#fic: four eyes

[promisingyounglady]

four eyes. | BF x Reader

PAIRINGS: Bob Floyd x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS: asking bob to make a mess of himself on your face while you wear his glasses? absolutely.

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

WARNINGS: ahem, SMUT, established relationship, profanity, oral (m!receiving), deepthroating, facial, handjob, cum eating, dirty talk, begging, slightly sub!reader, praise, aftercare and such sweet affection from bobby, not proofread and mdni!!, reader is a minx, brief mention of term ‘slut’, size kink, awkward sweetheart w a big dick!bob,

A/N: this is the most filthiest shit I’ve ever written and if you like this ur crazy… *reblogs, comments and likes the post*

“What are you up to?” he drawls, watching carefully as you crawl over his naked midriff and through the sea of bedsheets. Post-sex endorphins were through the roof right now for Bob, a wave of happy tiredness sweeping over the pilot.

You huff, hand outstretched as you reach for Bob's glasses perched on the bedside table.

“I wanna try these on” you say to him, balancing yourself as you try to grab the frames. Bob chuckles, a hand coming to rub your ass lovingly.

You bit your lip to fight the feeling of a grin spreading on your face, the feeling of Bob's soft hands tickling you as you playfully pushed him away, all the while he simply beams at you.

The hand supporting yourself on his hard chest slips, causing you to collapse on top of your boyfriend, your naked breasts brushing over his cock and sending a shiver down his spine.

A firm hand comes to still yourself. “Careful” he says softly, hands warm.

Bob looks over, grabbing the glasses just as you were about to pick them up, and holding them out of your reach. You protest, trying to get ahold of the frames you loved so much. Bob puts them on, allowing himself to properly see his girl.

“You don’t wanna wear these, they don’t look good on anyone. Including me.” he mumbles, adjusting you on top of him.

But you're quick to swipe them off his face, ignoring Bob's laughs when you put the glasses on yourself and straddle his hips. “I like them, they’re cute,” you tell him.

“Well what d’ya know?” Bob utters softly to himself when he sees you, gazing up at his girl wearing the steel rimmed aviators and looking absolutely breathtaking.

“Hi there, four eyes” he chuckles, finding it odd saying a phrase he’s been nicknamed all his childhood. Hell, even Seresin has no problem calling him that to this day.

Bob smiles, strong but soft hands coming to rest on your hips as you sat dangerously close to where his happy trail leads to. Your brows furrowed as you viewed the world through his lenses.

“Jesus, Bob, you really are blind!” You uttered, looking down at the blurry man seated against the bedpost.

Bob’s become busy at the moment, pressing pecks to your hardended nipples. He simply nods, pretending he’s listening.

“You should go to the eye doctor, honey”

Bob peaks through, giving you a look. “That’s where I got them”

“Hm.”

The room is silent, a soft glow of the afternoon sunlight peeking through the white shutters. You feel the corners of Bob’s lips curling into a smile against your skin, a silent worship to your body.

“You’re so soft.” he murmurs.

“Honey,” you call to your boyfriend.

“Hm?” Bob replies absentmindedly, still brushing his face along your chest, hugging you closer.

You tug on his brown locks, pulling his head from your body and looking down at him.

“I wanna try something.” you grinned, a mischievous glint in your eyes mixed with a bottle of excitement. You quickly press a kiss to his lips.

Bob watches as you pull from his grasp, lips forming a small frown from the loss of contact as you shuffled down the bed so you were now kneeling on the floor by the edge.

Bob looks over at you quizzically, wondering what you were up to before you beckon towards him, ushering him to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Come sit, Robert” you directed, calling him by his birth name to get his attention.

His soft cock limps near his thighs as he adjusts himself, sitting before you in all his naked glory, hair tousled by your hands and a pink blush ghosting his cheeks. His hand comes up to play with your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. You look up in seriousness and confess.

“I want you to cum on these glasses”

Bob stops all motion, hand still tucked behind your ear. The room falls silent.

“What?”

You ignore the bafflement of your crimson cheeked boyfriend, bending down to lick a long stripe up his veiny shaft. A loud moan and harsh tug against your scalp brings you to take him further, almost triggering your gag reflexes. It all happens so fast. Bob mutters incoherently from the sudden gesture, both of you going slightly insane when your nose presses against his pubic bone as tears form near your eyes.

“Baby, hold on a moment, Jesus fuck!”

You’re worried you’re going to make a mess on the floor from the way your slick almost drips from your pussy.

You’ve been thinking of this fantasy for a while if you were to be honest. Bob pulls you back, gasping for air as a proud feeling settles in your chest. It’s not everyday you hear Bob cuss like that.

He’s panting hard, watching as a bit of saliva is smeared on your lips, eyes glossy. Bob sighs in exasperation as you decide to stroke his cock with your hands.

“You gotta let me speak-“

“Please, Bobby” you beg, pressing kisses to the pink tip and relishing in the way you feel him harden in your hand. A loud groan escapes Bob's throat, feeling sensitive despite having had sex the whole afternoon with you.

“I want you to cum while I have your glasses on” you told him, kitten licks getting the best of your boyfriend. “Like in those pornos” you mumble softly, your shy giggles driving Bob insane.

“Nobody says pornos anymore” he mumbles telling you, swallowing hard when you tug on his cock tighter for not responding.

Bob clears his throat. “You, um, want me to give you a facial?” He asks softly, holding onto your hand that's stroking his cock.

You nod eagerly.

“A-Are you sure?” He says, worried that taking him like this is gonna wear you out. In all honesty, the boy can’t help but grow hard at the thought of cumming all over your innocent face, big eyes covered by his glasses milked by his seed.

You nod, excitement and horniness flowing through your body.

“Please, honey, I want you to see me painted” you sighed, thumb brushing over the thick tip, smearing precum over the slit.

Bob thinks he’s gonna cum just from this angle, but he needs you so badly he tries to regain composure. He bends down to kiss you, tasting himself on your lips and letting your face be held in his soft touch. “Let me know if it's too much baby” he addresses in concern, the tears on your cheeks worrying him.

You sniffle, nodding your head to assure him. “Want you so bad, Bobby, let me suck you”

Your last few words are incoherent from the way you let Bob’s big cock stuff your throat, making you gag but desperately hold on. Bob lets go, both hands coming to balance himself on the edge, one gripping the bed sheets.

The sensation is fucking marvellous. You feel so full, loving the way the stretch of your mouth and untouched ache of your pussy turn you cockdrunk on Bob Floyd’s dick.

You look up, desperate to see how he's taking you, wanting to see the expression of him getting the daylights sucked out of him.

Lieutenant Bob ruts his hips pathetically, trying so hard not to make a mess of your mouth and hurt you. His head is pulled back, groans falling from his soft lips as he praises you so good.

“That’s it baby, doing so well for me” he sighs, now two large hands coming to push you a little further, a groan falling from his lips as you take him fully now.

“God, I love you!” he cries out loud, an instinctive response coming from your boyfriend as he caresses your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear. You smile, aviator lenses reflecting the light as your lips are wrapped securely around his dick.

”So pretty, such a pretty girl” he says under his breath, admiring the way your tits bounce along with every stroke on his cock. You gasp, pulling away as you let your fist do the rest.

“I love you too, Bobby” you gasped, looking up to find Bob staring at you intensely, with such a fierce gaze of love, sensuality, and pure awe.

”H-How,” he begins, starting to feel a familiar feeling settle inside him. “How did I get so lucky with you?” He admits, wanting nothing more but to see his cum painting his glasses you’re wearing. He thinks he might just let you have them. Being able to see is overrated anyways.

“I think I’m gonna cum, baby” he lets out, watching as your eyes get eager, adjusting your sore knees so you can get the perfect angle.

“Please baby, give it to me” you begged, pussy so sensitive you have to make sure you hold yourself up enough so the cold wooden floors don’t brush against your folds.

Watching you rub his dick like that, mouth open and face ready is an image Bob will have ingrained in his mind forever, a hot spurt of milky liquid shooting onto your lips as Bob finally gives you what you wanted.

Incoherent mumbles fill the sweaty bedroom, letting one hand cup his balls as the other makes sure to smear the warm fluid all over your lips, glasses starting to get foggy.

“Fucking hell” Bob cries out, spilling your name from his lips like a sacred mantra.

You hum, a wave of both happiness and satisfaction washing over you as you sit in front of Bob’s glory.

You let the man come down from his high, tasting salt and your boyfriend in your mouth. Before you can even clean yourself up, Bob is ripping off the dirtied glasses framing your face, and grabbing you towards him for a passionate kiss. The action makes you dizzy, your red, sore knees almost buckling under.

It’s only a while after when he pulls away, grabbing for a box of tissues near the nightstand and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’m sorry for the mess” he replies shyly, the image of this tall, naked, handsome, and yet totally awkward giant taking care of you making it all worthwhile.

“It’s okay” you reply, voice hoarse. You couldn’t help but feel happy, even if you didn’t cum (Bob would see to it later of course).

You feel him use the tissues to wipe your chin, face, and tits, or really, what was leftover after you sucked it all up like a slut.

“You’re crazy sometimes, you know that?” Bob mumbles, shaking his head as he smiles at you, his soft touch so rewarding.

You laugh, latching your arms around his neck and letting him hoist you up so easily. His semi-hard cock limps against your stomach, both of you standing up and lips pressing together in another soft kiss.

”Thank you for the most mind blowing head of my life.” He jokes.

”Thanks for the facial” you gleam, sucking your fingers with a pop that makes Bob weak, falling back down on the mattress and taking you with him so you’re straddling him again.

Bob reaches for the glasses, getting a tissue so he could wipe them before an idea pops in your head and you stop him.

You put on the glasses again. He looks up.

“Bobby, where’s the Polaroid camera?”

[readwritealldayallnight]

Simon’s home.

Which means he’s glued to your side.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

The two of you are in a local bookstore, the shop having caught your eye while out on a stroll together, each of you going to your respective shelves to find your preferred genres.

Simon grabs the first novel he thinks sounds interesting, quickly snatching the book by its spine so that he can cross the few steps back to your side.

His eyebrows furrow when he notices how closely you’re holding a book up to your face, your own eyes squinting at the back cover.

“Havin’ trouble there, love?” He asks as he approaches.

“Can’t believe I let myself run out of contact lenses.” You reply, trying your best to decipher the blur of black ink on the pages.

“Could’ve worn your glasses.” He retorts, something he’d already suggested more than once since you ran out of your contacts and had to order new ones.

“You know I only like wearing them at home.”

“But you’re so cute in ‘em.”

“Yeah well, you’re the only one who thinks so.” You mumble under your breath, though Simon hears it of course, the crease in his brow deepening.

“Wha’s that supposed to mean?” He gruffs out.

“I just got teased a bit in school was all Si, typical kid stuff. Just stuck with me I guess, but it’s fine, I have my contact lenses.” You explain to him.

Simon considers your words for a moment, the gears evidently turning in his head, muscular arms crossed over his large chest.

“And do we know where these fuckin’ tossers are at now?”

“Oh my god Simon, don’t-”

“Have we got any names to work with?”

“That is not-”

“Any addresses?”

“You are not about to-”

“Pictures?”

“I was like ten years old-”

“S’alright lovie, we’ll dig up your yearbooks when we get home.” He simply says, plucking your book from your hands and heading towards the register to pay.

[hellfire--cult]

Johnny Storm x Fem!Reader

wc: 6.7k+

summary: Johnny grows infatuated with you, something he never thought was going to happen to him, at least for a long while. He liked being single, but then you came along, and all he could think about was you... then you got kidnapped thanks to him, and he felt so guilty for it... but not everything was as it seemed.

warnings: +18 smut, p in v (no protection), roughness, hate fucking, some fluffiness, branding of skin, description of getting burnt, slapping, some violence, porn with plot

a/n: I had this vision that needed to be written cause it would not leave my fucking mind, and this was the only chance i would be able to write something like this. I will clarify, this is my first ever MCU fic, and I do not believe I will write anything else for it, at least not now. If you are from the MCU fandom, and decide to follow me, don't expect more really... i mainly write stranger things, i was just... too haunted with this image...

Anyways, I love Joseph Quinn, so I pictured HIS Johnny Storm for this (yes, he triggered the thots.)

thank u to @andvys and @ghost-proofbaby for proofreading this and helping with my editing cause i never wrote marvel and i needed their opinion, i love both thank u

Enjoy and don't forget to reblog!

BRAND ME

When Johnny Storm saw you for the first time, he thought Cupid fired an arrow his way.

Now, it wasn’t the best of situations of course, he had to save you from a slight altercation regarding some of Doctor Doom’s subjects wreaking havoc in the city and all that, and he saved you by beating up the guy that held you hostage in spirits of saving his ass. 

You had thanked him, smiled at him and he may or may have not thought of having you as one of his conquests. He was known for it, you absolutely knew about it, but he couldn’t really help himself when he started talking to you. He first asked to meet up with you privately and you immediately rejected his advances, surprising him, sure, but not stopping him, so you offered to meet up with him for a coffee after work. 

Coffee was not something he did often. It was usually drinks, and to be fair, no women really ever said no to him. Sure he messed up a few times, but who hasn’t? Still, sharing a coffee with you didn’t sound like a bad idea. It was different, but different didn’t always mean bad. 

So you gave him the address to your building, and at 1 PM sharp on Tuesday, he met up with you right outside of it. You were wearing the typical office attire, skirt to the knees, a nice blouse, a comfortable jacket and he still thought you looked absolutely beautiful. Sitting down at the coffee shop, you two talked, and talked, and he found out so much about you.

You were an only child, and you have been working since you could remember. You lived alone, you liked to cook, and you absolutely disliked pickles. Every small thing he found out about you, he reciprocated with a fact about himself, without giving much away of course.

One coffee date turned into two. Then four. Then, counting didn’t matter anymore.

For a month he has been seeing you, and never once has he made a move on you. It’s not that he didn’t want to… He absolutely wanted to. But you were different. You were completely different from all the flings he had, and he even tried to have one after meeting you and it felt pointless. He didn’t know himself any longer, even Reed got a little worried from all the sneaking around he did, but Johnny couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help it when it came to you.

You were magnificent, a breath of fresh air to be around with. You always greeted him with a smile to your face and he’s never felt more alive when you did. He, of course, had to be careful with you. Not because of trust, but of what might happen to you if you were seen being involved with one of the Fantastic Four. He always picked out private places for the two of you to meet, away from public eyes. 

Coffee shops turned into take-out coffees and parks. Talks that happened at your home’s balcony. Him looking for a comforting shoulder after a long day of being a hero. He was always careful in keeping you away from public. In keeping you a secret. In keeping you safe.

But not careful enough.

When you didn’t answer your phone that day, his heart stopped. You always answered. He tried and tried but you just wouldn’t pick up and he became restless. He flew out of the headquarters, not caring for the waves people gave him, with your apartment as his only destination. He felt himself growing cold despite being up in flames, flying, the horrible feeling that something happened to you making him want to puke.

And when he arrived at your home, he froze. Your balcony’s sliding door was open and what he saw inside made his whole world shatter. Your things were all thrown to the floor. Your furniture was destroyed. Your pictures were all broken and shattered. And then, as he put a foot into your apartment, he saw you. 

You were breathing heavily as you lay on the floor, facing down, and your hair was all over your face. He rushed towards you, jumping over everything that was on the floor, and immediately dropped to his knees in order to scoop you up in his arms and turn you. He pushed the hair off your face as his heart beat loudly in his chest, only for it to come to a stop as he saw the open wound on your eyebrow and the bruise that was starting to form all around it. 

“Crap– fuck!” He felt his world plummeting to the ground as he tried shaking you awake, calling out your name, and he sighed with relief as your eyes slowly opened, only for your face to contort into a wince.

“What…?” He shook his head at you and held onto your form, one arm underneath the back of your knees while the other was wrapped behind your back. He got up on his two feet with ease as he rushed towards the balcony. You made a sound of discomfort as you were moved around, and all he wanted was to keep you safe right now. He needed to take you with him. He cannot leave you alone, not when all of this is probably his fault.

“It’ll be quick, I promise…” He took a deep breath as he controlled his flames temperature, ensuring it would not go towards his arms. Your eyes looked up to meet his, his eyes that were now fiery orbs, looking down at you with sadness displayed on his eyebrows. You whined through the pain again and he immediately leaped out of your balcony.

You could feel the heat off his body, but he made sure to make it as less uncomfortable as he could, but he still knew he had to be quick. He was angry, desperate, and that wasn’t making the flames be any less intense. He knew he was gonna break a rule, but he couldn’t give two shits for the consequences he might face with his family. His sister was going to kill him, but she will understand. They all will have to understand.

He sneaked you in, heading straight to his room, laying you down on his bed. The rage he felt with himself was scorching him from the inside out, so he took the top of his suit as fast as he could and rushed towards the bathroom to get one of his medical kits. 

He aided you, cleaned your wound, put the butterfly strip over it, and even gave you medicine for any impending headaches. He checked for other wounds besides the one on your eye, but there was nothing else, at least from the places where your clothes did not cover you. 

An hour passed and you were slowly coming back to your senses. You opened your eyes to see him walking back and forth, pacing, worry displayed on his features as he seemed deep in thought. You slowly sat up on the bed, looking around, wincing slightly thanks to the throbbing in your head.

“Johnny?” Your voice was small but it was enough for his head to snap towards you and rush to the bed, sitting on the edge right next to you. His hand came up to caress the side of face, making sure to not touch the bruise on your eye.

“Hey…” His eyes were filled with fear, anger, sadness, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat as your eyes roamed all over the room.

“Where… am I?” Your eyes found his again and he gulped, thumb caressing your cheek softly.

“My room… I– I couldn’t leave you alone…” Your eyes widened for just a second to then look down at your hands. Your breathing turned heavy as your eyes filled with tears, shaking your head at him.

“I– I thought it was you… I opened the sliding door and– They wanted information–” Your voice was cut off with a sob and Johnny saw how you winced in pain, your hand flying to press onto your temple and he quickly shushed you, scooching closer to you, lifting his hand to grab yours gently and move it away from your face.

“Don’t touch it– I… I seriously thought I was careful in keeping you safe and hidden… I screwed up.” Your eyes met his, seeing the guilt that was flooding inside, knowing he was torturing himself because of it. His lips were downturned, disappointment written all over. You shook your head at him, your hand grasping his.

“I don’t regret a minute of it…” His eyes met yours as you guided your gaze around the room, frowning slightly as your headache seemed to start to drift away. “So this is your room…” “Fantastic Four headquarters… nobody knows I sneaked you in, but I really couldn’t care less. I won’t let you out of my sight, at least until whoever is stalking me is captured.” You turned towards him again, a soft smile on your lips that made his heart combust in its own flames.

“Probably a fan.” Even now you still joked to him, when you were the one hurt. You were too beautiful. Too incredible, even for his own good. He should be careful with his moves, he should let you know how different you are to his other flings… but his body betrayed him as his free hand came towards your cheek, holding it gently, and his lips surged forward, slotting right onto yours.

Your eyes were wide as a surprised gasp fell from your lips, but you reciprocated that kiss, even if a bit hesitant at first. His lips moved with yours as his body started rising in temperature which he was trying to keep at a warm number. He could easily control his temperature but with you, he was finding it hard to do so. 

He was happy because you were not pulling away from the kiss. You were moving into it, following his lead, not even stopping it after your tongues started to dance together. He wanted you. He definitely wanted to show you just how special you are but– You were hurt, and he can’t do that to you now… so he pulled away. Your breaths were heavy as you looked at each other and he rubbed your cheek with his thumb.

“I’ll tell everyone  tomorrow you’re staying here for a while. You need safety, and I can give that to you… Just stay with me…” He held you so gently, afraid of you running away, or disappearing right before him. You licked your lips as you nodded slowly at him, to which he responded with a satisfied smile. He leaned forward, pecking your lips once more before getting up which alarmed you, getting hold of his hand.

“Where are you going?” Your voice was small and he thought he was going to break listening to it. 

“I’m not going anywhere, just going to get you some clothes for you to sleep in, baby.” Your eyes widened at the new petname, but Johnny noticed how you tried to look away from embarrassment, and he found you too cute. He will definitely protect you. He won’t let whoever is looking for him, or his team, hurt you. 

But when he fell asleep and cuddled up to you after having some tea with you before bed, he didn’t expect to be awoken in the middle of the night to a ring of his cell phone. He was startled, sitting up on the bed quickly only to realize you were not by his side. He looked around frantically and grabbed his phone from the night table next to his bed. He answered it, getting up from the bed to walk towards his bathroom in hopes of seeing you in there.

“Hello?” And all he heard was heavy breathing on the other side until a raspy, robotic voice talked.

“How does it feel to wake up alone?” And Johnny’s blood drained, evaporated, and he knows you are not in the building. How did it happen? How? There were cameras, security, detectors, how?

“What the fuck did you do to her?” His voice was coming from in between his teeth, like a growl, a hiss, a threat. The other voice only laughed, igniting Johnny’s anger even more than before.

“Come find out. We’re at her old apartment. We have to talk, Johnny, so come alone.” And like that, the line clicked. He was breathing heavily as he looked down at his phone and his hand shook as he grunted, his eyes igniting in yellow as the hand that was holding his phone set aflame, destroying the device before he threw it across the room, making it hit and for the plastic to splash onto the wall. 

He ran his hands through his hair, wanting to rip it all out, to burn the whole building down. If he didn’t tell anyone, he might die, but if he does, then you… He couldn’t. He has a chance, even if alone. He has to save you, he can’t let them have you, he can’t let you suffer because of him. 

So he stepped out to his balcony, his body engulfed in flames as he leaped into the sky, headed straight to your apartment. He was trying to go as fast as he could, his breathing heavy with anticipation as he swerved through the buildings. He finally got onto your balcony, the sliding doors were open again but when he looked inside, he couldn’t help but feel confused.

He took a few steps in as his flames subdued, and all your furniture was gone. All your pictures, even the cabinets… it was just empty. Empty except for the big windows that were on the side. What happened?

A chuckle coming from one corner startled him. It was the robotic voice that slowly transformed into a female one. A voice he knew too well. A voice that never chuckled in that manner, always be it a giggle, or a little scoff, but never… this. He turned to face it, and his eyes widened as the figure stepped into the small bit of light that came through the windows thanks to the night sky.

“Aren’t you a little naive Johnny?” 

And there, in front of him, was you. Face hard, wearing a simple cocktail black dress, some black heels… nothing like what you normally wear. You didn’t look dizzy because of your bruise, the butterfly strip he applied to you hours ago was still there. It was you… but at the same time, it wasn’t.

“W-What…?” He stuttered, not feeling the tips of his fingers as he looked at how you slowly walked towards him, throwing a device to the ground, a voice-changing device. 

“I really didn’t think you would take me to your headquarters. Not this quickly at least.” You sighed, looking out the window as you kept talking. “I had a whole large plan for it, but you just had to make it THAT easy.”

You finished with a giggle, the giggle that he knew too well. The giggle you directed to him many times when he told you stories about Sue and him. Stories about how he made a fool out of himself on a few dates. The giggle that he liked so much… all for it to be a fucking lie. You–

“You lied to me… You–” He felt his heart twist as your eyes turned to meet his once more. He really isn’t lucky, isn’t he? The first time he feels something genuine and he gets stepped on by the universe. You took a step towards him as you put your hands behind your back.

“Not all the time. I can promise that, but my boss will be glad to hear I got into the headquarters in such a short period of time…” Your eyes studied his face, seeing how his features turned from shock to anger, slowly, making a wicked grin appear on your face. “Aw… are you mad?”

“What the fuck do you think?” His voice turned low, and it almost made you freeze in your place, but you kept talking, your head high.

“You look cute when mad. I wish I could take a picture right now–”

“Stop–”

“I would hang it up, frame it… Name it ‘My best show yet’.” Johnny felt his body start to burn, and he had to try to keep the flames from igniting out of his suit, but each word you spat out, made it more and more difficult for him to hold himself back.

“I said stop–”

“I just didn’t think it would be this quick. Who would've thought that Johnny Storm would be so desperate for actual love? So much, he throws himself head first like an idiot–” 

A hand came to grab the back of your head, fingers gripping onto your scalp, grabbing your hair, and yanking your head backwards with no restraint, no care. And suddenly your eyes were looking at the Human Torch. His eyes were yellow flames, his face, his hair, his body, everything was on fire and it was burning you. He was baring his teeth at you, your face illuminated by his flames, and you noticed the hand holding the back of your head was not lit.

“I could kill you right now. I could easily burn you to a crisp for no one to find your body.” You trembled under his grasp, and your breathing turned a little heavy as you stared into his flaming eyes.

“But you won’t…” Your reply was soft, making the flames go down, making you breathe out in relief, feeling the cool air again on your body and face. He was still glaring, his nose slightly scrunched up in anger, in disgust. “Approaching you romantically was never the intention.” 

That made him tilt his head at you, his eyebrow twitching at the mention of romance. Of how he was so close to having it but–

“Why tell me this? Why not keep the fucking act until you have more?” And you didn’t answer him, still under his grasp as you looked up at him. He couldn’t describe what he saw in your eyes, but he knew that it wasn’t hatred. He knew that there was a feeling that you shouldn’t be experiencing but you couldn’t help it.

So you stayed silent, swallowing as you kept your eyes on him. You saw him tremble slightly and he raised his free hand, making your gaze turn to it as the flames enveloped it all, to the tip of his fingers. It wasn’t a massive flame, more like embers, small, yet damaging. 

You felt anything but scared of him, and he knows it, yet his anger fuels him in ways he cannot describe, and he wants to show you. He wants to show you just how fucking angry, enraged, he is. He wants to hurt you, burn you, engrave himself deep on your skin and in your mind. 

“Say you don’t want this.” He needs to know if he connected the dots right. Why tell him? Why tell him who you truly were? Why not keep faking it to get more out of him? Did you take whatever you needed in the short period he kept you there? Those few little hours…

You remained silent, looking into his eyes as you struggled in his grasp slightly. Your right hand flew to the wrist holding the back of your head, which only made him pull on your hair once more, making you wince. It was another warning, another chance for you to push him away.

But you didn’t.

His right hand lifted up to reveal that it was slowly being covered in small embers, not yet flames, and he pressed it on your back. Your eyes widened when you felt heat engulf your back, the scent of burning fabric filling your nostrils. You winced when the burning turned a bit painful, his eyes not leaving your face. 

He was still scowling at you, his eyes traveling to your exposed neck as his hand kept moving on your back, making small holes in it, the embers spreading slightly. He knew he was burning you, but it doesn’t compare to what you did to him. You will heal from these superficial burns.

You wanted to tell him to hurry up, but you knew that you weren’t the one with control right now, so you had to be careful with your words. You yelped when his hand started moving to your front, leaving embers fluttering over the black satin. It was burning easily, the material too thin, too flimsy. 

His eyes caught onto yours once more. You were breathing heavily, waiting for his next move. He clenched his jaw as the memories of those picnics filled his head. Those movie nights. Those nights when you told him about your family. You showed him those pictures that were on your wall that you probably faked. Those pictures were all fake.

His fist grabbed onto the front of your dress and pulled on it as he grunted from the force. Your dress ripped easily away from your body thanks to the holes that were burned on your back and side. Your body will probably have scarring, burnt marks, or red spots, but you couldn’t help the excitement in your body when he held your torn dress in his hand.

His eyes turned to it for a second and then back at you. You saw how they glowed in a deep yellow and his hand engulfed into flames, your dress catching on fire and burning into ashes in three seconds. His eyes returned to their natural color as his hand dropped, and then he could finally take a look at your half-naked form. 

You took the opportunity of his distraction to push him away, making him rip his hand off your hair, looking at you with surprise and anger. You were breathing heavily in just your bra and thong, a matching black set, looking at him, the anger in you also coming out to light after how he treated you. 

Anger, but no hatred. Not from your side… nor his.

So you took a sharp intake of breath as you lunged forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you slammed your lips against his, connecting your chest to his. He groaned at the kiss, his arms immediately wrapping around your frame, his lips moving against yours instantly, like a starved man. Weeks of wanting this with you, dreaming of having you, but he never thought it would be like this.

You bit his bottom lip, yanking a bit on it with your teeth, provoking a protest on his part but you silenced it by sliding your tongue into his mouth. You moaned in satisfaction as his right hand slid downwards, grabbing onto your ass cheek and squeezing tight. You responded by raising your leg up, thigh against his hip, while his hand moved, leaving your behind to graze your thigh, gripping it tightly to hold you in place.

His hips pressed against your core, earning him a moan from you. You felt his buckle against your clothed cunt as well as his hardness as he rutted himself on you, moaning into your mouth. One of your hands went towards his hair, running your fingers through it and then you gripped tightly, pulling his head backwards and away from the kiss. He hissed at the action, his eyes connecting with your defiant ones.

“Doesn’t feel good, does it?” Your voice came out through your teeth, a taunt. He gave a tilt of his head as if asking if you were really defying him right now. You could almost see the smoke coming out of his nostrils as he huffed in anger, his hands flying to the back of your thighs, pushing you upwards with his strength, making you yelp slightly at the sudden movement.

Your legs instantly wrapped around his waist so you wouldn’t fall, but then your back was slammed against the window, with such force that you were amused by how strong the glass was. You whimpered at the coldness against your naked back and ass, eyes glaring back at him.

“You think you have the right to talk back to me right now?” One of his hands left your thigh so it could get between the two of you. His lips reconnected to yours before you could even reply back to him, and you heard how he started undoing his buckle, that ‘F4’ shaped stupid belt he had.

You felt him move underneath you and you heard the rustling of clothes and then something pressing against your wet thong, making you whimper into the kiss. You pulled away to look down in between the two of you, and he had pulled his pants and underwear mid-thighs, enough to let his cock free, which was now pressing against you.

He got hold of the elastic of your thong, pinching it between his thumb and index finger, pulling it away from your body. You then saw a tiny and quick flame set fire and it quickly snapped the elastic apart, making your thong drop from your cunt, left to dangle thanks to the scraps still holding onto your other thigh. 

You were exposed to him now, and then he pressed himself against your aching clit, rutting his hips against yours, causing a beautiful friction that left you moaning, throwing your head back, thumping against the glass.

He groaned as he looked at your exposed neck, moving forward so he could bite on the side of it, making you wince as your clit kept being hit with the ridge of his dick. It was hot. Literally hot. Not even warm temperature, it was burning and you wondered how that would feel inside of you. 

He was coating his cock with your wetness, and he couldn’t be bothered with foreplay, he didn’t care for it, and you didn’t either, not that you needed it. You’ve been wet the moment he gripped your hair. So he pulled his hips back, letting the tip of his cock kiss your clit for a brief second before it caught on your entrance.

A voiceless moan got caught on your throat, where his teeth still remained, as he slowly pushed inside and– it was a perfect burn and stretch. He was perfect as he seethed himself inside, your walls fluttering in need around him as his mouth unlatched from your throat in order to look at how your face contorted at each inch of him.

“Good. That shut you up.” He held back the groans as he watched how your eyes were wide, looking in between the two of you now, seeing how his cock was disappearing inside of you. He wanted to hate you. He wished he could. It wasn’t fair that even now all he could think about was you, even if it wasn’t like before.

He cracked his neck as he felt his control slipping away, afraid of letting his flames burst out without his intention. He slammed his hand on the glass, right next to your head, as his left one gripped your thigh tightly and he struck his hips forward, bottoming out inside of you in one forceful thrust. 

You gasped as your eyes met his. He was deliciously deep. There was a little bit of discomfort due to not having any prep but it was worth it. He was breathing heavily as he looked at you and your eyes danced with his in uncertainty, in rage, in sadness, in confusion. He was letting you adjust, or maybe he was just catching his breath, either way, you didn’t think you deserved it.

“You’re gonna cum already Johnny boy?” He gave you a glare, which only made you smirk at him. You didn’t deserve the kindness, at least not from him. He started pulling out of you, only to roughly slam back in, causing you to choke on your own moan. You felt it in your throat almost. And then, he set the bruising pace. No mercy, slamming into you like a wild man.

The glass behind you shook, the metal hinges making loud sounds as he kept smashing his hips against yours over and over again, not leaving a single second for conscious thought, not leaving a single second for even a memory to slip through the both of you. All he wanted was to pour his anger out, all he needed was to show you how you made him feel then and how you made him feel now.

The sound of skin slapping echoed through the now empty apartment, an apartment where he spent a few nights with your company. He growled at the memory, his hips picking up a pace as your moans raised in pitch, your fingers digging into his shoulders, scratching on him while your eyes filled with tears. Was it pleasure? He didn’t know.

“Not acting so smartass now, huh?” You choked out a moan as you tried to speak but he was piercing you right where you needed. Your g-spot was being abused at each sharp thrust of his. Punch. Punch. Punch.

You felt your body heating up, more than any other time you slept with someone, feeling as if you were sweating more than you should and you knew it was him. You knew he was raising the temperature of his body, including the one in the entire room. Your forehead was sweaty, your neck, your chest that was still covered in your bra that you now need to rip off because it was just too fucking hot.

You lowered a hand and pressed it against the glass, right next to you, and you grunted as you pushed against it, forcing him to stumble backwards. He fell to the ground, holding onto you, his back hitting the floor, his dick never slipping out of you as you landed on him, which caused you to choke. 

You were breathing heavily as you looked down at him, who only winced slightly at the sudden hit on his ass and back. Your hands were now on his chest, still covered with his suit. You stared at the number 4 logo, glaring at it, and then your eyes found his. He was looking at you now with furrowed brows, sad instead of angry ones. 

You didn’t deserve those.

Your hands went towards your back, unclasping your bra off and ripping it off your body. A sigh of relief escapes you as the air hits the sweat that’s on your tits. Your hips started circling against him, slowly, and he threw his head back as his hands gripped your hips, his digits digging into your skin. 

Your belly coiled as you started rising yourself up and then slam back down again, knees pressing against the hard floor, knowing you will be bruised tomorrow, but you could give two shits about that right now. His hands traveled upwards, grabbing onto your breasts and everywhere he touched just left a lingering feeling of warmth, of burning. 

You threw your head back as his fingers pinched your nipples, making your belly coil as you slammed yourself down again and circled your hips against him, making the tip of his cock rub against your g-spot repeatedly. He moaned your name in pleasure, the first time he did during the night and you looked down at him.

“You sure that’s my name?” And his eyes clashed with yours in new found anger, sitting up as his left hand gripped your waist, while the rest remained on your hip. His face came close to yours as his words became venomous.

“I wonder how many names you had to come up with. With how many you had to whore yourself to in order to get information for your boss. Whoever that might be.” And him calling you a slut was not something you expected. You didn’t want him to think that. You became angry. Not at him, but yet, you had to direct it towards someone.

So you slapped him. 

His head was turned with wide eyes and you had to pretend you weren’t shocked at your own actions. You looked at your hand and then back at him, opening your mouth to say something but as he slowly turned to face you again, you knew you had fucked up. You saved yourself by talking once more.

“I didn’t jump your bones. You jumped mine, back in your room. Who’s the actual whore here, Johnny?” And you let him have the small memory of that innocent kiss he gave you. Of that kiss that made him so happy you had reciprocated, only for that memory to be shattered, tainted. His glare turned murderous as he looked at you. 

You started feeling the areas he was grabbing you at become hotter and hotter. Your breathing became heavy in nervousness as your head turned to look at his hands which were becoming redder by the second. He laid back down and pushed his hips up, making you raise yourself a bit on your knees and before you could say something, he started slamming himself inside of you once more.

Your mind became mush in an instant, your moans choking up your voice as he hit your insides over and over again, the slapping of skin loud and quick. Your belly started turning, the elastic band about to snap as your hands dug into his chest. And then, you screamed as pain took you out of your pleasure palace.

The smell of burning filled the room, very slightly, faint, but still there. You looked down at where he was holding you, and his hands were now almost as red bright as metal against fire. He didn’t stop his pounding either, growling as he looked at you with his yellow irises, filled with flames.

“This is your reminder of who you betrayed. For you to remember me.” 

Tears fell down your cheeks as you felt the pain of your skin being burnt, of being branded by him, and then your climax hit you out of nowhere. You choked out a whimper, a cry of his name as your walls tightened around him, pulsating. His balls tightened with the need for his own release, and he cooled his hands once more but kept them in place on your body.

He groaned loudly at your tightness and he looked at how tears fell down your face as well as the drool that had pooled in the corner of your mouth. He cursed under his breath and slammed his hips upwards one more time, completely seething himself inside as his cum filled your insides and you felt the heat of it. You could feel it. 

He was breathing heavily as he lowered his hips, his hands keeping you in place so you wouldn’t lower on him. He hissed as he pulled out of you, his cum already dripping down from your hole, falling on the red tip of his cock. Your eyes looked down at his hands as they slowly parted from your skin, a squelching sound following after.

You were bleeding in some places, layers of your skin successfully burnt with his handprints. They were hurting you, they were very painful, and you… you couldn’t be mad at him for them. Your eyes connected to his as he lay there looking at his own hands, trembling at the sight.

Pieces of your burnt skin were stuck to his hands, on his palms. He lost control. He didn’t want to hurt you like this. You saw the guilt that displayed on his face and you raised your hand, wanting to touch him and tell him–

“Shit…” You winced before you could say anything else. He snapped out of his thoughts and sat up, pushing you to sit on the floor next to him. Without another word, he got up and you looked as he pulled his pants back up and buckled his belt once more. 

“I guess we’ll see each other again now that you’ve entered the headquarters.” He was asleep while you were there. He was sure you took something, and it was just a matter of time for you to strike the building or him. He walked towards the sliding doors, and you moved on your place, wanting to go after him, but the sharp pain of the burns made you stay put.

“Johnny… wait.” Your voice was choked, but he turned around to face you again. You felt the room becoming cooler, and you didn’t want it to be that temperature… but it had to do for now. “My name… I didn’t lie about my name.” 

His eyebrow twitched in confusion at that. Should he believe you? Should he trust you on that one? He didn’t know, he didn’t want to find out, he didn’t want to see you again, but he knew that one was inevitable. He turned away from you and you saw how his whole body turned into flames and flew out of the balcony, leaving you bruised, branded and alone.

In an empty, cold, room.

“It’s been a while since your last report, Chameleon.” 

The stupid nickname your boss gave you. You had the ability to infiltrate through people without being spotted. It wasn’t a superpower, just good hiding. 

“Got a little bit busy Boss.” Your voice was flat as you looked at how the man turned to look at you. So many people are afraid of this man, but there was something about Doctor Doom that just made you want to laugh.

“I hope that ‘bit busy’ was to get the information we need.” His voice was threatening, menacing as he looked at you through the screen. You gave him a sharp nod.

“Yes, I was planning my next encounter with Storm.” At your report, he gave a small nod of approval. You felt your bandages becoming sticky underneath your oversized sweater. It was about time to change them again, so you had to make this a quick call.

“I see. So, you still didn’t get into the headquarters then?” And you wanted to smile at his question. You wanted to show him how fucked he was, but you held yourself back because you had another plan in action, one that doesn’t include a boss.

“No sir. I require more time to create a bond with him.” He gave a small nod as his sharp tone filled the speakers.

“Get it done.” And the call ended abruptly.

You stared at the black screen, a smile appearing on your face as you slowly got up from the couch, walking towards the windows that were all blacked out. You pressed a button that was on the side and the windows returned to be transparent, showing the city lights in the night.

But what caught your attention was the orange gleam that was far away, still, floating, as if looking your way. You knew it was him. He has been waiting for you to turn the windows transparent once again. You had blacked out the apartment from his view for a whole week. You had refurbished it again, even hung up a real picture this time, the only one in the room.

One of you and him. One that you took at a picnic you had planned for the both of you. One that wasn’t part of the plan. Like the theater. Like the nights spent in this fake apartment. Like the drinks spent on a terrace. But he didn’t know that. 

And then you saw him fly away, making your heart plummet to the floor. You winced as you turned to walk towards your kitchen, ready to take care of your wounds. Of his markings. Of his handprints that will permanently stay on your skin. 

It was funny. First, you betrayed Johnny, and now you are betraying your boss, someone who might rip you apart the moment he finds out you’ve been lying. Yet, you are more scared of losing the only fire that made you feel alive after a long while. 

You’ll keep that flame alive. You have to. 

You’ll make sure it does.

end

a/n: um, yeah, the thot was the burning of clothes, like, how was i supposed to do that one with just like, a normal person with no superpowers... with a lighter? not sexy enough.

also, handprints.

ta-ta

[desceros]

tries to sleep, fails, gets melancholy, copes by writing purple turtle fic donatello/reader, gn!reader, rated t, 1.6k. insomnia, friends to.... friends, (were you ever just friends? are you something more? what is love if not friendship shifted an inch to the left?), yearning, yearning, yearning, yearning—

Donatello is sleeping.

Hefting a fatigued sigh, you hover in the doorway to his bedroom for a moment. Staring at his face, taking it in. He’s gotten unfairly handsome as the years have gone by. Beautiful, even. Pretty angles, sharp defined lines, dark seductive eyes. Like this, unmasked, slack in sleep, it’s free for you to look as much as you want. More than you can during the day. A little secret thing just for your own heart’s keeping.

…Best friends shouldn’t want to stare at each other like this, you think with an ache.

It’s late. You can’t sleep. Lying down has provided nothing but racing thoughts you can’t quiet. Things to do tomorrow. Things to say when you see someone. Things to write down if you can hold them until the morning. Things, things, things. So many things in your head, ten thousand little voices like little snowflakes in your skull. Each small, powerless; but together, a force too mighty to outrun.

And Donnie is sleeping. Normally he’s awake. Fiddling, poking, prodding, studying, twisting, cracking, bending. Available to draw you into sleep. Always soothing, petting your hair, cooing at you until you drift off at last to the dulcet sounds of his low rumbles.

But not tonight. Tonight he sleeps, pretty in his sheets even as he’s all sprawled out and drooling. Cute. He’s cute. He’s cute and close enough to touch but so, so far away that you know you never will. Not like that. Not like that. 

It’s late. You can’t sleep. 

Slowly, not wanting to wake him, infuriated with yourself just at the thought that you’d risked it by lingering as long as you have, you peel away from his door frame and sneak into the living room. The couch greets you again. Inviting, soft. It smells like turtle ass. Popcorn. Movie night. It smells like family, like home. Scratchy beneath your cheek. You’ve been meaning to get them some new pillows. The way Mikey had laughed so hard he’d snorted his drink. Leo’s squawk when it got all over him. The weight of Donnie’s arm on your shoulder when he’d leaned on you while laughing until he got the hiccups. His cologne, new, smells nice. You should tell him tomorrow.

(You can’t tell him. There’s no way for a best friend to look at the other with pupils shaped like hearts and be the same. You can’t tell him.)

Heavily, you sigh. It’s late. You can’t sleep.

You sit up. Get up off the couch. Stretch a little before exhaling and walking around a bit to try and work off some of this excess energy. The darkness of the living room isn’t so much, anymore, what with how your eyes have adjusted. You can see the pieces of the evening strewn about. A pizza box that Splinter’s going to find in the morning and yell at the lot of you for not throwing out. Raph’s teddy bear, leaning against the other couch where he’d been pretending he hadn’t been using it to hide his face in the scary parts. Mikey’s cup, half-full, forgotten in Leo’s panic to find paper towels. And—

—Donnie, standing in the doorway, bleary-eyed, arms folded. 

“Why are you awake?” he asks, voice tumbling over your ears like rocks on a riverbed. Guilt strikes you like a blow. He’s exhausted. You’ve woken him up.

“I’m sorry,” you say as an answer, tangling your fingers in the shirt you’d borrowed out of his closet. The shirt you always borrow. The shirt that’s half yours, now. 

Donnie’s quiet. You sink your teeth into your lower lip and hope he’ll shrug and go back to bed. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’s got enough sleep juice in him that he’ll drift right back off and forget this happened. 

He doesn’t. “…Can’t sleep?”

The guilt burns your skin like sand in the wind. You smile and pretend. “I’ll be okay. Go back to bed, Don. You need it more than I do.”

He doesn’t. 

“…Please?” you try again. 

You’re met, instead, with a sigh. He rubs the back of his head where his mask would tie if he were wearing it. Lets his arm fall to his side—ah, except no. He’s holding out his hand, palm outstretched, inviting you to come close. When you don’t, his beak wrinkles. “Come here.” 

You take a few steps closer, but don’t take his hand just yet. “What are you doing?”

“Just come here,” he says again, curling his fingers a few times in an imperious grabby command. You come closer. He opens his tired eyes in a squint, mouth dipped into a frown, and his gesture gets more demanding. “Come here.” 

Stepping closer, closer, closer, finally you get within range. You realize he wants your hand the moment he loses patience with you, watching as he rolls his eyes and reaches out to encircle your wrist with strong fingers. They eclipse the bones there easily, tugging as he turns, pulling you out of the living room. 

“Don—” you start to protest, but he stops you with a breath.

“Stubborn,” he accuses, though there’s no heat to the word. The scoff is thick on the back of your tongue—Donnie of all people calling you stubborn—but you don’t let it out, knowing it’ll be too-loud in the pitch night. 

He pulls you into his room, the very room that had been such a sweet siren song to you earlier. He pulls you towards his bed. He pulls you in behind him when he settles in. He pulls you beneath his blanket. He pulls, pulls, pulls, until your chest is flush to his plastron and his arm is around your waist and his breath is in your face and your heart is in your throat.

It’s late. You’re not going to be able to sleep.

“…Go to sleep,” he says after a few seconds, doubtless able to feel the way your pulse is like a hummingbird against his skin. 

“Sorry,” you say in lieu of—anything else. You don’t dare try to say another word, unsure of what exactly would tumble out instead. Perhaps a sweet poem about the texture of his skin against yours. Maybe a lament that he feels the need to tuck his thigh between yours so so so close to where you wake in a pool of sweat dreaming of his touch. Or possibly a whispered confession that tastes like lightning and blood and sugar all at the same time; that you want this but not this, you want this but more. 

Gently, a forehead bonks against yours. Dark eyes open and meet yours, centimeters away. He studies you, and you watch the gears turn. More slowly than usual, lethargic even, because of his slumber. 

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. Dumbly, you nod. “Need to talk about it?”

“…Yeah,” you admit, then, “…but I won’t.”

He doesn’t like that. A frown mars his beautiful, beautiful face. 

“Why?”

You swallow the incredulous laugh, the kaleidoscope of responses. They’re all irrelevant, impossible to share, save for one. “You should sleep.”

Donnie’s hand tightens, fingers curling in his—your—shirt in the small of your back. “So should you.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…”

“…I don’t understand.” The confession, rare, makes you sigh. 

“…I don’t either,” you tell him. And you don’t. Why did you have to feel this way for him? Why couldn’t it be someone easier that stole your heart? Why does it have to be the one person you can’t stand to lose? Why does he have to be so comfortable touching you like this and making it hurt even worse? Why can’t you stop feeling this way?

Why can’t you sleep? Why can’t you sleep? 

His fingers unfurl from your shirt. His hand dips beneath the hem, finding the skin of your back. Slow shivers spread like little earthquakes as he strokes along your spine, tectonic caresses that ripple and destroy. It's familiar enough a touch that you don't stop him; unfamiliar enough that it rends you inside out.

Donnie leans in. Ghosts his lips along your jaw. It’s not a kiss; you’re just friends, after all. But it’s a sweet caress that feels good, all the way to where he lingers at your ear, whispering there, quivering at the touch that's too close to something else to be fair. “Close your eyes.”

You have one rule: listen to Donatello. So you do; you close your eyes, let his nails drag down your back, let his mouth press warm into your pulse, let his chest rumble with churrs that fill the night air with something akin to a lullaby. His legs curl around yours, mixing, confusing, making the separation of you disappear. 

It’s… maddening. You hate this. You love him. You love him so much. You hate that he can do this so easily. 

“Shhh,” comes the gentle coo against your skin, like he can tell you’re pulling away from his intent. You obey that, too. Donnie says to be quiet, so you quiet. Thoughts, movements, words; all of them fall away at his beckoning. “Just like that. Good.”

Good, you think, feeling a little fuzzy. It feels good to be good for him. God. You’d be so good for him—but no. None of that, now. Not when you can pretend that these little presses of his lips are kisses. That the thickness of his thigh pressed to your shorts means something. That his hand scratching lines in your skin is something meant to claim as much as it is to calm.

“Making me work for it tonight,” you hear him mumble, half-conscious of the words, not sure if they’re real or part of a dream he’s built for you. “Good job, sweetheart. Just like that.” 

More brushes of his mouth. A slow glide of tongue. A lovely dream, you think, finally letting your muscles go slack. A dream of a Donatello who would hold you like this, talk to you like this. A Donatello who is more than just your best friend.

It’s late. Finally, warm and held and pulled into a sweet dream, finally, you sleep.

[mallsharks]

cringe is dead. have my oc ignis as siffrin from hit indie game in stars and time. i love putting this bug in situations

[gatzbright]

[october] one year of togetherness.

@/dreamsecretclub: dteam Christmas won’t be happening unfortunately, thought I’d say before that way Christmas can still be great :) totally out of our control unfortunately, can’t wait for the future still :)) 2022 incoming ♥️♥️

Dream: I'm gonna expose George's feelings on his behalf ... He was just saying, he was like, 'I think I'm depressed', and we were like 'What do you mean?' and he was like, 'I don't know. I don't do anything, and no one's here, and I just wanna come to the US'. And Sapnap was like, 'Well, what if I came to the UK?' and George was like, 'You should'. And then Sapnap went and filed for his passport the next day.

Dream: Because George hasn't got his visa yet, Sapnap's going to the UK. Sapnap: Fine. I'll go. [Dream Team laughs] Dream: So, unfortunately, Sapnap's getting the first George hug. [George Laughs] Sapnap: I'm getting the first George hug.

Dream: I feel like if George isn't here by, like—I wanna be like, 'Well, next month'. I feel like if George isn't here by September, my like, mental health will take a dive. Massively. And that sounds like, fucked, but it's one-hundred percent true.

Dream: You will see the fact that George, um—George's reaction to seeing me ... We said when he got his visa he could FaceTime me, so, stuck to the plan. Not saying anymore because you have to wait for the meetup video.

Dream: You sure you don't want to wait to see me in person? George: I'm ready. I've got my camera set up—I'm all ready to go! Dream: I guess I just, I wasn't expecting this. I'm gonna go look in a mirror and make sure I don't look like trash. I'll be right back! George: [laughs] Okay ... Oh my god.

George: After years of waiting, I was finally going to America.

Sapnap: Dream? Dream: Yeah? Sapnap: Clay? Dream: Oh god. Sapnap: I brought him. He's here. You excited? Dream: I am ... very nervous. Sapnap: Nervous but excited. Dream: I'm nervous, but I'm excited! I'm doing excited hops. Sapnap: It's a big day—an exciting day! ... Take your time. This is big stuff. He's going to be living here forever.

@/GeorgeNotFound: Just met Dream!! :)

“This doesn’t even feel real,” George says in the video — a sentiment he reiterates to Variety when asked about how he felt in the moment. “The sun was directly behind him, and it was blinding me, and he had an aura about him.” 

George: It's so bright, I can't even see you. You're like a—you're like a god with the sun behind you!

George: I guess I gotta go get my bags in, and time to live in the Dream House. Dream: The Dream Team House!

@/GeorgeNotFound: why didnt you post the one where you actually kissed me?

dream @/dreamwastaken: just felt better leaving things up for larger interpretation

George: Look it's Dream, and Sapnap. It's all of us!

Dream: [softly to George] Rise and shine. We're home.

Hypnotised, Delta Goodrem | Dream's secret George photos in smile hoodie, Deleted @/dreamwastaken Tweet | Dream Priv Tweet,@/dreamsecretclub | The Collector, John Fowles | Dream Team Minecraft Skins | Dream Discord Podcast, Dream Merch Server | Our first selfie :], @/GeorgeNotFound Tweet | Sapnap Tiktok with George, @/Sapnapvids | Fortnite w/Dream and George, SapnapAlt VOD | Waiting for Godot, Samuel Beckett [Used Many Times] |  You Laugh You Lose With George, Sapnap VOD | Dream Discord Podcast, Dream Merch Server | The Trial, Franz Kafka | George Visa Tweet, @/GeorgeNotFound | Dream Twitter Space, @/dreamwastaken | October Passed Me By, girl in red | George Visa Selfie, @/GeorgeNotFound | I Met Dream In Real Life, GeorgeNotFound [Used Many Times] | There It Goes, Maisie Peters | Dandelion Wine, Gregory Alan Isakov | Electric Touch (feat. Fall Out Boy) (Taylor's Version) (From The Vault), Taylor Swift | Coastline, Hollow Coves | George Tweet, @/GeorgeNotFound | Dream and George Interview, Rachel Seo, Variety | Dream Deleted Tweet Photos, @/Dream | George Tweet Reply,@/GeorgeNotFound | Dreamland, Glass Animals | Photograph of Dream and George during the Foodbeast's Panel at Twitchcon San Diego, @/itsjusttai_ | Dream Team Christmas – Baking Cookies, Sapnap VOD | fallingforyou, The 1975 | Dream Team Christmas – Gingerbread Houses, GeorgeNotFound VOD | Dream Tweet Reply, @/dreamwastaken | It's Not Living (If It's Not With You), The 1975 | just got back from hospital..., GeorgeNotFound VOD | Home, Gabrielle Aplin | Dream and George on set: Everest – Dream & Yung Gravy BEHIND THE SCENES, Dream Music | Dream Snapchat Video, @/Dream | Frankenstein, Mary Shelley

[mamawasatesttube]

one other thing that really makes me roll my eyes in dc fics is the insistence that the bats can take down anyone, even their most op teammates. like... you guys know a character doesn't have to be the most physically capable one in the room in order to be interesting or strong in their own right, right? look me in the eye. cass had to save tim from shrike. bane broke bruce's back. mind-controlled kon snapped tim's arm like a twig. trying to make them ~always~ able to counter even the most powerful opponents is so boring im sorry like they can and do lose fights sometimes, and that's interesting actually. they are all incredibly competent martial artists, yes! that doesn't mean they can win every single matchup. that's simply neither the point of nor the strength in their characters.

[undertheopensky]

Memento

Whumptober Day 22: Glass Shard

Characters: Four, Sky, everyone else is there

Trigger warnings: Self-harm, it’s unintentional but it’s there, minor nudity, panic attacks, a special kind of unreliable narrator, many bad decisions are made

Read on Ao3!

-----

The portal looks like any other. It’s only as he steps through that Four registers something – off – as his awareness stretches and spirals and f r a y s

They’re scattered in the void between stars, drowning and endless, flecks of insignificance against a being so much greater that the scale of it is lost to them.

OUTSIDE EQUIPMENT IS FORBIDDEN.

Their body doesn’t exist right now. It’s so easy for the entity to strip them down to their essentials, their skin and their blood and their bones, leaving everything else behind in the void. Peeling away everything that isn’t them, their sword, their tunics, the cord at their throat –

No!

In this moment-between-moments they’re barely a spark of thoughts, a soul in potentia, and every fibre of their being curls tight and defensive against the gentle tug. Over their heart, they wrap threads of lightning and fire around a faint and faded glimmer. They resist.

The entity tugs again.

No no no don’t take it please don’t take it I can’t lose it I can’t lose him I can’t –

The entity… pauses.

They cling tighter. I won’t let you take it.

ALL OUTSIDE EQUIPMENT IS FORBIDDEN.

They keen in soundless protest. Mine-his-only-thing-left-grief-and-horror-and-mourning–

…ALL OUTSIDE EQUIPMENT IS FORBIDDEN. BUT A TRINKET THAT GRANTS NO ADVANTAGE… THAT, I CAN ALLOW.

And they’re flooded with relief a split second before they’re flooded with sound and light and ow.

Everything always tingles for a few seconds, after teleportation. All his pieces realising they’re still alive, registering protests about the sand beneath him, the chill of the air, the ache in his tightly-clenched hand –

“What the fuck –”

“Who took my rings –”

“WHERE IN DIN’S NAME ARE MY PANTS?!”

Everyone else is discovering they’ve been stripped of their equipment and are reacting accordingly. Four sits up slowly, flexes his throbbing fingers just enough to check –

A thin cord tugs at his neck; razor edges bite into his palm. The necklace is safe. He didn’t lose it. It’s safe.

He shudders out a sigh, hot and cold playing over his bare skin. After the panic attack, all of them slammed together in united desperation, everything feels kind of muffled. There, but unimportant. Even everyone’s noisy agitation isn’t worth responding to – no one is missing, no one is hurt, they’re just upset. They don’t need him for that.

“Four – shit, Four, you’re bleeding–!”

He realises what they’re reaching for almost too late. “No!” he yelps. “No don’t touch it it’s mine don’t take it no no no–” The sand is cool and slippery under their feet as they scrabble back. There’s a wall, there’s a corner, there’s nowhere to run so they huddle instead, curled protectively around the hand holding his necklace and keening high and panicked.

“Don’t take it,” he gasps, “please don’t.”

“It’s okay,” someone soothes, “it’s okay. I won’t take it. I’m just worried about your hand. It’s bleeding; are you hurt? I’m not going to take anything from you. I just want to see your hand. Do you think you can do that?”

Panting, Four peeks out of his defensive ball. Sky is there, not too close, crouched far enough away to give him some space. His tentative smile widens when he sees Four looking back at him.

“I promise I won’t take it,” he repeats. “Can you take a deep breath for me? Please?”

Aware he’s being handled and annoyed by it, Four obeys only out of spite. Breathing the full depth of his lungs hurts. It takes a few gasping starts to get all the way down, and by then the green-grey panic has faded from the edges of his vision.

“I hate that this shit works,” he says in a sapphire-tinted growl.

Sky is infuriatingly patient. “If it didn’t work, we wouldn’t ask you to do it. Do you think I’d be able to take a look at your hand now? Please?”

As the adrenaline fades it is starting to hurt. And… it’s Sky. He… they trust Sky.

Mostly, indigo murmurs.

Slowly he uncurls his fingers, wincing crimson as the pain flares. Blood runs down his bare arm. It’s still a struggle to let go enough to switch the blood-streaked pendant to his other hand. His heart drops into freefall for the instant it takes his fingers to close, only steadies when the edges bite just enough to register. Only then does he let Sky take him by the wrist.

Welling up from the ragged cuts, blood drips to the sand; Sky frowns in concern. “Some of these look deep… does anyone have a potion? Bandages, even? I seem to have misplaced my kit…”

“No,” says Wild, grimacing. “It’s… I’ve only ever seen one of these before, but the shrine keeper takes everything as you come in. Weapons, equipment, armour.”

“Fucking clothes,” Legend mutters.

“You don’t even wear pants to start with, Legend,” says Twilight.

“That doesn’t mean I want to go naked!”

“Magic’s probably still on the table, if you have the strength for it.” Wild shoots Hyrule a hopeful look.

Without meaning to Four tenses when Hyrule gets close.

“I’m not going to take it from you,” Hyrule says, repeating Sky’s words from earlier.

Four flushes with dull embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry for scaring you.” Moving more slowly, Hyrule carefully lays his fingertips on Four’s bleeding hand. They start to glow, a gentle spring green, and Four watches the self-inflicted cuts fade away, leaving smears of blood behind.

“Thanks,” he says. Then, to avoid the inevitable questions, he forces himself to stand, looks straight at Wild, and ploughs onwards: “So, how do we get out of here?”

“Well, assuming this is some kind of shrine, it could vary. Sometimes they’re… moving puzzles. Like, you have to move a ball down a path, but there are lasers in the way that will knock you into a pit if you don’t block them somehow. Or you have to reach a high area but there’s no ladder, but there are things that you can pile up into like a really lopsided set of stairs. Other times they’re combat trials – you have to defeat a certain monster, or a group of monsters, to make the final door open.”

Wind makes a noise of understanding. “Oh, so it’s just a dungeon then. Cool.”

Wild frowns. “I… dunno? You guys always made dungeons sound, like, super drawn out. These are like. Two, maybe three tasks, and you’re done. The steals-all-your-shit shrine was the worst for that alone but it was also a combined combat-puzzle thing. I guess you didn’t have to fight the monsters to get the balls, but it was a lot easier carrying them around if you didn’t also have to dodge arrow fire.”

“And you did this without armour or a sword?” says Warriors, somewhere between aghast and impressed.

“I broke a lot of sticks,” Wild agrees. “I would have given so much for even the crappiest sword, but I’ve never been able to get anything past the shrine keeper.”

“Thought you said you’d only seen one of these?” Legend runs his fingers over his knuckles again. It’s an unconscious motion, missing his rings.

“Well I ran the first time, didn’t I?” says Wild reasonably. “Panicked and ran for it. When I got far enough away the monk gave me all my shit back. I tried a couple times to sneak stuff in, throw it from the raft or whatever, but no dice. How’d you do it, Four?”

Four’s hand tightens. Hot blood starts to seep into the spaces between his fingers, something sharp like panic coiling around his heart.

“Steady, Four,” says Sky. “Deep breaths. Shit, you’re bleeding again – Wild!”

“I’m sorry! I was just curious!”

Four wants this over with. Why can’t they just leave them alone, fuck, they’re always asking and poking and so goddamn nosy, they never let things go, he can see their burning curiosity and knows what they want, he can feel it pressing in on his heart –

If he doesn’t think about it too hard, the words can stumble out. “I felt it – and – I fought it.”

Legend frowns. “You fought it for your necklace? Why not your sword – hell, your shirt?”

“How did you even feel it?” Wind demands. “One second we were walking into a portal and the next we’re stripped to our skivvies! There was no time!”

“Time’s more flexible than you think,” they say absently. Their fingers shift, making glass cut twilight-sharp, and their heart steadies.

“When the portal – when we entered the shrine – there was a moment where – Wild called it the shrine keeper – I – felt it. Taking everything away. Bag. Sword. Clothing. But –” his hand twitches again. Sky hisses as more blood hits the sand. “I couldn’t let them take this. It’s the only thing I have of my best friend.”

The words fall from his lips in blood red and bruise purple and he meant to say them but he didn’t and he regrets them but he doesn’t. The pendant is important, they can’t lose it, they need the others to understand that –

Their mind turns inward. What if they hadn’t – convinced them? What if the shrine keeper had taken the fragile shard of glass –

Give it back! It’s like an echo of a memory, too-sharp and too-clear. Please give it back, please!

Their fingers tighten. Pain swells, drowns out the almost-memories, and stays a constant drumming throb even when they relax.

Unease runs viridian.

“–our, I need you to take a breath for me, can you do that? C’mon, head up, you can do it –”

Calm and steady, Sky’s voice draws them from the almost-flashback. It’s harder this time – they hurt, and they’re tired, and the grief isn’t lurking so much as clawing up their spine. The world presses in on them. They hurt, Green-Red-Blue-Vio all caught up in we-miss-him-we-miss-him-we-miss-him. It makes everything harder, when all they want to do is fall deep and curl up in mirror-shard memories that hurt the same way they do. (The pain is comforting.) (They know it shouldn’t be.)

When they’re like this, when they can’t find the balance that lets them be Four instead of four, when they don’t even want to – someone has to take the reins. Someone who’s capable of at least pretending to be a person, for a while – and this time, that’s Red. Red, who feels things so intensely he circles right back around to ‘functional’. Who manages to take a full breath of air even through the tears, making Sky smile encouragement.

“Good! Good job, just keep it up, you’re alright.”

Red wants the smile, wants the comfort just as much as he hates it. It’s wrong. Too big, the wrong shape, smells of feathers and sunlight instead of smoke and steel. Another stuttering breath rips through his chest. He misses them so much – misses them all, even when they’re right there with him because it’s not the same. And there’s nothing he can do about it except breathe, and cry, and wait for the storm to pass.

Hyrule inches closer. “Four, you’re bleeding again. Can I see your hand?”

Red breathes through the avalanche of fear and hurt and no. Checks – the bleeding isn’t bad – before shaking his head. “S’fine.”

“I don’t want to leave you in pain. Please?”

“No.” It comes out harsher than he intends.

“Okay, not right now. Can you let me know when you’re ready?”

Red hums agreement. Presses the hand against his sternum, feels the way it makes glass shift in his fingers.

“Just make sure you get it treated, little one,” Time says from nearby, deep and slow. “That’s your sword hand.” He’s – closer than Red had realised. They all are, actually.

“You gotta look after yourself!” Wild adds.

That is possibly the most hypocritical thing he’s ever heard Wild say, and for a moment he just stares. Then he gets distracted by Wind, bouncing and clearly relieved Four is looking more stable.

“It’s okay, Four! Wild says these don’t take long, so we’ll be out of here and back to normal in no time!” His eyes catch on Four’s hand – still clenched tight, still bleeding – and flicker uncertainly. Then he squeaks and flails in protest as Warriors scrubs a hand through his hair.

“Sailor’s right, it’ll be okay. Maybe talk to your friend next time you’re home? See about getting a spare – or somewhere safer to keep it?”

Twilight makes a noise of agreement. “Your friend must be real important to ya,” he says, “but you haven’t mentioned ‘em before. Can you tell us about them?”

Embers spark.

“He killed himself,” Four says boldly, “to save my life.”

There’s a brief, horrified silence.

Then everyone bursts out talking at once, Twilight’s frantic apologies mixing with Wind telling him off, Hyrule pleading to let him help, Warriors protesting something that gets lost in the commotion. They’re guilty, apologetic, desperately trying to help.

Red doesn’t care.

“I can’t just – get a new one, because it was his, and now he’s gone. He saved me – he saved all of fucking Hyrule – and people call me a hero when I couldn’t – I couldn’t even save him.” Under a layer of numb his skin is burning, with hurt, with anger, with the grief he holds close. He still feels so cold. It isn’t fair.

Time interrupts before he can dig his heels too deep. “How old were you?” His voice is gentle, almost distant.

“We were – we were both thirteen.” His voice cracks and he has to use his free hand to dash away angry tears. This is why he doesn’t talk about it, dammit.

Sky hugs him.

It’s more awkward than usual, without all their layers in the way – why does skin have to be so warm, and slightly sticky, ugh – but Sky is determined, and Four – doesn’t have it in him to protest, right now. Leaning into Sky’s chest, he lets himself relax – lets his fingers loosen, just a little, on the shard of mirror-glass.

They just want this to be over.

-----

When Four doesn’t fight him, just lets himself be held, Sky fixes the rest of the group with a sharp eye. “Wild, how fast can you get us through this?”

Wild’s back goes straight. “Depends on the tasks, usually doesn’t take more than an hour or two.”

“How do we get out afterwards?”

Wild glances around, grimacing. “Well, usually there’s a – a platform that carries you up and down, but I don’t see one here – this looks really different to what I’m used to, but it – it feels the same, I guess?”

Sky stays focused on problem solving. “Any other ways out?”

“The shrine keeper. When you approach them, the shrine keeper teleports you out.”

“Can we bypass the dungeon and go straight for the exit that way?”

“No, they – they’re always blocked off, you have to – the shrine wants you to do something, and you have to figure it out and – and actually do it, before the path opens – sometimes the problem is the path –”

“Okay, so it is like a dungeon,” says Legend. He’s tense, keeps flicking quick looks at Four and the way he’s standing unprotestingly in Sky’s hold. “How fast d’you think we can get through with multiple people helping?”

“Only one way to find out!” says Sky with false cheer.

Quickly they get themselves organised. There’s no equipment to outfit themselves with, no armour to check; all they can do is split into smaller groups to hopefully cover all corners as fast as possible. Legend makes a point of putting Warriors in the only group of three. Warriors complains, but’s mostly a front. He’s never experienced a dungeon before and is rightly wary, so putting him with two other people who have only makes sense.

Sky they leave to babysit Four, whose empty expression and slow reflexes are not convincing anyone that he’s capable of a dungeon run. Some traps have genuinely murderous timing. He’s also still refusing to let go of his necklace, which cuts him deep enough to bleed every time something makes him startle.

Once they’re gone, and the sandy hallway has gone still, Sky gently rocks on his feet, moving Four with him. “Hey, Four? You with me at all?”

Four gives a displeased grunt.

“Yeah, I know.” Sky’s heart hurts. “C’mon, let’s sit down again. The others will come get us later.”

Four goes with him when he tugs, crouching and then tumbling into a clumsy sit. His knees draw close to his face, seemingly without thought, going back to the defensive huddle with his bloodied hand at the centre. Stormy grey is alert, if sullen. Mostly Four just looks tired.

Sky sits beside him, not wanting to overwhelm him further. “It’s okay. They’re a lot sometimes, but they mean well.���

Four’s response is too muffled to translate.

“Sorry, Four, I didn’t catch that.”

“I’m tired of them asking!” he bursts out. “I’m tired of them asking about – about friends, and family, and do you have someone special waiting for you at home, and – it hurts, and I’m tired of it, and they won’t stop!”

And of course that was the danger in Red fronting when they were this emotional – what came out was what they felt, no deflecting or sugar coating, no way to hide after.

“I’m sorry,” Sky says. “I didn’t realise it was bothering you so much. I can talk to the others about it and make sure everyone stops.”

If they haven’t sworn off it already. Blue, sardonic, even through the grey haze cloaking their mind.

I feel bad, Green murmurs, they were just trying to help.

After such an outburst? Doubtless they feel worse than you do, says Vio.

“They should feel guilty,” Red mutters, and it’s shot through with indigo venom. “Maybe now they’ll shut up.”

Sky tightens the arm across his shoulders. “It’ll be okay.”

He feels helpless. Four isn’t usually – vindictive, like this. Nor prone to outbursts and fits of temper. Being stripped mostly naked would knock anyone off-balance, to say nothing of the desperate way Four is protecting his necklace, but – Sky just doesn’t know what to do. Four’s a lot more functional than he would be, after three panic attacks back-to-back, but how much of that is just a mask? How much is he really struggling to hold it together?

(Would Sky even be able to tell, when Four’s been hiding this for so long?)

He runs a hand through his hair, absent-minded, and catches on the lack of catching at his ears. “Aw, man. It even took my earrings. Wild did say it would give them back after, right?”

“…yeah.”

His sigh of relief is only slightly exaggerated. “That’s good. Those weren’t easy to get, you know.”

Four’s tired blink isn’t the most rousing expression of interest, but Sky launches into the story anyway. He has to let go of Four to make the gestures his hands want to, and – it’s fine. Four doesn’t collapse in on himself at the loss of contact. All he does is turn his head to watch Sky talk, eyes still a little too sharp.

Sky hopes the distraction helps. Involving Four hadn’t worked, but something completely outside of himself, something new to hold onto? Maybe it will help him calm down from the edge of panic he’s been riding since they first stumbled out of the portal.

It’s as he’s describing Scrapper and the Mogmas that Wind’s shout draws them both to look up. “Hey, guys! Legend cracked it!” He waves enthusiastically, like maybe they hadn’t yet noticed him standing in his skivvies at the end of the hall. “There’s a big statue but Wild doesn’t wanna mess with it ‘til everyone’s there! C’mon!”

Four refuses Sky’s hand to get up, though he’s a little shaky on his feet. Sky tries not to hover. He knows how annoying it is, having people looming close just waiting for you to fail, and at the same time, he doesn’t want Four to hurt himself if he stumbles and falls.

Wild was right: this isn’t nearly as long and complex as a dungeon. According to Wind, who chatters on as they make their way up the spiralling collection of ramps, they’d had to do a fair bit of work pulling things apart to make it traversable for anyone who wasn’t Wild. “It took him and Twilight and Legend with his power bracelets to move that block,” he waves at the massive piece of stone they’re walking over to the next bridge-like panel. “And then Wild used his slate for these metal pieces, except he kept dropping them, and his aim is shit, so Wars nearly fell in that pool getting out of the way.”

Sky snorts at the mental image.

When they make it to the top, they find the others loosely gathered around some kind of blocky statue. It looks like a cross between an owl, a fox, and a rabbit. What even needs ears that long?

Wild flashes them a strained grin over his shoulder. “So! Usually I find a ten-thousand-year-old Sheikah monk at the end of these things, but it’s got kinda the same feel to it, so we’re gonna try anyway. Just in case, everyone grab hold of me.”

That isn’t easy. Eight different people have to crowd around Wild’s back and sides to make sure everyone has a hand on him. Sky spots Four’s hand in the crush, still streaked with drying blood, and his stomach rolls.

“Okay, everyone ready? Here goes nothing.” Wild reaches out towards the statue.

For a long moment, nothing happens.

Then the world twists like a Time Gate, several things happening at once. A panel goes red – lights up green – a glimmering box of blue light shatters, flinging threads of glass before they freeze in midair – an angry buzzing noise – chiming fairy bells –

The statue smiles.

WELL DONE.

And as suddenly as it started, it all stops.

Sky fumbles a bit at the added weight, his sailcloth dragging at his shoulders and his earrings suddenly heavy in his ears. Time’s armour makes a crashing noise like it had been dropped from a height; Time grunts.

They’re outside, grass under their feet and a weird teardrop-shaped stone building behind them. Sky doesn’t know where they are – it’s all hills and fields and low-hanging trees – but there’s no monsters in eyeshot so he uses the opportunity to double check all his belongings were returned. Earrings, sailcloth, clothes – check. Bag – check, and it looks like the contents are intact. Master Sword and scabbard, fucking goddessdamned check. He did not appreciate losing her, even for a couple of hours.

Around him the others are doing much the same, adjusting clothes and checking packs. Legend’s running his fingers over his rings like he’s counting them, while Warriors struggles to get his mail to sit right over his bad shoulder.

And Four –

All Sky catches a glimpse of is black and glossy and strangely clean of blood before Four is shoving the pendant down the neck of his tunic, out of sight.

The difference is immense. All the tension drops out of his shoulders, he stops standing hunched in on himself, even his face relaxes from its hard, suspicious lines. There’s still creases around his too-red eyes – he’s still feeling the effects of the panic and stress of the day – but he looks more himself.

He even smiles at Wind’s little dance of happiness at getting his pants back. “Aren’t you the first one to strip every time we find a lake?”

Brightening at the sound of his voice, Wind spins to face him and beams. “Yeah, but that’s different! Lakes are fun! This was just annoying.”

“You shoulda heard him whine when we asked him to scale that rope,” says Legend.

Wind makes an outraged noise. “You try climbing coarse hemp with no pants! I ain’t a fan of splinters in me privates!”

The laughter and bickering is slightly strained. Even as Hyrule creeps up and is finally, finally allowed to heal his torn-up hand and wipe away the blood, everyone’s giving Four his space. Not pushing, not demanding things of him, just letting him exist with them.

Good. Sky will still catch them up individually, make sure everyone knows Four’s had enough of personal questions, but for now at least, everything is okay.

Wild finishes what he was doing – taking photographs of the weird building? – and waves his Slate at everyone. “Definitely my Hyrule! If we head north, we should make it to Castle Town by nightfall.”

“Isn’t your Castle Town still mostly construction site?” Legend says, and Wild shrugs.

“If you wanna spend two days walking to Kakariko, be my guest, but there’s at least a temporary stable and inn at Castle Town.”

“I vote beds,” says Wind immediately.

Sky agrees – from the look of the sun, they’re mid-afternoon, so being just a couple of hours away from safety is very appealing. It only takes a little debate for Legend to give in, since he doesn’t want to sleep on the ground if he doesn’t have to, either. As they set off through the grass, Sky scans the group one last time.

Twilight’s up the front with Wild, Hyrule looking on in fascination as Wild waves at a herd of horses and threatens to catch one. Warriors is close enough to intervene if necessary, while Legend is deliberately ignoring them in favour of studying the landscape – in the opposite direction of Wild’s horses. Wind has dragged Time into a conversation about his armour, with Four – steady and reserved once more – chiming in here and there about plate maintenance.

Sky takes a deep breath, and lets the tension run out of him as he exhales.

For now, everything’s okay.

[happypeachsludgeflower]

Current damage report for number of times Feng Xin has been emotionally harmed in making of the hanahaki fic, [ the root of the problem (is my love for you that grows) ]

Thus far, we have three (3) counts of bawling, two (2) separate sulk fests in a blankie burrito, one (1) public display of screaming, and one (1) dissociation episode.

I am still on the first chapter. There will be four total.

Thank you for joining me for Peach Writing Live. Tune in next time to hear how I destroy this man's life further.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

four walls: alex moodboard

(miles’s version)

[theoneeyedgoldenwolf]

Four's colors: Blue (anger issues)

Whumptober 2024, number 29: Fatigue

Summary: Time’s latest boy has trouble in getting his feelings under control. Four has a necklace which’s color he’s capable of changing by pressing one of the four small buttons around the pendant.

Green is his default when he’s calm and collected while accepting people both being close and keeping their distance. Red is the emotional side of him when he’s very clingy and in need of closeness. Violet is his scientific mind when he’s not too happy of being bothered unless one has something of worth to say and willing to help him clear the current problem out. Blue is his anger and he really wishes people would keep their distance at then.

Obviously Time isn’t taking that. He’s more than willing to help his boy to deal with the feeling and figure out the reason behind his anger… Even with the cost of his own wellbeing.

CW: Punching, cursing, anger, emotional fatigue / exhaustion, lack of eating, black eye, broken bones

Notions: - Part of my Ranch Family AU, the Modern Linked Universe stories - Time has lost his eye and has the scar over his right eye but he does NOT have Fierce Deity's markings yet. - There will be the other colors too in their own stories.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Time half gasped, half growled when the fist struck into his face. He hadn’t really waited for that punch which was the reason he struck to the floor bit roughly while catching his fall with his left hand. The thing he was actually grateful of was the fact the hit had come to his blind side. It wouldn’t matter if his unseeing right eye ended up blocked.

Four inhaled sharply in shock while staring wide-eyed at the scene. “T-Time…” He stammered with wavering voice while tears already formed in his eyes. “I… I-I’m s-sorry…” He nearly mumbled in fright.

The one eyed male sat down to better position and shook his head with a gentle smile. “Not your fault.” He started calmly. “Just me doing a wrong move at wrong time. Should’ve seen that hit come and not crouch down yet.” He told before bit tilting his head. “Can I hug you?”

The newest boy of the ranch jerked a bit in start at the inquiry before slumping and nodding. Time smiled fondly and gently pulled the shortest boy of his into an embrace. “It’s all right, Four. Everything’s okay.” He promised before giving a slight grin. “I think I might still need some ice to that hit. You got good strike.” He complimented and smiled a bit as the boy in his arms blushed. “May I pick you up?” He inquired while looking at the younger male.

Four just nodded while unconsciously bringing one hand to his necklace. He pressed one of the four small buttons and changed the blue into red. Yet, he gave out a startled yelp when the ranch’s owner tightened his hold and stood up. He adjusted his hold while the youngster wrapped his arms around his neck.

Time took them to the kitchen where Wild was working with meal. “Wild, could you throw me an ice pack, thanks.” He requested and the scarred youngster just nodded. He didn’t check behind as he easily and with full knowledge of where everything was fetched the needed thing. He turned around and threw it already before getting tad startled of the already forming notion of his caretaker having gotten a hit into the corner of his right eye.

“What happened?” Wild queried while bit frowning and tilting his head.

“Just bit of an accident. Nothing to worry.” The one eyed male replied calmly. “Just keep on working with the food.” He called while already heading off to the living room with Four still in his arms. Wild just nodded even though he wanted to know but he easily figured it out that it wasn’t for him to know. At least not unless Four chose to share the information.

Time sat down to the sofa before gently pressing his forehead against his boy’s. “It’s okay, Four. You’ve been bit off today and I just wanted to see if I could help. Usually anger has a reason.” He told gently while doing his best to soothe the younger male as well as he could.

“You should’ve just let me be and figure this out by myself.” Four mumbled with ears drooping and still being fully slumped. “At then, at least, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Time grinned a bit and shrugged. “Yeah, well, that’s not my style.” He replied almost airily. “If one of my boys isn’t feeling well, I’m going to do everything in my power to help. If using me as a punching bag helps, then I’m willing to act as such.” He told with a grin which widened when Four gasped and pulled off almost horrified.

The one eyed male shrugged. “Twilight used to use me as a target when he practiced to throw his knife straight and true.” He told before chuckling a bit as the color started to drain away from Four’s face. “Just kidding! Just kidding!” He assured while grinning. “Twilight had bad nightmares. He woke up screaming. Still does at some nights as you’re aware by now. So, before he really knew me, and while being between dream and reality, he was just trying to defend himself by throwing the knife. Had the bad luck of getting struck couple of times.” He explained calmly and the shortest boy sighed in relief and relaxed a bit.

“So, we all have our own ways to react to things.” Time continued bit sorrowfully. “Wild wakes up crying, Wind whimpers. Legend throws out curses. Sky falls silent and nearly rigid. I wake up with a gasp and fear.” He pointed out and bit shrugged. “I guess your reply to nightmares is anger.”

Four had frowned while listening to his caretaker’s explanations. Yet, he slumped and turned his gaze off when his actions came out. “So, you can either talk with me or anyone else in here or even with a shrink if that’s what you want or you can just write it all down into the booklet and deal with it that way or I can get you a punching bag to vent your anger off. Your choice.” The ranch’s owner listed out the ideas of helping that came into his mind straight off. “Unless, of course, you can come up with something else that you believe could actually work in your place.”

Four frowned while thinking through the options before raising his gaze up bit uncertainly. “I could try the punching bag.” He half whispered and Time nodded in acceptance.

“I’ll get it first thing tomorrow.” The one eyed male promised after having checked the clock. “Most places are closed by now and the food’s probably within an hour.” He pointed out before returning his gaze into his boy. “But, hate to say this, you gotta work with your nightmares and trauma somehow.”

Four sighed and nodded. “It’s just… I don’t recall the nightmares. It’s more of a feeling. I just end up feeling useless. Unable to fight back against whatever’s in there. I just…” He trailed off and shook his head sorrowfully.

“It’s okay, Four. I got you. You’re not dealing with this alone.” Time promised gently while pulling the youngster close to him. “You’re safe here with me and the others. We all just want to help you.” Four nodded before yawning. “Take a nap, kiddo. Emotions are rough things to deal with.” He whispered quietly while holding his boy protectively and still somehow managing to keep the ice bag to its rightful place.

As Time promised, he did buy the punch bag at the next day and installed it into his boy’s room to right height. Four gave it a test run at that day and actually liked it. Yet, even though he hoped he could’ve used it at the good days too, it was more often than not given a thorough workout during the bad days.

The ranch’s owner had bought at the next day from the boy having come to the ranch, four different colored mats for his boy so he could let people know in what mood he went to bed. Yet, the youngster used it also for others to know in what mood he woke up along with what mood he was having when he stayed at his room. Green was calmness, blue was anger, red was emotional and violet was scientific.

Sadly, the blue colored mat started to be outside the boy’s door in most of the days and the kid really was putting the punching bag through hell. That wasn’t yet the worst part. Time could give the solitude and attempt of clearing the feelings. Yet, he could NOT accept the boy missing meals as some days were in such way that the youngster didn’t eat a thing. He really hated to play the bad guy’s part but sometimes he just had to do such to help the younger males to heal.

Eventually, at one day, the one eyed male just stormed into Four’s room dragged the kicking and screaming boy outside. He felt slight bit grateful that he hadn’t needed to command his boy to open the door and, most of all, he hadn’t needed to break the lock of the room. So far each of his boys kept their doors unlocked even though each of them had the chance for it.

“Okay, kiddo, just attack.” Time quite well commanded while taking a stance. “The punch bag can’t fight back and right now you need something more since that’s not aiding you even one bit.” He stated out firmly. “Put that anger into use and fight.”

Four was trembling out of rage and he was glaring at the ranch’s owner. After a while, he screamed and attacked. His caretaker, though, stayed fully on defense and just avoiding and blocking the punches and kicks. That only got the shortest boy of the place even more furious and his hits had more strength within them.

Time took his chance and tackled the youngster into the ground. Yet, he held firmly and made sure the boy didn’t get hurt even one bit. Once lowered to the ground, he let go and backed off. Four screamed in frustration as he scrambled back to his feet and dashed forward to attack even harder.

When the others started to gather around in shock and uncertainty, their guardian just commanded them to stay out of the situation. Four didn’t pay even one bit of notion of his brothers being in there. His blind rage had overtaken him and he just needed to win.

Yet, after the umpteenth time of having been tackled to the ground, he finally stayed there and just broke down. Time relaxed and sighed bit in relief before walking that short distance to his boy and crouched down. He pulled the youngster into his arms and just started to comfort him as well as he could. The others around him were baffled but Twilight and Sky quickly started to disperse the crowd of theirs to give the duo the privacy.

Eventually the newest member of the Lon-Lon Ranch’s family just fell asleep out of emotional fatigue. The one eyed male held him tight while continuing to whisper reassuring words and comforting nonsense. He stayed in there until Four yawned and slowly woke up. “Feeling any of better?” Time inquired while slightly loosening his hold to get a better check on the boy.

“Time, I…” Four started ashamed while slumping.

“Sshh, it’s okay. No harm done. Just venting off the feelings.” The ranch’s owner whispered while tightening the hold. “Any clearer mind about the cause of the anger?” He half queried but the boy just shook his head. “No worries then. We’ll get to the bottom of things with time.” He promised calmly.

It took quite a few times of raged fights against Time and breaking down afterwards with the whole situation and emotions just exhausting the shortest youngster to sleep before he finally began to understand the reasons behind his actions. He had just once again woken up in his caretaker’s arms that the realization hit. “I can’t fight.” He mumbled.

“It looked pretty good to me.” Time replied calmly.

Four shook his head. “I can throw in the swings and kicks but… I can’t win. I lose against everyone. It just…. Makes me feel…” He trailed off with a frustrated sigh.

“Go on. You can tell me.” The one eyed male coaxed gently. “The better we know the reasons, the better we’ll be able to address the problem and fix it.” He pointed out and the youngster nodded in understanding.

“I feel…” Four started while bit frowning. “Angry. Useless. Inadequate. Frustrated. Worthless.” He mumbled and slumped. “I can’t help or defend anyone. I can’t even fight for myself without losing the fight each and every time. I…” He closed his eyes while feeling like breaking down again. “I think that’s the reason my dad abandoned me. I’m no fighter…”

Time tightened his hold and kissed the top of the boy’s head. “Not everyone are. Wild doesn’t fight even though he’s gone through hell. Sky doesn’t fight because it simply isn’t who he is.” He pointed out gently. “You do fight. You just need to find a way to use your shorter stature for your advantage. Hit where you can and use any weapon in your usage, be it already with you or what you can find from around you.” He advised calmly. Four frowned while thinking it through.

“Tackle your opponents if they’re too tall. On that way you’ll get them to your level and you can land a strike or several where it matters.” The keeper of the ranch informed while knowing he was putting himself into bad situation. Yet, he was ready to do and go through absolutely anything for his boys. If it meant to be struck by knives, beaten by shortest boy or taking one’s curses and hatred or something else, he’d be right there to do that. Whatever aided his boys forward in their path of recovery, he was ready and willing to go for it.

Like on the times before, Wild brought two cups of hot chocolate when he noticed Four having woken up from the battle. It helped his newest brother to calm down more and get into better mood. And that was what the cook of sorts of the ranch was happiest about.

Little by little, with Time’s advises, Four began to get his fighting into order. The more he knew of the battle and how to win, the less severe his anger was. Yet, it still didn’t mean that the caretaker of the six boys was going to be safer through the fight. No, it ended up being more on the opposite way.

The one eyed male did his best to keep avoiding and anticipate the moves but he made mistakes every now and then. He learned from them, just like Four did, but he knew his failures might end up causing him to lose his life during a mission. Nonetheless, he refused to worry his boys about the danger of those rare things. Plus, obviously, he was bound by the contract of confidentiality and the simple line of “Top Secret”.

Each time he lost the fight against Four, he yielded as swiftly as he could before his boy could do worse than break few bones and give him a black eye. More often than not, he had to move swiftly to keep the others boys from interfering into the battle. Despite the broken ribs, arm or leg, he wrapped his arms around the shortest youngster and held him tightly while commanding the others, usually Twilight, to stay back. After that he made sure Four understood that he had given up.

If, and when, the bad mornings came while the caretaker of the six was out on a mission, he put Legend in charge of aiding Four. The others could’ve been of aid too but he knew the second boy of his had the unwanted teaching of fighting due to his checkered past. The apple tree caretaker wasn’t happy of it but he understood and did his best as it was a way to help one of his brothers.

“Twilight and Sky would just hold him no matter how much he’d scream and struggle. Wind would put up one hell of a brawl just for the heck of it. Wild would just take it and let Four do as he pleases.” The one eyed male had explained when Legend had asked that simple question of Why for first and only time. Besides the reasons, he gave ways to help. “Stay in defense. Do NOT attack. Just tackle him, let go and back off. When he breaks down, just hold him and let him rest. Try and talk with him afterwards but at least be there for him as long as he needs it.”

Slowly but certainly Four’s ways changed. The coloration of blue turned into the emotional red. At then he just clang to Time through the whole day and cried a lot. The one eyed male held him through most of the day while soothing and talking. He tried not to blame the boy’s father but he did do his best to increase the boy’s own self-worth and acceptance.

Out of Four’s own request, Time got him into a few different self-defense schools. At first he stayed there with him to see how things would go and if the boy enjoyed of the martial arts they were giving a chance at. Once he was certain the youngster was both enjoying and learning as well as the place really putting notion into safety, he finally let the lessons to be had without him keeping close eye on things. Afterwards, though, he put the boy through his moves to keep him practicing even outside the lessons.

Eventually the red mat changed into being green more often than not. The practices became more of conscious things than ruled by anger. At then they both actually learned some new little tricks and were in fact enjoying of the situation instead of fearing to end up harming the other one.

The more Four got his emotions under control, the more balanced his life became. The color of green became his default of normal and calm. Some nightmares and memories, obviously, changed that either into blue or into red. The color of violet was rarer case but usually at then he was fully trying to figure something out and accepted help rather than fooling around or such.

Nonetheless, the life at the Lon-Lon Ranch fully helped the short boy to understand that he was perfect the way he was. The six he lived with were caring and fully willing to aid him in any possible way they were capable of. And Four knew for absolute certainty of having found a place to call home. The family he had gained was worth staying with and, most of all, fully worth fighting for. His shortness wasn’t an issue anymore.

[evita-shelby]

Birds of a Feather

After the chaos that ensued following Tommy’s sudden elopement with his own brother’s lover, the new couple find themselves in America and in company of Tommy’s new associates, the Nelsons of South Boston.

Perhaps Gina Nelson marrying Michael Gray won’t be so bad when Jack and Eva Nelson are cut from the same cloth as Tommy and Heaven Shelby.

A Tommy Shelby x Heaven Lavey ft Jack Nelson x Eva Smith moodboard for @call-sign-shark

[starlight-storytime]

ok so blame it on the dead guy has to be the danny phantom or dc wip right

surprisingly not! "Alright, blame it on the dead guy" is actually my unsub!Spencer Reid fic bc it is CRIMINAL how few plot-driven fics with serial killer Spence assigned his own case are out there

like?? he has SO much potential but I've never come across an Unsub Reid fic that interested me so I decided to write one myself 🥸 1k snippet under the cut!

Spencer volunteered to go first, shifty and nervous. “We—ah, well, we might as well get this out of the way.”

They didn't think to take her out of the viewing room—or, still trusted her enough not to—because they let Elle stay in the corner to watch that stupid, sweet boy get through an interrogation with Hotch. The reality, the potential, hadn't really set in. The team were still scoffing and disbelieving about the mere idea that Elle was a suspect, let alone actually considering she could have killed someone and should be kept aside in a waiting room.

She didn't know whether their trust was heartwarming, or if it hurt to know she was betraying it. That she was making Spencer betray it.

“Where were you last night?” Hotch asked bluntly, diving right to the thick of it.

“890 Glendale Avenue, Queen’s Motel, room 128.” Spencer answered immediately, staring at his shirt cuff as he picked at it.

“A motel?" Hotch raised a brow. "Why weren't you at home?”

“I was, um, visiting Elle. Like I said, this case got us both really heated, and I thought as—as her friend, I should comfort her, y'know?” Spencer looked up as if asking for Hotch's approval, before realizing where he was, and looking back down at his hands awkwardly.

“How long were you at the motel?”

“From 7:23pm to 6:51am.”

“All night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what room was Elle staying in?”

“128.”

“So then—wait.” Hotch visibly double taked. “What room did you stay in?”

“128. Sir.”

Spencer was turning a shade of delicate rose, those honey amber doe eyes burning a hole into the ground as he very determinedly stared down at the table, lips slightly twisted.

“How many beds were in the—”

“We slept together!” Spencer burst out, hands over his face as if he couldn't bare to be seen and his ears a burning flame. “They only have queens at Queen’s Motel, which is why they're mostly popular for discreet hookups, affairs, and young couples for privacy. There's no cameras on premise for that exact reason but I can guarantee that we were preoccupied for the entire night and didn't have time to go kill anyone.”

Spencer looked up at his boss beseechingly, and his every move screamed earnest innocence. Hotch was briefly stunned silent by the outburst.

The viewing room, on the other hand, is hooting and hollering, gasping and grinning and exchanging promises to pay back bets they had apparently made.

"That's why he's so nervous, that sly dog!” Morgan crowed.

Elle stared at the picture of embarrassed, inexperienced young coworker spilling about an unlikely office romance in front of her, and now understood exactly why Spencer had said what he did on the car ride over

“I have a tattoo of four dice on my left hip, in the order 1, 3, 1, 2. I got it for twenty bucks at a Halloween flash sale in Vegas, when I was 16.”

Elle was so overwhelmed by everything going on after hiding a body and disposing of evidence, she can barely process the spontaneous fun fact Spencer shared.

“Is that your worst secret or something? Trying to make it even now that you— have mine?” Elle weakly joked. It seemed so Spencer that the worst thing he ever did was get an underage tattoo.

Spencer glanced at her briefly before turning back to the dark road he was speeding down, headlights off. “Just remember it. It's on my left hip, an inch above the bone.”

The entire viewing room was staring at Elle now, any ideas of her involvement with the murder last night swept out the door. She can only confidently manage a secretive tilt of her head before she's looking away, towards the sight of her best friend saving her from a charge of second degree murder.

“You and Elle…slept in the same bed the entire night, then?” Spencer nodded behind his hands. “Alright. Sure. She never got up to use the bathroom, get a drink, anything like that?” Hotch's attempts to keep up professionalism were crumbling, with Spencer looking exactly like an embarrassed teen who desperately didn't want to talk about girls with his father.

“We were occupied until roughly 11pm, and slept in the same bed the entire night. We never left the room, she never left my line of sight, please just hurry this up.” Spencer says directly into his hands, not even pretending to not be hiding from eye contact anymore.

Hotch grimaced, as much as the man ever showed weakness. “You say she never left your line of sight, rather than she never left the bed.”

“The only time we got out of bed was to take a shower and replace the sheets, but those all came in the suite. We did them all together, barely an arms length away from when I entered the hotel room to when I got into this interrogation room. We fell asleep cuddling and woke up the same way. I'm a light enough sleeper that she couldn't have moved me without drugging me, and I didn't take anything unsealed last night. ” Spencer peeked out from between his fingers, and the skin that can be seen is an impressively tomato red. “Please, Hotch.”

Hotch sighed, kneading his brow for a long moment before picking his papers up and motioning for Spencer to leave. The boy practically sprints, going straight out the door and into the viewing room with such an apologetic face Elle can almost believe they did have this night he implied, rather than the one that really happened.

"I'm really, really sorry about having to talk about this with the whole team, Elle." Spencer apologized, even as Morgan was shaking his shoulders like the kid had scored the winning play of the season.

He didn't even lie when he said we spent the whole night together, an arms length away. Elle realized incredulously, filled with exhilarated relief at the fact that they were actually going to get a way with it. We did sleep in that queen bed together, even if nothing happened.

Hotch put his head in reluctantly. "This will be brief, but for the sake of protocol..."

Elle put on her best swagger and a smile for Hotch. "Of course, boss." She blew a kiss behind her on a whim, and the team burst into another round of whispers and gossip as the door shut.

Elle reclined in the metal chair, half nervous and half amused. The look in Hotch’s eyes is so tired dad that she can fool herself into thinking this is a meet-the-parents scenario.

“Did you know he has a tattoo?" Elle said idly, picking at her cuticle. "On his hip, the left one. You'll never guess the story behind it.”

The tired look he gave her aged him ten years, and Elle laughs so hard she almost cries.

She dramatically goes over the tattoo story she heard in the car, and then proceeds to make up one of the best nights of her life, using unnecessarily raunchy detail until it's all too much. Too much in general outside of an erotic romance novel, but way too much for her boss to hear about from a coworker he has to look in the eyes. (And, the boy she can tell he's starting to consider like a son.)

Elle doesn't get arrested for murder that day. The least she can do is cover for Spencer now, when he's being blamed for a string of murders he didn't even do.

[jinxedruby]

Ambush at the Bridge: Chapter Two

In which Wild has a bad time. (Heads up for violence and blood in this chapter.)

AO3

First part | Next part ->

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

Wild breathed silently through his mouth, first two fingertips rested lightly against the bowstring. Four monsters lumbered past beneath him, unaware of his presence. He leaned forward slightly, the bark of the thick branch he sat on digging into his legs. He took a breath and drew the bow back, arrowhead following the lizalfos in the back of the group. He held his breath as he aimed, keeping his arms steady. He pulled his fingers back and the arrow flew, burying into the lizalfos’s skull. Before its body hit the ground, Wild nocked and let loose a second arrow, killing the next lizalfos. The remaining two whipped around, searching for their assailant. Wild put an arrow through the third lizalfos before the fourth finally spotted him. It screeched and dashed toward the tree, zig-zagging and making it harder for Wild to hit it. It stopped in place for a moment, readying to spit water at the hero. A moment was all he needed to steady his aim and hit the monster right between the eyes.

Wild exhaled as the monster fell, slumping back against the tree trunk. He shook the cramp out of his hand from holding the bow and looked around. Still no sign of the others. He had gotten separated almost as soon as the monsters ambushed them at the bridge. In hindsight, bouncing off the top of a bokoblin’s head with his shield to try and flank the monsters may not have been the best idea. In his defense, he didn’t know that bokoblins’ heads were like trampolines and would send him hurtling into the nearby woods. At least his display had led several of the monsters after him and away from the others. He’d managed to pick off quite a few from his position in the trees.

The sound of clashing metal grabbed his attention. He stood up, nimbly moving from branch to branch, trying to see where the sound came from. A flash of color moved in the distance. Wild headed toward it, hopping quietly to a different tree. He skirted around the trunk, holding a branch over his head for support. Swords clanged again and Four stumbled into view. The little hero leapt to the side, breathing hard as a massive spear whistled through the air where he’d been moments earlier. Wild scurried forward along the branch, trying to get a view of the monster Four was fighting. Four whipped his sword up just in time to block another blow, redirecting the spearhead to the ground beside him. Wild’s eyes widened at the size of the weapon as it was yanked back out of the dirt, clumps of grass uprooting from the motion. The spearhead alone was at least double Four’s height, if not more.

Four darted out of Wild’s view and Wild jumped to a nearby tree. Four had shifted so the monster was between him and Wild. Wild caught a flash of pink flesh and heard a low growl. He could just see the monster’s brown boots and most of the beast’s legs. But no matter where he moved in the tree, he couldn’t see the monster’s head. He glanced frantically at the ground. Probably too far to jump without hurting himself. He could use his paraglider but he needed his hands free to use his bow. He heard a loud thwack followed by a strangled shout from Four. Wild gritted his teeth. He fell into a crouch, hooked his legs around the branch and fell backwards. Hanging upside down from his knees around the branch, he got a full view of the fattest, ugliest moblin he’d ever seen. It was at least twice Time’s height and it absolutely dwarfed Four. Four, who lay flat on his back, blood streaming from his nose and looking dazedly up at the moblin as it raised its spear over its head. Wild yanked an arrow out of his quiver, nocked, and fired it in less than a second. The arrow slammed into the back of the moblin’s neck, sinking deep into its skin. But the monster didn’t fall. It slowly turned around, blue eyes fixing on Wild with a hunger he really didn’t like.

He fired another arrow but the creature brought up its shield, the arrow pinging harmlessly off of the metal. With a roar, the moblin charged, spear lowered and poised to skewer Wild. He grunted as he curled upwards, pulling himself out of the way just in time. He drew his bow as the monster rushed by, shooting its neck again. The moblin stumbled but didn’t fall. It turned, reaching up, fingers stretching for Wild. He darted out of the way, preparing to fire again. Then the moblin grabbed the branch he stood on and pulled, snapping it off the tree like a twig. Wild gasped as he plummeted, the ground quickly rising to meet him. But he still had his arrow ready. He drew back the string and it was as if time slowed. He fired an arrow into the moblin’s face, then another, and another, and another until the monster’s head resembled a pincushion. The ground abruptly met Wild’s back, pain flaring in his ribs. He bit his lip against the pain and drew another arrow, aiming up at the monster. It swayed in place for a moment, black blood dripping from the numerous arrow wounds. Then, with a groan like a falling tree, it tipped over backwards, crashing to the ground. Wild let out a breath, flopping onto his back. His whole body ached from the fall and his arm burned from firing so many arrows in quick succession.

“Cook!”

Wild rolled onto his side, looking up to see Four hurrying toward him, lips and chin coated with blood from his nose. Despite that, the little smith grinned widely as he approached, hand outstretched.

“That was something else!” he said as he helped Wild to his feet, voice sounding congested. ��How many arrows was that? Ten? In two seconds?”

Wild half-grinned as he carefully got to his feet, prodding at his chest to make sure nothing was broken. “I guess adrenaline will do that to you.”

Four shook his head, laughing. “No way that was all adrenaline. Thanks for the save.”

“Anytime,” Wild responded. He glanced at Four’s bleeding nose. “Looks like you took quite the hit.”

Four gingerly touched his nose, wincing slightly. “Nothing a fairy can’t fix,” he said. “I don’t suppose you have any?”

Wild shook his head and Four sighed, wiping some of the blood away with his hand. “Well, we should find the others, anyway. Have you seen anyone?”

“No, not since the monsters attacked.”

“Great, neither have I.” Four sighed again, frowning as he tried to clean the blood from his hand. He turned and peered through some trees. “I think the bridge is back that way. Maybe some of us are still there.”

Wild nodded and he and Four set off in the direction Four indicated. They walked for a while, chatting idly as they passed by old trees and ferns that cluttered the forest floor. In the absence of monster noises and sounds of battle, everything seemed still and quiet. It was almost peaceful. Wild slowed, frowning as a strange feeling settled in his gut. Four paused, looking back at him.

“Cook?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

Wild thought for a moment, looking around them. “It’s quiet,” he eventually said.

“Okay?”

“No, it’s just…” Wild pursed his lips, trying to place a finger on the unsettling feeling stirring in his chest. “There should be more sound. Animals, birds, leaves, but it’s…”

“Quiet,” Four finished, seeming to catch onto the strange air.

Leaves crunched.

Wild and Four whipped around, weapons drawn. They moved closer to each other on instinct, glancing into the trees where the sound had come from. Another crunch of leaves, a soft thud of a footstep. Wild narrowed his eyes, trying to make out any movement in the shade of the woods. More footsteps. A figure emerged from the shadows. Wild’s shoulders stiffened, grip tightening on his sword. Then he saw the dark green tunic and the gray fur wrapped around the figure’s shoulders. Wild sighed, letting the tip of his sword drop to the ground.

“It’s just you,” he breathed as Twilight stepped fully into the open. Twilight met his gaze, lips quirking upward. He walked towards them, brushing a stray leaf from his shoulder.

“Do you have a fairy? Our smith is…” Wild trailed off as he glanced at Four. Four stared at Twilight with wide eyes, sword still raised, knuckles white around the hilt.

“What’s wrong?” Wild asked. “It’s… it’s just the rancher.”

Four glanced at Wild out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t… I don’t kn-“

Silver flashed in Wild’s peripheral. He lunged to one side and Four dove to the other as a sword sliced the air between them. Twilight tsked, straightening up and turning to Wild with a cold gaze. Wild stiffened, eyes wide. Twilight lunged for him, sword gripped in both hands. Wild ducked under a swing and jumped back, fumbling to unhook the shield on his back. He barely managed to get the shield out in front of him before Twilight was on him again, attacking with all his might. His sword connected with Wild’s shield with a resounding crack, sending shockwaves through Wild’s arm. He stumbled back, gasping. Twilight gave him no time to recover, thrusting the sword toward Wild’s chest. Wild swung his shield out, parrying Twilight’s strike and throwing the rancher off balance.

“What are you doing?!” Wild cried in the brief moment it took Twilight to recover. Twilight didn’t answer. He planted a foot and darted around Wild, slashing at his side. Wild danced out of the way, the tip of the blade scraping his tunic. A shout from the side distracted Twilight from his next attack. He whipped around just in time to block Four’s strike, their swords crashing into each other. Twilight shoved against Four with his sword, pushing the smaller hero back. Four recovered quickly, staying low as he dodged Twilight’s attacks, searching for an opening. Wild watched in horror as his mentor and friend fought. Twilight spun and Four couldn’t dodge quite fast enough, blade grazing his arm. He clenched his teeth, ducking and diving forward. He swung his blade around, catching Twilight in the leg. Twilight hissed as blood soaked into his trousers, stumbling back. That snapped Wild out of his stupor enough to find his voice.

“W-wait!” he called to Four, running towards the two. “Don’t hurt him! I think he’s corrupted!”

“No, he’s not!” Four yelled, jumping out of the way of a heavy blow. “It’s not him!” He yanked out his boomerang, hurling it at Twilight. Twilight dodged it easily, forcing Four to duck as he swung again. The boomerang returned and clocked him in the back of the head. He stumbled forward with a grunt. Four darted around him, retrieving his boomerang and slicing Twilight at the same time. Twilight twisted his sword over the back of his head, blocking Four’s attack from behind. He spun out of the block, swinging in a vicious arc that Four barely managed to dodge. Four backpedaled so he was beside Wild, breathing hard.

“How do you know he’s not-“

“Look at his blood,” Four interrupted Wild, gesturing with his sword to Twilight’s wounded leg. The fluid soaking into his pant leg was a deep color, almost black. No, Wild realized, eyes widening. It is black.

“Infected?” Wild suggested. “Like the monsters?”

Four didn’t have time to respond as Twilight dashed toward them again. He aimed for Four, bringing his sword down at his head. Four jumped back, returning the attack with one of his own before Twilight forced him away again with another swing. Wild forced himself to shake off his shock, unsheathing his own sword and rushing at Twilight. Should he just hit him with the flat of his blade? Knock him back to his senses? He aimed to do just that, turning the sword in his hand and swinging the flat at Twilight’s head while he was distracted with Four. Then Twilight’s head turned, eyeing Wild over his shoulder. He leaned over, simultaneously dodging Wild’s attack and sending a kick into the champion’s stomach. The kick knocked the air out of Wild’s lungs and he stumbled back, gasping for breath. He heard Four grunt and looked up to see him locking blades with Twilight, the taller hero pressing down on Four with all his strength. Four’s arms shook badly, face scrunched up in effort as his back arched from the force above him. Wild dashed forward, swinging at Twilight’s head again. Twilight saw him coming, shoved Four away and dodged to the side. The tip of Wild’s sword nicked Twilight’s face, slicing into his cheek. Wild gasped, recoiling. He wasn’t trying to hurt him. He hadn’t meant to cut him.

“Champion!” Four shouted, as if sensing Wild’s inner turmoil. “It’s not him! It’s a shadow!”

Wild glanced at him. “W-what?”

“A shadow. A shapeshifter,” Four said quickly. “Looks like him but it’s not. Not even his body. We can hurt it.”

“How do you-“

“You’re just going to have to trust me!”

Twilight paused before them, glancing between them as if contemplating something. Wild studied him, watching as black blood oozed from the cut in his cheek, dripping down the side of his face. He held his sword in both hands, neglecting the shield on his back. Wild had never seen Twilight fight two-handed. Now that he really looked, even the way Twilight stood seemed wrong. He leaned his weight onto one foot, almost casual in his stance. He kept his shoulders rolled back, not hunched in the battle stance Wild was used to.

“Okay,” Wild finally said. “It’s not him.”

It was as if that was some kind of trigger. Twilight laughed, a cold, broken sound with more than one layer in the voice. Blackness crept from the edges of his eyes, blotting out the white and filling around the irises. Then his irises turned from blue to red. He launched forward. Wild had almost no time to react before the shadow was upon them, Wild and Four scrambling to move. Shadow Twilight’s sword whistled through the air, grazing Four’s shoulder and nicking Wild’s collar in the same swing. They both jumped away as the shadow bore down on them with blinding speed. Wild blocked one blow with his sword, Four going in for an attack while Shadow Twilight was occupied. But he swept a leg out, knocking Wild off his feet and freeing his sword to spin around at Four. He forced Four to dodge, the smith unable to get close enough to attack. His sword streaked through the air, meeting Four’s blade and knocking the little hero off balance. Shadow Twilight attacked again, and again, and again, hitting Four’s sword so hard that it caused his arms to buckle.

An arrow buried itself in Shadow Twilight’s shoulder. He grunted, stumbling and throwing a glance behind him at Wild as the champion prepared to fire another arrow. The shadow was forced away from Four who nearly fell to his knees, panting. Wild let loose arrow after arrow and the shadow dodged all of them, moving with impossible speed. Wild growled in frustration as he struggled to land a single hit. He reached back to his quiver for another arrow. His fingers hit empty air. The shadow smirked and darted toward him. Wild backpedaled, quickly swapping his bow for his shield, unable to grab his sword fast enough. He brought up his shield as Shadow Twilight reached him, bracing for the hit. But the shadow rolled to the side. Wild whipped around. He wasn’t fast enough. Pain lit in his back as the blade carved through his flesh, the shadow springing out of the roll and spinning. Wild cried out and stumbled forward, the deep cut burning. The shadow gave him no time to breathe, rushing him and attacking again. Wild held up his shield as Shadow Twilight whipped his sword around. The blade cracked against the shield, splitting it in half. The blow knocked Wild flat on his back, yelping as his wound hit the ground. Shadow Twilight appeared above him, sword raised as Wild scrabbled for his own weapon. At the same time, he heard hurried footsteps as Four sprinted over to them. Shadow Twilight drove his sword through Wild’s shoulder, pinning him to the ground.

Wild’s mind blanked. The shadow moved to yank the sword out but Four got there first. With a cry, the smith attacked, slashing wildly with his sword and forcing Shadow Twilight away from Wild. The shadow dodged everything Four threw at him. Wild turned his head to watch them, feeling strangely disconnected from the situation. His shoulder felt hot, really hot, so much so that it almost felt cold. He watched through a sort of fog as Four struggled to land a single blow on the shadow. He paused for a moment. Wild thought it was to catch his breath but then the smith raised his sword high. There was a flash of light and suddenly there were three additional smiths. They all charged forward, attacking Shadow Twilight from different angles, much more successfully than before. Their swords sliced into the shadow as he was penned in from all sides with nowhere to dodge to. At that point, Wild figured he must be hallucinating. He tried to sit up and that’s when the pain finally registered in his mind. A fire lit in the space between his shoulder and chest where the sword was embedded. Waves of boiling pain burst through his arm and torso. A scream tore itself from his throat, tears springing to his eyes. He raised his free hand to the sword but even just touching it caused the pain to increase tenfold. He barely registered a yell to his right. He rolled his head to the side to see the Four in a purple tunic had stabbed his sword through Shadow Twilight’s chest. The shadow looked down at the sword, swaying in place. He lifted his head and locked eyes with Wild. A grin twisted onto his face.

Then he melted.

His entire body turned black and dissolved into a pool on the ground, dripping off of the purple Four’s sword. The purple Four grimaced, flicking the fluid from his sword and backing away. The black puddle soaked into the ground and disappeared like it was never there in the first place. After a moment, all four smiths raised their swords. There was another flash of light and there stood only one smith again. He turned toward Wild. All the color drained from his face. He sprinted over, falling to his knees beside him. Wild didn’t even realize the sword in him had melted as well until Four pressed his hands against the wound. Lucidity slammed back into Wild as a fresh wave of pain seared through the wound. He yelped, grabbing Four’s wrist and trying to push him away.

“-ry, I’m sorry!” Four was saying, though Wild wasn’t sure why he didn’t hear all of it. Four’s voice was muffled, Wild’s heart thumping uncomfortably in his chest. “I have to stop the bleeding, I’m-“

All at once, Wild felt like he was going to throw up. He groaned, shutting his eyes and pressing his head back against the ground. His torso moved weirdly from side to side and- oh, Four was shaking him, wasn’t he? The smith said something but Wild couldn’t hear past the cotton in his ears. His neck felt wet, tickling as something trailed along his collarbone and pooled in the base of his throat.

“-elp! Capta-“ Wild caught a little bit of Four’s voice. Another pair of hands pressed against his wound and all he could do was whimper at the burning pain. Someone pushed his bangs out of his face. He opened his eyes to see who it was – at least, he thought he did – but the majority of his vision was overtaken by blackness, leaving only a fuzzy pinprick of light in the center. He registered silver and gold gleaming overhead, a shock of blue and green somewhere in his left peripheral. The hand remained resting against his forehead.

“Stay- me, Ch- c’mo-“ A deeper voice reached through the cotton. Wild felt tired and panicky at the same time, heart fluttering as his vision flickered. His head spun, stomach twisting and begging for him to vomit. The darkness grabbed hold and dragged him down.

[glxthoughts-old]

i was thinking about how coming to terms with and beginning to heal from the fact u had a shitty childhood can sometimes feel like a betrayal to ur past self/the part of u that was formed as a result of the environment u were in and so this happened

(click for better quality!!)

[that-was-anticlimactic]

i just think that jun’ichirou’s eyes spark sometimes, kind of like they’re glitching. it happens when he’s feeling really strong emotions, especially when he’s angry or overwhelmed