#i wrote another fanfiction...

[dapper-lil-arts]

I'm not the kind of person that's like "Here let me fix the canon" usually but like holy crap gen 5 implied a lot of messed up shit about our hero Twilight Sparkle lmao

[stellamarielu]

impatient intentions

michael robinavitch x female reader

summary: robby’s innocent obsession with his neighbor takes a turn after a dinner invite that leads him straight into your kitchen and renders him a slave to your touch

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, cursing, mutual pining, harmless flirting (well i guess not that harmless), illusions to male masturbation, smut with a whole lot of lead up, oral m!receiving, someone needs to get that man a blowjob stat!, we’re swallowing that old man down y’all buckle up

word count: 2.8k

author’s note: take this as a prologue to late night visits, like a deeper view into their little relationship and their first hookup. however, i wrote this so that it could be read as a stand alone, so do whatever you want. written in robby’s pov cause i’m a sick freak who loves getting in the mind of a pathetic man who desperately needs to be touched.

Robby sat with his hands clasped together over the cool granite of your kitchen island. Watching as you expertly moved around the cramped space, pulling spices from your cabinet with an undeniable muscle memory as you cooked him dinner. 

You were cooking, for him. He offered to help you so many times that the slow cadence of your voice the final time you told him to just sit down and relax was almost laced with annoyance. Almost, but not quite; because you were the one who invited him over for dinner in the first place.

Sure, maybe he was the one who offered to help carry your grocery bags up three flights of stairs, but you— you were the one who asked him if he wanted to come over for dinner. Your voice so rich with enthusiasm that it had him agreeing without a second thought.

It wasn’t until he was leaning against the countertop of your kitchen, that he realized this was more than just a conversation in passing outside his doorway. 

After months of living across the hall from one another, meeting face to face in the communal space between your doors, this was the first time he was given the opportunity to bask in your presence for longer than five minutes. 

You were a temptress. One operating in secrecy, naive to your own charm. 

Robby had attempted to brush off his immediate attraction to you by telling himself you were just young and bright-eyed. A girl with a sweet voice, and an equally saccharine smile. It was essentially ingrained in him to take a second look at you. But, your oblivious persuasions persisted through kind words and simple exchanges as Robby got to know you over the course of several conversations strew out over weeks of hallway greetings.

The more moments shared between the two of you, the more he couldn’t pin-point his giddy feelings surrounding your interactions. Was it an innocent infatuation— a harmless little crush that would cause him to steal glances or let his mind occasionally verr off at the thought of you? Or was it deeper; like when he got home late from work and knew he just missed you by the light seeping under your door. The longing to talk to you one last time before turning in for the night could be blamed on his growing need to hear your voice in the evenings.  

The timing was always impeccable when you got home from work; meeting Robby in the same position, both of you exhausted and ready for the tender release of uninterrupted rest. Your “Hi there” and “How was your day” would meet him as his key entered the lock or— if he was lucky, it would find him in the elevator, three floors before he’d come to expect it.

The light rhythm of your words had become essential to his nightly routine. After a day filled with rigorous overwhelm at every turn, Robby would finally head home, ready to hear the pleasant sound of your voice filling the hall and preparing him for a peaceful night on the other side of his front door. The nights he didn’t get to talk with you for those few precious moments before you disappeared to your side of the hallway— those nights, he found it especially hard to relax. It was almost as though a pivotal part of his day was suddenly missing, keeping him from being able to sleep peacefully at night.

Being with you, like this, hearing sentence after sentence fall from your lips in that sugary sweet tone, there was no doubt in his mind he would be getting the best night of sleep in his entire life. 

He couldn’t get enough of you, watching intently as you stood at the stovetop, drinking in all your mannerisms, each movement of your body etching itself into his head. And when your hands reached above your head to open a cabinet, your shirt stretched with them, exposing an inch of your lower back that had previously hid underneath the fabric. He should’ve felt guilty for letting his eyes linger on your skin, but he didn’t. He allowed himself a moment of sinful appeal as he took in the unfamiliar territory. 

He'd thought about you like that a time or two.

Thought about what your soft skin would feel like on his fingertips, or how your body would fit perfectly underneath his. He’d touched himself thinking of you before— shut his front door after a brief conversation with you and gone straight to his bedroom to shove his hand down his pants like a teenage boy. Finishing in his fist to the fictitious version of you that writhed under his touch. They were only ever visions in his head, making him feel sick and perverted seeing as though you’d never shown any explicit interest in him.

It was all his little secret, the way he felt about you. The way you inhabited every last corner of his mind. You continued entertaining him with small waves every day and the naively flirtatious quality of your voice each time you crossed paths, only for it to completely unravel him. 

And unravel him you did— all throughout dinner. You reacted to his every word, hanging onto his anecdotes about work with an entertained sparkle in your eyes. Your attention trailed behind each one of his words as empty plates sat on the table. You swapped stories and delved further into your personal lives, talking in your kitchen for far too long. 

Once you realized how much time had passed, you practically forced Robby out of his chair, apologizing for keeping him so late. He tried to assure you that it was fine, attempting to stay longer to help you clean up, but you were already standing next to him, your hand lightly holding his forearm as you guided him to the front door.

You stood facing each other in the entryway, evidence of goodbye’s hanging on your tongues but neither of you working up the courage to actually speak them aloud. 

Your eyes fluttered up to meet his, intercepting his intent gaze on your hand; the one that still lingered on his arm. Your touch was subtle, but the effect you had on Robby was strong. Taking over all of his senses as his feet weighed him down to the floor. The room felt heavy as you peered up at him through your eyelashes. Your stare holding a curious purpose— lasting far too long to be a simple meaningless glance. 

Neither of you moved. He was reduced to complete immobility with the delicate weight of your hand brushing his skin. Your wishful eyes remained on him, full of impatient intention. 

In a cautious trail, your gaze fell to his lips. He copied you, letting his stare drop to the perfect pout of your smirk— so pure and inviting. His eyes must’ve idled too long on the lower half of your face because the familiar chime of your voice broke his stare as he watched your lips move.

“You could kiss me you know...” It was a confident statement, fixed with a low purr as you put the newfound tension of the room into words. 

It was the permission he so desperately needed, melting into the air between you, assuring him that he wasn’t some sick and depraved old man thinking about his much younger neighbor in ways he probably shouldn’t. You wanted him to kiss you, you were practically asking him to, and all restraint he had swiftly broke loose.  

A hand pulled gently at your waist while the other cupped your cheek, his face meeting yours in a careful kiss. 

The bitter-sweet relief of surrender came to him in the form of your mouth against his. Finally succumbing to his foolish infatuation and getting washed away by the taste of you on the tip of his tongue. 

Gracefully, your hands slid up his torso, resting at his shoulders until they clasped at the nape of his neck, pulling him further down into you. 

Nothing could’ve prepared him for the shock that tore through his entire being at your touch on his body, the way your hands effortlessly floated up his chest, pressing into his neck as your lips moved with his. Your bodies pushed and pulled against one another, the kiss taking a sharp turn as the weight of Robby’s chest had you caught between him and your front door. 

In a whirlwind of desperation, he brought his hold to your hips, thumbs sliding underneath your shirt and relishing in the warmth of your midriff.

A quiet moan simmered off your tongue and into his mouth at the pressure of his fingertips rubbing into the skin just above your jeans, and the sound caused an involuntary jerk of Robby’s hips. All control was lost as his grasp on you tightened, your frame melting further into the door at your back. You welcomed the contact, pulling him further into you with your hold on the back of his neck. Careful open-mouthed kisses trailed down his throat, sweet sounds of approval still leaking from your lips as they nipped and sucked at his skin.

He nearly wasted away at the feeling of your mouth on his neck. Then the devilish touch of your hands slid back down the front of his body, dancing against the material of his shirt and trailing down further until your fingertips threatened to tug at the waistband of his pants. He could feel the anticipation in your touch, the way your fingers curled into the material at his waist. 

“This okay?” You didn’t even pull back to look at him as you murmured into the crook of his neck. 

He was always in command, never afraid to assert his dominance; but something about the way his most private fantasies were playing out in front of his eyes, had him taking on a more docile image. He was completely bent into your touch, leaning forward and hanging onto every sound that left your body with his hands still buried underneath your shirt. He couldn’t find his voice to reply to your question, but he’d be a fool to say anything other than yes as your hands ventured down another inch into his pants, the feeling of your knuckles brushing against his abdomen nearly making his knees buckle. 

He nodded; the movement drawn-out as a breathless “yeah” made its way from somewhere deep within his chest. 

Robby’s hand met the door, now directly in front of him as you descended to your knees. 

The mix of adrenaline and disbelief coursing through his veins sent his forearm extending and his palm pressing into the solid wood to hold up his weight as you were wedged between the two, kneeling on the tile floor. 

With your eyes looking up at him once more as if to ask for a final approval, your hands tugged at his pants, pulling them, along with his underwear, down his legs and Robby pushed harder into the door, his arms flexing under the pressure. He never would’ve imagined that an innocent dinner invitation would evolve into him standing with his pants around his ankles in the entryway of your apartment. 

He should’ve stopped you. Should’ve been a gentleman and insisted on making you come on his fingers— leading you into the next room and spreading your legs open on your living room couch, but your lips met the head of his cock, and every single thought left his head. 

The warmth of your mouth enveloped him after a gentle kiss to his tip, and a raspy groan trickled into the room from Robby’s lips. 

“Jesus Christ.” 

His instinctive gasp had you taking him even deeper, a small hum of pleasure releasing from your throat and buzzing onto his skin.

His hand was splayed out against the wall, fingertips grasping at nothing as he threw his head back in a state of pure paradise. After less than a minute of seeing you on your knees for him and feeling your cheeks hollow in a way that perfectly encased his throbbing length, Robby had to stare up at the ceiling to keep himself from spilling into your mouth. 

His chest warmed with flames of pleasure induced fulfillment with each bob of your head at his hips. Indulgence sunk into his bones and another pathetic pant found its way onto his lips when your tongue flattened against his base, your mouth sinfully stroking him in rhythm. 

“Fuck sweetheart that feels good.”

The nickname found his lips as an incoherent mumble— an attempt of praise floating down to you in a groan. The otherworldly suction of your lips as you drew him toward the back of your throat had Robby letting out grunts of contentment.

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good. You were like an angel sent down to to set him free of his daily anxieties, kneeling before him on a pedestal of vinyl flooring. 

You worked him in and out of your mouth, the intricate consolation of your movements making him crave more. He hadn’t even finished yet and he was already itching to get his hands on you. An addiction was forming in Robby’s brain like a mental pathway. Hungry for more of you, needing to find comfort in your body more than just this once. He knew he would be seeking it out, crawling back to you every night in desperation to feel the burning in his core and the peace of his mind he found in your touches. 

You moved faster, his whole body growing rigid from the friction of your perfect lips. 

“That’s it- shit.”

He was already spiraling toward release, one more caress of your plush mouth around his cock and he was done for. His body tensed and little puffs of raspy breath fought against his lips as he felt all the tension in his body culminating in a taut strand that stretched unbelievably tight as he waited for one more pass of your tongue on his length.

“Fuck.” 

With a low grunt he wrestled against his own strength, the arm holding him up at the door threatened to give out, nearly sending him doubling over into the solid structure as relief surged through his body. He pulsed in your mouth, his release dripping onto your tongue and you enjoyed it. Drinking down every last drop of him while he slumped into your touch.  

His vision returned after a few seconds of his senses getting corrupted by overwhelming pleasure, just in time to watch you pull back from him, springing to your feet like you hadn’t just changed the chemical makeup of his brain. 

Your expression was smug, a smile flickering onto your face before addressing him for the first time since you were bowed before him.

“Goodnight Michael.” Like a dribble of honey, his name fell from your lips. Michael. No one called him that. But here you were whispering it like a serpent in the garden of Eden, as you simultaneously reached behind you to pull the handle of your front door, nudging him through the doorway.

“Now hold on-“ He began to protest the push of your hands at his lower back, but you were quick to interrupt him.

“I’ve already kept you from sleep long enough. I can’t have you going to work tired tomorrow- gotta save lives and all that.” You were smiling through your words, leaning against the doorframe and watching in amusement as Robby’s rattled mind swam with possible responses.

He knew he couldn’t fuck you— knew it would be nearly impossible for him to get it up again after the earthshattering release that just ran rampant through his body, but he could repay you. He could finally fulfill his dirty daydreams, worshipping you in ways he’d only ever imagined; really taking his time exploring your body and watching you come undone in front of him. In fact, there was nothing he wanted to do more than spend the rest of the night feeding his newfound addiction to your body. 

But the self-righteous smirk curling on your lips stopped him from pushing you back inside and taking what he wanted. This was just a trial run, the challenging expression on your face confirmed it. So, he would wait. Let you soak in your pride for the evening until the next time an opportunity arose for him to satisfy his craving. Because something in the deceitfully innocent stare of your eyes told him this would be the first of many late-night visits between doorways.  

He surrendered, shaking his head with a low chuckle.

“Goodnight.” 

The word hardly left his mouth when you offered him one last playful grin and shut the door to your apartment, leaving him standing alone in the lonely expanse of the hallway. 

my masterlist

[tiramiiswu]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ indomitable

⋆⭒˚. invincible x green lantern!reader ⭒˚.⋆

✦ masterlist || next ✦ imagine: local delinquent girl acts as the one and only green lantern of earth and who just so happens to have a distinct disdain for a certain half-viltrumite she has the displeasure of meeting ✦ pairings: mark grayson x reader ✦ warnings: n/a ✦ a/n: reader is a sort of magical girl inspired green lantern in the sense that i keep picturing her hero costume to be reminiscent of the pretty guardian sailor moon sailor senshi outfits, specifically sailor jupiter’s since she’s already green. her personality is bit of a mix of makoto kino from pgsm and kyoko sakura from puella magi madoka magica when it comes to inspiration because i love my bastard daughter, but i think it definitely evolved in a way that doesnt really align with that as well anymore ✦ originally this was meant to be longer but im not super used to the like? headcanons bulleted list style of formatting this imagine is in and i tend to like ramble and get off my initial thought so hopefully this cut version is readable enough, i might make multiple parts to this just to get some of my other headcanons out because i did really like some of the extra ones i just didn’t think they fit that well with the main ones (i also just want to write about gl!reader and her beloved punching bag ^^;; )

edit: I FORGOT THE OTHER HALF OF MY DRAFT FUCK.

✦ mark grayson was a fucking loser

✦ that was something you were sure of

✦ he’s some stupid dweeb with a dorky interest like seance dog who’s not even worth looking at over the gum stuck to your shoe

✦ you’ve known him since you were kids, when he was an annoying little boy with a gap in his teeth

✦ your parents trying to set up playdates with him and his family after moving into the neighborhood some time before you developed your powers

✦ before everything went to shit

✦ at twelve you were sought out by the green lantern’s ring, unsure as to why it chose you or how you were considered worthy

✦ maybe it was due to your childish belief that evil could be thwarted by the power of love and justice, like the pretty guardians and magical girls in the boxsets your mother let you read with her and the old vhs tapes you watched sitting in her lap growing up

✦ maybe it was your stubborn resolve when it came to protecting your friends on the schoolyard from snotty little boys who tried to pick on them (you were sent to the principal’s office due to your quick response to slug your tiny little fists at some stupid brat’s mouth enough to be on a first name basis with them, much to your father’s dismay)

✦ whatever it was, you were over the moon with your newfound abilities

✦ through sheer willpower you were able to construct anything your imagination thought of, you could fly, and (most importantly to your 13 year old self) your ring could create any hero costume design to anything your heart desired, complete with a dazzling transformation sequence to boot

✦ at first it was everything you ever wanted, days at school spent wanting to do nothing but go out and fight the forces of evil with your totally awesome magical powers (sort of)

✦ for a while you even wondered when you’d get your own team (all magical girls had a team comprised of their friends to fight off evil, so obviously you would get one eventually, right?)

✦ you spent a lot of time in class doodling what you thought your team would be like, which of your friends were bound to be chosen next and join your side (in the back of your notebook you even had some little doodles of you and some masked phantom thief type character that you could no longer pin who your kid self was thinking of at the time when you stumbled upon your old notebook)

✦ but of course, life wasn’t that simple

✦ you never got that team of magical girls, or other lanterns to come to your aid and help you fight off evil

✦ you didn’t have a moment where a kind older teammate you picked up along the way reassured you and comforted you when your body ached from being thrown around like a rag doll by some super powered freak trying to destroy a city block

✦ no one else was there to help you when your ring faltered and your constructs fell apart because you were just a little girl fighting for love and justice against real monsters, bad guys who wanted to break your bones or worse, ones who couldn’t be magically defeated with a magic tiara or a special transformation power-up

✦ it was you who had to do all of that

✦ it was you who had to choke back tears and lick your wounds just to push all of that fear down into the pits of your stomach and pull yourself back onto your feet to hit the bastard who broke your rib ten times as hard

✦ your constructs were tougher, brighter even, they no longer shattered after one heavy hit against the body of a big bulky target

✦ but it wasn’t your courage making them stronger—

✦ it was the unwavering resolve that you were going to punch and claw your way out of each hell you got into and survive, even if you had to die trying

✦ at some point you quit sticking your neck out for other people

✦ you stop searching for fights to start and to prevent crime before it escalates with regular patrols of the city

✦ you only ever came to the aid of civilians when danger was making itself present in big conflics, it gives you more time to be a regular girl and live your life

✦ by eight grade you had had to switch schools for fighting other students

✦ mark noticed that before your expulsion you seemed to have quit picking fights to protect your friends (friends who gradually started to drift away from you late seventh grade) and now you seemed to just be starting fights out of nowhere

✦ you needed to let off steam from your hero work, taking it out on some annoying boy in class was the closest thing you had to a goon or grunt

✦ he didn’t see you again until late into high school

✦ or, really he didn’t see you until he ran into eve after getting his powers

✦ because you saw him immediately after transferring back to the same school district and getting enrolled in the same high school as him

✦ somehow the world couldn’t be smaller

✦ you saw him the first day of senior year

✦ how could you forget, you punched him in the jaw at your parents’ funeral nearly four years ago

✦ you basically ignored him as much as you could

✦ i mean really he’s the same as he was as all those years ago as a stupid kid— dorky and innocent

✦ it was almost insulting the way he didn’t recognize you at first, but to be fair you gave him the cold shoulder and pushed past him in the halls whenever you could

✦ he often saw you smoking under the bleachers during breaks

✦ you still got into fights sometimes, he’s seen you throw a mean right hook whenever one of the other students were bothering you, so he generally he keeps his distance (still, he found himself looking at you over his shoulder every time he did notice you, something about the bad girl delinquent vibe gave you an allure of some kind)

✦ so now imagine being you, taking a night off for once from beating crooks bloody and waiting for civilians to get into trouble before swooping in to save them (again), loitering around Burger Mart and using your lantern ring to make a lighter to light a cigarette (you left your lighter at home— a nice vivienne westwood that belonged to your mom)

✦ you’re minding your own business when you see a familiar face come out from the back of the restaurant

✦ your brows scrunch up identifying the boy in uniform as your least favorite regular human on the planet as he’s hauling two trash bags over to the dumpster

✦ you groaned at the sight of him and rolled your eyes, going back to lighting your cigarette when you see him fidget with the bags for a moment before fucking chucking one of them into the fucking stratosphere

✦ you just sort of stare at him from where you were sat with wide, furious eyes

✦ because no way this loser gets powers out of fucking nowhere

✦ no fucking way you have been busting your ass for years getting stronger, learning how to suppress your fear and push yourself to be stronger, faster, more durable, everything to survive when you’re doing your rounds as Earth’s only green lantern

✦ and mark fucking grayson gets to throw massive heaps of trash into fucking space like it was nothing

✦ if there was a God somewhere, you were sure he’s laughing right at you

✦ you’re there when mark— sorry, when invincible makes his debut as a hero, during the initial flaxan invasion,

✦ you’re exceptionally more irritated than usual

✦ the others chalked it up to your usual grouchiness, but atom eve (your one and only friend) caught onto your ire rather quickly with just how aggressive you seemed to be that day

✦ when mark approached eve in the halls at school afterwards you didn’t do anything to hide your scowl, appearing behind her like a shadow

✦ it took him a second to notice you and he’s not all to proud to say your sudden arrival made him jump a little

✦ scared for a second that he was talking loud enough for someone to have heard him reveal his identity when he remembers you as one of the heroes who he fought beside during the flaxan invasion

✦ you’re annoyed when eve offers to lend an ear to mark, call it jealousy or just you being territorial of your only friend, but there was no way mark grayson gets one rocky start as a hero and immediately gets to be reassured by someone

✦ he gets his powers without needing to prove anything, he gets support from the get go by another hero like eve as soon as he doubts himself, it made you sick— HE makes you sick

✦ from then there on you just couldn’t shake this guy off you

✦ you ran into him more often at school, or at the store, hell you were getting put on the same assignments by cecil

✦ you’re sick of him

✦ sick of his stupid face and that dorky grin of his

✦ how he’s always checking in on you when you go down during a fight and how his voice sounded a bit softer when he spoke to you

✦ the way he makes your face heat up and made your stomach flip when he looked at you—

✦ oh…

✦ oh hell no.

✦ you needed to hit something and you needed to hit something hard (preferably mark)

✦ you were already pretty standoffish and kind of mean when you had to interact at school, but now?

✦ whenever you’re paired with him for missions half of it is spent barking at him and calling him stupid for not being careful enough

✦ he doesn’t even really know what gets you so heated sometimes but he’s getting better at dodging your punches when you start wailing on him post fight

✦ you hate how much effort you have to put just to keep up with him sometimes

✦ he makes you put in the work when he’s barely breaking a sweat

✦ you want to hit him with your hardest construct sometimes just to see him get skipped like a stone. he’s durable, he’ll live

✦ seeing you in action is something else

✦ your costume hasn’t really changed since you were younger (really the sailor scout uniform was just too good to switch up)

✦ but the duality of the cute bows on your leotard and the short pleated skirt compared to the sight of you slamming a heavy green mallet over some poor supervillain’s head always draws his attention to you

✦ you fight so effortlessly in mark’s eyes, you’re quick on your feet and there’s a unique power behind your punch that make him feel the earth beneath his feet shake when he sees you clock someone in the jaw

✦ you always looked so cool with your stoic, determined expression and he admires how ✦ you seem so put together, you barely stagger between attacks, it’s as if you’re just going through the motions

✦ watching you ring-sling is such a sight to see

✦ you’re so quick to adapt your light constructs he can’t imagine how fast you must be thinking for you to be able to switch as naturally as you do, almost like breathing

✦ he’s seen you combo your ring-sling constructs with your raw strength, hitting them with a green baseball bat before the same light construct stretched into a tether or a lasso to yank them back into your ring bearing fist— which by then had some brass knuckle or gauntlet wrapped around it to bust up their jaw

✦ you do surprisingly well at keeping up with him, you’re nowhere near as fast or durable as he is after he starts getting deeper and deeper into being invincible, but your willpower wasn’t something to laugh at

✦ he admired your courage and strength, even if he was at the end of some of those punches

✦ the two of you were such a strange pair

✦ both of you seemed oblivious to the way you looked at each other

✦ maybe it was the goggles on his costume but mark never seemed to realize that the scowl on your face wasn’t the same as your usual resting face (though he found the scrunch of your nose and the furrowing of your brows very cute)

✦ and you (despite your observational skills and general common sense) couldn’t tell that the sheepish puppy dog look on his face when he talked to you wasn’t just how his stupid face looked

✦ you also didn’t seem to realize that thinking about him as consistently as you did wasn’t something you’re supposed to do about someone you claimed to despise

✦ eve is at her wits end with you guys, especially since she was most often the one left to mediate between the two of you

✦ rex tried to do that once, but seeing as you were strongly aligned with eve and hold grudges longer than anyone else you still weren’t giving him any civilized response that didn’t involve chucking him into a lamppost ever since eve confided to you about him cheating

✦ also he used your spare lighter as ammunition once and he was still feeling the pain in his arm from when you broke his wrist after that

[secretlyazombi3]

eat.

tw: d1sordered eating, body image issues, descriptions of body

leon frowns as he glances over at your plate. you'd finished cooking dinner for leon and yourself and had plated the smallest portion of food for yourself.

"what?" you asked, sounding slightly agitated, not liking leon staring at your plate. you hated when he watched you eat. you hated when anyone watched you eat.

"are you not that hungry? there's barely anything on your plate." leon asked you.

you simply shrugged in response, not liking the question.

leon furrowed his eyebrows at you before glancing down at his plate and continuing to eat quietly. you just picked at your food using your fork. you'd been fasting for a while now. but breaking a fast felt like breaking the law.

"you okay, baby? i hardly see you eat anything." leon asked as he looked at you with puppy eyes, tilting his head to the side innocently.

"why do you care what i eat?" you asked leon, sounding a bit annoyed. you didn't want to speak this way to him, but you were so hungry it made you irritable.

"i'm just worried about you, baby." leon said softly.

"don't be."

leon set his fork down and stared at you with a concerned expression. "you're just... looking skinnier than normal, dear."

"thanks-"

"i really don't mean it like a compliment. it's concerning how fast you dropped weight. you look sickly. you know you can talk to me about this stuff, hun."

you looked down at your plate, still picking at the food. "who cares how fast i lost the weight? i like the way i look now."

"i care." leon replied. "you need to eat, baby. you body needs fuel. you're hurting yourself by being so restrictive. your brain alone needs 400 calories a day to function."

you put down your fork and frowned at leon, but you didn't want to argue.

"you're beautiful, baby. i'd find you beautiful no matter what your body looks like. this obsession you have isn't healthy. please just eat something. even if it's just that tiny portion of food." leon said gently, his tone softer than usual.

you looked back up at leon. you couldn't bring yourself to argue.

"i'm eating this food, i eat three times a day every day, and you don't think my body is ugly." leon added. "i'll sit here and eat with you every damn chance i get if that makes you feel better."

you paused before nodding, hesitantly picking up your fork and taking a small bite. you watched leon eat in silence as you also ate to keep your negative thoughts at bay.

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Cale blinks, eyes bleary. He's being held in Choi Han's arms, tucked close to his chest. Wince. Not only does his head hurt, his body hurts now too.

Being ten is strange. Strange in the way that his body doesn't match his mind anymore. Strange in the way that he feels like a stranger in someone else's home. It reminds him of a memory, older than he is, of when he first walked into the orphanage. Out of place. The kids already there looked at him like he was no different from them, but it was strange to finally be labeled an orphan despite having been without parents for most of his life, now.

The 7 year olds memories tucked away in his mind welcome the 10 year old in. Cale frowns.

A habit from his older years, and younger ones, has him checking his environment before his condition.

"I will go to Duke Fredo." He hears Eruhaben declare to everyone in the room, clearly having a meeting of sorts. Cale is tucked so close to Choi Han that his being awake goes unnoticed. Or, if it is noticed, no one says anything about Cale listening in.

Rosalyn nods. "The White Star is planning something in Cale's absence. We need to find out what that is," somberly, she adds, "Before 'he' decides to do something about it first."

Cale yawns in the middle of her talking, and the buzzing in his ears prevents him from hearing the last part. Duke Fredo... Cale remembers being Naru, for a time. Cookies and the White Star... his head aches. It feels, very accurately, like a long needle is being inserted into his skull and poking around in his brain.

"Cale?" Choi Han squeezes his shoulder. The 10 year old in his arms frowns more at how comfortably he's being held. How long has Choi Han been carrying him? He recalls being carried by Choi Han many times. It makes him recall other things, such as pain and coughing up blood. He assertively stops thinking about it.

The meeting on the other side of the room comes to an end at Cale's emerging consciousness. The eyes on him feel familiar. It reminds him of the pitiful looks he got when he wandered the cold streets in nothing but a school uniform. His memory flickers and it suddenly reminds him again of the team, when they looked at him as the Team Leader.

Though, he can't think of any reason why they're staring at him like that.

Finally, with a twang of pain in his skull, he realizes that they're looking at him with expectation... he doesn't connect the dots that their expressions are that of worry. Was there something he missed? He yawns again, tears coming to his eyes, and he calmly wipes them away before kicking his legs.

"I want down."

Choi Han sets him on the ground, steadying him on his wobbly, sleepy legs. Cale is thinking about the conversation that Eruhanen and Rosalyn just had when hunger pains radiate from his stomach like twisting tendrils.

-Sorry Cale! I took longer to heal your body because of the curse, but it's fixed now!

Clutching his stomach with one hand, he covers his mouth in a desperate attempt to keep the blood in his hand as he coughs wetly. It tastes familiar, beyond the familiarity he had with it at 10, but rather its a lifetime of familiarity that cannot be contained in just the words, 'he tasted blood.' It was a taste he knew better than food or water.

His chest feels better, he notes. His head still hurts, unfortunately, but he shouldn't expect too much.

It also came out of his nose. Gross.

With that underwhelming thought, he keeps the blood carefully cupped in his hand. Uncle hated when he got blood on the-

Uncle is...

Right.

But still... he shouldn't get blood on his Hyung-nim's nice carpet. It's probably... expen... sive.

Noise buzzes around him, someone is touching his shoulder, but he's coughing blood again, again, and again, and it feels awful as his stomach twists and writhes with the hunger and pain that he's felt before, but it makes him ravenous all the same.

Hungry. He could eat anything right now. He remembers the tasteless rock he ate to get Super Rock's Ancient Power. He'd even eat a normal rock.

But still, even in his hunger, he keeps his mouth closed.

He can't bring himself to ask for food.

Not even from Raon. Something in his core, in his gut and his heart and his soul, tells him that he shouldn't ask. How could he take food from Raon? Well, it's Raon's supply of food for Cale anyway, so it's okay. But taking food from a child? But Cale is a child too--

"Human! That's your hungry face! Quickly eat this pie!" Raon cries out and there's suddenly a slightly smashed slice of apple pie in his face. How are there already tears on it...?

He grabs it without thinking hard.

The hunger doesn't care about tears, and soon Cale is stuffing his face with the salty apple pie with a fervor that he, at 10, would normally never have shown to anyone. He eats without chewing with a familiarity that makes him want to cry.

Choi Han's hand shakes on Cale's shoulder.

He should've checked Cale's condition beforehand. He saw that Cale used the ancient powers but still, Cale only got his external wounds treated. Why did he let his happen? He thought that it would be okay this time. Cale was young now and he wasn't showing a response for a long time, so he didn't think. There's no excuse for this.

Cale eats desperately, as if his life depends on it, and Choi Han can't help the way his heart cracks at the sight. And burns with frustration at his own uselessness.

Drip.

The room is quiet.

Drop.

"Human! Do-do you need more apple pie?!" Raon yells, panicking, bringing out more apple pie as Cale's cheeks become wet with silent tears. He reaches for a pie in the air and scarfs it down, uncaring of the sticky fingers covered in sweet apple filling and flaky, crumbling bits of crust.

It tastes like home.

It doesn't taste like Uncles house, or blood, or school hallways or alleys or scraps.

He sobs miserably, wanting to hide. He isn't crying over apple pie, he isn't! From his memories, he definitely shouldn't be crying over this much- it didn't even hurt enough to cry!

Thunder crackles outside the castle. Cale remains hunched over a new slice of apple pie, curling into himself in a very not-Cale like manner.

Another crack of lightning outside.

Eruhaben steps in front of Cale. He brushes Choi Han, frozen in his shock, away from the scene. Raon brings more apple pie out, even as he sees that Cale isn't so much eating the pie as he is holding it.

"Human, I will- I will destroy the world! You can't go into a coma again, I will- I will," Raon's voice cracks. Choi Han gathers himself. He looks at Cale, before calmly standing next to Raon and touching his paw in the air. "Human..."

"Cale," Eruhaben speaks calmly. "Look at me."

Cake shakes his head, fingers trembling. Something's wrong with him, inside of him, and the panic gets to his chest as he starts to take quicker breaths. Cale looks through his memories to fix himself but they blur in a cacophony of sounds and words and frames.

"Cale Henituse, you need to relax. Everything is okay. No one is taking anything from you. Calm down."

They weren't inspirational and comforting words. No, the words could even be considered a little cold, for an adult speaking to what appears to be a 7 year old. But it was necessary for Cale, who was 10 and not 7, and Kim Rok Soo, who was orphaned at a young age and abused and abandoned, and a little boy who went through both child and teenage years without anyone he could call family.

Cale opens his eyes. Were they closed? Eruhaben is in front of him.

Calm down.

Why did Lee Soo Hyuk come to mind when he heard that? A distant, dusty memory falls through his mind, so he picks it up and watches it. The Record plays out.

Something happened like this, once.

It was the only time he came close to crying in front of the Team Leader. Lee Soo Hyuk brought him out of it. The Record, though the reason why he almost cried was somehow forgotten(lost?), always played when he needed to put himself together in a moment of weakness.

Even now. When he is 10 years old in a 7 year olds body. The voice brings back the feeling of calm.

His memories settle.

Right. This is more like him. More like himself.

His face levels out into something neutral.

It feels like an older version of himself, somewhere between 38 and 20, is stroking the top of his head. Cale wonders if hallucinations are part of the curse.

"Good job." Lee Soo Hyuk in the Record and Eruhaben's words overlap for a moment but Cale ignores it.

It takes mental strength to stand straight again, but he manages it with a stiff expression. His hands are a mess, a gross mix of blood and the smushed flesh of what used to be a perfect apple pie.

He's never been more ashamed and embarrassed in his life. Old memories come to mind, reminding him that he's done worse, but the 10 year old in a 7 year olds body feels mortified. If he'd done this in front of his uncle...

"I'm sorry." Cale apologizes. It comes out of his mouth naturally. He has a lot that he could be apologizing for. The floor, which surely has blood and messy apple pie on it now. The pie, which is as ruined as his shirt. The weird hyperventilating thing he did. He recalls his memories. Maybe it wasn't what Lee Soo Hyuk called it, a 'panic attack,' but something different, more sinister.

He convinces himself that it is.

Red flag number 6 it is.

"Cale, you have nothing to be sorry for." Eruhaben states clearly. Cale looks him in the eyes. Strangely, he feels compelled to believe the Ancient Dragon.

.... Red Flag number 7?

Cale backs away on instinct.

Eruhaben sighs.

"Unlucky bas... hah." Standing up from where he had apparently gotten on his knees, Eruhaben waves his hand. The gross feeling on Cale's hands disappears effortlessly, and the stain on his shirt vanishes too. "It'll still be better to wash your hands, at least. Though that doesn't mean you're dirty... it means you were attacked by apple pie." Eruhaben tells him seriously. He lowers himself to his height and makes eye contact. "So it's best to wash it off, just in case some of it is still on you. It could... attack again."

The other people in the room, notably missing Bud and the mage Glenn now, stare at Eruhaben. He pointedly ignores their gazes.

Cale nods.

Eruhaben covers his rising smile.

"Off you go now," he lowers the hand, looking serious again. Struggling, he continues,"... Be careful." Like sending off a soldier, he stands up and looks away from Cale.

Choi Han covers his own face and fights to not laugh.

Somehow, despite the fact that Cale technically has all of his memories, the explanation works for him. He goes into the bathroom, escorted by Ron, who helps wash his hands at the sink. Ron also has him change his clothes, despite their clean appearance.

Ron assures him that it's due to the risk of another apple attack. It could be stuck to the clothes as well. Cale frowns. Ron smiles at the pouting 7 year old.

The 10 year old starts changing his clothes obediently.

Cale's muscles ache and burn. Even his bones hurt.

His head is in so much pain, especially when he focuses, but he draws in his willpower to think very hard about the reason why he might be in this condition.

Cale winces as the needle in his brain digs in deep and drags itself over his frontal lobe, and he visibly shudders, trying not to grimace.

10 year olds are supposed to be bigger than 7 year olds, is the conclusion he comes to.

...

Cale gets chill on the back of his neck.

Surely he isn't going to grow... right? No, no way. If he is, surely he shouldn't be in pain, right? He became 7 years old in a flash and it didn't hurt, so why now?

The pain alleviates for a second. In feels like whatever is causing the pain is given a revelation.

In his undergarments, Cale is enveloped in a white light.

This is...

Definitely red flag number 8.

Definitely, he thinks, suddenly 12 years old in a 12 year olds body. The needle painfully digging into his brain burns and yet feels cold at the same time. It spreads like an infection, and he immediately covers his right eye as it becomes numb with a sharp, icy sensation. Strangely, his hand warms up.

Ron, who innocently retrieved a garment from the crown prince Alberu's younger days, drops it. The assassins hands, which never tremble, shake more than they would if Cale had been an adult. Seeing a newly 12 Cale bleeding from his eye...

Blood seeps through the gap between Cale's hand and his face, which is now suddenly 12 years old.

Cale-- Ron realizes as he calls, as calmly as he can, for the ancient dragon and rushes in a not-so-calm manner to the young masters side-- has yet to realize that his eye is gushing blood. The 12 year old looks at Ron, confused.

Ron's expression is stiff.

"Ron?" Cale asks.

Eruhaben enters the room alongside Raon and Choi Han, but Ron focuses on relaxing his expression, and carefully holding Cale's hand to his eye, keeping it there so he doesn't remove it.

"Young Master... Do you remember the song, Dark Night Moon Light?"

Cale frowns. His head hurts.

"No." He says honestly. Why is everyone in here all of a sudden? Cale was barely dressed in some now too-small shorts. It's cold, he thinks through the pain.

"Then I will remind you, Young Master. It's a children's song that parents or butlers like me sing at a child's bedside. The child will close their eyes and listen to the song. Would you allow this butler to sing it to you?"

All of a sudden?

Cale feels uncomfortable, but his head hurts so much that he can't think about it a lot, so he closes his eyes.

Ron sings, in his calm and low voice, a common children's melody. He himself had once sung it for Beacrox, a long time ago.

It's supposed to help children who find themselves terrified of the dark. As far as Ron knows, Cale was never been so afraid of the dark to have this song sung to him... but, he understands with a bitter heart, even if he had been scared, the song would've been sung by his mother. Not his father, who was too sucked in by his grief after her passing.

He realizes that Cale, being 12 now, must no longer have the memories of his mother singing to him.

Eruhaben has Ron carefully remove Cale's hand, which had been pooling blood inside, spilling onto the floor.

Branded under his eye, looking like a burn in the soft and thin skin, is a number.

'12'

Eruhaben waves away the blood.

"Young Master, open your eyes now. The song is over." Ron doesn't react to the number, and when Cale opens his eyes, hides his relief that his eye is not damaged. Just bleeding. "Do you know how old you are now?" Though, Ron had a strong suspicion that they already knew.

"... 12, I think."

"Cale, you've been fighting off the curse, haven't you?" Eruhaben asks. It feels angry. Cale shrinks in on himself.

"It's fine, isn't it? It's better if I'm older."

He won't cry anymore. He can bathe again, since he can now handle the phantom sensations of blood and scars and dirt. He won't ignorantly use his ancient powers. Off the top of his head, there are more reasons that he should be older than there are reasons to go back to being young.

He is a better slacker when he isn't being whiny and childish.

"... Cale-nim." Choi Han groans.

"You knew that you were fighting off the curse, right?" Eruhaben asks again, but it's calculating.

"... Yes," but how could he not? He could always feel when he grew older, smarter. Not to mention the cracking like pain of his skull being hammered in, worse and worse as he ages. Even now, he can only tell the honest and not altered truth, simply because he is in too much pain.

Choi Han wants to ask. 'Is it because you don't trust us?'

But he holds his tongue.

Eruhaben sighs. He nods at Ron.

"Get dressed." Eruhaben rubs the top of Cales red hair, leaving him frazzled, before leaving the room. Choi Han clutches his sword and restrains his rampant emotions.

"You aren't in trouble human! The great and mighty Raon will help you become a child again!" Raon flies around Cale. Ron, observing Choi Han and Raon, leaves to rob the crown prince of more clothes.

Sigh. Cale shivers.

His head hurts.

[bonchobrick]

Duke and Danny bestie fic im co-authoring with some cool people for Patrol Partners! :D

A fic where Duke knows a lot about Gotham’s new problem, ghosts. The Waynes think the worst and assume he’s had some terrible experience with ghosts in the past (in reality is just very happy to talk about his best friends culture and doesnt realize how odd it is that he knows all this stuff)

Or

Duke is pretty much just vibing, the bats are having a meltdown, and Danny is having a blast!

—-

Then Duke pops the question

“So, what are you guys researching?” He asks raising a brow to the papers littered all over the room

Collectively the entire room groans as Duke absentmindedly picks up a paper on the table with the failed, static over-run image.

“We don't know!” Steph bemoans frustrated

Tim starts, “There are new entities–”

“Creatures.” Bruce corrects

Tim casts a piercing glance at his father, “I am pretty sure those are entities. Eye witness reports state that they look fairly human-like–”

Bruce challenges him right back, “Eye witness reports were also very likely to be unfactual, they seemed partially intoxicated. It’s more likely they are some kind of mutated animal.”

His son’s teeth grit, “Even so we still can’t rule out–”

“Oh right, the ghosts are back in town,” Duke's comments, gaze absorbed in the static image

Silence drowns the room as their weary eyes blink at Duke, processing what he had just said.

Then it clicks

“R-repeat that?” Tim stares intensely at Duke

“Um, the ghosts are back? That's what these are.” Duke nervously replies confused, “It’s been a bit since they visited Gotham

Tim opens and closes his mouth, immensely struggling to find any words to say. It seems like the rest of his family is fairing no better, some of them letting out noises of surprise and shock with others trying to hear if they heard that sentence right.

“There used to be ghosts in Gotham?” Bruce says incredulously

“Yeah?” Duke tilts his head, “I mean they don’t like living here with the corrupt ectoplasm but I’m friends with a few ghosts?”

Jason springs on him with wide eyes, “What are ghosts like, personality-wise?”

Duke thinks and responds with the first thought that comes to mind, “Fickle, they can be super friendly or super destructive. They do whatever they’re in the mood to.”

“Are they aggressive?”

“Sure? Sometimes?” Duke blinks at them bewildered before a petty smile crosses his lips, “They can be, hmm, commanding.”

Dicks eyes turn cold and protective, “What–”

“Listen guys,” Duke backs away from the discussion going with his internal task list in mind, “I gotta go wrap up putting together all my documents for my topic on my science fair project so uh, see-ya!”

The second youngest bounces out of the cave and the rest of the family stare dumbstruck at him.

New entities (ghosts?) pop up in Gotham + Duke describes them as fickle and commanding =

Duke is being made to do things for Ghosts who can be kind and cruel which =

= Duke is being bullied by Ghosts?!

Not on their Bat-watch!

Damian is already sharpening his ‘not murder tools’, Tim has sprung into research on the bat computer and the rest of the family have already dipped into Gotham ready to search for these perps!

Paranoid Family #1 will help Duke’s ghost problem starting now!

( pssst heres the fic :)

[spideyhexx]

12 am thoughts with kit;

more! nsfw! this feels aligned with some past thoughts of fwb academic rivalry coryo...

Coryo straightens out the sleeve of his uniform jacket while you're pulling him around the corner, "Can this wait? I'm gonna be late for class and you know I-"

Your hand presses to his chest with more firmness than he's expecting. With a bit of a push, his back is to the wall in the curved corner, half secluded from the main hallway. You would have to get close to see and most students, if not all, would be in class by this time.

Coriolanus grabs your elbows before you can move, "What do you want?"

"Nothing," you jut your bottom lip slightly at his skeptical expression and wriggle your arms from his grasp.

"Nothing. How many times has it been nothing? Coriolanus it's nothing, you take my pen. Coriolanus it's nothing, beg for me to walk home with you, Coriolanus-"

You place your palm directly over the front of his pants, with enough pressure to get him to shut up. He flushes, mouth parting to speak, but nothing comes out. Coryo glances down, your manicured, perfect hand grasping at him through his pants, making a slight movement. A threat to palm him.

You chew on your bottom lip, waiting for his eyes to find yours again. Once they do, you quickly peck his lips and Coryo's eyes flutter shut.

"Now?" He asks, opening his eyes to quickly glance around. And when he leans too much away to look, you squeeze him through his pants, a gentle one, that gets his breath all shuddery how you like it.

You nod, "it'll be quick."

His jaw sets and he unclips the skirt part of the uniform, "I don't know whether to be insulted by that or relieved," he mumbles, watching you happily find the button and zipper of his pants, undoing it.

"Both, you finish so fast, that is why I said it," you chide at him and move to your knees. Coryo rolls his eyes, leaning his head back on the wall, his hand instinctively on your head before his dick is even out.

It's all clockwork for the two of you.

"Thank you," he snarks, as you push his pants down just enough to put your hand down his boxers and pull him out. Your eyes look up to him, gathering saliva in your mouth then dribbling the spit onto his hardening cock, using your hand to rub it all in.

Coriolanus is not looking at you, head still tilted back on the wall. He is distraught that if he looked at you while you spit on him, he would have to find a way to clean the shoulder of your uniform before the two of you go to class.

Your tongue laps at his tip, and his hand tightens on your head. The slow stroke of your hand, as your tongue swirls his tip, is the exact reason he hates you. You told him you had never done this before him and he is convinced you lied. Because right from the first time you had him in your mouth, you were perfect. Suckling his tip and messing it with your spit, all to get him fully hard. It wasn't the main show. He hated it.

Even here, in a secluded corner of the Academy, you did not seem to mind getting his cock all wet, and he has to bite down hard on his cheek.

"I thought I told you we should stay away from doing this stuff here," he whispers at you, finally taking the chance and looking down at you. You don't respond to him because you're too busy wrapping your lips around him and sucking, slowly taking a little more of him.

You keep your hand wrapped around the base of him, eyes up on him, the pretty blue eyes that look brighter from this angle. He can't help the soft sighs that leave his mouth, but he tries to even stop those, focusing his energy on holding your head.

When you hum against him, he nearly explodes in your mouth, his head going back again and a strained hum leaving his mouth.

If you could smile right now you would. You push on, licking your tongue on the underside of his length as you pull your lips off of him, stroking your hand over him. A quick couple of pumps before you get your mouth back on him, bobbing your head faster.

"Ah..oh...shit," he mutters, his hand moving to the back of your head. Coryo lightly presses on your head to get his cock deeper in your mouth and his hesitancy surprises you. You roll your eyes over it and move forward to take all his cock into your mouth, a shaky moan leaving his lips, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, do you want me to cum down your throat?"

You pinch his thigh.

He hisses at it, "I know, I know, quiet, yeah," he says, breathless and moving your head back a little for you. You know he can't hold back much longer, so you keep your quicker pace for a few seconds, feeling his thigh tense under your hand. Then, you purposely slow till you get to his tip, and suck on it harsher than before. Coryo lets out a whimper breath and bucks his hips forward, spilling into your mouth and watching you take it all, swallowing every single drop.

He pants, letting go of your head and watching you pull back, licking over your lips and at his tip again to clean off any drops, then tuck him back in his boxers. "Huh, how'd you... never mind." Coriolanus thinks questioning how you swallowed all of him without making any sort of mess will just make him hard again.

He gets himself back to decency as you stand up, wiping at your mouth and straightening your own uniform.

Coriolanus is about to say something when you tap his arm, peck his lips, and give him a smile, "See you later, Snow," and you turn on your heel to leave.

[mapofsouthdakota]

Caleb’s headcanon -

The Vanguard

Synopsis: Days and weeks of distance and unresolved emotions due to the falling out in Skyhaven. You now find yourself spending the weekend with Caleb. He has a surprise worth your time.

Details: Longer story/3000ish w. Angsty nostalgia. Banter. Yearning losers. Warmth. Pet names. And fluffy love. Lots of it. Feral smooch. Brace yourself for romance iow)

Sanctuary bound

The forest is thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, the air cool and crisp as the evening deepens. The canopy overhead filters the last remnants of daylight, streaks of golden orange and soft violet spilling through the spaces between the branches. You hear the distant rustling of unseen creatures, the occasional chirp of a bird settling into its nest for the night. It’s quiet, peaceful, save for the sound of your boots crunching over fallen leaves and the steady, rhythmic steps of Caleb beside you.

You hadn’t expected this when he pulled you away from the train station, promising something worth your time. You had grumbled, just a little, about the impromptu adventure—but Caleb had looked at you with that infuriating confidence, a knowing smile tugging at his lips, and you had relented. He always did have a way of convincing you. And now, here you are, pushing through underbrush, feeling the sting of a rogue branch as it snaps against your chin.

A sharp crack, a rustle, and then Caleb turns abruptly, eyes scanning you with instant concern. “Pip? You alright there?” His voice is warm, laced with something close to guilt, as if he personally offended you by letting the forest misbehave.

You press a hand to your chin, feeling the scratch. It’s nothing serious, barely a sting, but before you can even reassure him, Caleb reaches for the offending branch and snaps it in his hands with unnecessary force, breaking it down into crumbling bits of bark and wood. So much wrath for one little branch.

Amused, you shake your head, rubbing the sore spot. “Yeah, sure. But you better have an explanation for making this pretty face suffer another scratch.” You flash him a smirk, and just like that, the worry in his eyes fades, replaced by something softer—relief, maybe.

He exhales, giving a light chuckle. “I promise it’ll be worth it,” he says again, just as he did at the train station, but this time, his voice holds more weight, like he truly means it. He takes your hand, fingers lacing through yours, and pulls you forward, leading you through the last stretch of the forest.

Then, suddenly, you see it.

The trees part just enough to reveal something nestled within the embrace of a towering oak. Your breath catches, your steps slowing until you come to a full stop. The world around you seems to blur, the sounds of the forest fading into the background as you take it in.

A tree hut.

Not just any tree hut—one that feels like a memory wrapped in twilight. It’s small but sturdy, clearly built with care, perched between the thick branches like it belongs there, like it’s always been waiting for you to find it. Warm, golden lights flicker along the railing, casting a soft glow against the wood, and small lanterns dangle from the entrance, swaying ever so slightly in the breeze. The setting sun paints the scene in hues of amber and lilac, and for a moment, it almost feels unreal.

Your lips part, but words fail you. Instead, you murmur his name. “Caleb…”

The nostalgia hits hard, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. It’s not just a tree hut—it’s a piece of the past, a reflection of something lost but never forgotten.

Caleb, standing beside you, watches you take it in, his eyes glinting with quiet anticipation. He leans against the base of the tree, arms crossed, the hint of a proud smile ghosting his lips. “So? Not bad for a guy who’s hammered his own thumb more times than he’d like to admit, huh?” He nudges you playfully, but his gaze flickers with something deeper, waiting for your reaction.

You shake your head, barely able to process it all. “Caleb, this is…” You swallow, still staring up at the hut, your heart pounding with something you can’t quite name. “This is just like back then… like the hut we had.”

His grip tightens around your hand, steady and grounding. “Well,” he murmurs, tilting his head toward you, “that was my initial inspiration, at least. But, you know, I like to think I’ve taken some creative liberties—call it an artist’s touch.”

You glance at him, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you. Then, with a deep breath, you step forward, reaching for the rope ladder. The woven strands feel rough against your fingers, solid and real, anchoring you in the present. You take your first step, the ladder swaying ever so slightly beneath you.

And then, of course, Caleb has to be Caleb.

With an impish grin, he gives the ladder a light tug, making it sway just enough to throw you off balance. Your grip tightens instinctively, a startled laugh escaping your lips.

“Caleb!”

He chuckles, hands already ready to steady you if needed—just like when you were kids. “What?” he says innocently, though the amusement in his voice betrays him. “Just making sure you remember how to climb.”

Rolling your eyes, you huff but keep going, knowing full well that if you were to slip, his arms would be there to catch you. Just like always.

As you pull yourself up into the tree hut, the wooden floor greets you with a gentle creak—not from weakness, but from character. It feels sturdy beneath your feet, built with care and precision, a far cry from the fragile planks of the childhood hut that once groaned under every shift of weight.

That old hut had been a sanctuary, but an imperfect one, where the wind whispered through the cracks and the rain dripped through the uneven roof. It had been a place of hiding—of huddling under threadbare blankets, the scent of damp wood and childhood fears lingering in the air while thunder rolled outside. Back then, Caleb’s voice had been your anchor, steady and unshaken, pulling you away from fear with whispered reassurances and quiet jokes, protecting you from the storm with nothing but his presence.

But this? This was something else entirely. Artist’s touch, indeed. Caleb’s touch.

The tree hut feels like a rustic cottage suspended among the branches. The walls are thick, made of polished wood that gleams in the glow of string lights. The single-room space is simple yet inviting—soft pillows scattered across the floor, a woven basket filled with plush blankets, and a cozy, fur-lined rug that begs to be sat upon. The air carries the faint scent of cedar and something sweet, like vanilla candles or aged parchment. It’s warm here, intimate, like stepping into a memory that has been lovingly restored.

As Caleb pulls himself up behind you with a faint huff, you smirk, arms crossed. “Carpenter and interior designer?”

He ruffles his ashen brown hair, momentarily shy at the praise, his fingers threading through the messy strands as he avoids your gaze. For just a second, he looks caught off guard, his usual confidence flickering in the warm light. Then, with a laugh, he recovers, shifting back into his easy charm. “Well,” he says, rolling his shoulders, “I’m actually more pleased with the mural.”

Caleb tilts his head upward, motioning for you to follow his gaze.

And then you see them.

Suspended from the ceiling, a constellation of delicate paper planes drifts in the air, illuminated by strings of fairy lights that twist and weave between them like threads of golden magic. They hang at different heights—some near enough to touch, others floating higher, dancing in the soft night breeze that sneaks through the open window. Some are crisp and perfectly folded, others slightly crumpled, as if they’ve been sent soaring through the sky before finding their place here. They glow under the light, casting soft, flickering shadows across the ceiling, transforming the hut into a dreamscape.

A breath of wonder escapes you, barely more than a whisper. “Woah…”

Caleb watches your reaction with quiet satisfaction before slipping his fingers around yours. His grip is firm yet unhurried, warm against your skin as he gently pulls you toward the railing. You let him guide you, your mind still lingering in the magic of the ceiling above, only for your breath to catch again as you take in the sight before you.

The world stretches out beyond the hut in a breathtaking display of twilight. The sky, once streaked with the last remnants of the sun, has deepened into a canvas of indigo and violet, the first stars beginning to shimmer against the darkness. The forest below rustles softly, a living thing, its vast expanse of treetops rolling like ocean waves beneath the cool night air. In the distance, beyond the silhouettes of trees, faint glimmers of city lights pulse on the horizon, a quiet reminder of the world beyond this hidden sanctuary.

Caleb leans against the railing, his back to the view, resting his palms on the wooden frame as he watches you instead. But you stand facing outward, drinking in the sight, letting the hush of the night settle around you like a well-worn cloak.

It feels… unreal.

Like something out of a story. Like something meant to be found only in dreams.

The weight of it all crashes down on you in slow, suffocating waves.

Standing there at the railing, wrapped in the golden glow of string lights and the cool hush of the night, you feel something deep in your chest—something unbearably tight, unbearably warm, and aching all the same. You don’t know how to repay him for this. You don’t know why he’s done this, why he’s poured so much thought, so much care into recreating something you once shared.

Because you haven’t done anything to deserve this.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Skyhaven still lingers in the back of your mind, a phantom that refuses to fade. The weight of those months apart, the unspoken words, the way you had refused—carelessly—to see what had been in front of you all along. Caleb had always been there, unwavering, steady as ever, and yet, when the moment had come, you hadn’t realized. Not soon enough. Not before things had cracked between you. And, sure, he had acted out of place, he had said things that had made you recoil—but had it really been so wrong of him to finally let it slip? After all those years, after all that time spent protecting you, being by your side, waiting—

Was this his way of apologizing?

Was this entire thing—a hut built with his hands, a recreation of something precious—his way of making up for how you had parted ways?

Your throat tightens, eyes suddenly stinging with the weight of too many emotions. Good, bad, tangled and ugly, all of them knotting together in a way that makes it impossible to sort through. You try to blink it back, but Caleb notices. Of course he does.

His voice is a gentle murmur, unsure, laced with concern. “H-hey, Pips…”

You barely register the nickname before he’s pulling you in, his arms wrapping around you in a solid, grounding embrace. The moment your face presses into his chest, it’s over—you shatter. A small, choked breath escapes, and you cling to him, fists curling into the fabric of his shirt as you bury yourself against him.

His arms tighten. Strong. Secure. His scent surrounds you—warm and heady, tinged with the faintest trace of cedarwood, metal, and something undeniably him, something that’s always meant safety. It’s dizzying, how much warmth he carries, how easily he envelopes you, as if he’s trying to shield you from whatever storm is raging inside of you. His fingers stroke through your hair, slow and steady, his palm pressing gentle circles against your back.

“If I knew you’d react like this…” He exhales against your hair, voice barely above a sigh, thick with worry. He had wanted to create something new, to make something good out of something old. And now, he’s worried he’s only dragged you back into the past, into everything you still haven’t figured out how to sort through.

You feel him shift, his grip never leaving you as he guides you down to the soft carpet. The moment you settle, he tugs a thick blanket over the both of you, cocooning you in warmth—his warmth, the scent of worn fabric and something that reminds you of home. The home you once shared.

Your head rests against his chest, nestled between the firm planes of his muscles, the cool edge of his dog tag pressing against your cheek. It’s a contrast—the cold of metal, the solid warmth of him, the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

It’s too much. It’s so much.

And yet, in all of it, in the swirl of emotions and unsaid things, one thought surfaces. One memory.

Your voice is quiet, still heavy with emotion as you murmur, “Back then, the storm was always outside… and you’d shield me from it. But now…”

At first, Caleb doesn’t react. He only exhales, long and slow, fingers threading through your hair as if the motion is second nature. Then, after a beat, you feel the shift—the way his breath hitches ever so slightly, the way his hold tightens, if only for a moment.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. Not quite hurt, but something close. Something resigned.

“Pips… You don’t want to be in that situation any longer, do you?” His voice is quiet, hesitant, like he’s afraid to say the next part—that you don’t want him as your shield, as your guardian anymore. And maybe that fear cuts deeper than he lets on. Because he had already told you—he was tired of playing games. Tired of waiting, of hoping, of holding onto something that never seemed to be his. And now, from his perspective, it looks like the game is already lost.

And when you tilt your head up, peering at him from beneath the blanket, you see it—the small, pained smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The sadness hidden behind familiarity. The unspoken weight of something he’s always known.

The ache in your chest becomes unbearable, swelling until it’s impossible to contain. It’s not just longing, not just guilt or nostalgia—it’s him. Caleb, who has always been there. Caleb, who has always been yours, even when you were too blind to see it. And now, looking at him—seeing the quiet sadness in his expression, the way he has convinced himself that you don’t want this, that you don’t want him—it shatters something inside of you.

You can’t let him think that.

So, without thinking, without hesitation, without fear, you lean in.

Your lips press to his—soft, barely there, as delicate as a whisper. It’s not desperate, not at first. It’s a simple truth, an offering, a promise wrapped in warmth. Caleb stills beneath the blanket, his breath caught, his entire body rigid with disbelief. You feel it—how his pulse stutters, how his fingers twitch where they rest against your skin.

Then, slowly, his fingers trail up, brushing your chin, his thumb tracing over the faint scar left by the branch. His touch is feather-light, reverent, as if he’s making sure you’re real, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away, that this is some cruel trick of the universe.

Then, tentatively, he leans in, pressing the smallest, faintest kiss to your lips—just a whisper of contact. Another follows, and another, each one delicate, testing, almost unsure. His eyes remain open between them, searching yours, flickering with something raw and disbelieving, as if he’s waiting for the moment you vanish, for reality to snap back and prove this isn’t happening.

But you don’t vanish.

Instead, your eyes flutter shut, your breath catching as warmth blooms in your chest, melting through you like honey. His lips are soft, impossibly warm, and every feather-light brush sends the sweetest shiver down your spine. It feels so right—so achingly, breathtakingly right—that you can’t help but sink into it, letting the moment envelop you, letting him envelop you.

And then, something shifts. He realizes.

He realizes what you’re offering—who you’re offering. You. All of you.

And Caleb breaks.

The blanket flies, forgotten, as he moves, surging forward with the force of everything he’s ever held back. He casts himself over you, bracing himself above you, his body caging yours in the most intoxicating way. And then his lips crash into yours—not tentative, not careful, but desperate. Starved. Like every kiss he’s ever saved for you has finally been unleashed, one after the other, colliding into you in a feverish, uncontrollable frenzy.

Soft ones. Sweet ones. Feral ones.

He kisses you like he’s drowning in you, like you are the air he’s been deprived of for far too long, and now that he has you, he can’t stop. His breath is hot and heavy between kisses, ragged as he moves, as his hands trace over your curves, skimming over the fabric of your clothes like they alone are an obstacle keeping him from truly knowing you. His fingers dig into your waist, firm yet worshipful, his touch possessive but not demanding—just needing.

Then, between kisses, between the way his lips ghost over yours, bruised and breathless, he exhales, voice wrecked, raw with yearning.

“What are you doing to me, Pips…?”

He presses another kiss, slow, deep, savoring, as if trying to make sense of it, but then he pulls back just enough for his forehead to rest against yours, his breath fanning over your lips, uneven, unsteady. His hands tremble slightly where they hold you, gripping like he’s afraid to let go, like he doesn’t even know how to anymore. His voice drops, husky, desperate.

“I don’t— I can’t stop. You don’t know what you’ve started, do you? Do you even understand the consequences of this?”

His lips find your jaw, your neck, the exposed curve of your collarbone, each kiss more fervent, more unrestrained. He groans softly, inhaling your scent like it’s intoxicating him, like you’re something he’s wanted for so long that now that he finally has you, he’s undone.

And you respond in kind, your own hands sliding up his arms, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, the way they tense beneath your touch. You rake your fingers through his ashen brown hair, tugging slightly, and the sound he makes—a low, guttural noise deep in his throat—sends a shiver down your spine.

Then, suddenly, he bites you. A little too hard. Sharp enough to make you gasp, your head tilting back just slightly.

You exhale a breathless laugh, dazed and dizzy in the heat of it all, and smirk at him. “Careful, Colonel.”

Caleb pauses, his lips still lingering at your throat, and then he smirks back. A slow, wicked thing against your skin, laced with something dark and knowing. He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes dark, hungry, utterly gone on you.

“I told you so, didn’t I?” he murmurs, voice rich with heat, a teasing glint in his gaze as his fingers trace along your jaw, his thumb brushing the faint indent of his teeth against your skin.

“These are the consequences.”

Writer’s note: You guys I’m almost in tears because I just want them to be happy and I’ve had a blast writing this. I wanted him to break like the way he broke that twig in the forest. Okey then, thank you for reading peeps and thank you Gavin3469 for sending me that wonderful song that sparked my creativity 🫶🏻 (oh and say hi to my new lil avatar tihihi)

[beanbagstab]

Sonamy bite-sized fics #3

IDW/ Amy-Centric

Amy walked through the double doors leading to the balcony groaning lightly to herself. She walked towards Sonic with her head hung low in defeat as she leaned onto the railing next to him. 

Sonic turned to look at her with a bored, knowing expression, “So. It's not all it's cracked up to be huh?” 

Amy let out an exasperated sigh and looked out over to the view ahead of her. The hilltop residence of the mansion gave them a wide and colorful view of the city below. 

“It's not that exactly… Everyone is having such a great time…and I love hanging out with all my friends its just all…” 

“Too much?” 

Amy looked over at him, surprised he was able to finish her thought. 

Sonic gave her a sympathetic smile and placed his hand on her arm, “Hey, it's alright. You’ve been working real hard to set this up for everyone, it only makes sense you’d be kinda over it by now.”

Amy looked down at his arm on hers before turning to look past the railing again, “I know it's just, I was really looking forward to this. I just--I want them to have one of the best evenings ever. Tangle and Whisper deserve this after all they’ve been through together.” 

Amy held her hands together, “ An engagement is such a beautiful and romantic thing I just wanted it to be perfect for them...”

Sonic gestured inside with his thumb, “Well, last I saw those two, they were over the moon with joy. I’m a hundred percent sure they’re having an amazing time, Amy.” 

Instead of being comforted by this like she shouldv’e been, She felt a twinge of envy rip though her before it quickly bubbled down into guilt and shame. Leaving her feeling ugly and selfish. This whole night she’d been hit with these unwanted feelings and they only made her feel gross and insincere.

She cares about her friends. Dearly. When they had asked for help to set up the engagement party, she had -literally- jumped at the chance to do all the major party prep. 

But as the planning went on she realized her motivations hadn’t been entirely pure. She was using this as an opportunity to live vicariously through them- as if she were almost planning her own engagement party. As much as she didn’t want to believe she could stoop this low emotionally, she couldn’t avoid the truth of her heart. She never could. And seeing those two share in loving embrace after embrace grew too much for her to bear. 

She wanted that. She wanted to be happy like that, she wanted to be with the one she loved like that. And when the guilt of all these selfish thoughts piled up in her heart, she decided it was best to step back and get some fresh air. 

Sonic rubbed small circles on her hand and it brought her back to her senses… and back to the object of-practically-all her desires. 

#1 #2

[useeer]

Dance with me?

Venture, aka Sloan Cameron x reader

You're at your friends wedding, and somehow meet the cutest damn person in the world.

Tags: fluff, strong language, slight sexual innuendo

Enjoy!!

[Note: I haven't written a fic in 192739 yrs, and my ass hasn't been to a wedding since I was 10 so forgive my ignorance abt how they go!!]

You weren't exactly a party person.

Parties are loud, crowded and really socially taxing. While yes, you'd attend parties here and there; mostly birthdays or accomplishments for friends and family. It still wasn't your favorite thing to do. You are actually pretty upfront with others about how little social interaction you can handle. That being said... fear of disappointing your friends usually got the better of you. They were fine, partying was fun. 

Honestly, you'd be lying to everyone if you said you weren't thinking about your soft, cozy bed. Or how you were daydreaming about cuddling up to your pets and watching silly videos. Not even this beautiful wedding could curb your introvert nature.

It's evening now, the golden rays barely peeking over the horizon as it descends. A sweet, cool autumn breeze blows, ruffling your clothes and hair. A welcome comfort on this warm night.

The setting is truly beautiful. Soft, golden glowing lanterns are strung along the edges of the venue. Lush green plants in decorative pots line the edges. The pillars, stone and brick, are painted in the gentle glow of the lamps and lanterns. The style...is Greek? At least you think it's Greek. If someone told you otherwise, though, you'd take their word for it. Especially since half the people here are from the Wayfinder Society, all attending as friends of the groom. The wayfinders are sprinkled around the venue, chatting about and having a grand old time.

You? No such luck, you're only attending for your friend, who happens to be the other groom. While you know a handful of people, and did polite chit chat with them, you mostly stuck to yourself. Actually, that's a lie, you mostly stuck to the snack table. You're leaning by the side of it, plate in hand, trying just about anything there. I mean, what else are you supposed to do? 

While eating a particularly good cube of cheese, you let your eyes wander the room. You see a group of people laughing, another group chattering amongst themselves, one enthusiastically waving their hands in the air, seemingly very passionate about the subject. You snort, amused. Drifting eyes finally move over to the husbands, who were talking to an older couple, a quick hug is given here and there. 

Man. You were bored.

You weren't trying to be disrespectful here, you just didn't know anyone. Subconsciously, your leg starts bouncing, your thoughts dance to your fluffy, comfy bed. Reaching down for another snack on your plate, you’re disappointed to see they're all gone. Frowning a bit, you look over the table to see if there's anything else you'd like to try.

And boy, was there. The chocolate hair, the hazel skin, your eyes instantly locked onto the person plating their own food. They're dressed in a white button down, and black slacks, the sleeves of their dress shirt hugging them favorably. They even had a cute little yellow bowtie on. You couldn't tell their pronouns, so you figure you'd ask if you ever spoke. Which you weren't, you didn't want to intrude. They looked to be the same person absolutely raving earlier, you'd hate to keep them from it.

If they wanna speak to me, they will. You thought distantly, watching their hands as they pluck up a cupcake. 

Workers' hands. You mused, they seemed rough, and strong. They must be one of those Wayfinders. Your eyes trail their fingers, the back of their hand, man...they have really nice hands. Unbeknownst to you, your staring hasn't gone unnoticed. Their hands stills, just before the confectionery hits the plate. 

"Uhm... did you want this one?" They ask someone, curious, you look up to see who they're talking to. You finally get to see their face properly, and man they're gorgeous. Too bad you didn't have time to appreciate that fact, as your eyes instantly locked with theirs. You realize a little too late that you're the one they're talking to.

"Huh." Is all you manage to get out, unsure what the fuck to say to this stranger.

"The...cupcake?" They say, motioning it towards you. "Did you want it? You're staring at it like you want it." They say, clearly confused by the way you ogled their food.

"No- no I don't want it. I'm so sorry, ignore me." You cover your face and wave a hand in their direction, this is the worst thing you've ever done. Your face and ears burn in red hot embarrassment, you're just lucky they thought all you wanted was the damn cupcake.

They seem to find it a little funny now, how you're running away from the cupcake you were practically stalking as it left the platter. "Okayyyy, well then this is mine!" They joke, putting it onto their plate before strutting away, seemingly unperturbed by your god awful screw up.

God, you needed to sit down. 

You're practically on fire, feeling like you're gonna break into a sweat. Shakily, you find a chair in a less populated area and take a seat. You bend over, putting your face in your hands and elbows on your knees, as if trying to hide yourself. While you know, reasonably, that this isn't the end of the world, you can't help but feel like it is. You got caught! Red handed! 

Yes, they thought it was the cupcake, so maybe you weren't totally fucked. But also, you're totally fucked who are you kidding?!

You didn't exactly think you'd interact with them before, but it's awful your only interaction was weird and unseemly on your end. Groaning quietly, you remove one hand from your face to fan yourself, damn you feel stupid. 

You fan open part of your outfit, hoping in vain to let more air in to cool yourself down. Freaking out like this isn't a good look. After a couple minutes, you start to feel a little better. The flush of your cheeks is fading, and you miraculously avoided breaking into an anxious sweat. 

Sighing, you puff out your lips, you just sent texts to your closest friend about how massively you fumbled the bag. They laughed at you, while you scream-spammed the chat in horror. They did end up reassuring you that you were overreacting, that it was not in fact the end of the world. You thanked them before turning off your phone. You get up, dust yourself off a little before wandering back to the food table; finding yourself in front of the disposable drink cups, grabbing one. Gazing to the left, you find the water. You watch the water slowly drizzle into your cup, before downing the glass in a couple large gulps. Still thirsty, you fill it up again before returning to your seat.

Man, what a day, go to a beautiful wedding, see your friend get married, then fumble the biggest bag ever. You mentally kick yourself, even though on the outside, you look completely normal, sipping on your cup naturally.

Bouncing your foot a bit, you lean forward to scroll on your phone, hoping to find something interesting to pass the time and distract you. You're scrolling for about 5 minutes before someone sits next to you. Out of politeness you don't look, thinking it's another guest needing a seat. 

"Soo, about that cupcake. I ate it, definitely. But I felt a little bad. Here." The person next to you says, snapping you out of your doom scrolling. 

Why. Why why why. Is all you can think. They're fucking with you, haunting you. All over a cupcake. You look over and see they've got a small plate with another damn cupcake on it.

"Oh im- I'm not hungry anymore, thanks though." You try to nicely deflect, hoping they'll catch the hint and let you die in shame, alone. 

"Hmm, okay!" They say, they turn to face forward, unwrapping it for themself. They take a bite and bounce one of their legs, and you wonder why they're torturing you. They hum to themself as they continue to eat.

God. Please just go away...

They put their plate down and dust their hands, somehow already finishing the sickeningly sweet treat. "So." They state, placing both hands on either side of their seat, leaning forward, looking towards you. "Whatcha doing over here all by yourself?" They ask curiously.

"Well uh-" You clear your throat, "My friend’s the groom, it's his wedding. But I don't really know anyone else but him." You shrug, trying to relax and ease into conversation with them.

"Yeah, know how that feels." They say, sympathetically. "Wellll." They draw out the word, as if to emphasize it. "I was thinkin’ you could come to our table! I hate seeing anyone left out." Their smile is reassuring, until they start smirking. "Even. If. They stare at other people's food." 

Ok, you can't help it. You groan at their jab, while dragging a hand down your face. "Man, you will not drop that, huh?" You say, only a little less embarrassed this time. 

"Nope!" They tease, clearly getting a kick outta this. 

"You know what, I barely know you and you're already the worst." You joke, and your brain nearly breaks in two when they giggle at it. Their shoulders shake and they grin, still looking at you. You can't help but smile, even while trying really hard not to. They were stunning, cute and worst of all, infuriating. 

"Sorry for staring earlier...I was trying to see... your cufflinks." You say, clearly lying. As if desperately attempting to get out of the cupcake joke jail.

"Hmmm." They hum, unbelieving, eyebrows raised and nodding. "Well, too bad I don't have those." They smile, raising a hand up to show off their sleeve. 

You instantly cringe, caught once again. "Oh right." You mumble out, pursing your lips. Damn, you're fighting for your fucking life over here.

Your reaction makes them laugh. An honest to god laugh, and it's loud. They're finding WAY too much amusement in proving you wrong and you don't know why. Despite the embarrassment, you were now enjoying yourself. Talking to them, joking around, even if it's at your expense. Their laugh is almost contagious, and they've got the prettiest smile you've ever seen. 

"So.. what's your name?" You ask, your left hand fiddling anxiously at your side. Their laugh simmers down, and they sigh like they just heard the funniest joke in the world.

They hold their hand out towards you, "Sloane, yours?" You grab their hand and shake it, their grip firm. Your brain almost short circuits, realizing how much larger their hand is to yours. You say your name, and they repeat it. 

 

"It's nice to meet you!" They say, shaking your hand once more before letting it go.

"Sloane is a really pretty name." You state, trying to make conversation. Totally, 100% not flirting with them, of course.

"Awe shucks, you think so? Well I like yours too." They shoot back, their cheerful glow never dropping. They look over, and you do the same. You see them eyeing the table they came from. It appears someone stole their seat. 

"Oh, I'm sorry." You immediately apologize, feeling bad that their place was taken while talking to you. They shake their head and huff a little laugh, their curly hair bouncing. 

"Why're you sorry? Don't be. Plus, it's no biggie." They say nonchalantly, genuinely unphased. They crack a smile and lean forward, as if they're sharing a secret. "Don't worry, I'll get back at them." They whisper, a mischievous gleam in their eyes.

You giggle, and pull back a little. "What're you gonna do huh?"

They pull an inquisitive face, staring up at the ceiling almost performatively. "I dunno! Maybe I'll put confetti in all of their tents!" They announce, toying with the idea. You couldn't tell if they're serious or not. 

"You probably shouldn't do that." You jokingly warn, thinking abt how much of a pain confetti would be to get out of a tent. Much less the sleeping bags. 

Sloane grins, shining that gorgeous smile again. They seem to be the happiest person in the world. "Well, that's what they get for kicking me out of my own seat!"

You shake your head and let out a small chuckle, "You really are something."

They push you by the shoulder a bit, "I'm a great something I'll have you know." They joke, before settling back in their seat. 

Silence settles over the two of you for a bit, and it nearly becomes unbearable. That is until music begins to play. The lights towards the middle of the room light up, and the rest are dimmed to create a spotlight effect. The happy couple's chosen song is playing, and you watch as they approach the center of the room, beginning to dance. You smile, and awe at the sight. Seeing your friend so happy and glowing was truly a treat.

Sloane also watches, they love parties and weddings. Seeing two people so in love is one of life's many treasures. They look over towards you and see you recording your friends dance, they allow a small smile creep onto their face. They admire your side profile and the way your hair compliments you perfectly. You are eye-catching, and the way you practically folded over a cupcake earlier was hilarious. They love funny things, so they've GOT to get to know you. Exploring is one of their favorite things after all. 

They settle back and turn their attention to the dance. Eventually the music begins to wind down, and one of the grooms leaves the dance floor. It's the parents' dance, they think. Now that it isn't your friend out there, you click off the record button and look over to Sloane.

"So, what brings you here?" You ask, making conversation with them. They turn their head to face you, their hands loosely clasped together on their lap. 

"I'm from the wayfinders society! The other groom, Rey, is my good friend." They chirp, pointing at your friends now husband. "Y’know, me and him got lost once in a cave! Scary stuff, didn't know if we'd make it out." They said dramatically, waggling their fingers in your direction. 

"You serious??" You furrow your brow, and lean forward incredulously. Their warm dark eyes look back to their friend, and they nod. "Yeah, it was a couple years ago. We lost sight of our team, and couldn't find our way out. I ended up drilling us a new exit. Real risky doing that but we didn't have a choice." Sloane recounts, "Could've been worse!" They add, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

"That's crazy, I could never do anything like that." You tap your foot against the ground, even thinking about that type of stuff gets you wound up.

They turn back to you with a hum and smile, "Well, you never know until you try! Exploring is the best thing I've ever done for myself, I love it. Seeing what the world was like before us… finding the rocks and gems the earth has made. It's real worth it." Their passion is evident, every word they speak has them glowing. You admit it's rather charming, seeing them so in love with their work. 

"Man, that's so cool." You state warmly. "You got a really cool job, Sloane. You got the job little kids dream of." 

They smile genuinely, really happy with the thought. "Well my abuela always said to follow your dreams, so I did. What about you? What's your dream?" They gently nudge your shoe with theirs.

"Hmmm, well. I guess I'm still trying to figure that out." You hum, looking at the ground. Your interests aren't nearly as exciting as theirs. Working one dead end job to the next, just trying to make ends meet. "Thinking tattooing, honestly." You add, looking up at them.

Sloane gasps, eyes widening. "That's so awesome though! I love tattoos, I've got at least four or five." They pull down the collar of their button down to reveal more of the flames tattooed across their neck. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't already noticed it. Wanting to see how far down it goes.

Quickly, you bat those thoughts away. Sticking to complimenting the line work and blocking of their tattoo. You ask what others they've got, and they explain all the patchwork they've got done on their arms. Some historical, some cool, some just to have a piece of the places they've been. They even mention a larger one on their thigh, a dinosaur skull with flowers. You try not to sound too interested in seeing them while asking if they have pictures. 

The conversation between you and Sloane runs smoothly, chattering about your lives and cracking jokes at one another's expense. The dancing at the party is now in full swing, guests of all types littering the dance floor. It's now completely dark outside, save for the lighting inside the venue. The lamps hanging from the ceiling are dimly glowing, the lanterns now back to their full glow. You even spot fireflies outside the venue, blinking on and off, flying into the wedding space and out. The place is truly beautiful.

The strumming of a bass fills the venue, an electronic guitar complimenting it perfectly. You recognize it instantly, as it's a song you've come to enjoy. Your new friend, Sloane, practically jumps out of their skin in excitement. They quickly whip their head to look at you while whisper shouting, "I love this song!!"

They bolt up, staring at the dance floor as both their feet hit the ground with a soft thud. They twirl their whole body around, looking at you with an outstretched hand, "Come dance with me??" They frantically blurt out.

You look dumbly at Sloane before slinking back into your chair a bit, cringing. "No no- I don't dance." While waving a hand in their direction dismissively. You're hesitant and it's obvious. The idea of getting in the middle of a bunch of people and dancing. God, not what you were made for.

You were telling the truth, you don't dance! Anyone seeing you attempt to dance may need an ambulance. Sloane slumps by your reaction, and pokes conversationally, "Aww c’monnn, pretty please? With cherries on top? One song?" They say, leaning backwards a bit on the heels of their feet while keeping their upper body forward. They begin pouting a lip out and sporting their best puppy dog eyes, hoping it'll help sway their case. 

Nervously, you rub your pointer finger across your thumb. This is not what I signed up for, you think as your lips form a line, eyes locking with Sloanes, trying to will yourself into saying no.

Damn.

You can't. You can't say no! You know you'd kick yourself later if you left without dancing with them. They're everything you like in someone, striking, funny, passionate... You internally groan, searching their dark eyes for a way out. Sadly, there isn't one. Their eyes only plead and beg.

And well... who are you to deny them?

Breathing in a deep, deep sigh, you fold, "Okayy. Okay." You say, holding both hands up, signaling defeat.

Sloane is about to shout out a glorious, loud YES before you cut them off with a finger up. "But first, a shot of liquid courage." You say, pushing yourself up from your chair, walking towards the end of the food table. There lay countless plastic shot glasses full of vodka. You pluck one from the rim of the platter.

Sloane watches as you down the drink, admiring the way your throat moves to swallow. They snort when they see you pulling a face.

"C'mon- c'mon- the song is already going." They bounce, having to fight the urge to just drag you onto the dance floor themself. Shaking your head, you wipe away the grimace on your face and discard the tiny shot glass into the nearby garbage.

They grab your hand and pull you into the crowd, though they seem somewhat aware of your aversion to it. So they lead you towards a less populated end of the floor, despite this, nearly everyone at the wedding was dancing. So you were still around a decent amount of people. They smile wide, looking off into the gaggle of party goers. You find it ironic this is the song you're dancing to, the lyrics playing loudly.

We've got nowhere to go

We've got nothing to prove

Instead of dancing alone

I should be dancing with you

The lyrics are slightly erotic, even, but you don't have much time to ponder it when they turn back to face you. They release your hand, before snapping their fingers in tune with the beat and swaying their hips. You giggle, your cheeks and stomach buzzing from the alcohol. Unfortunately for Sloane, you do not know how to dance. Not well at least, they laugh, watching you sway awkwardly. "You don't dance do you?" They ask, almost having to shout to be heard over the clamor of people and music.

"No, not really!" You reply, before admitting, "I don't wanna look dumb!" 

"Look dumb?! I'll show you dumb." They jest, backing up a bit to give themself some space. With their eyes locked onto yours, they bend their knees while bringing their right hand towards their head, palm open. They're walking towards you sideways, left hand swiping back and forth to their side and front. You about shit yourself, recoiling in shock and laughing. They continue though, bringing both hands up in fists towards their head, pumping them as they shake their hips, still approaching you. 

"What are you doing!!" You shout, cracking up at their absurdity. They finally pivot fully towards you, bending forward and moving their hands in circles. They finish off their charade with a performative strut your way, palms open in a dramatic walk. 

They laugh, grabbing one of your hands and pulling you further into the floor. "I'm dancing!! You should try it sometime!" They jive, sticking their tongue out. "I'm just saying, no one can look sillier than me!" You roll your eyes and shake your head. The smile never leaving your face.

They grab your other hand and start dancing for you, swaying you side to side. You can't help but giggle, letting them have their fun. You sway your hips and release their hands, moving yours back, snapping your fingers while doing circles and stepping side to side. Their grin widens and they yell, "Hell yeah! get it!!" Encouraging you. 

Smiling big, you continue attempting to dance with them. Sloane closes their eyes and lets themself feel the music, they move their feet expertly, and their arm movements intentionally. Seeing this makes you realize they definitely know how to dance. Your eyes explore them, their body and the way they move. It feels dirty watching them like this…But they invited you to dance, you think maybe they want you to watch them. Enjoy them, drink them up. 

It feels as though they've already wrapped you around their finger. You feel sadness bubble that the song is already ending. Luckily the next song that plays doesn't disappoint, more bass-y than the last. This one still just as popular as the day it released. 

You let yourself loosen, swaying your full body in rhythm with the bass as the song goes on. Sloane is looking at you again, and you daringly strut around them, stepping in beat with the drums. Alcohol does wonders for self esteem. They wait for you to come back around before stepping close, pulling you in by the hand. You raise an eyebrow, checking them with a grin, before gleefully walking back, shuffling your feet in tune with the music then pulling them towards you. They follow excitedly, their foot work impressive as they step towards you. They raise your held hand up as they approach and you twirl around to face them once more. Confidence runs through you at this point, letting go of the hand above you. You bring your free hand up quickly, placing it on their chest before grabbing their opposite hand. They're grinning so hard, pulling back, until your arms are taunt. Then jerking you towards them, you turn so your back hits their chest. Sloane has one hand around your front, hugging you just beneath your chest. The other holding your hip, their head resting next to yours. You both just sway now, enjoying each other's company and the music. "This okay?" They ask in your ear, the tone in their voice dropping low.

"Huh?" You say loudly, turning to face them. 

"I asked if this is okay!" They announced a little louder, and closer to your ear.

"Yeah!" You affirm happily, like this is the best day of your life. 

Do I wanna know?

If these feelings flow both ways.

Sad to see you go.

Sorta hoping that you'd stay.

Baby we both know.

That the nights were mainly made for sayin' things.

That you can't say tomorrow day.

Dancing with them like this, swaying side to side feels almost romantic. And you're having a really hard time ignoring that fact. That coupled with your already burning attraction has you dizzy. You could stay here forever. Another song passes by, and you both continue dancing with one another. At one point, you fumble through a waltz before they twirl and dip you. Despite having the time of your life, exhaustion was quickly catching up. Feeling a bit hot, and tired, holding both their hands, you turn around.

Looking up at Sloane, you truly get to admire their beauty. They've got beautiful curls, swooping and gentle. Their hair is natural, soft looking, and when you danced you could even smell their shampoo. Their eyes are a deep brown, rich like the dirt they so love digging through. You finally notice their eyebrow piercing as well, and you bite your lip. It suits them. You think. 

The longer you analyze their features, you wonder how the hell they're even real. How someone could look as perfect as them, be as charming as them. It nearly drives you mad. They smile a little, their eyes darting away. Their flushed cheeks grow a little redder at your prolonged staring. You smile a little, this is the first time you've seen them at least a little bashful. It's adorable.

The music is playing quietly now, seeing as most of the guests vacated the dance floor. Only a few stragglers are left, you included. So now you can properly talk to them.

"You know earlier... I wasn't exactly looking at the cupcakes…” You purse your lips, and squint your eyes, as if to will yourself to get the words out.

“I was staring at you." You chew your lip, looking away shyly. This confession could make or break this… whatever this is. You certainly don't wanna break it. While nervous, you had a feeling they would respond positively.

Their eyes snap back towards you, and they let themself smile, raising an eyebrow. "Ohhh, I'm that pretty, huh?" They tease.

You sigh and roll your eyes, they really are such a bastard. "Yeah yeah, whatever." You mutter, playfully pushing their shoulder. Not risking stroking their ego any further.

"No no, tell me, was it the bowtie?" They snicker, pushing their chest out a bit to really show it off. 

You shake your head, running your hands up from their own and readjusting their accessory. “Yes, it was the bowtie, all I wanted was you, bowtie.” You whisper at their chest, pulling the sides of the bow.

“Psh,” They chuckle, “Okay for real! What was it, huh?” They say, flashing their signature grin while raising their eyebrows suggestively. Perhaps telling them was a bad idea, you purse your lips again, realizing they'll bother you forever until you tell them. It seems like they're DYING to know.

You hum, dropping your head onto their chest. With one hand still on their chest, you let your other trail down their arm before grasping theirs, bringing it up towards you. Flipping it palm up, you let your free hand lightly touch their palm. "Your hands, I like them. I was looking at them." Dragging your fingers along their palm, you feel every callous and rough patch of skin. You turn them over to admire their nail polish and knuckles. You even start to massage in-between their fingers, just soaking up the fact that you can touch them like this, and they're allowing you to.

They seem to be at a loss for words, and you figure that doesn't happen too often. Smiling, you walk your fingers up their arm and to their shoulder to rest it there, bringing your other arm up to mirror it. Their hands come up to your waist and bring you close. While enjoying the embrace, you weren't expecting them to shake you and hug you in tightly. They groan into your shoulder, as if frustrated. You puff out a laugh at their weirdness. 

"Sorry- you're just so cute." They say, pulling back. "I just met you and you already got me in stitches." They admit, kicking the dirt by your feet. You figure instant attraction to a stranger is just as new to you as it is to them.

"Well..." You start, not even sure what to say. "We can… go back to my room? I'm staying at a hotel nearby. We can hang out, talk...see where it takes us?" Your voice raises at the end of your sentence, as if a little worried they'll say no. That's another lie, you were a LOT worried they'll say no, denying you any more of their time.

Your anxiety is evident as your eyes search their face for a clue, a glimmer of what they might say. Of what they could be thinking. 

Sloane looks at you with tenderness. Such sweetness you could melt. They bring a hand up to cup the side of your face, rubbing their thumb across it. "I'd like that." They say, their voice seems to tighten as if they're both excited and nervous about the proposition.

Yeah, usually parties suck. But this one? This one was amazing.

[klanced]

My theory is that he plays voltron. The robot.

this would actually be the best possible outcome

[emloafs]

binary boyfriends x to all the boys i've loved before au

Eli likes to consider himself a pretty tough guy. He can take almost anyone in a fight and come out on top. Not that he’s bragging. But, there’s not much anyone can do or say to get under his skin anymore. Inner peace and balance and all that shit. 

You wouldn’t think a small blue envelope would be the thing to crumble this hard exterior and send him running. 

That would be ridiculous.

“El Serpiente!” Eli greets in place of a ‘good morning.’

As far as mornings before class go, neither Eli nor Miguel are ever that chipper. But as Miguel half-heartedly responds to their signature handshake, Eli can tell something else is up. Miguel looks completely out of it. 

“Hey,” Miguel says with a tight smile that resembles a grimace.

Eli quirks an eyebrow. “What’s up with you?”

Miguel sighs audibly. He purses his lips and meets Eli’s eye. “We should talk.” 

Eli feels a tight knot form in his stomach. That’s never a great line to hear, no matter who it comes from.

“Okay, what’s up?” He responds, trying to sound nonchalant.

Miguel bites his lip and hesitates. He scratches at his neck and starts, “I’m flattered and everything, don’t get me wrong but…” Miguel shoulders his backpack to one side so that he can reach into it. He yanks at the zipper of the front pocket. “I just- I really had no idea, you know? You’re my brother. I love you like a brother. And- things with Sam have been tough in the past, but we’re finally in a good place-”

“Wait- what?” Eli furrows his brow. What the hell is Miguel talking about? 

Eli watches as Miguel pulls out a small blue envelope from his bag. It has a stamp with a little American flag in the top right corner, and Miguel’s name and address in the middle. Eli’s own name is in tiny lettering in the lefthand corner. Eli doesn’t need to see it to know exactly what is written on it, though. Or what’s written in it, for that matter.

His heart stops in his chest. Or at least it feels like it does. He can’t breathe. Eli is distantly aware that Miguel is still talking, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking sheepish. The hum of the hallway noise around him turns into a muffle and fades into the background. Eli hasn’t had a panic attack in years–he honestly thought he forgot what they felt like–but as his chest tightens and his breath quickens, he feels like collapsing. 

“I care about you, man. I just don’t want anything to change between us,” he hears Miguel say. 

Eli can’t answer. He feels frozen. He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. His hand flies to his chest as if that will somehow clear his breathing pathway and shake him out of his panic. He jumps when Miguel places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Miguel’s eyes widen. “Woah- hey, Hawk, it’s just me. Are you okay?” 

Eli swallows roughly and tries his best to count evenly, matching the length of his inhales and exhales. It doesn’t work very well. Maybe he’s too out of practice. Eli’s mind races. 

He wants to ask Miguel a million questions, starting with where the hell did you get this? but something catches his eye over Miguel’s shoulder.  

Eli sort of has a sixth sense for when his best friend is around. He thinks it’s a side effect of being attached at the hip from such a young age. It’s not for any other reason. Why else would his head perk up when Demetri walks into a room?

Usually seeing Demetri would light Eli up. As Eli catches him walking towards them, it really should be no different. Except Demetri is sort of marching towards them as if he’s on a mission–shoulders set back, a slight frown tugging at the edges of his mouth, eyebrows knitted together. And he’s clutching something in his hand. Eli squints to make it out.

It’s an envelope. A letter, for that matter, nearly identical to the one in Miguel tugged out of his backpack. 

It’s a letter that Eli swore would never see the existence of a world outside of his bedroom. It’s a letter that certainly should not be in Demetri’s hand. 

Shit. 

Eli has been programmed to strike first and to strike hard. In karate or in any fight, that’s easy. But, right now, when given the option of fight or flight, it seems his body still reacts to its natural instinct to get the hell out of there when facing danger. Running from bullies was his everyday experience when he started high school. So, as his panic bubbles up inside of him, there isn’t much of a cognitive decision involved. 

So again, to clarify, Eli doesn’t run from a fight. But he does run from this. 

The sound of the bell rattles out in the hallways like a saving grace. And, without another word to Miguel, Eli bolts in the opposite direction of Demetri. 

“Hawk, wha- Hawk!” Miguel shouts after him.

[itz-pandora]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Shadow the Hedgehog/Sonic the Hedgehog, Shadow the Hedgehog & Sonic the Hedgehog Characters: Sonic the Hedgehog, Shadow the Hedgehog Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Miraculous Ladybug Fusion, Pining, Fluff, Coffee Shops, Pining Shadow the Hedgehog, Soft Shadow the Hedgehog Series: Part 4 of Miraculous Sonic AU Summary:

Terios is trying to finish homework at a coffee shop!

[hedwig221b]

Breathing heavily, Derek turned around and marched out of the room, trying to rein in his wolf. He knew he lost control over his appearance: the skin on his face tickled with growing fur, sharp points of deadly fangs dug into his lower lip.

Derek had to see him. Right now, to make sure none of them got to him, to see for himself that Stiles was safe and whole. That the boy was his, still.

Not a day has gone without him dreaming of Stiles. He was a constant presence in the wolf’s mind, driving him insane with want and longing.

No, Derek would never leave him, never give him over to another’s dirty hands. He’ll fight for the boy till death. Tear apart anyone who had the misfortune of touching him.

The door opened after three loud thuds. Derek didn’t have any space for guilt in his heart at waking the undoubtedly tired Stiles up, all of it taken by irresistible want.

Stiles’ eyes were wide open in surprise and just a tiny bit of wariness. His hands were clutching the soft white nightgown, keeping it closed over his naked chest. Derek’s gleaming red eyes followed the tantalizing length of his neck, stopping at the sight of his bare collarbones, peeking out of the gown. A pink sleepy blush adorned his cheeks, cupping his soft half-opened lips.

They ought to have the sweetest taste.

Both of them stared at each other in silence. Stiles was probably too shocked that Derek approached him again at such a late hour, nonetheless; Derek, however, lost any train of thought upon seeing this exquisite being, so teasing in his innocent softness and naïve trust. Anger left him all at once, leaving him breathless at the sight of the angel.

“Don’t open the door so readily,” Derek’s mutter was akin to a rumble. “You’re too beautiful for that.”

Stiles’ breath hitched and his heart started its quick rabbit pace again. He frowned a bit as if Derek’s compliment somehow offended him; he probably didn’t even realize his lips formed into the cutest pout. The most delicious prey was in front of Derek, and he couldn’t even have a taste. Not yet.

He wanted to kiss the tips of Stiles’ long fingers, bite into the soft insides of his thighs, leave marks all over his neck and trace the helpful path of his moles leading to his devastating lips to kiss and claim and take.

But Derek couldn’t do that for fear of spooking him. It was too early. But how could he possibly leave him right now?

Derek gently took Stiles’ slack hand, his heart stuttering at the sight of it, small in comparison to his wolf’s one. Miraculously, Stiles didn’t pull away. Derek lifted his soft hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, then on the inside of his wrist, before inhaling.

The bright red of his eyes reflected in Stiles’ soft brown ones. The blush on Stiles’ pretty face deepened and traveled down, calling to Derek’s predatory instincts to follow, to lick and bite.

“I know you don’t trust me,” Derek grunted. When Stiles inhaled to retort, Derek caught his chin and pressed a finger against his lips, making the boy freeze in place, eyes impossibly wide. The wolf in him howled at the sharp scent of arousal emanating from his body. “Don’t argue. I expected it. Wolves don’t trust easily, too. I just wanted you to know that… I’m sorry. I was selfish and didn’t see what was in front of me. You don’t need to worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

It was a thought that grew in his mind, spread to his heart and took root there, reincorporating into a deep desire and a vital need. Derek will take care of him and his little pup, he’ll bring the hearts of his enemies and put them at the boy’s feet. He’ll court and he’ll conquer.

“Lock the door,” he said, forcing himself to step away. “Don’t open until the sun rises.”

Once again, Stiles said nothing. He blinked as if coming out of a stupor, then gave a tiny nod, before slowly closing the door, casting inquisitive glances at Derek. The door shut with a soft thud; a heavy lock slid into place with an unpleasant scrape.

Derek leaned towards the door, knowing that Stiles was probably leaning on it to eavesdrop. Curious kitten.

“Good boy,” he murmured and laughed soundlessly at the shy squeak on the other side, followed by hastily retreating footfalls.

The smile felt unfamiliar on Derek’s ferine face, and he lost it quite quickly. This precious boy made it so easy to feel joy again, almost uncomfortably so.

If only Stiles chose to never leave his side, the wolf would bring him the freedom he craved. It will be his final courting gift. Stiles had no idea what he got himself into by allowing Derek’s name to fall from his lips that fateful day a year ago. He would soon learn the true power of being under the wolf’s protection and possession.

He’ll never have to fear and pretend ever again. His sweet boy. His Stiles.

Read the whole story on ao3

[sunsetsandsunshine]

~ 𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝…? ~

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝟷𝟷: 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙼𝙰𝚁𝙴˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙷𝚞𝚛𝚝/𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 (𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝙸 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎 💗)

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟷,𝟽𝟿𝟻

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎. 𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢….𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚖𝚎 *𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚗𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚗𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎*

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚢𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚋𝚒𝚊.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙲𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝙰 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝚈 𝙸𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚂𝙾 𝙵𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙻𝙸𝚃 𝙾𝙼𝙶‼️‼️‼️˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Dreams were one thing. 

Mikey loved dreams. 

He adored dreams in fact. 

It was…his escape from reality; sort of like drawing in a sense. Except, when he dreamt…he didn’t have to do a single thing.

He could do anything he wanted…whenever he wanted without having to get the 'a-okay' from anyone.

And plus, the best part about dreams was that if there was an ice cream cat barfing up sprinkles…Mikey wouldn’t question it oneeeeee bit. 

That was the magical part about dreams. 

But…there were always two sides to a coin.

…Nightmares…were the opposite of dreams…

…And they were a whole other thing.

They could turn your most happiest memories and moments into horrid and scary ones.

It could turn the most greenest of valleys into nothing but dry ash, blowing away in the wind and fluttering and intoxicating the air. 

Or…perhaps…maybe nightmares were just…lonely. 

Perhaps…it was just lonely to be alone, watching you sit in your room as you break into cold sweat, the darkness weighing you down like a ton of bricks. 

And maybe the nightmares wanted you to be there with it…so it wouldn’t have to be alone…

'I could be lonely with you' as Beach Bunny would say…

But back to the initial topic, Michelangelo always hated having nightmares.

But what he hated more was not even remembering what said nightmares was about. 

It was terrifying for sure— I mean— he woke up from it so it must’ve been really…bad…right?

The box turtle sighed loudly, running a tired and shaky hand down his face.

…He should probably get some water while he’s awake; his mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert.

Or, better yet, Mikey could go find his brothers.

Well…one of them. Or at least see if anyone was awake.

The light scarlet eyed mutant hopped down from his bed, hugging himself with one of his blankets as he made his way towards the hallway, the darkness almost consuming him in the process. 

Even as a little kid, the box turtle was never fond of the dark. 

…You could never see beyond it. 

It was cold and…just, well, dark in general if that makes sense. 

Michelangelo never understood the appeal some people had to it.

The only time he did welcome darkness, though, was when there was light occumpining it. 

Like the moon. 

Or the stars. 

Or even car lights! 

It was Mikey’s small reminder that no matter where he was, there was always some glow or gleam with him…

So relitavley speaking, he should head to where the nearest light was…which was his immiediate older brother’s room. 

The smallest turtle opened Leo’s car door ever so slightly, peeking inside to see a very sound sleeping slider. 

The youngest buried down his disappointment as he quietly closed the door, going back into the darkness once more.

Leo barely got any sleep as is…

…And besides…the chance of accidentally waking him up was waaaay too high. 

It was fine, anyway. Mikey could try going to Raph’s! 

Michelangelo dragged his orange blanket with him, putting it around his shoulders as he tip-toed to Raphael’s room…surely he was awake, right? 

“Raph…?” The youngest called out quietly, looking into his older brother’s room. The smallest mutant wasn’t greeted with a small grunt of acknowlgemnt nor a kind Raph greeting.

What the light scarlet eyed teen was greeted with, though, was a loud, ear pierecing snore from the snapping turtle. 

Mikey snickered softly at his brother’s loud noises, going into the room and giving him his favorite Squishmello that was on the floor.

The alligator snapping turtle smiled in his sleep, squishing the plushie to his chest and his tail wagged slightly. The smaller turtle giggled at the action, walking out and closing the car door.

Alright…so the odd’s on Donnie being up…were…rather…slim but it was fine! 

Quite very much fine.

If the softshell was asleep, the light scarlet eyed mutant would just hed back to his room…alone; in complete darkness. 

…But it would be fine…!

Probably.

The box turtle quickly and quietly shimmied to his purple loving brother’s room buuut not before tripping over his own feet and stumbling in front of Donnie’s train car door.

And Mikey was supposed to be a ninja…pfft, yeah right. 

The youngest turtle got up on his feet, brushing off his knees and shoulders as he grabbed his blanket from the floor. 

Maybe if he just stood perfectly still until the crack of dawn…Donnie wouldn’t wake up…!

Besides, it’s not like the softshell heard him or anything.

“I can hear you trying to be quiet over there, Mikes.” The second oldest deadpanned, turning around of his bed so him and his little brother shared eye contact.

Well shit…

The youngest’s stomach twisted and turned with guilt, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned on the doorway nervously, “Oh! H-Hey, Dee…sorry…did I wake you up…?” Michelangelo asked guiltily. 

“Eh, kinda. But it’s alright.” Donatello yawned, rubbing his eyes as he sat up on his bed, reaching for his desk as he put on his glasses. 

“…Are you going to come into my very humble abode or are you just going to continue to stand there?” The taller turtle asked, squinting into the darkness where the youngest was almost being consumed by.

Mikey shook his head ever so slightly, closing the door and hopping into Donnie’s bed with his blanket. The elder hugged the smaller turtle tight, rubbing his shell gently as Michelangelo melted into the embrace. 

The box turtle buried his face in his older brother’s chest as the other rested his chin at the top of the smallest turtle’s head, “Mhmmmm…your warm as fuck…”

Donnie bit back a loud laugh, instead, smiling faintly as he rolled his eyes fondly. 

Typical Mikey…

The second oldest wrapped his younger brother tighter in the hug, “Your literally using me as a blanket right now. I’m not your own personal heater, y'know.” 

“Ehhhh…you kinda are to be honest.” The other snickered. 

“Oh? You're just using me for my body heat, huh? And here I thought you loved me for me…” Donatello sniffled theatrically, wiping away a fake tear for dramatic effect.

“I do! But I also love you for your body heat.” The younger turtle giggled snarkily. 

Donnie scoffed, shaking his head slightly as he smiled; he couldn’t help but chuckle faintly.

"You're such a dunderhead, y'know that?” The older said as he scribbled at the youngest’s sides, grinning as Mikey almost immediatley squealed with laughter. 

“Here I am, pouring my heart out to you, being all sentimental and caring...and all you care about is my toasty body heat.” Donatello fake seethed, scribbling where the younger’s plastron met his shell. 

Michelangelo screeched loudly at his brothers squiggly and wriggly fingers, hugging his middles before turning around so his shell faced the young scientist. 

The light scarlet eyed turtle squealed, kicking his legs from under the bed sheets as his brother continued to tickle him, “N-NohoHAH! D-Deehee cahahome ohon dohon’t doohoo thihihis!” He squeaked, pulling on Donatello’s arms. 

“And where do you think you’re going, little brother?” The taller turtle asked, wrapping one arm around Mikey’s chest so his arms were at his sides. “You’re not going anywhere~!” Donnie grinned before scribbling his free hand all long the younger’s stomach. 

“OHO FAHAAAHACK! DEEHEE NOHO STAHAP!! THAHAT’S SOHO SOHO BAHAHAD!!!” Michelangelo screeched whilst laughing loudly and hysterically, kicking his legs so much that the blankets soared high in the air and fell on the floor. 

'And she was a fairy' ahh moment…

“I’m going to tickle you foreveeeeer! Eeheevihil lahahaugh!” The purple hoodie wearing mutant announced as he nibbled the crook of his baby brother’s neck.

Donnie laughed along with the other, his mind flashing back to times when they were very little…

…When they would lay together in the dark with fairy lights hung around the ceiling, infodumping about shows and movies as he would hold his younger brother close to him to keep him warm…

…It was just like when they were little kids.

Well, almost like when they were little kids. 

In their early childhood years there was definetly less hyena cackling…that was for sure.

“GAHAHAD DAHA— squeal NOOOHOHOHO!” The younger mutant squealed, shaking his head as a faint blush spread to his cheeks.

“Yeeeeeeees~!” Donatello playfully cooed, “And stop your loud Tom-foolery! You’re going to wake up the entire lair!”

“THEHEN STAH— squeal!! GOHOD— squeak SCREHEHEW YAHA— YOHOU! STOHOHAP TIHICKLING squeak MEEHEEHEE!” Mikey yelled through his laughs. 

“But you looooove it~!” The other smugly countered. 

“DEEEEEHEEHEE! PLAHAHEASE! YOHOUR GOHOHONNA KILL MEEHEE!!”

“Kill yohou?” The elder mutant asked in awe, pausing the tickling for a split second before mercilessly prodding where the other’s ribs would be.

The reaction was almost immediate as Michelangelo let out a loud, genuine scream before descending into hysterical fits of laughter. 

Mikey thrashed and squealed helplessly, throwing his head back on his older brother’s shoulder. “DOHOHAHA— squeak DOHOHAHANNIE!!”

“You are conversing with Donatello; yes?” 

“PLAHAHAHEASE!”

“Please what~? Pleeeeease keep tickling you~? Pleeeeease tickle tickle your oh-so ticklish ribs~?” 

“N-NAHAH! THAHAT IHIS NOHOT WHAHA— squeal IHI DIDN’T MEEEHEAN THAHAAAT!”

The softshell chuckled lowly, holding his baby brother’s wrists above his head as he lightly nibbled his ribs. 

The box turtle squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his head back once more as he could do nothing but happily laugh. 

“D'awww~! Are Mikey’s wittle wibs tickwish~?” Donnie teased, using his free hand to flutter along the orange cladded turtle’s neck.

“AAAAAHAHAHAH— SQUEAK!! NONONOHOHO! DEEHEE DEEHEE NOHO— SQUEAK SQUEAK— NAHAHA— SQUEAL— NOHO MOHOHORE!!!”

“No more~? Are you sure~?”

“YEHAHAHAH! YEHEHES YEHE— SQUEAL YEHEHES!!” 

Donnie gave his brother one last poke at the rib before stopping and hugging him from behind, resuming the gentle shell rubs. “I guess I really am nothing more than your own personal heater, hm? Just a walking furnace at your command…”

The box turtle mutant groaned loudly, flicking the taller turtle’s forehead slightly, “Deeeehee yohou knohow damn wehell thahahat’s nohot true.” Mikey pouted, snuggling in the embarce. 

"Yeah, yeah…I know, I know. You supposedly love me for more than just my body heat.”Donatello said as he let out a huff of laughter and rolled his eyes. 

The elder wrapped his arms tighter around his brother, resting his chin on the orange cladded teen’s head once more. 

The smaller turtle giggled at the action before yawning, snuggling into the other’s plastron, “Lohove yohou, dorkwad…”

“Pfft— dorkwad? Is that the best you can do? Really?” The softshell snickered. 

“Is ahass faced Atomic Lahass fuhucker good enohough fohor you?” The box turtle asked snarkily. 

“I’ll stick with dorkwad, thanks.” The older giggled. 

“That’s whahat I thohought.” Mikey grinned as he yawned, resting on his face on his brother’s chest, “Lohove you, Dee.”

“I love you too, Angelo.” 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[arahusk]

It’s just so very intriguing, watching Husker drink himself to oblivion.

And yet, despite his crippling addiction, the ex-Overlord always managed to stop himself before he would truly fall under the spell of alcohol. Or he’d opt for a weak spirit to indulge in instead, one to keep him drunk, but not enough to be truly vulnerable. And such a thing just wouldn’t do at all.

So Alastor encourages him when he can. He invites himself over to the bar and asks Husker to join him in a nightcap. Or he not so subtly slides a glass of his own rye for Husker to finish up. And sometimes, he’ll simply summon a rare vintage, one that even Husker couldn’t deny.

And after a few drinks, it becomes too easy. Until the bartender is soon sitting next to him on a stool, taking every drink Alastor hands over to him, destroying himself over and over again.

On this night, Alastor places his chin on the heel of his palm, watching as Husker drinks, and drinks. He then watches as Husker nearly falls off his stool, an accident that Alastor prevents by quickly catching him by the elbow with a free hand.

“Careful,” he says softly, watching. Experiencing the sight before him. “Now, you were saying?”

Husker, when he gets like this, lets slip small details, small regrets, and lost dreams. Instead of turning angry or violent, he becomes such a sad drunk. And Alastor can’t help himself but be drawn to that.

Intriguing, for he usually hates drunks and their ways. But Husker has always been different.

“I don’t…remember,” Husker whispers, downing his glass until some of the whiskey spills down his chin. He hacks and coughs, and his wings rustle from the burn he must feel passing through his throat. “I just…keep messing up and…”

And it’s always at that point when his dear Husker starts to cry. Quietly, but the tears begin to fall. Alastor watches for a bit, relishing it, but he can never help himself.

He always needs to reach out a hand, to rush his fingers over the other’s fur, to watch as Husker can’t help but lean in to him.

Because he was also such an affectionate, needy drunk too.

“Are you lonely, Husker?” Alastor asks, his grin wide and sharp. A finger slides underneath Husker’s chin, making the other face him. Those golden eyes always seemed to shine so much brighter with the tears. “Tell me.”

There is defiance, but very briefly. Husker knows, but the alcohol swims inside his blood, and it guides him into Alastor’s hold. Led by the finger to lean against Alastor’s chest, even as he says, “No, leave me alone…”

And Alastor hums, his touches gentle on his Husker’s face. These are the times he never even needs to use the chain. Now, he likes the fight a sober Husker puts up, loves the vitriol that helps keep his daily life more exciting, but these quiet moments were just so rare that he can’t help but be hungry for more.

It is at these times that he doesn’t even need to initiate a kiss. Husker will do that himself, seeking Alastor’s mouth, his tongue hot and desperate. A sad drunk. A needy drunk who moans out his name with such a lovely voice. Perfect for radio, as Alastor tells him time and time again.

Husker loses his balance again, falling against Alastor’s chest, panting hard. Alastor licks his own lips, tasting that sweet melancholy before leaning in again.

His sweet Husker keeps crying and begging, please, please, and how could he ever refuse such a thing? Another kiss, one that makes a note ring out from the other, one that Alastor swallows up and keeps within his rib cage, like a weak and sputtering flame.

“Is my dear kitty lonely?” he asks again. “Does he want more from me?”

And his Husker nods. Hands grip the front of his coat, wings gently flap. Yes, he clearly wants more.

Alastor chuckles. “Good,” he says, before taking another kiss that his Husker so gladly gives him.

Perhaps such an addiction goes both ways, but he’ll worry about that for another time.