small chuckle and then a goodbye, and just like that you were on your way to repeat that same thing the very next day. Recently he's noticed you haven't shown your face at all within Leona’s vicinity. Was he upset about you not coming to greet him? How could that be with the way he responded to you? Who really knew. All Ruggie knew was that he HAD to figure out what was going wrong. Otherwise he'd be stuck with a sulking Leona for whoever knows how long. 

That very afternoon, with a little digging and intel collection, he had found you. Lately you’ve been bogged down by schoolwork. No wonder you never came by, it seemed excruciating. But his mission was more important than your work. Ruggie approaches you with a casual smile and his hands resting on the back of his head. He tells you that there's an emergency in Savanaclaw and he needed specifically YOUR help. Without much room to argue he takes you to Savanaclaw and then leads you to a sulking Leona. Upon seeing your face however, the ever stoic lion's eyes light up. Though it was extremely hard to notice. You question Ruggie but as soon as you turned around he was gone. Long gone. You awkwardly stood there, fiddling with the sleeves of your NRC uniform jacket. You asked Leona if he was going to say anything, or even tell you what this so-called "emergency" was, but he was silent. His predatory gaze closing in on you. The silence lasted only a few more excruciatingly long seconds until he asks, borderline pouts, why you haven't come to annoy him lately. To which you respond honestly and say that your school work has taken most of your time. He clicks his tongue and states, moreso demands, that if you needed help with the work that he'd begrudgingly help you. Without room to speak he then dismisses you to go get your work and bring it back to his room. As you left, below his breath he mumbled,

"I just missed you, you damn herbivore."

[nexus-my-beloved]

Little Destiel thoughts.

I like to think from time to time about how Dean and Cas kissing would go for the first time. I'm sure most people might say that it would be a spur of the moment decision on Dean's part or that he'd be confident or it'd be a rougher kiss or just-this-side of sexual, almost. But I don't think that's right.

Cas has been one of the few constants in Dean's life. A life of people on the road he'd kiss, fuck, never see again or maybe just once or twice— a place to stay at if he got stranded, a face to get off to, maybe, but more often than not it's a phone number that sits in an address book and collects dust, one that gets forgotten along with the person's name and face. A life of family that left, a dead mother and a deadbeat and dead father, a brother he'd argue and fight with that would head off sometimes away from Dean and leave him on his own. A father figure who died when Dean needed him, then the ghost of him he was forced to put to rest. Cas is the main thing in his life, something precious, fragile, and as rude as Dean could be and as hard he could be to be near, he wouldn't want to lose him. He wouldn't want to push Cas away. And because of that, anything he initiated wouldn't be rough or fast to start off.

I think that when they'd kiss for the first time, it'd be soft, gentle, slow and uneasy and careful for the slightest thought of something going wrong. And I think Cas would start it.

Cas watched humans forever, tried to learn how they were and understand how they worked and be like them. He would watch movies and soap operas, and, as random as it was, he'd watch porn, just to understand people. He'd probably read books about people falling in love and try to understand it and he'd look for those emotions in Dean's actions, try to see each example of human things in Dean, would look to see if Dean felt love the way he did. He'd take note of each stare, take note of each smile, look closer at the tape of Led Zeppelin music and realize it as a gift of affection. He'd notice the way Dean might cuddle closer when they'd watch movies on his laptop, would notice the way Dean might make an excuse to have them both under the same blanket, but he wouldn't press when he knew it was something that wasn't necessary.

Cas would recognize his own feelings, would know his emotions but he wouldn't say something until he was sure that Dean felt the same. And once he was sure, he'd make that last step.

A night when they're watching a movie; some random plot that'd been done a million times before but they watched it because it had one of Dean's celebrity crushes in it. Some random point in the movie, someone is having a heartfelt conversation with someone, but Dean stops paying attention when he notices Castiel’s eyes on him rather than the laptop screen. The volume gets turned down, and Dean looks back to Castiel, opening his mouth in a question before he's cut off by his own conscience.

"What's up, Cas?" Dean asks around the sudden dryness in his throat, and Castiel wants to soothe every ounce of anxiety that Dean is feeling, able to hear it in his voice.

Dean wouldn't be the one to lean in. Cas would. Cas would be the one to move forward, to cup Dean's face in his hand like he'd seen in so many movies and read on so many pages. Cas would be the one to hold Dean like he was made of glass, to move forward until he could feel Dean's breath on his lips and pause for a moment to ensure it was alright. Cas would be the one to wait for Dean's hands to rest on his chest or on his lap over the blanket, to wait until Dean's eyes fell closed. He would wait until then before he leaned in the rest of the way, kissing Dean so gentle it might almost have been a dream, feather-light and careful. He would be the one to allow Dean the tenderness he deserved for the first time in his life, and would be the one to brush his thumb across Dean's cheek and not mind the stubble that was there.

When they'd pull away, Cas would be the first one to say it with no expectations for a response, without any future ridicule of it being hard to reciprocate with the life they lived, to allow the words to so easily tumble from his lips in a whispered confession: "I love you."

Dean would stumble over his words and stutter, trying to respond, and Cas would press the tip of his thumb to Dean's lower lip and shake his head softly. "You don't have to say it back. I know," Cas would promise, knowing the truth and knowing how hard it was for Dean to say those words.

Cas would be the one to treat Dean so gently, the one to initiate it, and while Dean might ask the first official date or something, Cas was the one to start it all. I know all of you might think Dean would start it, with his history and all, but I think Cas would.

[inafieldofdaisies]

WIP Wednesday | Tagged by @thesingularityseries ❤️

I'm checking in with another snippet from Chapter 2 of John and Sabrina's AU where he goes (or more like tries) to visit his client in prison while she is doing her best to minimize their encounter. Leslie ain't buying it. ❤️

John stared at the endless field in front of him, checking his watch on instinct for probably the millionth time as his driver let out a string of hushed curses while he changed the flat tire the car got somewhere on Interstate 5. An irrational part of him felt like vaulting over the fence that separated the highway from the surrounding land and simply… walking off. Wondered how it would feel to be in the middle of nowhere, in a place where nobody would be around to hear the angry outburst he fought to keep under control. After messing up and texting Sabrina by mistake, he had eventually gotten dressed, dragged himself down to the lobby to report the broken shower in his room and ask for them to arrange a car for him. The man at the reception desk had been less welcoming and helpful than the woman that had checked him in, telling him that he would send someone over to fix the issue without being able to give him an answer as to when. On top of that headache, he had spent the next 30 minutes waiting for his driver to show up in front of the hotel, the delay making him wish he had his own car there so he wasn't at the mercy of others. Thanks to that now even after leaving early to make sure he would have enough time to travel to the State Penitentiary, he was tethering on the edge of being late, stuck halfway across his destination.

"Almost done, sir.", the younger man announced behind him, "We'd be back on the road in a jiffy." A couple of minutes later he finally walked around the car, still dusting off his pants from kneeling down on the ground and signaled for John they were ready to leave. "So…", the man started in an attempt to break the ice as he climbed in the backseat and pointed his gaze out of the window again, "Who are you visiting in OSP?" "I'm not at liberty to talk about that.", John retorted quickly and pulled out his phone, hoping he would appear busy so the man would give up on the small talk. It was for that same reason he hadn't made an effort to even ask about his name. He had no doubt if he was to say he was representing Nathaniel Mooney that the driver would be tempted to abandon him on the side of the road after calling him any awful word available in his dictionary. He avoided the man's curious stare in the rearview mirror, keeping his eyes glued to his phone screen as he opened Sabrina's last message. Don't text her anything else. Don't. It's just going to make everything worse. But his fingers had other ideas, already typing up a text.

John: I'm sorry about earlier.

Minutes passed where the driver whistled along to "Only You" as it played on the radio, and where no answer came through from Sabrina. She's at work, probably busy. Do I even care if she's taken the text meant for Penny the wrong way? I don't. Yes, I don't. Yet the giddiness he felt when his phone finally chirped with a message told him otherwise.

Sabrina: How's your day? Any more criminals posing as drivers?

John: No, but I am meeting with an alleged criminal in a couple of minutes. So, pray, I don't get stabbed.

Sabrina: Now you have me worried… just keep an eye on him and make sure any sharp objects are out of his reach.

John: You're saying I can't show him my collection of knives?

Sabrina: Essentially. And let me know you've made it out alive, I guess.

A smile broke free at her replies and the fact she seemed unbothered by what had happened. They gave him hope he still had a chance. A chance for what? "We're here, sir.", the driver said, making him realize the rest of his drive had passed in a haze, all thanks to her, "Welcome to Salem." John looked his watch, "And on time, thank you." "Of course. I will be waiting to drive you back to Portland." He exited the car after giving him a nod, leaving him to wait in the parking lot as he headed for the entrance of the penitentiary, its pale yellow facade standing out against stark blue of the cloudless sky. John gingerly climbed the U-shaped staircase, promising himself with each step that he would succeed what the other attorneys before him had failed at. He squared his shoulders and pushed past double doors that led inside, his measured footsteps drawing the attention of some of the visitors that were waiting in line for the metal detectors. As one person after another passed through, he shut down the urge to shift in place or worry about the state of his suit. Not how I imagined this would go, exactly. As the detectors kept going off and hindering his progress forward, he reassured himself over and over again that he'd make it in time for the meeting.

"Next.", a male deputy directing the visitors in his line gestured for him to step forward. His briefcase made it on the conveyor belt first, passing through the scanner as he covered the rest of the distance to the walk through metal detector. One step, followed by anothed. Silence. He had almost made it on the other side, or at least his shoe had before the alarm sounded. "I need you to walk back and through the detector again, please.", the officer instructed, and he complied, going through slowly only for the blaring noise to repeat again. "One more time. Slowly.", the man gestured patiently while he let out a tired sigh as he turned on his heel and attempted the walk for the third time. For fuck's sake. He had nothing on him that could potentially set off the detector. "Step forward.", the deputy beckoned, "I need to pat you down. You have the right to refuse-" "I'm a lawyer, I know my rights.", John interjected quickly, then added in a calmer tone, "You have my permission." Refusing a pat down meant he'd be turned down from his visit. The man nodded, "Arms out. Feet apart." He followed the instructions, having been through a couple of in-person meetings with other clients in prison already. The frisk felt like it had lasted an eternity until the deputy finally declared he could gather his things and proceed to the waiting area where other visitors had already taken a seat after checking in about their appointments.

"Next in line.", an older female officer called out for him eventually once he took his place in that line. "Name of AICs?" "Good morning, I have a scheduled meeting with Nathaniel Mooney.", the anticipated look of displeasure appeared in her eyes before his usual charm even had a chance to kick in. "Another one. How long are you gonna last?", she mumbled under her breath as she typed away on the computer in front of her, the remark loud enough only for him to hear. He didn't let the words strip away at the slight smile he had offered her initially, the push-back and borderline loathing were expected with the task of representing defendants like Mooney. Instead of simply gesturing him to take a seat and wait for his name to be called, the deputy sent him a strange look before picking up the phone receiver. "Yes. Mooney. Okay. I will tell him to take a seat." "Is everything in order, Officer Gale?", John asked carefully the second she hung up. A bored look was all he got as response before she slid a visitor badge over to him, then muttered, "Yes. Please take a seat. Next."

John clutched his bag and headed for a vacant seat next to a well-dressed redhead, checking his watch as he sat down and slipped the plastic encased pass over his head. Almost time. A slender, manicured hand appeared from his left, "Can't say I was expecting I would be meeting the man representing Nathaniel Mooney today." He turned, meeting the green gaze of the woman next to him before he grabbed her hand for a handshake. "John Duncan.", the introduction was made in the usual tone reserved for other attorneys and potential clients. Everything about the redhead, including her smile, appeared calculating when she squeezed his hand, and he couldn't help but wonder if she had her sights set on his case and testing the waters, "Candice Donovan." The name gave him a pause, immediately making him think of Sabrina, then he shook off the thought, reminding himself he had to stay focused. It's just a surname. His hand returned to his knee as he leaned back in his chair and trained his eyes forward, feeling her gaze remaining on him still. "Rumor is, the last one ran out of here crying. Poor girl. Not everyone is built for our field of work.", the woman whispered, "Though, I've never had a particular taste for criminal law. So messy… bloody even.", the last part felt loaded, heavy, yet she casually recrossed her legs before letting out a quiet laugh and passing him a business card. Blue eyes darted to the matching badge nestled against her champagne colored silk blouse with a perfectly tied bow close to her neckline, "And yet here you are." "Oh, no, Mr. Duncan,", her voice lowered like she was letting him in on a little secret, "I'm meeting the man on top of this food chain, not one of his subjects."

"Donovan.", an officer called out her name. "And that's my cue. Good luck, darling.", she got up, smoothing down her black skirt before she picked up her bag Hermès bag off the ground next to her chair. Her nude high heels clicked away as she approached the man waiting to escort her, swooping into charming him next. He granted a final look at the business card and slipped it inside his bag. Over the years, he had met enough women like Candice Donovan, had even been blindsided by their charisma and skilled tongues, had made the mistake of getting involved with a couple on a personal level when he was first starting in the field. The type that would frown at "the bloodiness" of law, yet be secretly the first to sense the blood in the water and strike. John spent the next couple of minutes watching the room as visitor's after visitor's name were called, new people taking their vacated seats, Officer Gale warning walk-ins they might be in for a longer wait that day. "Duncan.", a gruff voice broke through the low chatter around him, and he was out of his seat in an instant, straightening his visitor badge on his way to the deputy. The man, wearing a tag that read 'A. Flynn", towered a good few inches over him and gave him a dark stare before muttering, "Follow me."

A black steel bar door buzzed behind him and they were off down a series of white hallways, separated by similar security entryways that got him deeper into the prison. Eventually, the man in front of him came to a stop and gestured to a dark gray door before he swung it open to reveal a small private room, reserved for visits by legal teams, "Take a seat." With that, Officer Flynn left him to get situated and shut the door behind him. John slipped into pulling out all the documents he would need and arranged them in neat piles on the only table in the room. 10 minutes passed, bringing him officially past the reserved time for the meeting with Mooney. The only noise, that would put lesser attorneys on edge as they sat in the tiny sterile space without any windows, was the sound of his watch ticking. Another 15 minutes went by where he started to wonder if something had gone wrong. He set for rearranging the files again, inevitably checking his phone for any messages or calls. Nothing. Rereading Sabrina's last text. A couple of calming breaths. Regretting he had skipped breakfast. No Mooney in sight. 10 more minutes, a terrible sign considering nobody from the personnel had bothered to show their face yet. Something's wrong, indeed.

John rose up, ready to knock on the door and demand an explanation for the delay, when it opened and the same officer that had led him there appeared in the doorway, his large almost frame blocking his view of another man in an uniform. "Counsel, I regret to inform you, the arranged meeting won't be taking place today.", his lips twisted into a dark smirk, no actual regret visible across his features, "Nathaniel Mooney is undisposed." "What is that supposed to mean?", John asked, his eyes narrowing at the man's tone. "I'm meant to escort you out, sir.", the last word was said with complete disdain as Officer Flynn stepped aside and gestured for him to exit the room promptly, "You can schedule a new visit." "You cannot just cancel my client's meeting without any notice." The man crossed his arms over his chest, "Tell that to Mooney, who decided it's a good time to stab an inmate with a fork right before his meeting with his new attorney." "I still think it's inappropriate and violating his rights to deprive him from a consultation with his legal counsel. This is not a family visit you can just deny." "If you have any complaints, you can direct them at Major Sinclair. He's the one that issued the order. All inmates are threated equal here and sanctioned accordingly for not following the rules, Mr. Duncan." "That's-" Just my luck. "Unfortunate for you? Or Mooney?", his tone was bordering on leering as John began to gather his things, "I'm sure the man he put in infirmary, whose eye was almost gouged out thinks the same about himself."

He could only imagine how that would be used by the prosecution at the actual trial, just another testament of his client's violent nature and urges he couldn't control. John straightened his back and picked up his bag, passing by the two officers as he exited the room, and he could tell they were enjoying every second of sending him away without even meeting Mooney. "When exactly did the incident occur?", John inquired while he got sandwiched between the two men on the way back. "If you have any questions, you can set a meeting with Major Sinclair and discuss those.", the younger officer ahead of him, whose name he hadn't had time to observe, grumbled out. It wouldn't have been any surprise if the words were paired with another sly grin. "It was a simple question. You could have called me in advance. Saved me the trip from Portland." "It was a genuine mix-up, sir." "Or karma. Serves you right for representing that bastard.", Flynn mumbled under his breath simultaneously, clearly wanting for John to hear. Hazing. Of course. On the inside, he could feel anger gripping at his chest, looking for an outlet, but he refused to let it out or any of the well-deserved words he wanted to direct their way to be vocalized. He suspected the fork incident had taken place long before that early morning and in reality they must have had time to alert him about the "punishment" bestowed upon his client. Yet nothing of sorts had happened because he in turn was being "punished", too. For doing his job. For accepting the "shitstorm" case. For refusing to cower under their scrutiny and holding his head high. It was bound for this occurance to be just the first one of many. There was a reason, as Candice Donovan reported, that the previous woman representing Mooney had ran out crying, and if past cases were anything to go by, he was willing to bet Nathaniel's nature was only part of the issue. But if people like Officer Flynn or Major Sinclair expected obvious cheap tricks like those would make him withdraw, they were all in for a rude awakening.

John kept his face relaxed as he waited in line yet again, this time to schedule another appointment. His fingers drummed against the surface of the booth in front of him while the woman across typed in his information. "First appointment I can give you is on Monday.", she announced matter-of-factly as his fingers formed a fist. How much he wanted to bang against the glass pane that separated them. To demand to see Mooney right then and there. He did none of that, instead he forced a smile, letting his charm do the work. "M'am, I really need to meet with my client before that. My return flight is in two days." Where the receptionist from the previous night or Penny would have melted at his gentle but still firm tone that reeked of authority, the officer just blinked slowly and said, "There's a 72-hours rule in place, meaning Monday as earliest." "Officer Reece-" "First appointment I can offer you is on Monday, Mr. Duncan.", she repeated before he could even finish his sentence, "Usually you can always come as a walk-in and wait for a slot to open up if there's a cancellation or a no-show, but Nathaniel Mooney has had his visitation rights revoked for 72-hours." "That's ridiculous." "It's the minimum, sir.", Officer Reece explained calmly, "Are you taking the Monday appointment? If not, I'd have to ask to step away while you're considering your options, because there are other people in line behind you." Fuck. He wanted to scream the word out, lose it like he had that morning in the shower. "Yes, Monday it is, then.", he nodded, grateful for his unwavering facade as he took a deep breath. "I'm penciling you in for the afternoon session, 12:15 pm." "Thank you." "Have a great weekend. Next, please.", the woman called in response. Great? The little "mix-up" was going to result him in having to explain to Clive how Mooney had attacked another inmate. To change his flight back to Atlanta, his personal "punishment" Flynn called karma resulting in him having to spend more time in a city that's been nothing but brutal to him from his arrival. Hope his "5 star" hotel had fixed the shower while he was away in Salem and would agree to extend his reservation so he won't have to hunt down for another one. Sure my weekend would be great.

"How is it going?", Leslie muttered as he leaned over Sabrina's shoulder, his attention setting on the footage she had pulled up. She propped up her head on her open palm, "Nothing yet, good news is, though, I'm halfway there." "Chances are even if the camera captured the car, it'd be too dark to make anything out." A sigh broke free when she found her coffee cup empty, "I know. But it's not like we have anything else to go off until we get back the enhanced clip from across the road." "Still, the gas station was a good hunch." It wasn't a "hunch", rather a vision that had led her there, but explaining that in any way that wouldn't make her seem like she had lost her mind, felt impossible, even to Leslie. "Yeah.", she muttered quietly. "How about a break?", Leslie nudged her before walking back to his desk, "We can grab some lunch before the interviews?" "Okay." Just then Oliver walked in with a take-out bag and plopped into his chair with a sign, "Ah, man, I swear I almost fell asleep in line. Damn, if I wouldn't kill for a shower, too." "You could go home, Ollie." The suggestion made him roll his eyes, "Sure, and then hear all about it from Buchanan." Sabrina shook his head, "He won't say anything." "Maybe to the all-stars. Me, on other hand?", he muttered as set on opening his food, "No matter what good old Oliver does… he only complains." "Okay,", Leslie took a look at his watch, "we heading out or what, Rina?" "One second.", she said, taking note of how far along she was before putting her computer into rest mode. By then her partner was already shrugging on his coat. She quickly threw on her jacket as well, then grabbed her bag on the way out. "Have fun, you two.", Oliver called after them as Leslie pulled the door open for her.

"The lawyer…", Parish mumbled the second their waiter had left the table in the small bistro they frequently stopped by for a bite. "My food isn't even here yet." He raised a dark eyebrow, seeing right through the attempt to avoid talking about John for a good few more minutes, "Spill, Rina." "How much did Oliver tell you all really?", she asked slowly. "Told you, he was live texting." "Like what?" She wasn't sure if she actually wanted to know the answer, knowing full well the extend of Oliver's sense of humor and the chaos he loved to cause. "Want to see the messages?" "Not really. Just… are the other guys going to look at me weird?", she was refering for the rest of the Missing Persons team and whoever else they had added to the group chat for the birthday party they had thrown for her months back. "No.", Leslie chuckled, "Now back to the lawyer." "John." "Hm?" "His name is John." A nod, "There we go, a start." "I was headed home, you know, as promised.", her remark got a smile out of him, "Sav would have gone to bed by then…I guess I didn't want to deal with Candice for a couple of extra minutes." "Yeah." Leslie knew the situation pretty well and was among the small group of people that saw through her mother's act.

"I see this well-dressed man in the lobby, staring daggers into unconscious Lenny,", his eyes narrowed at 'well-dressed', but she rushed to wrap up the story, especially seeing how the waiter had emerged from the kitchen and carrying over their meals, "I offered my help, tried to pass him onto Stockton, but he wasn't in…" She paused to mutter a quiet thank you as her plate was placed in front of her and she dug into the food that seemed less appetizing with her stomach in knots. Leslie did the same, taking a bite before nodding at her to continue. "Maxwell said I could write up the report for him since he was stuck across town. The guy-" "John.", Leslie corrected her, "You avoiding saying his name?" "No.", she absolutely was, "John didn't seem quite happy with the idea he'd have to wait hours for Stockton to return or stop by in the morning, so he agreed to sit down with me and get his case started." "Who wouldn't." She chose that moment to take a sip of water, almost choking on it, "Leslie." "I'm just being objective." "Sure.", she cleared her throat, "I marked down everything he could provide as information. He asked to make a phone call and then was on his way." Leslie's lips twisted into a smirk, "You forgot how he shouted, 'she's not my girlfriend' about some girl he called." Sabrina huffed, "Shouted? That's just Oliver's flair for dramatics." Not really, but saying otherwise wouldn't make you drop the subject, will it… "Rina." "Fine, maybe his voice was a bit raised, so what?" "Then?"

She could feel her cheeks heat up, so she looked down to her plate as she scooped up some more rice into her mouth, before replying, "Nothing." The way Leslie rubbed at his beard told her he had sensed a lead and wasn't going to back down, "I'm waiting." "I gave him a ride.", Sabrina brushed her hair out of her face, feeling frustrated at the fact things hadn't stopped there and that she didn't want them to, "He looked… lost. I guess I thought a small act of kindness wouldn't hurt when his day had been nothing but awful. Dropped him off at his hotel. End of story." He opened his mouth to ask more when her phone buzzed with a new text, that made her raise her finger as she opened it.

John: Still alive. Any lunch spots recommendations? The last thing I need right now is food poisoning.

"You're smiling way too much for this to be news from the lab.", Leslie's voice sounded and she looked up, feeling like she had been caught redhanded when she had done nothing wrong, "That him?" She ignored his question, her food quickly becoming forgotten while her fingers typed out a reply.

Sabrina: Depends… If you're looking for a fine dining spot, I won't be your girl.

John: I'm feeling cranky, (probably because I'm) starving, and I trust your judgement, so shoot.

"Rina?", Leslie called her name, tone full of amusement. Her eyes darted up to his before returning to her phone screen, "Yes?" "So he has your number.", it wasn't a question, but rather a statement.

Sabrina: There's a small restaurant, family owned, Italian, two streets from the precinct.

The spot she had recommended him was in the opposite direction of the restaurant where she was currently having lunch with Leslie, wanting to avoid running into him at any cost because she refused to allow things to get more awkward than they already were. She put her phone down, ignoring the fact it vibrated with a reply and turned back to her food. As she raised the fork to her mouth, she could feel Leslie's stare on her, "Yes, he has my number." "You gave it to him or he somehow found it?" "Leslie…" He shrugged, chewing on his food slowly before he pointed his knife at her, "Just doing my part, Rina. Trying to figure out if 'this guy' is a creep or not. So, well?" "I think he took one of my cards off my desk…" "He's texting your work number?" "Yeah." It wasn't a complete lie. "And now he wants?" "A good place to go for lunch." "He asked you out-" "No." "It wasn't a question." Her face scrunched up in confusion, "Nothing about his texts hinted at that, Leslie." He smiled, "Can I see?" "No.", the answer came out way too quickly, causing him to let out a laugh. Just great. Yet handing over her phone and having him see all the previous messages didn't seem like the best idea. Not when he'd insist on John's intentions even more then. Worry about her. "Just trust me on that. He's never been to Portland and considering his luck, he just wanted-" "You're saying that with way too much confidence. Like you know know him." A breathed out a sigh, "Just drop it, please. Change the subject." "Fine.", Leslie nodded, "But I'm telling you, he was asking you out." "And he chose to do it in the most roundabout way possible…why?" "Because he's afraid." It was her turn to chuckle, "Afraid?" "That you will say no, 'break his heart' or more like hurt his ego, considering he's a fancy ass attorney. So instead he's hoping you'd suggest keeping him company first…" Sabrina couldn't help but roll her eyes, "I think Ollie is rubbing off on you." Leslie's gaze shot up to her phone when it buzzed again, "Now, that is him asking you out. He couldn't handle waiting."

Tagging, @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @corvosattano @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @g0dspeeed @voidika @madparadoxum @poisonedtruth @nightbloodbix @nightwingshero @jillvalentinesday @cassietrn @chazz-anova @simplegenius042 @purplehairsecretlair @adelaidedrubman @dumbassdep @theelderhazelnut @strangefable @trench-rot @aceghosts and anyone else with something to share this week ❤️