#four and wind: we are literally just sitting here

[jasmines-library]

Hey, I love your Batfam work! Is there any chance you could do a whump/angst one of batsis being kidnapped by a villian(you can choose whoever you want) and she’s tortured for days with it being broadcasted to the Batfam while they try to track the footage. I feel kinda bad but can you do maybe some head trauma md severe burns? Maybe she has to be put in a medically included coma or smth because of the damage? Also is there any way you could include Barb and Duke along w/ the four robins? If not that’s totally cool! Sorry for the long request but I hope you have a great day!!

Anonymous Requested: batfam x batsib reader whos the youngest and newest robin and is just really goofy and doesn’t take anything seriously (ex: them blaring “who’s the (bat)man” on the comms during patrol [that songs stuck in my head i had to mention it]) and something happens, maybe their first close encounter to death or a run in with the joker and they just become a shell of who they were and stuff

Jokes On Me

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Note: My god im so sorry this literally took me forever to write, thank you so much for being patient. I've been trying to write this all week but just couldn't sit down for long enough to finish it.

Warnings: Torture, blood, burns.

Word Count: 2.5k

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

“Y/N, turn that shit off.”

Jason grumbled at you over the coms. You had been blasting some wretched song that you’d found on the internet over and over again and it was beginning to drive him mad. 

“Nope.” You said, popping the ‘p’ loudly. 

“Seriously.” Dick deadpanned. He had found it amusing at first, but it was now beginning to test his patience. 

Agitated, you sighed and turned off the music. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Jason expressed gratefully, turning his eyes back to the road he was patrolling. The night was cool and quiet besides the odd dog walker or couple returning from an evening out. It was one of those nights where patrol would end early and he could return home to take a warm bath and read a book before turning in for the night. Or so he thought. 

You were rounding the corner, humming that tune that was still stuck in your head when his laughter ricocheted across the walls. You stiffened, eyes widening and hands fumbling for your weapon as your breath hitched. No amount of turning and craning your head allowed you to catch a glimpse of the dreaded figure, and you thought for a moment that perhaps it had just been a trick of your mind, or one of your brothers playing a cruel joke on you as payback for winding them up earlier. But then you heard it again, only this time to your left. You clutched your weapon tighter, eyes scanning the area with a new found sense of urgency. 

“Wing…” You whispered into the coms so quietly that you were surprised he heard it.

“What now?” He somewhat snapped. 

“We have a problem.”

Dick’s heart sank through the floor, his ears pricking up and his demeanour changing completely. “Where are you? What’s the matter? He was trying to let his panic show, but you hadn’t been patrolling as a vigilante for very long, and while you were well trained, you lacked the experience to deal with something big on your own. And from your tone of voice, he could tell that you were in some deep shit. 

Jason worked his legs harder to push himself to reach the direction he had seen you head off in. Albeit it seemed even his hardest wasn’t enough.

When he stepped out of the darkness, the first thing you noticed were his eyes. Wide and bright, easily mistakable for a cat’s as they flashed in the darkness; wild. Rabid. As he emerged fully with that infamous twisted grin splayed out on his face, you felt like a cornered animal; a deer in headlights. You froze, unable to move despite how your heart screamed at you to run as it pounded, trying to break free from your ribcage. 

“He’s here…” A mere whisper sliding over your tongue, so fragile that you weren’t even sure if you had actually said it aloud. Jason had heard it. 

“Who?” 

The Joker was circling you now, dragging out his strides in lazy circles. You should have fought but in that moment all of your training had drained out of you, along with the colour in your face. He smirked, leering down upon you as you tried to keep your trembling hand still. He pouted in mockery and at your silence, Jason repeated his question to you, but you never got the chance to respond. 

“Oh…Just an old friend, Jay-bird.”

“Joker.” Urging his body to move faster, Jason grit his teeth. 

Dick paled. “You leave them alone.” Dick spat. It tried to be a command, but the effect was lost somewhere in transmission.

The joker pursed his lips, tilting his head as he analysed. One of his hands had found his way to your jawline and he trailed it with a cold, gloved hand. You wanted to lean away, to run and find your brother but you knew that now he had you in his grasp there was no point in even trying. “And why would I do that? They’re right in front of me. I could just…snatch them up.”

“Don’t you dare!” Dick was frightened now. “Y/N, you stay there as long as you can, okay? You fight. We’re coming, you hear?”

The Joker frowned at you. “D’you hear that? Big brother birdy coming to the rescue. How sweet.”

His grip on you tightened. “Too bad you’ll be long gone by the time they get here.”

With one swift motion, he had thrown you harshly to the side, your head colliding with the wall with a sickening crack. 

The two boys skidded to a halt just a second too late. You were already gone. 

~

Your head hurt when you woke up. Your eyes squinted against the sterile light. They did no favours to your pounding headache. With a groan, you tried to twist, to roll over and soothe the crook in your neck but instead all that happened was the jinging of a metal chain. You craned your head and spotted the thick chain that had been wrapped around your wrist, confining you to the chair. Struggling, you tugged on them, trying to free yourself only for them to rattle and scrape against your skin. 

“Yeah, that’s not going anywhere, birdy.” The joker chided.

You glared at him through narrowed eyes, trying to mask the thumping of your heart. The joker grinned wildly at your frightened complexion. 

“It was such a shame that Grayson and Todd didn’t get to you in time, but it was far too easy to catch you, little bird: you completely froze.” He snapped his fingers to emphasise his point. “Didn’t batsy teach you better?”

“Don’t talk about them.” You snapped. 

The joker raised his hands, palms facing toward you in surrender: taunting you as if you were the one with the power in the situation. “Touchy subject I see. Too bad.” 

He gestured above you to an incessantly blinking light. “Smile for the camera, you’re live.”

~

Babs had been monitoring the street cameras when the computer beside her flickered to life. She had been searching for any sign of you ever since Dick and Jason came flying through the grandfather clock. Everyone was on edge. 

The moment the screen flashed on, her eyes perked up to watch it, alarmed. She hadn’t turned it on. And there were very few people who could bypass the caves system. So when she saw a small frame curled up in a chair she knew immediately what was up. 

“Duke…” she called to the dark haired boy who was trying to help decipher your whereabouts. “Go and get B.” 

It did not take long at all for everyone to gather around in the cave. Duke was fast, and everyone dropped what they were doing to race down: even Alfred had taken his leave from his duties to see. 

It was almost like some sick irony because as soon as they were all there, you began to scream. A guttering, perfect scream that cut that through them like a knife: unclean and pinging into them messily again and again. 

The joker had taken a knife to your left thigh, his smile dripping with malice as he watched the camera, somehow knowing that at least one of them would be watching. 

Your face was contorted in pain, twisting in agony as tears rolled flatly down your cheeks from fearful eyes. Damian felt sick, his stomach churning. Jason wanted to leave. But all of them were stuck watching. Barbra was tapping away, trying to locate the signal from the video to no avail. 

“I hope you’re watching this Batsy…” He moved round to trail your face with the edge of the knife. You whimpered. “I’ve got your little bird here and I must say, you need to work on their training. They were far too easy to catch.”

Bruce felt his jaw tightening and Tim had to place a hand on his arm to remind him of his place. 

“Anyway I thought we would play a little game… how long can little y/n survive for. I wonder if it’ll be any longer than our very own Jason Todd.”

Jason twitched. 

“I’m testing you here, Bat. Tick Tock.”

The transmission cut to black. 

~

It seemed hopeless. Even though they had been searching for days, they were no closer to finding you. And to make matters worse, they could see you. Not long after the first transition ended did it start up again. It had been lifestreaming since then, and although they had tried to block it from their minds, it was hard to ignore. Especially when your agonised screams ricocheted throughout the halls. 

You looked like hell. Dark bags occluded under your eyes and there wasn’t an inch of your skin that wasn’t marred or stained with drying blood. The burns were worse. Damian could still hear the scream you let out when the joker first brought the hot poker to your skin. It had bubbled and blistered as the skin peeled away; you had thrashed against your restraints violently. Tim was certain that they were going to get infected if they didn’t reach you soon. 

It felt as if they had searched everywhere. Dick and Jason had even asked around to see if anyone had heard anything, going as far to talk to the Jokers closest associates in Arkham, but even if they did know, nobody said anything. Duke had even gone as far to go back to the area to use his powers to see if he could trace anything, but nothing seemed out of place; they had hit a brick wall. That was…until a small light appeared on the monitor. Babs had managed to trace the signal to a small building on the outskirts of the city. 

They were suited up in minutes, making a beeline for the building. They stormed it, recklessly taking down the Joker's goons before Batman chased wildly after the Joker, his face stony and his fists burning with anger. The other four boys chased down the winding corridors, flinging open the doors until they found one that was locked. Tim wasted no time, picking the lock with ease he peeled it open. His breath hitched when he saw you. 

Your face was gaunt, hanging low by your chest. Your suit was torn and there was less of it on your body than there was ripped away. You looked so fragile as your chest heaved sporadically. 

Jason nearly had to take a step back. This place reminded himself too much of his own encounter with the Joker not too long ago. But he pressed forward, fighting his instincts. He had to be strong. Instead of turning back, he kneeled in front of you, whispering your name. His hand came up to cup your face. You flinched away. 

“It’s okay kid. It’s us.” He tried to reassure you, but you shrank back into yourself. 

“We’re so, so sorry kiddo.” Dick tried placing a gentle hand on your arm before moving to work on the cuffs around your wrists. “We’re going to get you out.”

You said nothing, just continued to stare at the black space before you, and Dami wasn’t sure if you even knew they were in front of you. But when Jason moved away from you to help remove your restraints, your fingers latched onto him and you squeaked in protest. 

He sighed shakily. “Don’t worry kid. I’m not going anywhere.”

Damian twisted from where he was guarding the door. “We need to leave.”

Dick nodded bluntly, finishing with the last of the locks. “I’m going to have to pick you up, okay sweetheart?”

You barely registered what he had said. Everything had grown numb, you nodded anyhow. Moving his arms underneath your legs and slipping one arm behind your back, Jason began to lift you. He nearly recoiled when you cried and whimpered with the way your wounds jostled as he sprinted out of the building to get you back to safety. 

~

You were yet to say anything since you came home. You had been back a few days and your wounds were healing up nicely thanks to Alfred’s handywork, but the air was eerily silent around you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t been communicating with them; you spoke to them with gestures or writing but no one was used to not hearing your voice. The stark contrast between your loud and bustling personality and you now was unsettling. No one wanted to push you too far but the manor was beginning to grow lonely. 

It was one particularly rainy night when you finally spoke.  You were curled up in a large armchair by the window in the library, sinking back into the plush leather as you watched the raindrops race down the glass. Jason had been watching you from afar, contemplating whether to talk to you or not when he walked over. 

“What are you up to?” He asked you, making sure you knew that he was there before he spoke. 

You gestured toward the window,then to the half opened book at your feet and shrugged. 

“I see.” He nodded, taking a seat on the armchair opposite you. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Jason wasn’t much of a talker. He knew more than anyone what you were going through, which was why it was nice just to know that he was willing to sit with you, just so you knew that he was there if you needed him. It made you feel safe. But you also couldn’t help but feel guilty, and frustrated with yourself for being in a place that made him feel as though he had to do that. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered. 

Jason had to do a second take. His heart swelled. “What for?”

You sighed. “This. When I saw him…i-i froze. If I had run then this would never have happened.”

“Shh. This isn’t your fault.”

“But-”

“I promise, Kid. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

You nodded, looking away from him. But then you furrowed your brows and turned back to him. “How did you do it? How did you deal with this, Jay? Every time I close my eyes he’s there.”

“I guess I don’t, really. Or sometimes it feels like I don’t. I still get scared sometimes. I still see him in my dreams. But over time it gets easier. I had people around me to help me. And so do you, kid. We’re here. We’ll always be here.”

Jason shifted to brush away a rogue tear and you leaned into his touch and then wrapped your arms tightly around his middle. 

“I’m here. Always. We’ll get through this together.”

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BATFAM TAGS

@aestheticdaisies @hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @hell-o-kittys @harleycao @batfamsstuff @alicedawitchbish

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#batfam x reader #Batfamily x reader #dc x reader #dc #batfam #dick Grayson #dick Grayson x reader #hurt/comfort #nightwing #nightwing x reader #Jason Todd #Jason Todd x Reader #batfam x sibling reader #red hood #red hood x reader #batfam x injured reader #Tim Drake #Tim Drake x Reader #red Robin #red Robin x reader #Damian Wayne #Damian Wayne x Reader #robin #robin x reader #writing #angst #whump #duke Tomas #barbra gordon #Batman

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Anhedonia 2/2

Word count: 5,5 k (part 1) and 4,4 k (part 2)

Pairing: Ghost x F!Reader Tags: SMUT 🔞🔞🔞 Literally just unadulterated, deranged filth, plot is there for decoration. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Mutual pining, sexual tension (duh), blood & injury, p in v sex, oral sex (m receiving), mutual masturbation, cum all over the place, light humiliation, dirty talk, some praise, swearing, mask stays on, fluffy/reconciliatory ending. Summary: Reader is a Task Force 141 operator and a terrible brat (and suffers the consequences of it later). Enemies to lovers/toxic relationship that takes a healthy turn in the end. Read PART 1 here

"Wha' a good girl you are now…"

His first words hit you like a moan-inducing massage, but you stay silent and steady in your resolve.

"Good soldier, too. We just need to get you to follow orders so that you don't get hurt," he speaks gently.

There it is, finally – a good girl and a good soldier. You have to mentally bind your hands behind your back and place an imaginary gag in your mouth not to chirp and bounce up from joy. It's pathetic, but it's also harrowing: Ghost never meant to fuck with your head; he only wanted to keep you safe. But then he causes another riot in your brain with the next thing he says.

"Such a beautiful sight… You'd make a fine pet."

- - - - - - - - -

You go to offer your apology the next day after sleeping on it.

You feel like you're the most horrible person in the world. And yet, when you knock on his door and call yourself in when only a silence answers, the scalding gaze that locks into you like the sights of a gun remind you why you said what you said.

It's like the man has struck a knife in you, and twists it just to see you squirm. And you do: it's a telltale sign that you've been claimed when you kneel in the middle of his office while he sits behind the same desk he rutted you on less than 20 hours ago.

He says nothing. You wait, equally as quiet, like you're waiting for a pardon from Caesar.

The atmosphere is mellow: his shutters are closed but one window is creaked open, allowing birdsong and summer wind on trees to pass through to his otherwise stale office. It stirs the softest, small smile on your lips as you look at him, adamant and all locked up.

Your knees hurt, but he eventually breaks first: something you hadn't even calculated might happen. The brimstone of his eyes steal a breather to the side, then come back to you with a tinge of confusion in them.

Then he lifts his chin, lifts a hand, a command for you to approach.

Your smile only softens as you go around his desk, and he pushes the chair away with one foot, turns to meet you as you fall on your knees again, then on all fours before starting a slow crawl to him.

His eyes go wide, his head draws back as if you approaching him like a housecat is the most threatening situation he has ever been in.

You have planned this through, and he has the instincts, the sixth sense of a seasoned hunter as he opens his legs wide to make space for you.

He certainly doesn't stop you as you free his erection from the sturdy cargo pants and offer your apology by taking him in your mouth.

He knows what's coming but still gasps and grabs the arms of his chair with white knuckles. You're on your knees, seemingly domesticated, but he's the one begging for mercy before you have even begun. He's heavy in your mouth, but you welcome the weight with greed and a hot tongue.

His thighs travel wide and far, just like yours did last night. The first moan is divine. He eases into the chair while the muscles on his stomach and thighs twitch and shudder.

A pair of boots echo in the hallway behind the door, the sound soon disappearing into the distance. Anyone could walk in at any given moment, and the notion makes your head feel dizzy.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't disclose in any way that he is considering forgiveness.

But eventually, he starts to melt upon your tongue like a snow-covered mountain ridge basking in the sun. Something in the way with which you work him slowly and with gusto makes him send a hand on your head. It strokes your hair softly.

"Wha' a good girl you are now…"

His first words hit you like a moan-inducing massage, but you stay silent and steady in your resolve.

"Good soldier, too. We just need to get you to follow orders so that you don't get hurt," he speaks gently.

There it is, finally – a good girl and a good soldier. You have to mentally bind your hands behind your back and place an imaginary gag in your mouth not to chirp and bounce up from joy. It's pathetic, but it's also harrowing: Ghost never meant to fuck with your head; he only wanted to keep you safe. But then he causes another riot in your brain with the next thing he says.

"Such a beautiful sight… You'd make a fine pet."

You give him some teeth for that. Just the lightest scrape as you arrive near the base of his cock. He hisses, then laughs.

"Careful, love."

It's the first time ever you've heard him properly laugh. The sound implements itself into your core, your spine, your DNA. It's genuine and hearty, and the summer brushes past the open window to your face in a reviving breeze. Combined with the dark musk of his laughter, it makes your heart flip, and a small, tickling giggle bubbles inside you too. It arrives muted against his cock, but it's a magnificent moment – you two laughing together, even if for a second, even if yours is just a huff of an exhale against his pelvis.

"You don't like the idea?" He asks you a question as if you didn't have your mouth full of him.

His offer is alluring – of course you'd like him to take you as his pet. You could get good food and caresses, get to curl next to him when he goes to sleep. He could show you off like a domesticated animal if he wanted to. He could parade you down the street on a leash, and you would only purr as you go.

But while the proposition is enticing, you leave him with no answer, knowing it will only intrigue him if you don't say yes.

"I would be good to you," he starts to slip, and you up the pace a little. Open your jaw as far as it can go to accommodate him as much as you can, the soft hood of his cock meeting the back of your throat.

"So good– nh..." You can almost hear how his head rolls back, and you catch yourself worrying if he might hurt his neck because the chair has no headrest.

You do it again, and again, almost choking while trying to show him how good you are, how well you can take him and what your tongue can do too. You nearly stumble while you're at it, so lost in him, and you have to reach for support to prevent yourself from falling.

Your hand finds his leg, clutches the khaki that hugs a broad thigh. You flinch when a hard, heavy palm descends on top of yours. It brushes a thumb over the back of your hand as his sighs travel through the stagnant air, rampant and unchallenged through the fabric of his mask.

"Be my pet, sweetheart," he prays, growing weaker by the second. It's like a charm that transforms you into a priestess, a Babalon whore, a scarlet woman who adores men before sending them off to war.

His hips buck, he starts to clutch your hand like you're a rope that's going to save him from drowning. The other hand is more gentle in grip, but mercenary in demand as he grabs a fistful of hair to guide you along his length. Your gag reflex almost shoots him out of your mouth, but he is relentless.

He knows you can take it.

"That's it–that's it, luv," he rasps, and every other noise gets shut out of your brain as you go deaf to the sonic world. You can feel his thighs bunch and tremble around your head, the earthquake under your fingers pressed against hard, lifeless textile when they should be scraping his skin instead. He opens like a woman, massive legs spread hungry and wide as he shoots a load in your mouth. Ample, abundant, even if he just filled you to the brim not too long ago.

You drink him dutifully, greedy for the praise of a job well done, but such a thing never comes. He just breathes heavy over you, sounding happy, the happiest man on earth. You lick him clean, although there's really nothing to clean except your own saliva. The cock glistens, jolts happily one last time after you're done.

"I can make you scream on that desk," he offers while his hands release their death grip on you. Your hair gets tucked behind your ear, he even squeezes your hand briefly like you're his most trusted companion. His cock is flaccid, so you assume he's offering his fingers, perhaps even his mouth to you.

You'd like nothing more than to know if he has a stubble under that balaclava. To see if he would kneel on the floor too to shove his face between your legs while you're splayed over that desk. If he would forget about the door too, making it possible for anyone to catch him with his nose up your cunt. For Soap or Gaz or even Price to see how the broody commanding officer is just a thirsty hound dog on a bowl.

But then again, you just worked yourself up to a shattering orgasm. Two times, actually – deliberately, before you came here. The taste of his cum on your tongue will have to suffice; hell, it's almost better than him finally fucking or licking you into a deranged bliss.

You sense another opening, can't just help yourself…

"Thank you, sir. But that won't be necessary."

- - - - - - - - -

You begin to fear that you're the narcissist here. The way you make him twist and turn like a corkscrew, the way it makes you feel to see how he spirals deeper into madness. Even your eyes are too much for Ghost, who avoids your stare on missions but hunts you down at the base.

"What does it take?"

He ruts you whenever and wherever he can, in the toilets if need be, too busy to haul you into his room after a mission. You just so happened to pass him by, and it was the nearest space with a lock on the door.

"What the fuck does it take?"

The static hum of the bright, unyielding light and the smell of chlorite oozing out of tile seams is everything but a romantic setting as he drives into you from behind and watches you through the mirror on top of a small sink – watches how you give him nothing.

You're trying to take support from the white porcelain even though he's holding you firm against his chest with that inked arm wrapped around your middle. You want to spread your legs for him but can't, since he barely had time to rip your pants down before getting himself out as well to fuck you, so you settle for admiring how vulnerable he looks while he tries his all to please you.

"Do I have to take the mask off? That it?" He's far from a calm and collected lieutenant as he sweats black paint and despair. "Ya want my mouth? Just say it. Promise I'll make you cry."

You laugh at him through the mirror. It's an involuntary, spontaneous action, and you can't really help it. The man is absolutely adorable… And here you have been, fearing him for weeks without realizing he's just another lonely soul.

He doesn't know your strategy. He doesn't know that it's just you and your hand that are his worst enemy.

"What're ya laughin' at?"

You bite your lip, allow him to see mischief and a quivering smile, wet, adoring eyes paired with simple silence. He could force and command and bully you, but he doesn't do it.

Who's the pet now?

"Obviously, you like my cock," he grunts. "Always wet 'n' ready to go, like a fuckin'–"

It ends in a huff before a potential slur comes out.

Truly a gentleman…

"You let everyone 'ere have a go at you?"

He ticks like a time bomb inside you.

"I'm the last to get to fuck you? Huh? I get the fuckin' scraps, is that it?"

He doesn't need slurs to tear you down, but on the other hand, Ghost only reveals more of himself with the insults and assumptions he hurls at you.

He's desperate, crying for it, longing to be the one who makes you cry and scream and purr. Be your one and only.

"No," you hum. "I'm all yours, Lt."

He blinks a few times, exhausted lids fall to cover most of his eyes, and the stare tells you he has entered a dreamworld.

"I'm–," he groans with a broken voice. "I'm… Fuck–"

You shiver with ecstasy – his orgasm is a better reward than anything else he could ever give you. He collapses again, even more humiliated than the day before, or the day before that. He doesn't seem to care anymore. His hips press you against the cold sink, and you fear the porcelain is going to break under your combined weight. He doesn't slip out. Instead, Ghost tucks his mask on top of his nose to catch breath.

He has a shadow of a stubble, a stern jaw, and the notion makes your walls pulse. Thin lips part to gasp for air, his blazing chest heaves behind your back, threatens to topple you all over the sink and against the mirror already misty from your mingled heat.

And the mask was lifted for a whole other reason than to catch some precious air.

He presses his lips against your bare neck, breathes you in with mouth slightly open. Pants, like a tormented beast.

"You almost got killed," he whispers on your skin. Your heart leaps, and he still doesn't slip out…

"Took that blast and those bullets f' me."

Your heart flutters; it competes in rapidness with the blinks of your lashes. He's gentleman enough not to raise his head as you swallow some panic.

"Why did you do that?"

You can't tell him it wasn't even that heroic. That the ultimate reason was just to get his attention. To get him to proudly acknowledge what a good, talented little soldier you are. His girl.

The thick, softening heat inside you is too much. It shouldn't be this close, he shouldn't be this close. Tears are not allowed; they would be the end of you. The end of the fucking world. Your doom.

Claustrophobia makes it a shaky business to tiptoe him out of you, to slither and struggle out of his embrace and yank your pants up, fight your way through the cramped space and out of the door.

- - - - - - - - -

He suspects something.

And of course he does: the man is not a clandestine operations expert for nothing.

You usually do this in the morning, knowing you won't get another chance before he steals a moment with you. But this morning, you slept in and know that you're in the biggest danger ever. If he catches you before you're satisfied and immune, you're dead.

Everything's been fucked up ever since you met him. He's like a sickness, and you've fallen ill. You're practically bedridden because of him.

You have to use a toy because your hand is not enough anymore, and you fear that one of these days you will climax while he's inside you.

The funny thing is, you forgot to lock the door.

Maybe it's a subconscious wish – to end this sickness and receive some healing.

And the perfect healer walks in like he owns the place. Owns you.

Your heart shoots up your throat at the sound of a door opening to your most sacred space while you're most relaxed, spread naked on the bed, nipples perked up and pointing to the sky.

You forgot to lock the door…

The chant arises right before he emerges like a dark mountain after opening that weak, thin piece of plywood that separates you from civility and prudence.

You forgot to lock the door you forgot to lock the door–

He freezes the exact moment his eyes hit on you. He's a northern slope that never catches sunlight while you're at your weakest, most vulnerable, leaking around a toy made out of plastic, trembling naked and full of goosebumps from the sudden cold he emits.

"You fuckin' little…"

His chest rises and falls, then he slams the door shut, locks it without ever taking his eyes off you.

He understands the mystery to the full. It unravels before him clear-cut like the steps of a mission he knows by heart before even entering the field. You can't move, can't speak, but you clench around the lifeless substitute of him, far smaller and a thousand times more tame than what he has on offer for you. The throb is simply a reaction to how he looks at you while he realizes the entirety of the childish trick you've managed to pull, a game – some stupid little antics of a stubborn, lovesick girl and nothing more.

"Alright then. Let's hear it."

"Mhm-"

He takes a step, chest puffed up and shoulders wide, eyes burning under the chalked white skull.

"Go on then. Get on wit' it."

You obey like never before. He watches how you push the lavender-colored toy fully inside, up to the hilt, and let out a shy, sad whimper. The first of many cries to come.

Ten soldiers in one man approach your bed, stand tall all around you as you gaze up at him like he's a god. He's panting by the time he gets himself out of his jeans. His eyes scourge you as he takes his cock in hand and starts to pump in sync with you.

He makes more noise than you do at first. You make him falter by changing the speed from slow and languid to shallow and quick. He tries to keep up with you like it's a race, eyes darting from your quivering mouth and wet stare to your soaked pussy.

You sigh and moan, fuck yourself sloppy, dirty, and he looks like he's about to lose his mind and burst.

"Good girl," he says with a charred voice, a soft rasp that hits you with a delicious heat. "Such a good fuckin' girl."

You swallow tears and love, give him moans and sighs, even a high-pitched mewl or two.

Somewhere along the way, you notice you're following his cue and rhythm instead of your own, and the way the angry bulge of his tip disappears into and reappears from his fist dries your mouth right up, makes your eyelids heavy. You're breathless and incoherent, far too close to the mountaintop — already were before the actual mountain even walked through that door.

You have to slow down to brace yourself for the pleasure that swells.

"Oh– oh my god…"

Your sigh is a final admission: how he is a literal god to you. His hand claps against his balls as he pleasures himself, angry as fuck and as relieved as anyone could be when they find out that their heartthrob is just a delightful little minx instead of a cruel, heartless woman.

Everything shakes and quakes and shifts, your insides shudder, your walls grip lavender when they want to grip a man. The skull tilts, the man who compels you is like an avatar of death, but his eyes are hazel longing.

The scream is celestial, wreathed in needy pain, and his shoulders sigh and shake as he watches you come for him.

"Yeah… That's it, fuck that's sweet." He doesn't slow down, quite the opposite: he beats his flesh like a maniac as you slowly but surely come down, squirm on the bed, still clutching the toy as your pussy throbs around it. If it was his cock, you fear the grip would never release him.

"Here comes," he gives an announcement, weak and breathless, rough and mean. Ropes of cum hit your breasts, neck and face, and his eyes are those of a fallen angel. Your chest rises and falls in shock and adoration as he works himself to the last of it, drips of heat dropping on the sheets, the last spurts not powerful enough to reach you from where he is standing.

When he's done, he raises his hand, like the strings of hot lust are some sort of an art piece you're supposed to gawk at.

"There ya go luv," he wipes his hand clean with you, on you. The sticky semen coats you from face to navel, and you half expect him to smear it all over you.

But he doesn't.

He forces the heavy, teary cock back inside the confine of his pants like he's mad at himself and not you.

Then he drops down like a shadow, making you quail again – one hand sinks with a fist on the pillow next to your head, the other sweeps all gentle across your belly and down over your mound. He takes hold of your hand, uses it to ease the toy slowly out while leaning over you, keeping you as a prisoner with his hawklike stare. He pulls more than just the small, harmless toy out of you: a moan or two, a final confession, but he's not pleased. You two are far from even, and he knows it, and he's fucking done. You can see it in his eyes that he's ready to quit.

He leaves you empty and barren, with just a toy to keep you company, heads for the door like a storm cloud.

"Simon…"

He walks away, much slower, but still. Leaves a memory of your shared hate and love on the doorknob as he turns it, as you start to panic.

"Don't leave," you wheeze.

Don't leave me.

Tears prick and burn your eyes as the room turns into a dismal, empty space at the very thought of living without him from this day forward.

"Please."

He opens the door a crack. Probably to let the ghosts out, because after opening it and hearing your heart-wrenching, helpless sob, he closes it.

By the time he turns and walks back to the bed, you're crying like a baby. Finally crying for him, utterly exposed. It's not the way either of you had meant for things to go, it's not the sobbing and wailing he wants.

Still, you expect him to feast on your tears as well, watch with glee how you curl into a fetal position while covered in his cum. You don't want to see it, so you close your eyes before he rapes you with his stare.

"Sweetheart."

But his voice shatters a heart. So tender that it washes over you in waves as you repeat it inside your head like a lullaby.

"Sweetest…" he trails off into somewhere, some obsidian space that stretches out before you, between you, until you cross that space with no effort at all. Meet him in the middle.

"Yes, love..?" Your own shaky voice is a mirror of his compassion as you pledge yourself to him. A warm hand brushes your cheek not seconds after, dries a tear away, adds to the heat that pangs on your face.

You open your eyes to dare a peek up. He has the same wet look in his eyes as he did when he found you in the rubble, bleeding for him.

"You did well today," he says, voice laced with love. You don't know if he means you did well at work or on this bed just now. What makes the praise scary is that it's authentic, the way he adores you with both word and touch. It breaks you into smaller pieces still, and your voice comes out as a needy whimper.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

You hope he would take you in his arms, just the way he did weeks ago. You still remember how it felt to succumb to his warmth and the soft tang of gun oil and smoke that always surrounds him. Now you're only shrouded by the scent of tears and salt.

"Must be due to a good leader," you whisper.

He cocks his head, the hand halts, hovers over you, a last suspicion.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Your hands are crossed over your chest, palms on opposite shoulders, shielding you from him. But you open them as he lays down and settles beside you, takes you in his arms, and presses your head to rest on his heart, underneath his chin. The massive palm covers half of your head, but the predatorial weight is gone. He only feels like home.

"Look at you, ya silly little thing… Always gettin' yourself into trouble." He brushes your beef off with a few words and an imply that you're just a blameless, stubborn little thing who he can't be mad at even if he wanted to. And it feels like the sickness finally starts to pass, that it was just an odd inflammation, a passing fever that made you so delirious. You anchor in, slither an arm under his to take support of the bedrock of his back.

He caresses you, makes you sob in his shirt from the sudden overdose of gentleness. His cum dries somewhere between your skin and his clothes as he swallows, then asks you about the mission that went wrong.

"Why did you do it?"

He's not an idiot. Surely he knows why by now. He only wants to hear it because he's stubborn like you, but also in desperate need of love and affection.

"I think you know why." You're exhausted, only able to breathe through your mouth, but the bitterness from your tone is gone. Lost, somewhere in his shirt that smells of ferrous solitude. You wonder what your combined scent, your togetherness, will smell like. It must be something sweet. Promising, like a refreshing summer rain.

"Yeah."

He caresses you slowly now, until his hand comes to rest on top of your head, making sure you won't escape his sanctuary.

"Never do it again," he commands, so soft, voice only a smoked whisper. "Love. I need you to promise me."

"Mh."

"Promise me."

You're feeling sleepy and spent, and he's to blame for it – he simply feels too good. You decide that your first kiss can wait just a little while longer. It's only wonderful; to have something lovely and pure to wait for.

"I promise…"

You drift off to sleep, cradled by the safe slopes of his mountain.

#ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #ghost x female reader #simon riley x female reader

[yorutsuki]

「 ✦ Isekaied Reversed Pt. 2✦ 」

↳ Started with pulling some single pulls on Xiao's banner, however things hadn't gone as expected as he really did come home...literally. First impressions? Long gone.

Tags: @itztaki @wolfishartist13

{Hopefully I did that right}

──────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──────

“Move, and I’ll purge you where you sit, Demon.”

You froze, feeling like you recognized that voice somewhere...Of coarse!

With your chest a little lighter, you obliged instructions. Either way you wished to not be cut into a bloody spray paint bottle. But also realizing the situation, beads of sweat rolled down your face as you tried leveling your breathing.

“H-hey now, w-we can talk about this-“ You eyes drew back to the deathly weapon, the one centimeters away from your carotid artery. “-right?..haha…ha…”

You felt the blade finally press to your skin firmly, instantly shutting you up, seeing as the yaksha bare no mood for jokes.

I guess that’s what happens when you see your whole family lose their sanity before slaughtering each other-

“How did you manage to conjure me here." He demanded, his hold on his spear never faltering as he glared towards you, waiting for an answer. You, on the other hand, your words couldn't even be conjured up. Why? Because you were thinking the same thing; How did he even get here?

Mere moments passed by as the adeptus was getting impatient by the second. With a sigh, you finally spoke, "Look..I—OH MY GOSH IS THAT REX LAPIS!" You shouted, pointing towards your room's window.

With his spear faltering slightly, you took this opportunity and ran—ran like the wind, like your life depended on it and truly, it did. At least after that stunt. But hey! On the bright side, in your afterlife you could proudly gloat about how you managed to not only summon the mighty vigilante yaksha, Xiao, but as well as juke him!

You were almost free as your fingers brushed against the doorknob—you could practically feel freedom in its wake..but unfortunately, it was cut short as you felt a hand grab your wrist before quickly slamming you against the door.

You honestly would've thought that it wasn't so bad. But only If the same threatening jade spear wasn't jabbed into the wood of the door only a few centimeters from your head.

"How idiotic must one be to pull a stunt such as that!" You heard the man snap. You chuckled with nervousness, "gotcha good eh?-" "I'll give you to the count of five. How did you manage to conjure me here."

"one."

"two."

"three."

"four-"

"I don't know! I don't know how you ended up here. When I heard a loud thud from behind me, you were suddenly there!"

The yaksha did not express anything, his motions still.

Is this the end of me? All I wanted to do was for Xiao to come home..BUT NOT LITERALLY!

The man sighed, "If you can conjure me here, you can send me back." Huh- "I have important matters back in my universe."

The pressure behind you disappeared as you felt a heavy weight lifting off your chest. You huffed out a sigh of relief..."Wait. Did you just say different universe?" You recapped. Surely your ears were playing tricks on you.

The yaksha stared blankly at you before nodding. You could feel a annoyed aura radiating from him. "But how did yo-" "I cannot disclose that to you, but if you'd look around the place, it looks nothing like what you've just witness, thus, you can figure it out on your own." He interrupted.

You mentally rolled your eyes. How could you forget; This guy was ruthless, blunt-depression itself; next to wanderer of coarse.

"Alright. Well then-" Xiao proceeded to ignore you as he opened your bedroom window, about to jump. "Uh, where are you going?" You questioned. The yaksha huffed, "I'm going to see if I can send myself back as it seems you haven't a clue whats happening. That will only slow me down on returning." He stated bluntly. Ouch..

Although you couldn't argue with the man about parts of his statement, you couldn't help but feel a bit sad—even a tad jealous but most importantly, irritated. He had threatened you multiple occasions, man handled you and even broke your door and now he has the audacity to make you pay for the damages? Scoff

"Xiao."

The adeptus turned his head with a shocked expression, his brows furrowed. "How do you kno-"

"I cannot disclose that to you." You smirked, but quickly cleared your throat. "The important thing here is for you to realize that going outside in a different universe in those clothings and a large-jade—which, in this world, is a hella rare mineral, is off putting. Yea, to add on, you don't have currency-" Xiao then rolled his eyes before going to take mora from his inventory. "-and no—mora doesn't work here. So technically you'd be homeless because honestly, nobody here is willing to give crap for free." You sighed, "Trust me, this world is a lot more diabolical than what it shows from the exterior." You mumbled mockingly.

The adeptus looked down in thought for a moment before sighing and ascending down from the window sill. You mentally high fived yourself at your bad-ass arguementive speaking skills.

A moment of silenced washed over the two of you as you awkwardly stared at eachother. With each second passing, it somehow kept getting quieter.

You cleared your throat, "uhm, sir."

Xiao looked towards you with a questioning look. You only pointed to your new splintered and broken door. "You. You caused that."

The adeptus only closed his eyes as he crossed his arms. What for? Maybe in thought? You didn't know. Your main focuses were to get the door fixed and to figure out what happens next as it seemed like the adeptus had Isekaied but reversed.

How long this day was becoming...

...

{This isn't proof-read, so in advanced i apologize if everything is all over the place as this is my first reversed isekaied story. If theres any suggestions for the next part please write them down! I love reading the comments ^^}

> Part 1

..........

[ Masterlist ]

#xiao #xiao genshin impact #genshin xiao #gender neutral y/n #gender neutral reader #genshin impact #y/n #zhongli #genshin imagines #genshin #xiao x reader #xiao x y/n #scenerios #oneshot #genshin scenarios

[adore-laur]

PINK VELVET

— an italian getaway full of sunshine & surprises 💗

——

SALERNO, ITALY

Crystalline blue waters sparkling under the sunshine, ornate architecture standing high among the cliffsides, and mopeds burning rubber on the cobblestone streets — it's all pure, unadulterated bliss. 

To share that bliss with your boyfriend enhances the experience. Both of you have been staying at a villa rental for a few days already, and the surrounding greenery and stucco buildings on the precipice rocks of the Tyrrhenian Sea bring a much-needed sense of privacy. It's a getaway for your third anniversary with Harry, and while it's a more extended vacation than usual — two weeks to be exact — the mellow atmosphere makes you feel like you could stay in Italy forever.

Harry had said he plans on wooing you with the foreign language, having bought a book filled with romantic phrases at the airport's souvenir shop. You're dreading it because once he starts, he won't stop. 

It's four in the afternoon, and you're getting ready to kayak off the Amalfi Coast. The heat will be sweltering, especially out on the open water, so you put on jean shorts over your swim bottoms, leaving just your bikini top on. Harry is standing in the doorway of the master bathroom and tying the strings of his swim trunks. He's wearing a white tank top that you know will be taken off eventually. 

A cooler packed with snacks and drinks is by the front door. Once you reach downtown, the journey to the kayak launch takes about fifteen minutes, so you and Harry will drive in the vintage Cadillac he insisted on renting and park on the street before walking the rest of the way. 

"Ready?" Harry asks, giving your ass two pats as he walks by. 

"I guess," you say flatly. 

He smirks and steals a scrunchie from your makeup bag to put around his wrist. "That's enough outta you." 

You hoist the cooler over your shoulder, sling a beach towel over the other, and then stroll through the spacious villa rooms toward the door. When you open it, a blast of humid air immediately hits you. Harry brushes past you while jingling the car keys, a drawstring backpack on his back. You lock the door before heading toward the luxurious car you don't want to know the cost of. 

Harry swings the passenger door open for you like a gentleman, but you decide to mess with him by ignoring his gesture. You open the driver's side door and smoothly crawl over the console until you're in the passenger seat. Harry slowly shakes his head, reaching forward to pluck your bikini strap with his fingers and lightly snap it against your skin. He throws his backpack under the seat before sliding behind the steering wheel.

The engine roars to life. Harry's hand places itself on your headrest, his body twisting around so he can carefully reverse down the circular driveway. You take his hand and set your interlocked fingers in your lap. He glances at you and smiles, his hair blowing beautifully in the wind and the sun casting a golden hue over his face.

When you arrive downtown, Harry parks along a random street. He removes his hand from yours and claps once. "Okay, here's the game plan. I reckon we should rent one kayak for both of us. It'll be cheaper and more fun, and we can work together like—"

"Absolutely not." 

"Pardon?" 

"I'm sorry, but being stuck in a kayak with you sounds like my personal hell. You'll somehow manage to tip us over or get us lost." Harry can live in a world of his own sometimes. You really want to avoid ending up stranded in the deep, expansive ocean.

"Baby," he says, looking at you with wounded eyes. "What if I drift away and we lose each other? I need you. I'll do all the work while you sit back and relax." 

You can't possibly say no to him when he looks like a literal Greek god basking in the Italian sun, his lips irresistibly pink against his tanned skin. 

"Fine," you surrender. "I'm not letting you do all the work, though, because we'll probably end up in a different country. Also, I'm sitting in the front seat. Deal?" 

"Sì, amore mio," he says, passion dripping off his tongue. "And, um... I may have already paid for just one kayak when I booked the reservation yesterday. Well, singular ticket." 

"You're unbelievable." Stepping out of the car, you stretch your limbs while Harry puts his backpack on and grabs the cooler. You hold onto his free hand and begin walking to the beach. Many people are out and about — vendors selling gourmet cuisine, kids riding bicycles through the alleyways, and tourists stopping at attractions.

At the waterfront, kayaks are stacked on racks, shimmering under the sun. Since Harry booked a reservation ahead of time, he walks toward the man who appears to be running the operation. You watch them shake hands and converse. Harry knows enough basic Italian to navigate through any language barrier yet to come. 

Eventually, they both wander over to you, and the man caresses your hand and kisses your cheek. You smile and shyly mutter an Italian greeting. The man then excitedly leads you to the kayaks, taking a maroon two-seater from the bottom rack and dragging it toward the water. While following him, you notice only a few people are on the beach today. Only a couple of other occupied kayaks drift in the ocean, looking like mere silhouettes from where you stand. 

"You know the rules, yes?" asks the man as he pushes the front of the kayak into the shallow water. 

"Yes, I've done this before. I'll teach this guy," you say, pointing at Harry while draping your towel over the seat. 

Harry smiles mindlessly, placing the cooler and backpack between the two seats. The man briefly leaves to grab life jackets and oars, leaving you and Harry to get into the kayak. You have him go first since he's sitting in the back. As you grip the side so it doesn't rock, he removes his tank top and hands it to you before steadily climbing in and bending his long legs to fit in the restrictive space. 

You're next. Harry plants his foot in the sand to keep the kayak balanced and then offers his hand to grasp. Once you're situated, you sigh relievedly.

"This sucks," Harry mutters, nudging his knee against your back. "I can't even see your face." 

"You could've solved that problem if you got us two kayaks."

"Yeah, but I wanted to be close to you," he says, sliding his shoes off. "Just look behind you every once in a while so I can get my fix." 

You laugh, looking at the water that endlessly expands past the horizon. The man comes back with two life jackets, and you clip one to your body as sturdy oars are placed across your and Harry's laps. The man gives a thumbs up and slowly maneuvers the kayak away from the shoreline.

"Grazie!" Harry shouts, waving to him as the both of you drift further from land. 

"Ciao! Stai al sicuro!" he shouts back. 

The destination to the cliffs is a short one, their imminent height visible far out to the left of the coastal village. You begin paddling, alternating sides to stay on a straight path, while Harry opens the cooler to take out a package of crackers and a bottle of water.

"Please tell me you know how to properly paddle," you say, taking a break to sip some water while the kayak naturally rides the ripples.

"Obviously. I'm kind of the backbone of this kayak, so I know what I'm doing," Harry replies with faux confidence, still not picking up the paddle. 

"That's funny, considering I'm literally doing all the work right now. Get to paddling, or I won't turn around so you can get your fix." 

"Calmati, bellissima," he murmurs, snatching a handful of crackers before finally helping.

A comfortable silence ensues, only the sound of water splashing and the slight creak of the kayak that comes with each movement. Harry whistles a tune every so often. A content smile pulls at your lips.

However, it doesn't last long because if there's one thing Harry loves to do, it's acting like a child sometimes. He disrupts the long stretch of peace by pretending to tip over the kayak by rocking slightly back and forth in his seat, gasping like he's not doing it. 

"Harry, I swear to God," you say with a nervous undertone, holding on to the edge of the kayak so you don't actually tip over into the vast ocean infested with who knows what. "You're like a five-year-old!" 

He listens immediately, apparently noticing your anxiousness. He settles back in his seat, stretching his legs next to your body and nudging his foot against your thigh as a silent apology.

"It wasn't me. I think there's an animal under us," he says, playing with your hair to distract you. It doesn't help, because you know that there are probably massive creatures swimming below you. He knows one of your biggest fears is drowning, so he should feel like a jerk now after his little charade.

"Are you going to sit there and braid my hair, or can you help me get to our destination before it gets dark?" 

"Sorry," he murmurs, grabbing his paddle and helping you turn left toward the rock formations. They aren't too far away now.

"We're almost there," you encourage softly, dialing back your slight attitude. Harry is quiet, so you turn around to see him pouting softly. "Why are you sulking?"

"Am I being annoying? You sound annoyed with me," he says, avoiding eye contact and setting his paddle down.

"No, honey. I just want to get there as quickly as we can and swim for a bit. We have wine tasting after this, so we can't dilly-dally." 

"Dilly-dally," he repeats, laughing at your chosen phrase. "Okay, I'll behave. Kiss?" 

You capture his lips with yours, tasting the tomato basil crackers he's been munching on. He kisses you back and reaches his hand to push some hair behind your ear. Pulling away, you see the cliffs only about two hundred feet away. You both begin paddling again in serene silence. 

At the side of the cliff, you stop the kayak by a large, flat rock that peeks out of the water and appears safe to stand on. You hold onto it, the waves more active in this area, and tie some rope around the post provided. You assume it's there for other kayakers and cliff divers to take advantage of. 

Once you climb onto the rock, you offer your hand to assist Harry and pull him up. "We made it!" you exclaim, lifting your arms. Harry high-fives both of your hands and bends down to kiss you. 

You unclip your life jacket, then do the same for Harry. Free from obstruction, your arms naturally loop around his waist for a hug. He embraces you, his large hand cradling the back of your head. You stay like that for a while, watching waves crash against the rocks as the sun starts painting the sky with blue and orange streaks. 

"Wanna do something stupid?" you mumble into his chest before lifting your chin to look at him mischievously. He has more freckles due to hours spent sunbathing. 

Harry peers at you with furrowed brows. "What?"

"Let's jump off that rock," you say, pointing your finger behind him. 

He turns you both around, still trapping you in his arms. A tall, cliff-like rock surrounded by several smaller rocks makes it easy to reach the top. You don't wait for Harry's answer and pull your shorts down, revealing your cherry-red bikini bottoms. Venturing your way up, you glance back at Harry. He grins and immediately follows suit, walking behind you with outreached arms in case you slip. 

At the top, you both stare at each other with knowing smiles. This is exactly where you're supposed to be. 

Out of nowhere, Harry experiences a burst of spontaneity and quickly lunges forward, cannonballing off the cliff and into the water. He emerges after a few seconds, shaking his hair and letting out a loud holler, probably caused by adrenaline or the cold water. 

You shuffle toward the edge and get ready to jump. Harry's gaze never wavers as you daintily leap off, plugging your nose and closing your eyes on the long way down. When you hit the water, a powerful sensation rushes through your body. You glide to the surface and find Harry swimming toward you, drenched hair plastered to his skin.

The water is an uncomfortable temperature, so you move briskly to climb back up on the rock the kayak is tied to. Shortly after, Harry lifts himself up, droplets dripping from his body. You dry off with the towel, then hand it to him. Once he finishes, you take your phone out of the backpack and tell him to pose. He presents both middle fingers, sticking his tongue out with a smile. The breathtaking evening view in the background makes the picture ten times more perfect. 

"Let's head back," you say after soaking in the skyline. "The wine tasting is at six, and it's a little after five right now." 

Harry nods, and you both put your life jackets back on before situating yourselves in the kayak. You untie the knotted rope, push off the rock, and then head toward the coastline. He helps paddle the whole way there, kissing the back of your neck every so often. 

Bliss, bliss, bliss. 

—— 

After returning the kayak and packing all the stuff in the car's trunk, Harry says he's going to find a nearby bathroom so he can change into his outfit for the wine tasting. He hands you one of his sweaters out of the bag — a grey crewneck. It's your favorite and still smells like him, no matter how often you've worn it. 

You have no idea what outfit he brought; he manages to take it out and quickly runs into a shop while you're distracted by the lively village. Waiting with anticipation in the car, you cozy up, growing tired from the strenuous paddling and calming atmosphere around you. 

Five minutes pass before Harry appears, and you immediately laugh at the sight of him. Not because he looks silly but because his outfit is too fancy for less than an hour of wine tasting in some restaurant's cellar. 

"Harry," you say breathily, taking in his outfit, "I'm wearing a sweater, and you're wearing a suit. Where did you even get that?" 

It's a bubblegum pink suit left open over a plain white button-up. White dress shoes are on his feet, and he must've fixed his hair in the bathroom mirror. 

"Eh?" He spins around. "You like it?" 

"You look very handsome, but now I feel severely underdressed. Why didn't you tell me to pack a dress?" You obviously don't have the time to go back to the villa and change, but you're curious as to why Harry didn't say anything about the apparent dress code for tonight. 

"Wanted to surprise you, darling. Plus, I know you would be worried about spilling wine on something nice. It's a private tasting, so no one will see you but me and the chef I mentioned."

Harry had booked a wine tasting with a man he'd met when he last visited Italy, the friendly owner of a family-owned restaurant in the village. He has always been able to leave unforgettable impressions on everyone he meets, so the man gladly moved some things around so that he could have you two come to the cellar for an intimate experience. 

You sigh, realizing there's no point in arguing. They won't care, so why should you? You have no doubt that Harry will make you feel comfortable once you get there. 

"You're right. Hopefully, he doesn't care that I look like I just crawled out of a lake." 

"Basta. Sembri un sogno," Harry says, grabbing your hand and tugging you out of the car. 

You assume he said something incredibly charming. Your face naturally warms as you distract yourself by picking nonexistent lint off your sleeve before walking the bustling street toward a restaurant called Dahlia. The man Harry knows is waiting by the arched front door with a jovial smile.

"Ciao, Signore Styles!" he greets enthusiastically. "Ah, la tua ragazza. Benvenuto!"

Harry shakes his hand. "Che bello rivederti. Questa è la mia ragazza, sì. Cominciamo, va bene?" 

"Yes, yes. Seguitemi, cari." 

The two of you follow him through the small, packed restaurant and descend a narrow flight of stairs that leads to a wine cellar. Harry is behind you, his hands on your shoulders so you don't take a tumble. His dress shoes click against the polished wood with each step. 

At the bottom, you turn down a dim hallway. Endless wine bottles are meticulously stacked on shelves against the walls. There's a table and chairs, and two wine glasses and napkins are already set neatly on the surface. There's even a plate of bread. 

You sit, Harry doing the same. He immediately begins shaking the napkin out and placing it in his lap like he's done this a million times before. You cross your legs and angle your body toward him, admiring his features in the low, yellowish lighting from the antique wall sconces. He grins handsomely.

The man brings over two bottles of expensive-looking wine, and you think of your preconceived notion of what wine tasting would be like—rolling hills and vineyards in the countryside, getting wine drunk with middle-aged moms wearing patterned blouses, gossiping about their cheating husbands. 

Where you are right now is undeniably better. Who wouldn't want to be in a cramped room with their boyfriend who's wearing a pink suit and looking at you like you're the only thing that exists?

The man fills the wine glasses with an adequate amount of blood-red liquid, then stands back to observe your reactions. Harry spins it around in his glass and sniffs it, acting like he's all fancy. You want to laugh at him but keep it inside so you don't seem disrespectful. Instead, you bring your glass up to your mouth and take a small sip, tasting wild berries and a hint of an unknown aromatic herb. Harry sips his next, eyes locked on yours the entire time. He smacks his lips after swallowing and exhales, obviously pleased. You roll your eyes at him secretively. He's acting like he owns the place, and it's shameful that you find it attractive. 

You rip off a piece of the bread from the loaf in front of you and eat it, the buttery dough instantly melting on your tongue. Harry smiles at you, resting his hand on your chair as you rip some more off and offer it to him. He puts it in his mouth and mouths a silent swear, then picks up the entire loaf of bread and inspects it like he's Gordon Ramsey. 

"I need the recipe for that," you whisper humorously. 

Harry, of course, takes it literally. He beckons the man to come closer and places a friendly hand on his shoulder. "La mia ragazza adora cucinare il pane. Potrei avere questa ricetta per favore? Questo è sorprendente." 

"Ovviamente! Tornerò," says the man while hurriedly going upstairs. 

You turn to Harry with confusion, needing help understanding the exchange. 

"He's getting the recipe for it," he explains. "You can make it before we go home."

"Harry," you say with a sigh. "Stop being so nice. I could've just found an online recipe. What if it's a family recipe that's super important to him?" 

"Stop worrying, my love. He doesn't mind."

Before you can respond, the man returns with a tattered recipe book. He opens it to a bookmarked page and sets it in front of you. "Fai una photo, caro. Fammi sapere com'è quando lo fai," he says, pointing at the bread drawing — not a picture — on the weathered page. Was this recipe from medieval times? Goodness gracious.

You can't understand him, so Harry takes your phone out of your pocket and snaps a picture of the handwritten words on the paper. You can't believe this man you just met is so willing to give you a recipe from his own restaurant. 

"Grazie," you say shyly. Harry smiles at your sudden bashfulness, scooting closer to you and kissing your head.

Wine tasting continues for the next hour. Throughout the various sips of eclectic flavors, Harry amps up his lovable antics — slowly and dramatically reeling off flavors he gets from the wine and spinning the liquid in the glass so quickly that it spills onto the napkin in his lap. 

Anything to see you smile. 

After what feels like gallons of wine, you and Harry thank the man for his graciousness and ask if he could drive the car back to the villa since driving back yourselves while tipsy would be idiotic. Harry offers to pay a hefty amount for the favor, and the man happily obliges, saying he will drive it back when he finishes closing the restaurant. Harry hands him the keys before you leave, shaking hands and kissing cheeks with the other chefs on the way out. 

You're both wine-drunk—arguably the best kind of drunk—and stumbling on clumsy feet with cheeks that won't stop smiling. It's dark out now, and the streetlights guide you to the Corvette. Harry calls for a taxi, speaking in full Italian, which makes you weak in the knees. 

Harry removes his suit jacket after hanging up the phone, leaving the white button-up in all its glory, his tattoos and chest hair peeking out from the few buttons undone. You take your belongings out of the trunk, set them on the ground, and then stand beside Harry. You kiss his chest, nuzzling your cheek against it and closing your eyes. He rubs his hand along your back and begins swaying with you under the streetlight. 

You look up at him with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, admiring his matching appearance. "How do you say 'pretty' in Italian?" you ask, getting lost in his gaze. 

Harry pouts, thinking. "Patatina," he replies after a few seconds. 

"You're patatina," you say lovingly.

He snorts at your cluelessness, smearing a kiss on your forehead. 

"What?" you ask, looking at him with confusion. "Is that not what it means? That's not nice, Harry. What did you just make me say?" You gasp. "Is it something dirty?" 

He's still giggling, crinkled eyes and deep dimples carving his face. You poke his ribs to get him to answer. "Sorry," he says, breathing out a final laugh. "No, it's not dirty. Patatina is a term of endearment I read about in the book I bought. It means little potato." 

You stare at him with a deadpan expression, thoughts about why you decided to date this boy running through your head. "Little potato... it's actually kind of cute," you admit, shuffling closer to Harry's warm body. "If you're a patatina, what am I?" 

"Cipollino," he murmurs, cradling your face. It translates to 'little onion .'The book said it pairs well with patatina, and we're, like... a pair." 

Your nose scrunches. "But an onion, out of everything? That's probably the least romantic vegetable. I want to be rhubarb or something, you know? They taste sweet, and I think... I think I'm pretty sweet. Right, Harry?" The wine is making its way to your dizzy head.

"Correct," he says. "And I'm patatina, not Harry." 

"Shut up." 

"Kiss me, then. Shut me right up." 

You don't question him, lurching forward to give him a searing kiss, fingers hooking in his belt loops. He returns the kiss with the same, if not more, passion. You can taste the residue of wine on his cherry-colored lips, opening his mouth with your tongue to suck on his. 

You suddenly hear tires rolling up and turn to see headlights shining on your figures. Great timing, taxi. You part from Harry's swollen lips, short of breath, and hastily pick up your stuff. You hope no one witnessed anything too wild.

Harry hands the driver a wad of cash before he climbs in the backseat. You follow suit. The vehicle drives off into the night, and your head rests on your lover's shoulder the whole way back.

—— 

The villa looms exquisitely under the starlit sky. You're relatively sure you fell asleep not even five minutes into the drive. Harry helps your sleepy body out of the car after grabbing all your belongings, then walks you up the driveway. He sets you on the outdoor sofa surrounding the fire pit before disappearing through the sliding door. The whispering breeze makes you shiver and burrow deeper into his sweater still clinging to your figure.

Harry returns with two wine glasses and a bottle of... cranberry juice?

"If I have any more wine, I'll puke. So, cranberry juice?" he offers, his voice rising to a higher octave. 

"Sitting by the fire drinking cranberry juice out of a wine glass with you," you say dreamily while scooting over to make room for him. "I can't think of anything better."

You soak up his company. When he went inside, he changed into grey sweatpants and a matching hoodie, and he looked like such a boyfriend. It's ridiculous. He's always so inviting and lovely. You find yourself wanting to touch him and absorb the warmth he exudes.

Sleep overtakes you again while tucked into his side. The next thing you wake to is silk sheets on the king-size bed. You instinctively curl up to Harry's body beside you. He must have opened the vast bay window that provides an impossible sea view because a beautiful breeze flows over your skin. It has you sinking further into the mattress. 

"Want me to get your pajamas?" Harry asks quietly.

You sleepily shake your head, perfectly fine with sleeping in his sweater. However, you do slide off your shorts and bikini bottoms. 

You're dozing again when Harry clears his throat. You blink open your eyes, feeling his heart rate speed up under your cheek resting there. 

"I have something special planned for our anniversary tomorrow. It's in the evening, so we have time to do other things. Just letting you know." 

"That makes me nervous, but I trust you."

"Tomorrow will be even better than today. I promise." 

"Can't wait." You yawn. "Goodnight. Love you."

"I love you more than anything," he says, lightly scratching your back. 

You grumble an incoherent response, drifting off to your dreams that always pale compared to life with the man next to you. 

—— 

The following morning's ambiance consists of Harry's snoring and glorious sunshine pouring through the wind-blown curtains. You must've slept like a rock because the bedside clock reads nine-thirty. You decide to abandon the soft sheets and let Harry get more sleep. 

You wrap yourself in your satin robe and pad down the hallway toward the kitchen. One glance at the oven, and you remember the bread recipe from last night. It'd be a pleasant anniversary surprise for Harry, considering his surprise for you is shrouded in mystery. Plus, making bread is oddly therapeutic—the kneading, the delicious smell, the endless possibility of flavors. Luckily, all the simple ingredients are in the pantry, so you can start making the dough. 

By the time it's in the oven, Harry is still dead to the world, and the time is nearing eleven. Some days, he'll wake up at the crack of dawn to go on a stupid run, or he'll sleep until noon on the weekends after a long week of work. There's really no in-between. 

While the bread bakes, you clean the mess on the counters before sitting at the kitchen table to aimlessly scroll through your phone. Another twenty minutes pass before you hear feet shuffling against the hardwood floor. You glance up to find a puffy-eyed Harry rubbing his face. He's wearing black swim trunks, and that's about it, except for the sunglasses on top of his head. 

He bends down and kisses your cheek. "Buongiorno, mio piccolo cuoco," he says, his voice as raspy as the slight mustache above his lip that seems to have grown overnight.

"More like good afternoon." You shut your phone off and set it aside. "Did you sleep well?" 

"Mm, the best I have in ages," he answers, scratching his stomach. He then smiles lazily, his eyes looking more awake. "Happy anniversary." 

"Three whole years. I don't know how I've gone putting up with you this long." 

"Hey. I can go back to bed if you want," he says, pointing his thumb toward the bedroom. 

"No, stay," you plead softly. "By the way, I'm making that bread recipe. It's my present to you for being an average boyfriend." 

"Being sassy this morning, are we?" 

"You love it." 

"Got that right," Harry mutters, nosily peering into the oven. He sniffs the bread dramatically and whistles impressively before shutting the oven door. The mouthwatering aroma reminds you of wandering the Italian streets yesterday.

"Going for a swim?"

"Yeah. Join me?"

"I will once the bread is done." You stand and send him on his way with a peck to his lips. "Go ahead. I'll make you a fruit platter."

"Dragonfruit, please?" he requests, opening the sliding door that leads to the infinity pool. 

"Got it. Don't forget to put sunscreen on!" 

He gives you a thumbs up, leaving the door open to welcome the pleasant breeze. You grab hot pads and take the finished bread out, setting it on the cooling rack before turning the oven off. While it cools, you change into a swimsuit, tie a chiffon wrap skirt around your hips, and then arrange a platter. 

You gather the cubed fruit you've both been eating the past couple of days—cantaloupe, watermelon, strawberries, and, per Harry's request, dragonfruit. He wanted to buy some after his wonderful mother grew it in her garden. Then, you precisely arrange the fruit in a circle on a floating breakfast tray that can go in the pool, keeping the middle open for slices of buttered bread. You sincerely hope it tastes close enough to what you ate yesterday. 

Lastly, you fill glasses with orange juice before carefully heading outside to keep Harry company. You see him floating on his back, arms open and eyes closed. You set the platter down on a table and tiptoe to the edge of the pool.

To hell with it. You're going to scare him to get him back for trying to tip the kayak yesterday. It's only fair, right? 

He's oblivious to everything around him, a peaceful glow on his face. You almost feel bad for deciding to disturb it — especially on your anniversary — but what good is a relationship without a bit of havoc? 

You mull over what you could possibly do to frighten him. Maybe throw a cantaloupe piece at him or pretend the car came back destroyed. These are two vastly different ends of the mischief spectrum, and ultimately, the latter is the obvious choice—and the most fun.

"Harry?" you say quietly, changing your expression to make it seem like you're distraught. 

"Yeah?" he replies, keeping his eyes closed. 

"Um, your friend from yesterday just dropped the car off. Harry, it's—"

His eyes snap open, picking up on your wavering and anxious tone. He stops floating and swims over to where you're standing by the edge. 

"What's wrong? Talk to me. Did something happen? Are you okay?" he rambles worriedly, his eyes darting between your face and body to check for any signs. 

"The car," you whisper, mustering up fake tears. Harry instinctively holds your ankle, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. "It's destroyed. It looks like it got in an accident. What are we going to do?" 

"Seriously? What the fuck? How— I don't—" He heaves himself out of the pool and begins walking around the villa toward the driveway. He looks like he's about to punch something, so you suppress your laughter and decide to end the game. 

You grab his wrist, spinning him around. He stares at you with panic, and now you feel bad. "I'm kidding, baby. I'm just messing with you. The car is fine. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you repeat, clasping his cheeks and laughing.

His jaw drops. "You're so mean." 

"I'm just getting you back for yesterday. Them's the rules."

"Yeah, but you've been quite sassy all morning, hmm? First, you called me an average boyfriend. Then, you didn't even kiss me good morning. That hurts my heart." 

"You were completely passed out. How would you have known if I kissed you good morning or not?"

"I can always tell. They bring me back to life." 

"Shut up," you scoff, grabbing the platter. "Here's some fruit and homemade bread as a peace offering. Take it or leave it." 

"Feed me in the pool, and I'll consider your offer." 

"Fine. I'm not getting in, though. I want to sunbathe for a bit. 

Harry dramatically rolls his eyes and dives back in. When he emerges, he swims to the edge. You sit down with the platter and let it float next to him before putting your feet in the tepid water. You pick up a slice of bread and hold it to Harry's awaiting mouth. He places your legs over his shoulders, his arms hooking around your upper thighs. 

Someone's needy today. 

He tosses the bread into his mouth, eyes rolling back like they did in the wine cellar yesterday. He borderline moans at the taste, jaw flexing with each chew. After he swallows, he leaves grateful kisses on your thighs. "Deliziosa," he murmurs, paired with more nipping and kissing. You know he's not talking about the bread. The 'a' he added to the end of the word makes it feminine. He's not slick.

Before you both get carried away — wanting to save your pent-up tension for later — you feed him a plethora of fruit before deciding to make both of you an actual meal. You're starving, so you'll catch some sun later. 

Harry whines at the loss of contact. You use your foot to push his chest until he's floating on his back again. He throws you a peace sign before you head back inside. 

As you whip up a quick breakfast, you watch your boyfriend from the door, appreciating his sunkissed body and tattoos. You smile and think about how time has flown by with him in the most remarkable way.

Three years and hopefully a lifetime more.

—— 

You're nervous. 

You don't have the faintest idea what Harry's surprise is. All he's said is to dress nicely and not eat anything yet. Maybe he's taking you out to dinner? Or perhaps you'll walk downtown together and stop at vendors. You're stumped. He's annoyingly good at keeping secrets. 

It's nearing seven as you add the finishing touches to your makeup. Harry is in the bathroom spraying cologne on his neck, looking casually handsome in a flowing, off-white button-up. He's paired it with matching cotton shorts and sneakers that need washing. You keep telling him to clean them, but he ignores your pleading and claims the dirt gives them character. 

A short cherry-colored dress with puffed sleeves adorns your body. Red lipstick to match. Hair loose. The necklace Harry bought you for your last anniversary glimmering against your neck. 

Harry comes behind you in the vanity mirror as you apply a final coat of mascara and starts soothingly scratching your upper back. He can probably sense you're feeling nervous, knowing you don't particularly like surprises. However, you think he looks undeniably handsome, his new tan and stubble pulling you back into his comfort. Somehow, just looking at him eases your nerves.

"Gorgeous," he whispers.

You smooth any remaining wrinkles out of your dress. "Thank you. I'm almost done." 

"Take your time," he replies, squeezing your shoulders. "I'll start the car." 

You make sure your makeup is smudge-free and then shut the bedroom light off on your way to the front door. Harry is waiting by the passenger side of the Corvette with a distracted look on his face. When he finally sees you coming, he opens the door for you. This time, you accept his gentlemanlike gesture. 

He drives to an unknown destination, taking the backroads. You can't even guess where you're heading since everything outside the villa is unfamiliar.

Ten minutes later, Harry slows down and turns right toward what appears to be a small seaside forest. He drives along the path leading through the trees until a hidden beach area eventually reveals itself. He parks the car while you're speechless at the sight before you. The only things on the sand are a round table with two chairs surrounded by tiki torches. 

No one else is here. If Harry tells you he rented the entire beach, you'll kill him. 

"I rented this portion of the beach for the night."

Of course.

"You're ridiculous," you say, taking in your surroundings. "Thank you, Harry. This is a wonderful surprise." 

He ducks his head bashfully. "C'mon, let's eat." 

You follow him to the table and sit on the wicker chair across from him. In front of you is a plate of stuffed ravioli with a side of roasted asparagus, cooked just how you like them. Harry has vegan fettuccine alfredo with peas--a lot of peas. A gagworthy amount.

"I'm floored right now," you say, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. "I can't believe you did all this without me knowing." 

"I'm a sneaky guy. There were lots of secret phone calls while you were in the shower or swimming in the pool. 

You take your sandals off and enjoy the cool sand between your toes. "Yeah, I bet. I'm not even going to ask how much it costs to rent this part of the beach." 

"It's not important," he says. "Let's eat, shall we? And talk me through this little outfit you have on. Why on earth haven't I seen you wear it yet?" 

Then, both of you eat, talk, and watch the waves glide on the shore. The sun is dipping past the horizon, turning the sky a violet shade with splashes of fading orange. You talk Harry's ear off about random stuff in your life and humorous anecdotes since the trip started. His body naturally leans toward you to give you his undivided attention. He listens the entire time, eyes on you with his chin in the palm of his hand, except for when he pops some spearmint gum into his mouth after finishing his truckload of peas. 

After you finish rambling, you wait for him to start talking your ear off. He usually can drone on and on about anything for hours, but right now, he's just sitting and staring at the sunset. 

"You're quiet," you point out, gently poking his arm with your fork. 

"Just thinking." 

"About what?" 

He sighs longingly before saying, "I know we still have more than enough time here, but I kind of don't want to leave. I love it here so much. This is the happiest I've ever been." 

Your heart melts. "I feel the same way. I could stay here forever and never get bored of it. Especially with you by my side."

Harry finally looks at you, his eyes holding something unreadable yet powerful. He stands abruptly and reaches his hand out. "Let's walk for a bit," he says with a tone that kicks your anxiety into high gear. 

You grasp his hand, and he leads you along the shoreline, your feet getting wet whenever the tide washes up. It's quiet except for the pesky seagulls, crashing waves, and salty breeze. Where you are right now makes you want to bottle up the memory so you can keep the feeling forever, replay this trip, and relive the most joyous moments of your life. 

Harry eventually stops, facing you with both hands holding yours tightly. He looks... pale. Are his hands shaking, or are you imagining things? Is he about to pass out from sunstroke? Did he eat too many peas? 

He clears his throat and visibly gulps, squinting at the sky and exhaling quickly. His feet shuffle nervously. An incomprehensible thought zings to the front of your brain. 

Is he about to do what you think he's about to do? 

"I might cry and possibly throw up, so please bear with me," he says, his voice shaky.

You just stare at him, unable to say anything. Then, he begins lowering on one knee, and you just about go down with him. 

He removes his hands from yours and takes something out of his pocket. It's a velvet ring box, pink and delicate.  

You gasp as Harry opens his mouth, his watery eyes trained on nothing but you. "I love you with all my heart. I'm weak for the things you do, and it consumes me to the point where I feel like I might burst from loving you so much. Every word you speak or smile you give me has me falling for you deeper and deeper. And... you love me back. You love me better than anyone. And I realized when we first met that you're someone I not only want in this life but need. You're the only one for me, and I'll take care of you, support you, and love you so thoroughly until you get sick of me. I'm rambling now, so I'll shut up and cut to the chase. I want to be your husband. Will you marry me? Please? Il mio cuore è solo tuo. If you want it, it's yours." 

Harry finishes his speech by opening the ring box to reveal a silver oval-cut ring that takes your breath away. A tear trails down your cheek as your lips wobble. You nod your head what feels like a thousand times. "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you. Holy shit."

He laughs beautifully, his eyes squinting so much that the captured tears in his waterline spill over. He stands and shakily puts the ring on the correct finger. It fits perfectly. 

You cup his cheeks and bring his face toward yours. "I love you," you say while kissing his flushed and tear-stained cheeks. "You're so sneaky. I wasn't expecting this until you looked like you were going to pass out in front of me." 

"Be glad I didn't throw up on your dress." 

"That's true." Suddenly, everything hits you. Harry, we're going to get married." 

He smiles with unbridled happiness, nodding before picking you up bridal style and running into the sea. The splashes he makes strike you with cold splatters, and you squeal, but it quickly turns into uncontrollable laughter when Harry spins you around and dips you toward the water. You squirm with resistance and manage to escape his arms. He stumbles from the waves but remains upright, then stares at you intensely for three seconds before kissing your lips like they're his life source. 

"My fiancée," he says, kissing down your face to your neck. "I adore you."

"Can we" — you whimper breathily — "go back to the villa and celebrate? Some wine, dessert, and... maybe some other things." 

He can't propose to you while looking this good and expect you not to jump his bones. 

"Sì, mi amore." 

—— 

At the villa, palpable tension lingers in the air and throughout your body. The adrenaline from what just happened is still coursing in your blood as Harry makes a beeline straight to the master bedroom. It's only right to follow with shallow breaths and a hammering heartbeat.

Approaching the bedroom, you see Harry already taking off his shirt. You walk over and lie on the bed, waiting for him to initiate the celebration. You're usually the one who likes to be in control, but being the sexually dominant type calls for preparation and the right kind of mood. Now, at this moment, all you want is to writhe in pleasure on silk sheets and feel Harry's touch everywhere. 

You're already impatiently aroused because of Harry's teasing on the drive back. His fingers were stroking the inside of your thigh, traveling up, up, up until they reached dangerous territory. He'd start to pull away after realizing how wet you already were, but you would trap his hand with your thighs, making him groan. Two could play at that game.

Now, Harry saunters over to you in nothing but his cotton shorts. His tanned skin looks tempting in the muted lamplight. The rest of the lights are off, and the moon is brightly shining in the indigo sky. 

"Ready for me?" he asks lowly, hungrily glancing over your body. 

You nod and bend your knees. Harry lies on his stomach and gets between your legs, his hands gripping your upper thighs with fervor. He must've put his rings on when you weren't looking. He knows you love the feeling of them. You're not picky as to where. 

"Gonna let me take care of you?"

"Please. Please, Harry." 

"Patience, my love. Let me see you." 

"I'm right here. Do something. Please, I need you." 

He shushes you with a soft timbre, scooting closer to where you need him the most. He lifts your dress, bunches the material up by your stomach, and then readjusts his grip on your thighs. His lips trail closer to your lace underwear, and he looks at you under his eyelashes. His eyes ground you, make you nervous, and leave you spellbound. Maintaining eye contact with him is hard when you know you'll come undone way too quickly from just his intense gaze. You're not giving him the benefit of that. Not tonight, at least.

Instead, you stare at the vaulted ceiling and gasp when his lips graze over your underwear. Soft, purposeful movements have you closing your thighs around your head as a reflex. Open-mouthed kisses over your wetness lace drive you crazy. You're clenching, internally soliciting for him to just do something. 

"Stop teasing," you say firmly, still not looking at him.

"Don't be bossy." 

"I'm not being bossy. You're my fiancé, so you're supposed to be nice to me." 

He moves your underwear to the side. "Yeah? My fiancée wants me to be nice to her? I'm always nice, baby. Always good for you, you know that." 

"You are, you are. It's true. The nicest man I've ever known. No one has even come close." You squirm with impatience. "Just take them off." 

Harry doesn't waste any time, propping himself up to slide the material down your legs. You lift your ankles above his head to fling them off, then plant your feet back on the mattress and spread wide open so he can resume. 

His mouth immediately latches onto your clit, sucking it, his nose fitting perfectly above it. You moan loudly, back arching and hands grasping his neck. You have to look at him now and watch him take care of you like only he knows how. When you do, it's a sight straight from heaven. His brows are drawn in, eyes shut, and pink lips bring you pleasure in the most intimate way. 

Harry continues sucking before soothing his tongue along your entrance. Without warning, he removes his mouth and replaces it with his fingers. He dives two of them in, curling them in a way that makes you inhale sharply. His mouth occupies itself with kissing the inside of your thighs, biting little marks so you can remember this experience. 

The sensations of both his fingers and mouth are overwhelming, and your hand can't help but involuntarily pull his hair. 

"God," he mumbles against your thigh. "Do that again, baby." 

You pull harder, and a deep, raspy moan leaves his mouth. He begins kissing along your body while his fingers continue bringing you to your peak. He adds a third as he nips your waist, his head exploring under your bunched-up dress. He props one arm up to hover himself over you. You look at him with lustful eyes, your mouth parted, soft moans escaping when he hits a particular spot. He smears a messy kiss on your lips, and you try your best to return it as his fingers thrust in and out of you.

An orgasm quickly forms in your lower stomach. Harry massages your clit with the pad of his thumb to bring you there, knowing your body and when you're about to let go like the back of his hand. He grinds against the bed to soothe his own arousal. He's been hard since your act in the car, having felt your thighs clench around his hands, his fingers so close to his favorite spot. He apparently couldn't help himself. 

When Harry hits that final spot that has you crying out, you arch your back and let go. Your eyes squeeze shut as you moan from the delightful pressure freely flowing out of your body. 

Harry places his mouth back on yours as you finish, removing his fingers from inside you and gripping your hips, leaving a coat of your arousal on the love bites left there. Your body is strong enough to lift yourself on your elbows and leave marks on Harry's neck. He grunts when you bite the sensitive skin below his earlobe and grinds against the bed once more, stilling and then shuddering through a fierce release.

Oh. He came from that one touch. 

He falls flat on the bed, cupping himself and breathing heavily. There's a damp spot on his shorts. It's a filthy sight.

"That was embarrassing. I'm sorry," Harry murmurs, his cheek pressed against the pillow. "I thought I'd be able to last." 

You brush some sweaty hair off his forehead. "It's fine. I don't have to do any work now." 

"Hilarious," he says monotonously. He suddenly jumps up from the bed and shuffles to the bathroom, confusing you. You hear him wash his hands and then turn on the jacuzzi. He returns with a clean pair of boxers and smoothly lifts you from the bed. Your dress covers your exposed state, yet it doesn't hide the slick feeling between your legs. The warm water will feel amazing. 

Harry gently sets you on the sink counter as the tub fills up. He grabs a washcloth and dips it under the faucet before cleaning you. It's comfortably silent, with only rushing water in the background. 

When the jacuzzi is adequately filled, Harry helps you stand and remove your dress. Once naked, you quickly go to the bathroom while Harry removes his boxers. He then leads you to the jacuzzi to sit down. When he climbs in, you cling onto him for a cuddle as sleepiness washes over you. Harry presses a button to turn the jets on. Everything feels so lovely.

"I can't believe you said yes," he says. 

"You knew I would. How could I possibly say no to you after a speech like that?" 

"Dunno. We're, like... together forever now." He rubs the ring on your finger. "Well, not yet. But when we actually get married, it's a lifetime with each other. It's wild to think about, but I want nothing more." 

"I get what you mean," you say, scrubbing the red lipstick stains on his neck with the pads of your fingers. "I want this with you too." 

When you softly rub around his lips, he kisses your finger and looks at you with disbelief. You pluck his swollen bottom lip with your thumb, then lean in to plant a truthful kiss there.

Everything with him is so simple. Every touch is meaningful. Every unspoken word holds the weight of a million said. Every laugh leaves you teary-eyed with a heart full of love.

He is pure love. What he gives so naturally is exactly what he is.

Once your skin turns wrinkly and the water becomes lukewarm, you and Harry get out and dry yourselves off. He retreats to the bedroom to grab pajamas. When he returns, you put on an oversized shirt and walk out of the bathroom after draining the tub, running toward the bed and bellyflopping on it like a kid. Harry shuts the bedroom light off and flops beside you, letting out a long and blissful sigh. 

"I'm hungry," he says.

You snort. "You ate a million peas not even an hour ago. How are you still hungry?" 

"Sex makes me hungry. And stop making fun of my love of peas. Hey, can you get the cantaloupe? I'm knackered." 

His rapid change of topics makes you laugh. "Anything for you, pea boy."

You hear him faintly whine at your new nickname for him as you stroll into the kitchen. You open the refrigerator to grab a bowl of cantaloupe cubes and then return. Harry's eyes are fluttering shut, and his limbs are spread out on the mattress. You climb over him, sitting against the headboard as he blindly reaches his hand for some fruit. He chews against the pillow, his cheeks squishing adorably. 

"Thanks," he mumbles with his mouth full. 

"Mm-hmm. I'm going to sleep. I'll put the bowl on the nightstand for you." 

Once you've moved the cantaloupe, you scoot down and lie on your back. Harry keeps reaching for the bowl without moving his head, sometimes missing entirely and waving his hand around to find it. You eventually close your eyes, a smile making its way to your face when you realize you'll wake up tomorrow as an engaged woman next to your future husband.

Harry finishes all the fruit in the bowl and then turns off the lamp. He tugs you against his chest, and you exhale happily, his warmth effortlessly pulling you under into a deep sleep. 

—— 

Two Weeks Later 

After situating yourself in the airplane seat, you pull out your phone and open Instagram. You and Harry are on your way back from Italy. It was an unforgettable two weeks together, and not one day went by without you making new memories. 

You had told only the closest people to you about the engagement—your parents and Harry's. No one else knows, so you decided to announce the news with an Instagram post. You wanted to wait until after vacation to worry about making phone calls and giving details about how it happened. 

Now, you start creating a post on the fourteen-hour flight to California. You already know what picture to use — Harry cutely holding a bottle of wine along the lusciously green countryside, ready for a picnic date in a park. Also, with an impressive mustache. Throughout the ten days after the engagement, Harry had decided to grow his faint mustache into a full-fledged one. You don't know how it grew so fast, honestly. You also didn't know how to feel about it at first, but you're accustomed to liking it now. It makes him look mature. 

How it feels between your thighs, well, that's a story for another day.

Harry has chosen to post a picture of the ring, gleaming brilliantly in the pink velvet box. And with him being the artsy, moderately strange social media poster, he had to add something extra to the picture — a paint swatch. Both of you spontaneously went paint shopping one day when you got bored in the villa. You had been talking to him for months about redoing the bathroom at the house, so you went to a local paint store to ogle at different options. Harry, being the sentimental and cheesy man he is, suggested painting it the color of the ring box he proposed with. You remember thinking the diluted pink would complement the white tiles and granite counter of the master bathroom perfectly. 

You couldn't possibly refuse the idea, especially since it would always remind you of that special evening on the beach.

You had searched with him to find a color that resembled the box, all while goofing around and laughing at the bizarrely specific names of the swatches. You had pointed to a light green swatch appropriately named peapod and told Harry he should paint the kitchen that color since he loves peas so much. He pouted at you and dramatically walked down another aisle. Typical. And so sensitive about his peas!

Harry is sleeping beside you, his head snugly settled on a pillow propped against the airplane window while soft snores escape his mouth. You'll wait for him to wake up so you can both post at the same time. As for now, you rest your head on his shoulder to also take a nap. Harry stirs and drowsily slaps his hand onto your knee to keep you close.

You'll miss Italy's golden sunsets, good-natured people, and ethereal views. However, the thought of going home and beginning a new chapter with your fiancé doesn't sound too bad. 

Bliss, in all its glory, takes hold once again.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur #pink velvet

[f4iryjeons]

At your own risk 🎃 (M)

 BAD BOY! JEONGGUK X READER

Established Au (I'm so weak for these man...)

WARNINGZ: this is literally PWP, rough sex, unprotected, ass eating and oral sex (f receives), semi public, degrading, spitting, lowkey town bully jk, jk carries a switchblade, jk is mean, he's really a bitch in this one, jk says he’d pull out but he lied, Jk is REALLY ROUGH .I think that's it idk. 

an: I just wanted to practice writing smut... that’s it. THIS IS VERY UNEDITED I've edited it.

word count: 3.7k 

The echoes of the past lingered in the present, like ghosts watching the living from the sidelines. The air was cold and harsh against your skin. You wished they’d close the windows already. Your heart was as heavy as the leaves plummeting from trees, and your mind appeared to be cloudy, much like the grey cloud filled sky. You were bored out of your mind. The winds were harsh, and the roads were empty, like a ghost town. Nobody could be seen for miles. Fall had come quicker than you’d thought, and while most were dressing up and going to parties, you were not. Instead, you were sitting in the empty diner your grandparents owned. “You’re still waiting for Jeongguk?” Your sister asked. She didn’t bat an eye when you didn’t reply, as she knew the answer. Instead, she just smiles and continues to whistle along to Monster Mash. “I’m closing up, so… go home reasonably. Don’t wait here all day. Make sure you lock everything back.” She says as she makes her way to the back. You’re still looking out the window, waiting for him. Jeongguk wasn’t the on time type, you knew better than to expect him to be on time. It was currently four pm. He’s always late to everything the two of you plan and you’ve learned to stop letting it bother you.

You’re straightening out your little red riding hood costume after putting it on. Your are kind of glad Jeongguk is very late. If he arrived earlier, you wouldn't have time to put on your costume. With your sister gone, you don’t have to worry about the judging statements from her, and ultimately your mother. You tighten the corset around your waist and attempt to pull the short dress down. It only stops at your upper thigh. No worries, your black lacy thigh socks cover a bit more skin than the dress itself. And finally, knee-high boots, laced up neatly, adorn your feet. You couldn’t wait to see Jeongguk’s reaction. He’s always said he wanted to see you in skimpy clothing, always wants to show you off.

It’s six pm when you hear the howling laughter of your boyfriend’s friends along with the screeching of his tires. Jeongguk is already out of the car by the time you come out of the diner, locking the diner up. His eyes are widening and there’s an excited grin on his face. One similar to that of a child in a candy store. Or, a kid opening a gift on Christmas Day. “I am sorry I’m late…” he trails off, looking you up and down shamelessly. He takes the cherry lollipop out of his lips as he leans down to kiss you. “Little red..” He mumbles against your lips. The two of you are pulled out of your trance when you hear his friend’s whistle. “Goddamn Yn!” One of them exclaims from the back seat of Jeongguk’s 1968 mustang. Jeongguk rolls his eyes, placing the lollipop back in his mouth, further staining his plush bottom lip a deep cherry red. He runs his hands through his gelled hair, “Shall we?” He invites, leading you to the passenger’s side, and opening the door for you. You cannot get over how hot he looks. He’s dressed like a greaser, and although it’s how he dresses any other day. Looking good in nothing but jeans, a black leather jacket, and a white t-shirt, it’s so on brand for him. The car only adds to his costume’s aesthetic, and it’s taking your mind for quite the ride. As you’re driving down the now filled streets, his friends are getting rowdier and rowdier. Oh, how you hated Jimin and Taehyung sometimes. “Is that Nick Watson?” Taehyung exclaims, poking his finger out of the window. You look at Jeongguk with an annoyed look. He just returns an apologetic grin. You knew what was coming next. Jeongguk isn’t exactly a model citizen, nor student. With your senior year of High School almost up, he’d made quite a name for himself. He was the typical bad boy, carried switchblades, wore leather jackets, ditched, and most importantly, loved to pick on underclassmen. He drives closer to the boy, slowing down to match his pace. “Hi Nicky..” Taehyung waves at the boy with a teasing smile. The boy looks at the car and groans. “What do you guys want?” He asks, visibly upset at the sight of your boyfriend and his friends. “Where the fuck is my English essay?” Taehyung asks, tone becoming dark at an alarmingly fast rate. The boy sighs, “I didn’t do it.” He shrugs, a shiver in his voice showing he’s scared. The boys don’t miss it. Jimin lets out an obnoxious giggle. “You sound like you’re about to piss yourself Nick!” The boys laugh out. Jeongguk doesn’t speak, eyes never leaving Nick’s form as he continues to walk. You hate when Jeongguk does this; he knows that too. Hence his silence. What’s even worse is you feel bad. You used to babysit his younger brother. You lean up so he could see you through Jeongguk’s window. “Hey Nick.” You wave at him, a very futile attempt to lighten the situation. The boy looks at you with a dazed look, mouth falling agape. “H-hi Yn, you look pretty.” He stumbles over his words a bit, eyes drinking in the few bits of skin visible from the passenger’s seat. Jeongguk doesn’t like flustered the boy becomes looking at you. He slams his foot on the brake; you yelp at the suddenness of his action. He pulls the switchblade from his pocket and points it out of the window. It’s pointed toward the young boy, and the look in Jeongguk’s eye cut deeper more than the blade could. The volatile illusion created by the darkness and the street lamps make him absolutely insane. The boy’s feet become stuck in their position as his eyes widen. “Listen to me… the Essay better be done by Monday, and I’m not fucking joking, do you understand?” The car goes quiet, and all is heard is crickets and echoes of laughter from the suddenly vacant streets.

Trembling, he nods. Jeongguk rolls the window up before driving off, leaving the boy behind in the smoke emitting from his exhaust.

Taehyung and Jimin bellow with laughter. Sounding similar to hyenas. You look at Jeongguk with disbelief and he ignores your look. He doesn’t enjoy disappointing you; he doesn’t even want to think about it. You huff in annoyance, turning your head to look at the bustling sidewalks.

When the two of you arrive at an abandoned house that was alive with loud, drunk young adults. You’re standing in front of the gates that are falling apart, and Jeongguk is right behind you, sensing your irritation. “An abandoned house?” you question, raising your eyebrow. Jeongguk gazes at you with an indecipherable expression before he pulls you aside. “You guys go ahead. We’ll meet you inside.” Jeongguk directs his statement to Taehyung and Jimin who are lingering on the steps of the house, but his eyes are looking into yours. You can tell be his locked jaw and the thick swallows he takes, he’s annoyed. “The fuck is your problem?” He inquiries, whipping out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. As he’s lighting it, you’re sighing, stepping back. “I really wish you didn’t do that.” You suspire. “Yeah, well, you wish I didn’t do a lot of things. Take it or fucking leave it, and drop the attitude.” It took a person with an abundance of patience to deal with Jeongguk. The boy was cruel, and it took someone who could look past these qualities to love him. You cannot do that right now. He is smoking a death stick and cursing at you. You cannot sit and have a conversation with him. You decide to walk away to let him cool down. He really doesn’t like that. He grips your wrist tightly. “Don’t fucking walk away from me while I’m talking to you.” He spits, letting you go.

He trusts you wouldn’t walk away. You were obedient, rarely defiant. And just as he thought, you stayed in place, crossing your arms as you look at the grassy ground beneath you. He sighs, “You know I hate that.” He states, putting the cigarette out, and stepping closer to you. The air that hits your skin is far from comforting, and the lump in your throat grows bigger. You knew Jeongguk would never hurt you physically, but he was still too rough with you. He doesn’t see an issue with how he speaks to you when he gets upset, his only excuse being ‘you deserved it.’ or ‘ you pissed me off.’. It’s taking a toll on you. He always expected you to listen to him, consider his concerns and fix things he didn’t like. But how you felt never mattered. If that’s how things are going to be, you should just end things.

“Don’t you dare.” He says. It’s sharp, but he doesn’t mean for it to sound that way. “Do not cry Yn.” He mumbles, trying to keep his tone in check. Your lip quivers and you turn away from him so he couldn’t see the tear that slips down your cheek. He sighs, wrapping his arms around your waist. The hug is awkward as he’s holding you from the side, and you refuse to look at him. He doesn’t care though, he just rests his chin on your head. “Really, you’re a fucking idiot.” He murmurs. He doesn’t mean it. It’s really like a term of endearment, and he trusts you to know that. “Come on.” He tilts his head toward the yard of the large estate. You mindlessly follow him, his hand holding yours. The trees are tall, and the house becomes a distant memory as he leads you past it.

The trees. Woodsy, it only adds to your melancholy, as you know you think of how unfair he is toward you. He stops walking, but he only pulls you closer to him. You take in your surroundings; he led you deep into the woods that sat dauntingly behind the dated house. “Why are we out here?” You sniffle, wiping the few tears from your face. “‘Cause no one will hear us here.” You pause, “What do you mean?” He pauses briefly before grabbing you by the chin and stopping you from moving. He still doesn’t answer you as his hands fall to your back. He leans against a tree and his head falls into your neck. “Here you are… looking so sexy, so good, and you’re crying.” He states, shaking his head disapprovingly. He pecks your neck a few times, taking in your scent.

You’re frigid in his hold, allowing him to do whatever. His hands creep down to your ass, the dress eagerly riding up underneath his palms. You whisper his name with a warning, and Jeongguk ignores it. He pulls your body impossibly closer to his body and allows you to feel the erection in his jeans. “Kookie, no! What if someone catches us?” He cringes at the nickname but ignores it. “No one will catch us. Stop worrying and trust me.” He whispers against your neck, warm breath tickling your skin and leaving goosebumps in its radius. You can’t contain the moan building in your throat when his hands slip into your underwear. He’s just toying with the fabric, leaving ghost like touches on your inner thighs. “We can’t.” You try placing your hands on his wrists, but you can’t bring yourself to stop him. “Why?” He gently runs his finger of your moistening slit. You whimper, head falling into his neck. “We don’t have condoms.” You state. It’s impossible to look at him, not like this. You’ll crumble. He continues playing with the increasing amount of slick dripping on his fingers and spreading over your inner thighs. “I could pull out..” He offers. Alarms in your head are going off, and you’re about to lecture him about the irresponsible suggestion he made when he removes his hands from your underwear. You whine at the removal, and whine much louder when he brings his wet fingertips to his lips, sucking on them with tumultuous, lewd groans. “So fuckin’ good.” He mumbles, fingers still in his mouth.

You’re embarrassed at the amount of wetness that gushes out of you at the action. He knows you’re weak for him, and he knows he’ll get what he wants. “Get against the tree and bend over.” He whispers against the shell of your ear. He lets you go, and he stands behind you. You scramble to follow his instructions; you place your hands on the tree, bending over. He hums to himself. You can’t see him as you’re face to face with the bark of the tree. He moves closely behind you, his clothed erection touching your ass. He wastes no time pulling your panties down to your knees. “Fuck..” He whispers. You can hear the impact of something hitting the floor, and soon you can feel his hands gripping your ass cheeks and spreading them. His warm breath hits the plump cheeks. You gasp at the foreign feel of his tongue flat on your pussy. He drinks your growing wetness in contently, sighing every new and then. You cry out brazenly. His tongue dips inside of you teasingly before he pulls away. You whine, begging for him not to stop. There are a few silent beats before his grip on your ass cheeks tighten and you wince at his fingernails digging into your skin. You yelp loudly when you feel his tongue prodding at your tight, untouched hole. It’s new. He’d never done that before. He drags his tongue down to your core, slurping the juices that have gathered for him. With another pornographic drag of his tongue, he’s back, poking at your asshole. You rest your forehead on the tree, moans spilling out of you in surprise and pleasure.

His tongue is back on your pussy. He pushes his head further between your ass. He’s able to reach your clit. Your pussy was dripping. Juices were falling into his mouth as he poked at it. It’s so dirty, so perverted, the thought of your slick dripping into his mouth and him thirstily waiting. The way he drinks from your core like your juices were a nectar from the juiciest fruit in a magical forest. It shouldn’t make you so kindled. “You gonna cum?” He asks against your slit, his mouth not allowing you to reply as he keeps pulling moans from you. He slurps, every so often bringing the wetness up to your asshole. He pulls back for a moment, leaving you awaiting what he’ll do to you next. You stand by, cold air hitting your hot skin. It’s not enough to cool you down. You shiver, but it’s not because of the chill of the night. You sigh loudly when you feel his fingers; he rubs your clit. He is dragging you closer and closer to orgasm. You can’t shake the feeling of possibly being caught. The thought is licentious as you grow hotter. You can still hear the loud music screaming from the house through the woods. It allows you to become comfortable with your volume, not a care in the world as you cry out at every little thing he does. His fingers dip into your pussy, just for a moment. It’s so sweet, so fucking good, so euphoric for a small minute. He takes it from you. He was a cruel profligate. You want to turn around, yell at him, and you almost do until you feel his finger dancing around your virgin hole. You mumble his name, shakily, nervous. This was the first time you had done this. He was diving into new, deep waters. You wouldn’t stop him. It would be a lie to say you weren’t intrigued. “You like this, don’t you?” He asks, from behind you, he’s still on his knees. You can only nod, embarrassed at your obscene behavior. He lets out a hoarse chuckle, and it causes more juice to trickle down your thighs. “Such a slut… you wanna be fucked in the ass?” He hums, his finger smoothly pushing inside. It’s alien, it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t feel uncomfortable, it just feels weird. It feels like you’re being stuffed, like there’s something occupying your hole, and it’s weirdly making your pussy clench. You want more. You don’t have to ask though. He’s pushing in another finger so you’re filled by two. The stretch becomes uncomfortable, but it’s bearable, and you like it. You can’t stop whining, and you can’t stop clenching around nothing. Your pussy starts spasming when he fingers your ass, his fingers moving at a tolerable pace. “Look how wet you’re getting… you’re fucking disgusting.” He says. You cry out, shamelessly nodding at his words. He leans in, tongue out to collect your nectar straight from the tap. His fingers and his tongue speed up a few moments later. He’s energetically lapping up what you have to give as he continues to finger-fuck your ass at a now merciless pace. You can’t hold yourself up much long, legs and arms giving out as you cum harder than you’ve ever came before. He’s quick to catch you. His fingers are pulled out of your ass, and he’s standing, holding you up by your waist. Your back against his chest as you're trying to catch your breath. “Fuck… you squirted from that?” He teases, kissing your reddened cheek. He wipes the sweat from your forehead with the back of his hand. The sweet moment falls short as he roughly turns you around to face him and pushes you against the tree. Your head will kill you after this, but you can’t bring it yourself to care. He doesn’t break eye contact as he undoes his belt and pulls his pants along with his underwear down. There’s a quiet mewl caught in your throat when you see the red leaking tip of his cock. You swear you could feel your mouth water; you want to devour him. But you know he won’t let you. With his cock so hard, and desperate to be held tightly by your divine walls, he wouldn’t think of doing anything besides fucking you. He lifts one of your legs up, hooking it under his arm. Your leg dangles loosely over his forearm as you watch him stroke himself with his free hand. He leans in to kiss you, his cock sliding under your exposed slit. The kiss is wet and desperate. You cut yourself when your teeth scrape together, feeling swollen and desperate as your tongues tussle. Your grip on his hair is bruising, and he’s pushing you against the tree so hard you’re worried you’ll get splinters when the two of you are done. You arch your body, letting your pussy drape over his cock as he grinds over your slick folds. Your pussy lips cling to his cock, rivulets of excitement swelling as he changes direction, pushing the entire shaft in. You scream in surprise and pain. You whimper at the bittersweet feeling of his cock stretching you. “Baby, it hurts.” You whimper, your head falling limp against the tree. He just grunts, pushing into you until he bottoms out. “Does it hurt, baby?” He asks, feigning concern. You nod, whining at the vigorous stretch. “You wanna act like a fucking brat? You get treated like one.” He hisses, grabbing your jaw pitilessly.  He leaves his hand on your face, pressing your head into the tree, you whimper pitifully. You hate how much you love It. He’s fucking like you were an inanimate object, as if you were there for solely his pleasure. You hate how loud you grow at his remorseless pace. You hate how he grips too tight, bruises you with too much force. You hate how in control he is. You hate how you want it to stay that way. He groans loudly when he feels you gushing around him, smirking at you. Your eyes fall into the back of your head as your mouth feels pried open to let the lewd noises travel through the woods. You close your eyes and envelop yourself in the blanket of pleasure, groaning, mindfucked into another dimension. He feels a sudden rush of adrenaline as he approaches his high. Roughly, he grabs your face, forcing you to give him your attention. He shamelessly spits in your mouth, “Jump.” He grunts, bending down and placing your leg underneath his other arm. You cry, doing as he says, although its not as easy as it seemed. Your legs were like jelly and jumping felt like the hardest thing to do. You keep attempting to jump as he grows impatient, condescending chuckle leaving his mouth. “You’re so fucking stupid, you know that?” He lifts you almost effortlessly against the tree. He continues fucking into you for the lone purpose of cumming. You cum, but he ignores it, he continues even with your tightening walls. You’re fucked into oblivion at this point, body spasming with each thrust. His upper body pulses correspondingly with each thrust, and you feel his seed bursting into you. You yelp as he’s falling against the tree, exhausted. “That was pretty intense.” For some reason, you can’t seem to speak. You just swallow and nod. He gently lets you down, you feet touching the floor but giving out from under you. You grip his shoulders for support. “We fucked each other up…” he trails off, chest heaving with each breath. After a short while of looking at each other, saying nothing, the fiery glare is fading.

“You do know I love you, right?” You just nod, your body falling into his as the two of you walk back to his car. He smiles, draping his arm around your neck and bringing you closer. You reach your hand up and check the side of his cheek. Gently, you stroke his face. “I’m exhausted..” you mumble, climbing into the passenger’s seat. He gets into his side, fastening his belt. “I have to take you back home.” You groan, getting comfortable in the leather seats. “Why don’t you just come in with me? You can leave in the morning.”

And he does. He sneaks into your house in the dead of night to hold you tight as the two of you drift off. You’re the first to wake up, but for once in your life, you don ’t do anything about it. That was by far your favorite Halloween.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts #bts jeongkook #bts jungkook #bts smut #jeongguk smut #jeon jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #jeongguk x reader smut #jeongguk x reader fluff #jungkook pwp #bts pwp #bts fluff #jungkook established relationship #jeongguk

[inactivewattpadauthor]

Nightwolf x Reader x Fujin (Windwolf)

I'm unbelievably down bad prodigiously for these two, and I don't think anyone has ever created a reader one shot with these two.

Warnings are the plot is dogshit and I only wanted to just do the brief makeout scene with both of them

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every one of you four were growing weary, or it appears to be three, of spending endless time in the void.

There's no telling how long you've been stuck there, but you only were glad that you weren't alone.

At the beginning of your time in the void, your close allies, Fujin and Nightwolf, found you. You grimaced as you were warned the evil sorcerer was also sent in this prison as well.

He seemed to be the main one to take the whole situation lightly. Especially the way he is chuckling as he spectates what is currently happening outside the void.

'Must be Raiden making another mistake.' You could see the events like everyone else. Your thought was definitely true, the way you could see Fujin carry a displeased look on his face. Eased up by Nightwolf resting his hand on the Wind God's shoulder.

The way they gave each other a reassuring look was just~

'Focus!' You looked away. You couldn't deny that you got close with both of them personally, but that was before you found out those two had their own feelings for each other.

You'd still respect it. They were still your close friends.

"My, Y/n. Is something on your mind?" The snake sssssspeaks to you.

"No?" You raised an eyebrow. 'Shit, he's onto me.'

Nightwolf and Fujin looked your way as Shang Tsung spoke to you, making sure he wasn't about to bother you too much.

"You just look a bit flustered... best way to put it." Shang Tsung grinned.

"I'm tired." You quickly pulled an excuse, ruffling your messy hair. It was a poor excuse, but you did look exhausted regardless.

"Right. Tired." Shang Tsung rests his chin on his palm. "Perhaps do you have any stories you wish to share? Interesting rivalries? Or any 'interests'?"

You cringed and made a quick objection. "Please! Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you about it. I was taught not to talk to strange old men."

Shang Tsung laughed at your comment. "Defensive, are you? Is it someone here?"

Before you could even answer the on the spot question, Nightwolf spoke up.

"She stated that she is tired, Shang Tsung." The Matokan warrior looked at him in subtle agitation.

Fujin only shook his head before looking to you. "It's okay if you wish to get some rest, Y/n. We won't stop you."

You looked down before nodding and walking to a more isolated part of the void, knowing damn well you weren't going to sleep.

Waiting for you to be out of range, Shang Tsung still carried his infamous smug look. "I think she may be interested in one of you."

Fujin rolled his eyes as his lover only gave Shang a death stare.

Noticing no one was speaking up, he adds, "Well, if you aren't going to make a move, I suppose-"

"If you go near her, we won't hesitate striking you down." Nightwolf threatened.

"Don't you dare." Fujin said simultaneously.

"If you say so." Shang Tsung brushed off the threat.

--Time Skip since I'm struggling, brought to you by Kung Lao twisting his ankle after trying to learn Liu Kang's dance moves---

("Be happy it wasn't your neck." -Liu maybe)

You had no clue how long you were silently staring into the void (literally) as you laid on your back, waiting to drift off.

Your e/c orbs shifted when you heard footsteps. It was the beloved Fujin. Approaching you with a soothing smile.

"Can't sleep, like usual?"

You shake your head.

Fujin sighs and sits down next to you. "About earlier-"

"I'm not into anyone."

"Come on now, Y/n. You didn't deny him when he asked if it was someone here."

"Because Nightwolf spoke up."

"Well, I'm curious... Do you?"

You stayed silent.

Fujin grew worried for a moment. "It's not Shang Tsung, is it?"

"Gods no, Fujin! I actually like- wait!" You sit up and stare right at Fujin for a moment.

"Hm?" The white-haired god tilted his head. His confusion rises as you start poking at him a few times.

"You're the real Fujin, correct?"

Fujin chuckles lowly before grabbing your wrist gently. "It is. I respect your cautiousness."

You raised an eyebrow. "Tell me something Shang doesn't know."

"You tripped one time in front of me and accused me of summoning a strong wind current."

You face palm yourself. "Great memory to bring up."

"Absolutely."

"Okay, anyways, how honest can I be with you right now?

Fujin looks at you with sincerity. "We're close, Y/n. You can tell me anything you need to."

You felt bold, but not too bold aa you started stumbling over your next words. "Well... it may be because I'm losing my sanity being here for a while, but I should tell you that... I like, think I like both you and Nightwolf.

Fujin blushed a bit. "Is that so? Both of us?"

"Well, yeah. However, I don't want to ruin the friendship I have with you guys, considering you two are already with each other. And no matter what, I'll always respect your guys' status."

Fujin chuckled before standing. "Well, I appreciate your honesty. Anything else you have to say?"

"Wow, you took that well.... uhh, no, not really."

Fujin bowed lightly. "Very well, I'll be right back." Fujin turns away with a smirk.

The handsome lord had something in mind. It just needs a little convincing of Nightwolf.

( A few minutes later, finally the good part)

Nightwolf and Fujin both walked towards you, Fujin whispering a few things to him.

You felt anxious, clearly aware. Fujin already told Nightwolf how you like both of them. You saw no sort of judgmental expression on Nightwolf's face, however.

Both of them sat near you, finishing the private conversation. Nightwolf looked at you and spoke. "Shang Tsung should not be bothering us anytime soon. Since we are all close to each other, should we..."

Nightwolf glances at Fujin for a moment, in which he smirks and nods.

"Y/n, would you like to... 'spend time' with us?"

You could tell this was all Fujin's idea, considering he was the more outgoing person, and Nightwolf would've definitely been a bit shy to even request something like this.

But Fujin has his way to make things work.

"I... you mean like -"

"All of us have been tense since we got stuck in the void. There's nothing wrong with a small stress relief." Fujin explained.

"Okay.... What happened to our nuisance snake?"

They exchanged glances with each other. "That's nothing to worry about."

The two men sat at your side. Boy, you felt heated.

Nightwolf hugged you from behind whispering in your ear. "Are you willing to do this? We do not wish to overwhelm you."

"Of course I am, I love you both truly."

Fujin lifted your chin up to kiss you. It was such a sweet kiss at first. Nightwolf began massaging your shoulders, allowing Fujin to taste you first.

Fujin slipped his tongue in your mouth, causing you to moan slightly. He got carried away quickly, being rough against your tongue, making sure to explore every inches of your mouth.

You pulled away eventually for a quick breather, only for Nightwolf to gently guide your chin back towards him so he could passionately kiss you too.

The Matokan was rather more tamed with his tongue, but you still got turned on regardless. Nightwolf's hands moved from your shoulders to around your waist, feeling on you.

Fujin watched you two have a moment before he stole you away and kissed you again, eventually letting Nightwolf also get another turn.

"Tsawoduhi." Nightwolf murmurs into your ear before kissing it out of pure affection. Fujin began kissing your neck at the same time.

You felt so in heaven. You bit your lips and looked up, not wanting them to stop. Hell, maybe go even further than that. You felt certain that maybe, just MAYBE you could handle them both.

You placed a hand in Fujin's hair and felt how very soft it was. Your eyes traveled back forward to look at him, but they caught something else.

"Guys?" You spoke. Nightwolf stopped and looked at you to see your worried expression before looking at what you were. Fujin, however, kept kissing and licking your neck, clearly too into it.

"Fujin." You tried tugging on his braid to pull his attention away from your neck.

"You can do it harder, Y/n." He moaned.

"Fujin!" You said with a more serious tone, alerting him at once.

He looked up briefly to you and Nightwolf staring silently at something. He peeked behind himself to see what the deal was.

There was Shang Tsung with a bruised face staring at you three. ~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: No way I stayed up the whole night knowing I work the morning shift for a bit. I was gonna delete this, but I wrote too much of it for it to go to waste😭

It's like sometimes whenever I want to write something a tad bit (or not) sexual, the plot is the most difficult to do and it does get in the way when I do get to the spicy scene.

Hopefully, you guys like it in a way. I'm into Windwolf, so someone had to write smth like this.

#mortal kombat 11 #mk imagine #mortal kombat #mortal kombat imagines #mortal kombat x reader #mk headcanons #fujin #fujin x reader #mortal kombat headcanons #nightwolf #nightwolf x reader #lord fujin #windwolf #shang tsung #goddesswritings

[obae-me]

tacking onto what castlelibrarykeeper said - I have also done something like that, I cut my elbow open in 2nd or 4th grade and didn't notice until people nearby started freaking out... never knew how badly I wanted to read about an MC doing this

We're all just out here doing similar things, huh? Oh, I had another instance when I was like 12 where I was riding a four wheeler while someone else was driving it, and this stupid teen at the handles decided to drive us in-between/through these dead hedges, and I remember watching his body push this thin branch forward, and then it swung back and hit me in the face. I didn't feel it much till I went back inside the house and someone else had to tell me I was bleeding.

Guess it's not that uncommon, since humans can be surprisingly fragile.

…I want to have MC do this too...darn it, guess I gotta write it out or I won't be satisfied!

Just a little mini fic won't hurt... Jokes on me, it's a bit more than just a 'mini' fic.

Dumb Injuries

TW: Blood and Injury

--

It was bad enough being a human in general. Every demon and angel they'd come to know already felt as if they might break from the smallest of things. So, of course, the human felt a constant need to reassure them that they were not a Porcelain Doll. Although, making sure they stayed safe down here was harder than they expected. Who knew Devildom wind storms could literally pick them up and blow them away? Having a demon simply run into their shoulder in the hallway nearly left them with a bruise for days. That's not even to mention the curses that could be sitting around any and every corner.

Plus...human clumsiness is a given. Mistakes were bound to happen. Who knew a little blood would cause such an uproar, though?

It had been a silly thing, really, which wounded their pride more than anything. They were simply walking up the stairs to the second floor of the House of Lamentation, texting while they were doing so. Next thing you know, the tip of their shoe clipped the edge of the stair as they were heading up, gravity doing the rest. They hardly processed what had happened, getting up, looking around themselves, hoping to whatever higher power existed in this world that no one had seen them just absolutely eat it-- in other words, slam their face into the stairs.

Heart pounding, absolutely mortified that they'd just done that, they rushed the rest of the way up the steps with their hand firmly on the guide-rail. It does exist to prevent such things, after all. They shook their head as soon as they reached the upper landing, sighing in relief that it seemed they got away from their blunder scot-free. Jeez, if any one of the brothers had seen them do that, they'd never hear the end of it. They padded down the hallway, a little grin on their face as they rounded the corner. Good thing no one--

A deafening screech rang through the halls. MC hardly even had the time to turn their head in the direction the screech came from before two hands grabbed them by the shoulders. "What happened?" Asmo looked frantic, like he was about to burst into tears. MC stared at him curiously, opening their mouth to question him. Before they could get their words out, Asmo shouted again. "Someone come help!"

Two doors opened at the same time. Satan exited his room first, lips formed into an annoyed scowl while his eyes still scanned over the book in his hand. Seems he didn't take Asmo's plea too seriously. "What are you screaming about now?" After he finished the page he was on, he shut the book with a brisk and satisfying smack. The moment his gaze lifted, his eyes widened. The book that was in his hand clattered to the floor, the pages fluttering. He nearly shoved Asmo out of the way just to get to them, cupping his hand around their chin. "What did this?!"

"I don't know!" Asmo released his grasp on their shoulders, covering his mouth with both hands in terror. "What do we do?!"

Going back to the second door that had opened, Levi had come out rather irritated, headphones over his head with one of the cushions pushed back to free one ear. He had simply tilted his head out of the doorway, ready to tell his brothers to be quiet. He was trying to concentrate on his games! Then, he too fell victim to the calamity. "I-I-I-I," he stuttered, taking a moment to catch his words, swaying on his own feet, like he was about to faint. "I'll go get Lucifer!" Then he dashed away.

"I don't--" MC had tried to say, confused at what exactly was happening.

"Shh." They were shushed by Satan. "Don't use up your energy. It'll be alright...You'll be okay." 

At this point, MC felt like they must've been being pranked or something, right? 

The noise brought a few more people out into the halls, Mammon's bright-white hair bobbing from around the corner. "Oi, oi, oi! What's everyone freaking out--" He caught the sight of them and the life seemed to drain from his eyes. In a flash, both Asmo and Satan were thrust aside, his hands holding the side of MC’s face. "What the hell happened?!"

That had been enough. MC pulled themselves away from Mammon, glaring at the brothers around them. "Will you guys quit it?! Seriously? What are you all even talking about?"

Saying that only seemed to make the brothers look even more concerned, each of them frozen in place, stunned, like they had seen a ghost. "MC, darling," Asmo finally spoke up. "You're bleeding."

“You mean to tell me you didn’t even notice?!” Mammon’s jaw was slightly open.

"Huh?" The human went to raise an eyebrow, only for them to be met with a sharp pain when they tried. They glanced down to Mammon's hands, the side of one of his palms lined with a bright red liquid. No...they couldn't be...They raised a few fingers to touch a spot on their forehead that felt a little bit sore. Soon enough, they were rubbing away crimson from their fingertips.

Well...this was a problem.

The twins were next to join the group, Beel genuinely concerned at the sound of all his brother's frantic voices. Belphie, however, was not as worried. In fact, he probably wouldn't've even joined at all were he not being carried by his twin. "Is everyone okay?" Beel wondered, settling Belphie down on his own two feet. "We heard yelling."

"Everything is not okay!" Asmo's shrill tone almost made MC's head spin...or maybe that was finally the pain starting to settle in. "Just look at the state MC is in!"

Surprisingly enough, Belphie was the one to spring to action, looking absolutely furious at his other siblings. It was pretty terrifying. "Why are they still standing?! Make them sit down!" He nearly got into a sparring match with Mammon, pushing the second-born away so he could support MC by their side, guiding them down to the floor.

“Be gentle with ‘em!” 

“I am!” 

“Will they be okay?” 

“What if they go into shock?” 

“Someone do something!” 

“You’re not doing anything either!” 

Too many voices cluttered MC’s mind. "I really don't think all of this is neces--"

"What have you all gotten yourselves into now?" An exhausted voice announced itself before the person dragged himself into view. He had his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as if he were mentally preparing himself for the disaster before he laid his eyes on it. Levi came stumbling behind his older brother, a stuttering mess, presumably unable to explain himself to Lucifer clearly. MC thought that maybe, maybe the most logical one in the family would be immune to such panic. All hopes of that were dashed as he audibly gasped as soon as he rested his eyes over them. At the very least, he was the order to the chaos. "Mammon, grab the first-aid kit we keep in their room. Satan, get a clean rag with warm water. Beel, help me carry them to my room. Now." 

Everyone who was given a mission ran off without another word, Beel coming over to scoop the human up into his arms. It was all very disorienting. All MC could do at the moment was blink as they were rushed into Lucifer's bedroom, settled onto his couch. Lucifer lagged behind, coming into the room a few moments later, shaking the last bit of moisture off his freshly washed hands. With a shrug of his shoulders, he let his coat fall to the floor, striding to MC at a brisk pace, thumb and finger settled over their chin to turn their head in his direction. Those of the brothers who weren't given a task hovered nervously behind the eldest, Belphie coming over to sit at their feet, dangerously close to crawling into their lap.

Satan and Mammon nearly crashed into each other, arriving at the bedroom at the same time. Mammon squeezed through first, opening the first-aid-kit as he kneeled beside the couch. He sounded quite breathless as he spoke. "What do we need?"

"We need to stop the bleeding, then we can clean it," Lucifer announced, telling Mammon what to grab to hand to him so he could treat their wound.

"Is it really that serious?" It was the first question MC was able to fully ask without being cut off. However, instead of a verbal answer, they figured out for themselves how bad the wound was as soon as Lucifer began treating it, the pain making itself known in pounding droves. They winced, trying to tug their head away from him, but stuck in his grasp. Satan leaned over the huddle of brothers, using the rag to clean up the blood that had dripped down their face.

"Whatever in the world happened?" Lucifer asked, his frown growing ever deeper every time the human hissed in pain.

A different kind of heat flooded MC's body, one of humiliation rather than agony. "I don't know," they lied, immediately getting seven different pairs of eyes squinting at them suspiciously.

"Was it a curse?" Satan wondered.

"A creature?!" Asmo suggested.

"A- A criminal?!" Levi assumed.

Mammon clenched his hands into fists, a dark aura manifesting itself at Levi's suggestion. "If this was because of some other demon... If I find out who did this to ya, I'll go and--"

MC really had to stop this before it went any further. "It wasn't any of those!"

Belphie crawled up to them further, resting against their knees. He suddenly pointed directly at them, staring straight into their soul. "I bet they did something dumb again. Fall out of bed?"

Beel nodded, which only added insult to the literal injury. "Cut yourself trying to cook?"

"No! How would I even hurt my forehead that way?!" MC tried to sit up straight, only to be pushed back down by Lucifer. Their cheeks burnt with frustration. They rolled their eyes, their gaze stuck on the ceiling as to not look at any of them directly. "I trpedonhestrs," they muttered, jumbling their phrase into something nonsensical.

"Pardon?" Lucifer lowered his hands from their face the bleeding having stopped, MC suddenly gasping in pain as their entire body prickled as he began to disinfect the wound.

MC gritted their teeth for a moment, taking a deep breath. "I just tripped on the stairs, okay?!"

The room went silent. Much too silent. Like all seven of the demons stopped breathing all at the same time. MC found the courage to glance at all of them, a strange shadow seemingly covering all their faces. Finally, Mammon was the one to speak first, his usual energetic voice a frighteningly cold monotone. "You hurt yourself that badly...trippin’ on the stairs?"

MC laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, but it’s okay! Stuff like this happens to humans all the time! Nothing to worry about! Just one of those dumb accidents, you know? It could’ve been worse!” 

That was probably...the worst thing they could’ve said. 

Asmo rested a hand over his chest like he was about to have a heart attack. “Happens...all the time?” 

Levi hadn’t blinked in a long time. “C-could’ve been- been...worse?” 

"Wait..." Satan turned his head in increments so slowly he appeared to be glitching. "I think...I've read that some humans can actually die if they fall down the stairs."

Oh no...Dear God no...MC wasn’t going to be able to go anywhere by themselves for the next few days, weren't they?...

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #tw blood #tw injury

[luimagines]

I really love four. I love them all in general! So how would the chain react to having an s/o who's taller then all of them?

I think I'm beginning to see a trend here.

Headcanons form! I hope you don't mind it. :D

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

Hyrule

Bold of you to assume that he doesn’t find it the hottest thing about them

If the group was being honest, they wouldn’t have expected Hyrule to get in a relationship at all

Having traveled to his Hyrule and seeing how barren it is, they weren’t sure how the people were finding each other to begin with

But they’re all very happy for him

The teasing is pulled back a bit because The Traveler was so nervous about being in a relationship to begin with

The boys don’t want to the reason he thinks that it’s impossible, or worse, his partner breaks up with him because they decided to be jerks

Wouldn’t be the most guilt tripping thing they would have ever done?

But that doesn’t happen!

So Hyrule gets to love his giant royalty with no restraint

Legend can’t say he’s surprised.... but holy cow he is

How did The Traveler land such a beauty?

Twilight and Wild share a look

Maybe the height is a hero thing (along with the color red)

You bet that Wind is going to ask all sorts of questions, inappropriate or otherwise

Don’t mind Warrior giving tips on how to woo his partner even later on in the relationship

Time is trying to stop him but also think it’s hilarious

His partner is taking it all in stride because Hyrule’s friends are fun

Although they will have to wait until their gone to ask their own questions

For example: Why do they call him the name of the kingdom?

Legend

Won’t admit it, but he loves getting piggy back rides from them

Like, won’t even admit it on his death bed sort of thing

It’s his pride

But also he thinks it’s childish

Just as long as they don’t call him out on it

Little spoon?

Little spoon.

A lot of the chain didn’t even think that he would have a partner

Let alone that he would have a type

Time understands what he might have caused

Kinda- He’ll take the blame for it anyway

Warrior is gonna tease

He might get a black eye from it but in his eyes (literally) it’s worth it

Wild is also going to tease

“Won’t settle down? You’ll see when you’re 117?”

“Shush.”

His partner loves picking him up a teddy bear and Legend doesn’t have it in him to complain for once

Four

Everyone knew that no matter who Four chose as his significant other that he was going to be the shortest

By a long shot

And yet when they finally meet, they’re all stunned by how much taller his lover is

The difference is more than any one would have been willing to bet

Having to cram their head up to meet them in the eyes was not something they would have put on their expectation lists

But here we are

Four is going to climb them like a tree and be very happy with the added bonus of being able to sit on their shoulders and hug them from behind

Is also the perfect opportunity to whisper sweet nothings into their ear and distract them from whatever they were doing

You bet it is!

Is Four going to admit that’s the whole point of him being up there?

Nope! Because then he wouldn’t be allowed to do so.

Is going to give them the longest chains to dress up in and make them seem taller than they really are

Four is never going to hear the end of it if the guys ever see them together and he knows it

So he’s anticipating the jokes but he knows that it’s all in good fun

He’s never going to let them see him get a piggy back ride though

It was bad enough with Twilight and he gave his excuses for not liking it

He’s not keen on explaining why there’s a problem with them and not his lover

It’s none of their business

Wind (Aged up)

I want to think in my heart of heart that he would grow taller but still not be taller than the tallest in the group

That being said, Wind is a sap

Sure he can no longer reach the top shelf as far as his home life in concerned

But also tall royalty!

Like hello!

He’s the little spoon! 

He loves it!

The others when they meet again are both surprised and not

Let’s be real the boys have a type

And it’s not exactly that far of a leap to think that Wind would be included in that list as well

Wind takes their remarks in stride

Having a tall significantly other who fights with you on the battle field- or battle deck, in his case- is one hell of a advantage

If Wind had to complain about one thing and one thing only....It would be how he can’t reach up to give them any kisses

A burden to bare for sure.

He gets teased for being in a relationship period, there’s no escaping for it

It doesn’t matter if he’s the short one here

That doesn’t change literally anything

He’s always going to be the baby of the group as much as he hates it

So his s/o is going to be extra special as well

Just as teased though- for many other reasons

Older brothers are merciless

Wild

Wild is fairly small compared to most to the people in his world

So when the boys saw this, it shouldn’t have come as any surprise that Wild’s s/o was going to be taller than him

That being said, they misjudged the difference

Wild grins from their shoulder and waves to the group. “Hello! This is my partner! Like I said.”

Twilight blinks and hangs his head, digging into his pocket to bring out a small bag of rupees and hands it to Time

Wild gasps and screeches “Really Rancher?! Old man! You too?”

Time smile. “I know my boys.”

sky snickers and waves back. “Happy to meet you. Wild talks about you a lot.”

Wild covers his face with his hands as his partner gently puts him on the ground. “A pleasure to meet you all as well. He speaks highly of the lot of you.”

Warrior happily skips over and claps Wild on the shoulder. “They got family/”

“Shut up!” Wild takes a swing, previous shame forgotten.

Hyrule and Wind laugh and move away from the soon to wrestle duo so they can get to now more about Wild’s home life.

Time and Twilight approach as well and introduce the members of the chain one by one so that it would less confusing for them in the future

Four kicks the ground from under him

Wild’s s/o looks familiar to him and he’s not sure why they look someone he used to talk to in Castle Town

Genetics said copy and paste

And dang they all the same type don’t they?

Warrior

Warrior didn’t realize just how tall they were until he was reunited with them

He got used to the height when he was home

Frankly, he’s not the tallest person in the Queen’s court anyway

And then he got used to be able to look his companions in the eyes and it was nice

Only to be viscerally reminded that this is not the norm

The others think he just has a type

They... aren’t entirely wrong but Warrior is going to take that little secret to his grave

His S/O, of course, is delighted to have him home again, if only for a little while

In their excitement, they lift Warrior clear off of the ground in a hug and hold them against their chest like a life size teddy bear

Wild snaps a picture

And it’s the only picture of Warrior where he doesn’t look put together in any way, shape, or form

Time thinks he remembers them and he knows that they’re good people

So he’s amused greatly just how whipped Warrior is for his S/O

As he should be

Legend quietly asks Wild for copies of the photo in the background

But Wind hears them and stops it

Little brothers gotta look out for the older one sometimes 

Twilight

Let’s face it Twilight is already incredibly short compared to the people of his Hyrule

(All of them are but shush)

So his s/o is easily taller than him as it is

But since Twilight is the second tallest of the group, it takes the other by a bit of surprise when they see how short Twilight is compared to them

Twilight can’t really see it though

He’s completely love struck and full of puppy love

Wind, Wild and Four try to secretly measure them when they’re not paying attention to see how tall they really are

Because Twilight surely doesn’t care

And they don’t want to see rude by asking

Twilight likes to be the little spoon, especially as Wolfie

So you better bet your bottom dollar that he’s going to curl up against his s/o much like he does to some of the other members of the group but this time he’s going to be encase by warmth

You know- if he sits, he sits

That’s the rule

Time know where Twi gets it from and makes it a point to not make any comments

Warrior and Legend don’t care

He’s getting teased

Sky is the only one to have mercy on him and he’s also going to ask every question imaginable because he’s a romantic at heart and nosey as hell

Time

This guy is already the tallest in the group

So his tall S/O is tall

They love all the tiny boys in the group

Everybody has to crane their necks to so much as look at their face

Time doesn’t even notice it anymore

Twilight is wondering why he got none of that

Warrior and Legend are once again trying to figure how he got with them to begin with

Bets are made

Money is lost

Wild and Wind are going to see if Time’s partner can carry them

Hyrule and Sky are going to have to adjust their heads more often than they’d like but they don’t want to think too much on it

They’ve met a lot of other tall people

Not a big deal

Four.... is having a minor crisis

It’s hard talking to Time as it is

And now there’s someone taller?

He’s not going to even bother looking up

Sky

Sap, sap, sap

Cuddle bug

A fiend

Piggy back rides

Please?

Did not warn the group about needing to crane their necks to look his s/o in the face

Is also living for their reactions

“This is my s/o and I love them very much and as you can see, they are my better half.”

“Yeah, more than half. They took all your height.”

“Ours too if the fact that we all share same spirit applies here.”

Legend and Wild both get smacked over the head

Time now knows how Four feels

Four gives up and asks Twilight to pick him up to get a decent angle

Just so it doesn’t look like he’s trying to be fresh

Twilight thinks it’s hilarious

Warrior realizes he might have a type

Hyrule and Wind appear to be unaffected, but their necks are sore..er at the end of the day

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader

[thetomorrowshow]

for a light

okay I PROMISE that comfort is coming I PROMISE

~

Scott stares Xornoth down from across the plateau, wind whipping the demon's hair and robes, black streaking out from him like some decaying flag.

They're alone, just the two of them, so far away (ndisu ndikitá'ána).

He's here.

It's time.

He sets the crown of antlers upon his head.

His fingers tighten on the thin grip of his sword.

-

Scott hisses as his finger bumps the pot, drops his hold and sticks the finger in his mouth. He was just trying to shift it to settle it better in the coals. Stupid cloth slipping.

Right. There's literally snow right there.

Scott removes his finger from his mouth, digs it into the snow beside him. The burn cools, eventually going numb.

That's one upside to living in a permanent winter. There's snow everywhere.

This little clearing in the woods that he took used to have a tent pitched in the center, grass and trees and wildflowers all around.

The tent is long gone, having collapsed under the weight of the snow and ice that collected upon it. Scott replaced it with an ice hut of sorts, which he thinks he created while asleep because he's not exactly sure how he did it. It's kind of ugly, but it has four walls and a roof and a little hole for a door, and it works.

The grass and plants aren't really visible anymore, the ground covered in a thick blanket of snow. Scott's not sure how, but someone had managed to get him a good pair of elven work boots, insulated and sturdy, so that he can tromp through the six or seven inches of snow without much issue. He's cold, this old, patched coat not quite enough to block out the chill, but the gloves keep his fingers from feeling too much like ice and the hand-knit hat prevents a majority of the headaches that his frozen ears cause. He's not too badly off, to be honest. There's just so much . . . cold.

And if he could get it to melt, that would be great.

He can make ice and snow appear just fine. There's plenty of snow, and he can point and ice spikes will shoot up out of the ground, and he can picture a cube of ice and watch as it forms in front of him, but that just means that now he has a little pile of ice cubes and a ludicrous amount of spikes the size of a tree. He can't get rid of anything.

And sure, he has a modicum of control. He can form ice cubes, and spikes, or whatever. But he can't turn off the way ice and snow just grows around him, or the freeze that blasts from him when he waves his arms.

He's been here for two weeks, figuring absolutely nothing out, and he doesn't have much hope for the future.

It feels like there's a wall in his head, a literal barrier keeping him from finding the way to draw back the ice. He's spent hours, days, even, pushing and shoving and just sitting against this wall, trying to force it to work.

It won't give. It's exhausting, day-in and day-out, to try again and again and again as the ice and snow just build up around him.

"Scott!"

Jimmy.

They haven't really . . . talked. Of course, Jimmy turns up every day without fail, bringing with him food and supplies. He always stands on the fringe of the clearing, shares news of the camp, of their latest excursion, of the fight they have planned.

Scott never really says much. He doesn't know how to respond, and Jimmy always leaves with his shoulders sagging the slightest bit.

What is he supposed to say?

I mourned you. I cried for you every day, because I knew I'd never see you again. I attended your funeral. I comforted your sister. I wore a depressing mimicry of what we once wore together, covering myself in the same darkness that took you. I lost you.

You didn't die, you survived, and I still lost you.

How is he supposed to tell Jimmy that what hurts more than anything about this situation is that he never tried to disabuse Scott of the notion that he was dead?

He thinks he still loves Jimmy. Their hearts were made for each other. They've been through too much together to just let go of everything they had.

But there were forty-two of the worst days of Scott's life, in which Scott believed his betrothed to be dead. He can't forget that. He can't pretend that Jimmy even attempted to contact him.

His mind always returns to that. Why didn't he? What reasons has he given, other than his ominous “it wasn't time yet”? Why?

And now they're here, in this horribly awkward phase where they haven't even discussed whether or not they're still an item (Scott's desperately in love with Jimmy but he isn't sure he can even stand to see him it hurts so much) or if that's even something they want to pursue right now (Scott wants so badly just to hold his hand but he can't let himself hurt Jimmy).

"Hey, Scott!"

Scott straightens (his wings shudder under the weight of the ice coating them, but none of it cracks), shakes the snow off his hands, and turns, stomach twisting.

Jimmy is standing there, a good ten feet away, leaning out from between the trees. 

It's just Jimmy. Hair still too long, beard still obstinately there, an anxious smile on his pockmarked face.

Doesn't he have anything better to do, rather than visit Scott every day?

Jimmy holds up a bundle of cloth.

"I brought some bread and . . . venison, I think? I forgot to ask what it was. Does that sound good?"

Scott tugs his scarf up a bit higher on his cheeks. "Sounds fine," he calls back, voice muffled by the fabric.

Jimmy tosses it; Scott catches the bundle, grimaces when it frosts over the moment it touches his hands.

"What are you cooking?" Jimmy asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Scott glances back at his little pot on the dying coals.

"Just porridge," he says. That's all Jimmy gave him yesterday, after all. The grain for whatever chunky porridge it is that they eat at the camp all the time.

"That's . . . that's cool," says Jimmy. Dear Aeor, he looks so unbearably awkward. What does he want?

Thankfully, Jimmy gets straight to the point, no more hobbling around small talk.

"We're going on a mission," he says, the words coming out in puffs of frozen air. "There's a village about a day's walk from here, the largest we've gone for yet. They're going to be a huge asset to our rebellion."

Scott nods a couple of times. "Okay. How long until you're back?"

Jimmy chews on his lip—the way he always does when he's anxious, or isn't sure how to approach a problem. "That's . . . well, I wanted to see if you would come, actually."

It takes Scott a few seconds to process that, but when he does, he almost laughs out loud.

He's out of his mind if he thinks Scott will risk something like that. He can't control this! He's had to separate himself from the rest of the camp because there's a ten foot radius of winter wonderland that appears around him!

He has to be joking.

"You have to be joking," Scott says.

Jimmy shrugs. "I talked about it with the others that are coming on the mission, and they're all fine with it. If it makes you feel better—"

"No, I'm dangerous—"

"—we can walk apart from you, and—"

"—you don't understand, I hurt Gem, I'll—"

"—was just thinking that it can't be good for you to—"

"Jimmy, I said no!"

And childishly, to emphasize his point, Scott stamps his foot.

Ice crackles along the ground like a whip, shooting up in little spikes, a ten-inch wall down the middle of his little clearing.

It stops just short of Jimmy, the last little spike rising just inches from his boots, and Scott almost wants to go and shove him out of the way because Jimmy doesn't even move!

Doesn't he have any sense of self-preservation?

Jimmy doesn't seem scared when he looks up at Scott. He just seems sad.

"That's why I can't," Scott bites out, wrapping his arms around himself. His scarf is slipping, nose exposed to the cold. "I'm not safe. I don't want to hurt someone."

"Okay. Can I explain myself, though?"

Before Scott can give an answer, Jimmy takes a small step forward, boot crunching on snow.

Scott takes a step back.

"We know how to keep ourselves safe," he says. "Most of the people here escaped terrible conditions where one wrong move could kill them. They know how to recognize threats and keep a safe distance. It wouldn't even be an issue to travel with you."

Scott wants to argue, but Jimmy takes another step. Scott quickly steps back, swallowing down the fear that rises in his throat, burning like bile.

"We would travel kind of separately, and it wouldn't even be a long journey. Two days at most, I think. So the main group would stick together, and you would stay within sight off to the side. We usually move quietly, so you wouldn't miss out on conversation or anything."

Okay, that's probably what Scott would do if they were forced to travel. He's pretty sure that he can cause ice issues outside of the ten foot radius, if he tries, but it doesn't automatically happen. Travel plans like that might actually work.

Which doesn't mean they're good. They aren't. They just might work.

"This village has a lot of soldiers, from what we can tell. Way more than there ought to be. They're beginning to figure out our game. We usually wouldn't go for someplace so risky, but there's so many people there. If we freed them, we could easily add two hundred to our able fighters."

Is Jimmy stupid?

"It's a trap," Scott says, pointing out what seems obvious. "Why would they have so many Mythlanders there if not to wait for you?"

Jimmy scoffs. "We know it's a trap," he says. "That's why we want you. We want to avoid fights if possible—and if you were there, we would have a really decent chance of getting in and out without losing anyone."

"You're forgetting that I can't really control this," Scott says icily, and as if to match his tone, it spontaneously begins to snow. "I'm just as likely to hurt one of you."

"We just need you to make it as cold as possible. The Cod will survive—we're pretty good with cold temperatures. But humans are a bit more sensitive to that kind of thing. So we thought—if you could freeze over the village, then all the guards would go inside and we could sneak everyone out!"

That. . . .

That is a monumentally idiotic plan.

Scott blinks several times, just to make sure it really is Jimmy in front of him and not some hallucination induced by so much time alone.

"Or we could not do that," he says. "Just a suggestion."

Jimmy laughs a little. "I kind of figured you'd say that," he says. "But it's worth a shot, right? And if it doesn't work, we can go back to camp and figure out something else. No harm done, right?"

"Other than the possible harm that my very presence could cause," Scott says. "Do you really think that staying ten feet away while traveling would work? Just because that's my snowglobe radius doesn't mean anyone is safe outside of it."

He re-crosses his arms, waits for Jimmy to meet his eyes.

Jimmy's quiet for a long time, looking around at the unintentional ice spikes and piles of snow. Long enough that Scott turns away, tosses the sack from Jimmy into his ice hut.

That's that, then. He and Jimmy aren't going to talk about any of their real issues. Jimmy's so focused on this inconsequential rebellion of his that he won't even think about the fact that Xornoth may be controlling the world by now. Gem might be dead—literally any of them could be dead, Lizzie or Shubble or Joel all could have fallen—and Xornoth has control of half of the empires or all of them. And the only way to stop him didn't work.

Yet all Jimmy will even give thought to is his stupid little rebellion.

"I know it's hard," Jimmy says, voice awkwardly too-loud, rousing Scott from his thoughts. "It's really, really hard. I know that you don't trust yourself, and that you're hurting, and there's so much tangled up between us that I don't really understand but I know isn't making any of this easier for you. But I know you want to get better. I know you, Scott. And I know you will do everything in your power to keep those people safe."

Scott doesn't say anything, blinks back the sudden tears. He doesn't need this. He doesn't need Jimmy telling him what he feels.

Even if he's right.

He would do everything to keep the others safe.

He just can't guarantee that it would work.

"I trust you," Jimmy says firmly. "We trust you. I wouldn't have even brought it up if I hadn't cleared it with everyone else. And if it doesn't work, I'll never ask you to do it again. But please, Scott. If not for the people suffering, do it for me."

He doesn't owe Jimmy anything.

As a ruler, he pledged to defend his people, and he failed. What about when he fails again? Will he even be able to live with himself?

Will he be able to live with himself if he doesn't try?

In the grand scheme of things, a rebel attack to evacuate citizens of a small town in the Codlands is absolutely nothing. It will likely not contribute at all to the ending of the war.

But it's somewhere to start. Jimmy's always talking about how if they're still alive after everything, they ought to be doing something good with it. If he wants to eventually try to launch some sort of hopeless attack on Xornoth, he has to start somewhere. He has to figure this ice stuff out.

"Okay," he says eventually, reluctantly. "I don't . . . I don't want to. I don't think it will go well."

"If you can't trust yourself, you can trust me," offers Jimmy, and Scott grimaces at the hope in his voice.

He doesn't respond. 

He wants to trust Jimmy. He wishes nothing had ever broken the trust that was there.

He isn't sure what did break it. He can't exactly blame Jimmy for not dying.

"I'll come get you tomorrow around midmorning, okay? We're hoping to arrive when it's dark the next day, then just have you freeze it overnight and get the Cod out before sunrise. Sound good?"

Scott shrugs. "It's your plan," he says. "Does it sound good to you?"

Jimmy doesn't respond, glancing over his shoulder. "I need to go finish prepping," he says when he turns back. "Take care. I . . . I'll see you tomorrow."

Scott doesn't move (frozen to the spot, he thinks idly), just watches Jimmy go, picking his way back between the trees.

What has he agreed to?

-

The journey goes exactly as Jimmy had laid out. Jimmy travels in a band of thirty-two people (Scott counts them during one of their fifteen minute rests), all able young Cod, some with cobbled-together armor or swords, others with nothing but the clothes on their back and improvised weapons. Scott sees two hand-made slings, one little hunting bow, and a couple of large branches shaped into clubs. All from afar, of course.

Scott walks a good thirty or forty feet away from the group, shying away whenever someone accidentally veers a little close. They always hurry back to the others, shivering and rubbing their arms.

Jimmy, of course, comes close on purpose. He keeps trailing along on the edges of the group, giving Scott terribly hopeful glances.

Scott just keeps his eyes on the snowy ground before him and wishes he could figure out how to talk to him.

Does he even want to talk to him?

Of course he does. Of course he wants to talk to his . . . to Jimmy.

He just can't. He can't risk hurting him. He can't risk getting hurt.

And soon enough, they've arrived at the town.

Scott has somehow managed to avoid hurting anyone, though one Cod only narrowly avoids getting stabbed by a flying ice spike when Scott gets startled by a bee.

He isn't sure how powerful he is, just that he's managed to tie it down and lash it to himself. But Scott, more often than not, feels like there's a thin door being battered and blown by a terrible snowstorm, ice seeping in through the cracks, and soon enough he'll have to try to open the door just a little bit. He can only imagine it blasting it open and sending bursts of unstoppable power out, forever unable to be closed.

Jimmy approaches him as Scott finishes up eating a cold supper, and even though it's dark Scott knows it's Jimmy because he knows Jimmy, he knows his habits and his tendencies and just weeks ago that had been painful, precious knowledge and now it means nothing significant.

"We're about ready," Jimmy says, not looking at Scott. He's looking out over the ridge that they're hidden behind, toward the town below. Scott wants to shake him, scream at him, drag him down to the ground. Doesn't he know he'll be seen? That his outline against the darkening sky will be obstinately visible?

"I'll take you down there in about a half hour. Then you just need to drop the temperatures to about freezing, all right? We'll do everything from there."

Scott doesn't answer. He doesn't have anything to say.

You left me you died to me I lost you and you were here. You were here this whole time and I've been hurting, and I'm still hurting and you just don't care. Why didn't you comfort me? Why aren't you helping me? Why won't you listen to everything I can't say?

Jimmy doesn't say anything, either, despite Scott's silent cries. He just stands there awkwardly, then gives Scott a nod and jogs back over to the main group.

Scott flexes his fingers in their gloves, blows on his hands, relishes the momentary warmth that brings him. He's always so cold these days. For good reason, of course—and despite all that, elves naturally run colder than humans, with the climate of their dwelling—, but he doesn't have to like it.

How is he meant to freeze an entire town without accidentally doing more damage than intended?

At this point, Scott has absolutely zero doubt that he'll be able to freeze the town. Piece of cake. The problem is drawing back the power after it's been extended.

It doesn't help that he doesn't know what he's doing. It doesn't help that all he's done for the past two weeks is try to not explode. He hasn't actually learned anything about control, or using the magic to his advantage.

And now he has to save a town. Use this untamable magic in moderation.

He's going to fail so badly.

And yet, when Jimmy returns not long later, Scott readjusts the little knapsack that hangs off his shoulder and sets off around the ridge, following Jimmy from a safe distance.

They skirt around their little camp on the side of the ridge, giving the refugees a wide berth so as to avoid getting any of them mixed up in Scott's personal snowstorm. That wouldn't help anything about this situation.

The ice hasn't been unfreezing behind him, either. That's been kind of concerning. He'd assumed, back in his little patch of the forest, that the ice hadn't gone away because he hadn't gone away. But now there's just a path of frost and snow through the long grasses of the outer Codlands, a trail leading directly to the rebel camp.

Scott really hopes it melts with time. It wouldn't be good to have one of fWhip's flying fish spies follow it and discover the camp.

He gets pulled from his thoughts by necessity as they approach the town, Jimmy making sure to keep them to the shadows, out of range of the torchlight from the perimeter guards. They crouch down behind some bushes (Jimmy beckons Scott closer, miming something about talking, and Scott reluctantly settles down close enough beside him—about five feet away, the closest to anyone he's been in weeks), peering between the brambles. Sure enough, there's more guards than a small border town ought to have—Scott counts at least four that patrol by the edge of town in the five minutes that they sit there and watch.

"We need to give my people a few more minutes, probably," Jimmy whispers, glancing up at the sky. The moon hasn't risen yet, so Scott's really not sure what he's checking. "But if you want to start the freeze, you can."

Right. Freezing an entire town.

Scott reaches inside himself for . . . for something. He isn't sure what. It's not like there's anything in there. Just his aching heart.

He legitimately feels fatigued from holding back the magic the best he can, but he doesn't know how to let go. He doesn't have any sort of point of reference for this. What is he supposed to do?

After several long minutes of indecision, of pulling at different parts of his mind to see if something just releases the switch, Scott gives up on figuring it out and just pushes.

He's not sure if the dam is broken, but a little flurry of snowflakes shoots out of his hands and he imagines the town, water in barrels and canals slowly freezing over, the temperatures dropping, the night air becoming frigid and biting.

Why does it have to be him?

"Nice," Jimmy whispers beside him. Scott blinks, looks up.

It's snowing. All across the town is snowing.

He didn't mean to make it snow. He only wanted to make it cold.

And it is cold. His fingers through their gloves are aching, the exposed skin on his face burns as a gust of freezing wind blows past.

"Was that too much?" he whispers, twisting his hands together. "I didn't mean for—"

Jimmy breathes out a near-silent laugh, gives him a grin. "I knew you could do it. I knew it!"

He made Jimmy happy.

Despite all the confusing hurt keeping them apart, that still makes Scott's heart squeeze in the best way possible.

The guards glance around at the fat flakes of snow, clearly confused. There's some shouting person to person, and within torchlight on the edge of town, a cluster of guards gather, rubbing their hands together and stamping their feet and pointing back to the center of town as they talk.

There's no way this will work. If his guards at Rivendell left their posts because it got a little cold, they would be in severe trouble with their captain.

But as Scott watches, one by one, the guards begin to trail away, heading toward what Scott assumes to be the inn.

There's no way. There's no way this is actually working. This can't be real.

Jimmy takes in a near-silent breath, lets it out in a low, loud, whoop/whistle. It sounds strikingly like the call of an owl that Scott has heard occasionally in these parts, late at night.

When did Jimmy learn bird calls?

It's a small thing. It's not even anything that matters. It's tiny and unimportant and Scott really shouldn't be close to tears right now.

It's like he doesn't even know Jimmy. He doesn't want to be upset, but he can't seem to stop it.

Jimmy still loves him and wants him; Jimmy wants them to be in love again.

How is it so hard?

Every guard has gone inside now, the town quiet.

The snow continues to fall, slow, drifting gently onto a peaceful street, becoming a picturesque winter scene.

Yet staring at it doesn't bring Scott peace. He only grows more and more anxious, eyes scanning from point to point, as though he might miss the operation entirely if he only watches the snow.

And after five or so minutes of waiting, Scott sees, past the falling snow, camouflaged people stealing through the streets, peering in windows, tapping lightly on doors.

The Cod residents are quick and quiet to answer, which is absolutely absurd.

It's actually working.

The other day, this was the most ridiculous plan Scott had ever heard. He never would have believed that any part of it would actually come to any sort of fruition.

And here they are.

He continues to watch as entire families sneak out of houses, glancing left and right before stepping out into the street, some bundled up in layers of clothing and others with nothing but a thin tunic protecting them from the weather.

The rebels move in phases, ushering out first this side street, then that one, making sure each sector of the town doesn't leave without instruction.

Scott watches, and something within him marvels.

This is the work. This had seemed so inconsequential to him just days ago—there are much larger things to worry about, after all—but now he can see how this had become Jimmy's whole world.

There's so many of them. They're moving house-by-house, sending one group before beckoning the next, but the streets are still close to packed.

There's a woman, hands covering her mouth as tears stream down her face, following a group into an alley. A shirtless man, carrying two children at once, his shirt draped over the both of them. A child—a tiny slip of a girl, surely not older than eight, clinging to her parent's leg, the torchlight from the abandoned guard posts illuminating her face just enough that Scott can see a hand-shaped bruise spanning her cheek.

The people are malnourished, injured, terrified. They’ve been desperately praying that someone will rescue them, someone will come along and deliver them from this darkness.

And here Jimmy is, a shining light, their once-dead king returned to save them specifically, as unimportant as they feel they are.

It makes sense. Jimmy's forces aren't strong enough to take on Xornoth, so why should he even focus on something so unattainable?

This, while not easy, is doable, and something that both strengthens his numbers and helps his people.

Scott gets it. It's about hope. It's about remembering the lost. It's about finding strength and life in this world of corruption.

"Scott," Jimmy whispers, pulling him from his realization.

Scott blinks, looks over at him. Jimmy's teeth are chattering, his nose pink, his lips pale of color. His arms are clutched around himself, doing nothing to hide the way his entire body trembles.

"You can reel it back in, a bit," Jimmy says, clearly going for humor, but the words fall flat when his lips can't even twitch up in some semblance of a smile.

Oh.

Scott looks back to the town, and now, he doesn't just see the wonder of it all. He sees how slowly everyone is moving, the way the rebels look up fearfully at the quickening snow, the way none of them are wearing any proper winter gear.

It's cold out. It's very, very cold out. It's definitely far below freezing, icicles already hanging from buildings, a thick layer of snow blanketing the ground.

It's too cold. He sees, all at once, three children collapse, and their caretakers pick them up but can barely keep going.

It's too much. It's too cold, so cold that a man stumbles and falls, and those around him are too cold to stop and help.

"Scott, make it stop," Jimmy whispers with increasing urgency. "It's too cold. Scott, stop."

He can't stop.

The door has been opened, and Scott doesn't know how to close it.

He can't make it warm up, he can't even stop it from getting colder. The night sky is growing steadily darker as more clouds roll in, the snow falling harder and faster—there's actual ice spreading, visibly spreading, crawling out from the bushes where he and Jimmy are crouched, heading toward the town and Scott can't stop it—

"Scott—"

"I can't stop it," breathes Scott, and it's nothing but the truth. He can't just turn it off, that isn't something he knows how to do—he doesn't know how to do anything, this is a curse and he hates it and nothing will ever be right again!

"I can't stop it," he says again, louder, voice shaking. "I can't—I can't do it, I told you I can't, I don't know how—"

"Just try," Jimmy says over him, hands held up. "I know you can do it, I trust you—"

"Just—just stop!" Scott bursts out, finally, all those terrible emotions rising to his tongue. "You keep saying—you keep—you were dead, you left me and you don't get to—you can't tell me what I can and can't do, I don't—"

"Scott," Jimmy says, something horribly placating in his voice, and it sounds just like the old Jimmy, just like the one who died—

Scott stumbles up, backing away from Jimmy. He can't—he doesn't want—this is all too much, too much, he's ruined everything and it's too much—

Jimmy stands as well, taking a couple of steps toward him. "Scott, I'm going to touch you, okay?"

"No!" Scott bites out. The wind is whistling in his ears, he can barely hear Jimmy over it—he can barely see Jimmy through the snow, there's so much of it, and Scott can't make it stop! He can't fix this! "Don't touch me, I don't—I don't even know you, I'll hurt you!"

"Scott—"

"Get—away—" Jimmy's just coming closer, one step at a time, and Scott doesn't want him, that's not his Jimmy, he doesn't want to hurt him—

The storm is rapidly getting worse, the snow beating down on his face with little pellets of ice, he had never meant to make it snow let alone storm, he's cursed, he's forever cursed, there's no way he can make things right, there's no way anything will ever be right again—!

And then there are arms around him.

Jimmy squeezes him tightly, good pressure and tightly enough that his brain is forced to settle into a more peaceful state, despite his surroundings.

His lover is warm against him, and Scott instinctively buries his face in the crook of Jimmy's shoulder where it belongs and perfectly fits.

Something inside doesn't really click into place. It doesn't quite work. It's close, but it's just not where it needs to be.

But it does slide together nicely, and Scott somehow finds a slippery grasp on the cold and tugs it back in.

He hadn't even been able to have this before. He hadn't even been able to feel a way to control it, let alone actually take hold.

But there's some kind of power positively radiating from Jimmy, something that Scott can feel and recognize in this entirely new world of magic that he never even knew existed.

It's got to be Jimmy's love.

Jimmy loves him so so much that it overpowers the curse.

And Scott, for the first time in weeks, feels warm.

He feels warm. Jimmy's here, his arms wrapped around Scott, and he feels warm.

A sob rises in his chest.

This is his Jimmy.

His Jimmy is holding him, and loves him, and is so very warm.

"There we go," Jimmy whispers into his hair, voice slightly muffled. "Not too much, now.  We still need a little bit of snow coming down."

Right.

Scott doesn't think he has the emotional capacity to pay attention to anything but Jimmy, but he loosens his grip on the ice just a little, enough that the snow doesn't stop.

The sob bursts out of his mouth, and Scott clutches Jimmy as close to him as possible.

His Jimmy is here. He's actually here.

And Scott can feel his fingers again, warmth washing over every part of his body.

They don't move for a long time. Jimmy watches the exodus over his shoulder as Scott cries into his chest, letting all of the emotions that he's been feeling for the past two months pour out onto Jimmy's coat.

They stand there, and Scott sobs.

After too long, long enough that the tears on Scott's face become more sticky than wet (they aren't freezing on his cheeks, like they've been doing, and isn't that just a miracle), Jimmy pulls away.

Scott feels his tenuous control slip from his grasp—too cold again, too cold—and he launches himself back into Jimmy's arms.

"Don't go," he chokes out.

"Okay."

"Please . . . I can't—I can't do this without you."

"Okay."

Scott takes in a shuddering breath. He's stronger than this. He can do this.

"Do you think you can stop the snow?"

Scott nods, his nose wiping across Jimmy's coat. Then, with a mustering of what little strength he has, he shuts that imaginary door.

It almost doesn't shut. Scott strains against it in his mind, inch by inch, but eventually it clicks shut.

He can't lock it. But holding to Jimmy keeps it shut, and Scott doesn't plan on letting go.

Jimmy's right here.

Jimmy is real.

He's alive.

"You died," Scott sniffles, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. "You died!"

"I know," Jimmy murmurs, sounding absolutely heartbroken. "I know. I'm here."

"You weren't there, though. You—you left me! I was so—so alone!"

"I know," Jimmy says again. "I'm so sorry, Scott. I'm so sorry."

Jimmy's crying too, Scott realizes. They're in snow up to their knees, in full view of the town, and they're both just standing here crying.

Scott. . . .

Scott doesn't really care.

His heart, broken by the weight of the grief hanging so heavily on it, is finally beginning to heal.

That's more important than anything else around.

-

Scott doesn't let go of Jimmy's hand the entire trip back.

They walk back to the camp, bringing up the rear of a long crowd of refugees. Scott's trail of frost is barely-there, and he never feels like he's a danger to anyone while Jimmy is at his side.

They arrive back at the camp almost three days later, the group slower-moving with the addition of a good three hundred people. The camp is thrown into chaos, more than doubled in size, and Jimmy's pulled every which way by every person possible as they try to make arrangements and adjustments on such a large scale.

Scott stays with him through it all. He presses himself into Jimmy's side during a hurried meeting about leadership for splitting into several camps; he clings to him while Jimmy directs new refugees to food; he holds his hand through long hours of pointing people this way and that.

Jimmy doesn't end up being forced to bed until past midnight, a young Cod practically pushing him and Scott to his tent. Jimmy goes reluctantly, walk stumbling and eyes bloodshot. Scott can't imagine that he looks any better—he can feel how oily his hair is, limp after being literally frozen for so long, his wings unkempt and dragging. He can barely stay upright, and relief floods him when they finally reach Jimmy's tent.

Jimmy collapses onto his bedroll without even taking off his boots or unbuckling the enchanted sword on his back, and Scott is just able to manage loosening the laces of his own boots and kicking them off before he falls down beside him.

"There's still so much to do," mumbles Jimmy, and instinctively, they wrap around each other, knees slotting perfectly and arms weaving just right.

It's like nothing changed.

It's like everything is right again.

"I missed you," Scott whispers, though his throat threatens to choke on the words.

He lost Jimmy. Forty-two days of mourning, of the worst torture he's ever been subjected to.

He lost him, and it still hurts. Everything still feels so terribly hopeless, so dark, and Jimmy forsook him for so long.

But he's back. He's here, and alive, and through his thin tunic under the hilt of the sword Scott can feel a new scar just below the nape of his neck (Jimmy shudders as his fingers trace it, but doesn't pull away) but he's alive and in Scott's arms.

He died. Jimmy died, and it must have been terribly traumatic for him in ways that Scott hasn't even considered.

But by some miracle, he's here. He's okay.

He is, isn't he?

"Are you all right?" Scott asks quietly, seized by the need to know that his love is well. He doesn't know the specifics, not really—but Jimmy said he'd been stabbed several times, and that can't have been easy to recover from—and Scott had made it awfully cold earlier, and he knows that some of the refugees suffered because of it, and Jimmy only had that thin coat on.

Jimmy doesn't respond, though, breathing slow and even, and Scott eventually relaxes, assuming that he's asleep. He can get his answer tomorrow, after all. He can fuss over him all he wants.

Scott honestly can't believe that he let himself drift so far from Jimmy. He let his feelings of abandonment and despair and everything else get in the way of being here, holding his beloved, giving him comfort and receiving it in bucketloads.

He was so wrapped up in losing Jimmy the first time, he almost lost him again.

Then Jimmy shifts in his arms, sighs a little bit. "I'm okay," he finally replies. "That's what you asked, right?"

Scott nods against his shoulder, and Jimmy lets out a low chuckle. "My good ear is pressed to the pillow, sorry," he says by way of explanation. "Couldn't quite hear you. Are you okay?"

Is he okay?

He's not physically injured. And he's not quite so cold—with Jimmy's love warming him, he can keep a lid on the ice magic, stopping it from spreading beyond his fingertips.

Everything about this situation still hurts. Everything's still so terrible, and there's no way to overcome it.

But Jimmy's here now, and he loves Scott.

And Scott loves him.

"I'm all right," he says eventually, before burying his face deeper into Jimmy's shoulder.

And he thinks, for the moment, that it's true.

-

Scott dreams that night.

He dreams of a plateau, ice, wind whipping dark robes every which way.

He dreams of his hand tightening around a sword hilt.

He dreams of a crown upon his head.

Inka kuuna ndikitá'ána.

-

It's just barely past dawn, and a young girl with mousy brown hair and scales smattered across her face like freckles is wandering down to the river to collect water.

It's a bit of a long walk, but Lithi doesn't mind—it's preferable to the walk back, when the empty waterskin strapped to her back will be filled with water.

She's a girl forced to grow up too fast, barely in her teens, yet made to take up her mother's armor and flee into exile.

But she doesn't cry. Lithi never cries, and it's a point of pride for her. Her peers seem to be constantly crying, after all. She isn't going to let herself be perceived as a weak little girl. Not after everything her people have been through.

The ground beneath her bare feet becomes squishy, pockmarked with little puddles of water, and she veers right. Her course has taken her too near the slow, swampy portion of the river, and while she longs to go splash about in the swamp, she knows that the water there isn't clear enough to use back at camp. Not to mention, the Codfather wants them to avoid the swamps, for some reason.

She misses the marshes of home. They all do—Cod aren't made to spend all their lives on land.

She knows the swamp misses them, too.

And that reminds her of the folk song that her mother taught her, and her mother's parents taught her, and their parents taught them.

So, while the girl walks, she sings.

The sun is brighting,

Children, come home!

The grass is sighing,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The frogs are croaking,

Children, come home!

The critters woken,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The birds are singing,

Children, come home!

The trees are ringing

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The fries are playing,

Children, come home!

The wind is saying,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The night is falling,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is crying,

Children, come home!

She reaches the riverbank as the song comes to a close, singing the last line over and over again, in a myriad of styles and keys.

She shrugs the waterskin off her shoulders, clumsily dips it into the water. The riverbank is uncomfortably dry and sandy between her toes, which long for the mud of home.

Why can't they go to the swamp? Not that she would ever rebel against their Codfather, but she just wants to feel at peace again.

The waterskin isn't totally full, but she draws it up out of the water and ties it closed, arms shaking, straining to hold it up. And now she has to make the long walk back to camp with this heavy load, the leather straps cutting into her shoulder blades with every step.

So maybe she dawdles by the river. Maybe she dips her fingers into the water, swishes it around.

It's that distraction, perhaps, that changes everything.

Because had Lithi not lingered, she wouldn't have seen the glimpse of bright green caught under a rock in the water. She wouldn't have levied up the rock, pulled loose the thing. She wouldn't have held up the sodden leather bag, beautifully embroidered with a bright green cod and a sky blue stag.

And most importantly of all, she wouldn't have opened the bag to find a thin, Oceanic book, nor caught a glimpse of gold shimmering in the silty mud beneath where the bag had lain.

#esmp #empires smp #empires s1 #flower husbands #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #trust au #krcu #mas writes #040324 #hiatus posting 😙✌️ #shout out to oasis frfr #man what if i pretended to return from hiatus for april fools #i did not do that but missed opportunity #um enjoy some communication issues!! #and i promise #listen to me #i promise that there is comfort #please enjoy #love you guys #(hey guys!! oasis here :)) idk if I believe them. hope you enjoyed though lol!! <3)

[what-gs-watching]

"If that's a joke, I love it. If not, can't wait to unpack that with you later."

So, here’s a thing - winter makes me sad. I mean, it makes a lot of people sad, but also me. When I was younger I used to just cause a whole bunch of drama to get it out of my system but I’m an adult now and I’m still mostly fruitlessly job searching and I can’t really just go around starting fights anymore so I’m just sitting in my ennui, feeling unmoored. 

Which made me realize: I need Ted Lasso. Desperately.

Wherein, a low level American football coach moves to England to coach actual football (aka soccer) and ends up creating something so beautiful it’ll make you laugh and cry until you just can’t anymore.

If you’ve never seen Ted Lasso, first of all - how dare you? And secondly, start it now. Like, literally right now. It’s everything you didn’t know you needed. 

I will admit I didn’t get into it until my husband watched it and encouraged me into it because of my love for Jason Sudeikis. I tend to pick up unnatural obsessions for SNL alumni, I just want all of them to succeed, so I gave in and instantly lost my mind over it. I couldn’t get enough.

During the second season run, I literally had a standing weekly fifteen minute meeting with my engineers to talk about the latest episode and our theories on what would happen next, or what our favorite joke had been. There were MANY heated debates.

Before the third season came out, I made my family binge the first two seasons while we were on vacation. I remember my mom calling me after she and my dad had watched the series finale so we could talk about it - she’d never bought into a show like that before.  

Ted Lasso just brings people together, and I find it absolutely ridiculous that this poignant, wonderful, life affirming show came out of a bit that Sudeikis wrote in 2013 for an NBC Sports commercial. It’s mind boggling. 

You guys know, it’s all about the relationships for me, and that’s the entire show, really. Ted is unrelentingly positive and charming and understanding and the reason he likes coaching is because he wants to help his players be the best versions of themselves and wooooph throughout the show, you get that, for every single character, even Ted himself. It’s about loving each other and loving yourself and also somewhat about football and it’s just so fucking…delightful. 

And I’m obsessed with all of the different dynamics. Ted and Beard, and Roy and Ted and Beard, and Roy and Jamie, and Roy and Keeley, and fucking Keeley and Rebecca! If you need to see a perfect incredible WONDERFUL female friendship, it’s Rebecca and Keeley fucking Jones. Someone needs to write a long-winded essay about these two, because dear lord, I want a best friend like that. Everyone wants a best friend like that. Like, I just can’t with all of the messy, hilarious, beautiful relationships. I want to be part of them all.

Also,  it’s funny. Like, properly funny. Laugh-out-loud-no-matter-how-many-times-you’ve-seen-it funny. The bits are layered. And you’ll get something different out of them every single time. Nuance, gang. It’s all so nuanced. 

The first season is absolutely perfect. You get to know all of the characters and you get a general sense of what’s up. Everyone is kind of charming and you’re immediately annoyed with Rebecca and charmed by Roy even though he tries his best to be threatening, and you think that Nathan is adorable and you’re pulled into Ted’s unwavering enthusiasm and Beard’s silliness indulgence and straight-man stoicism and Keeley’s adorableness. And it’s WONDERFUL! I’ve seen season one at least four or five times, likely more. It’s everything.

There are so many good moments. At one point, Ted says he’s having salads for lunch with Higgins who is communications director or something and as Ted goes to leave Higgins says “Cesar you later!” and Ted BURSTS back in through the door and just yells “YES!” and it’s hilarious every time. 

When Ted and Beard realize that Roy is a bristling motherfucker who wants to hate everything, Ted says something like “wait til we win him over”, with Beard announcing “He’s. Going to be. Furious.” (And he was.)

It’s the little things in the first season that really endear you to Ted Lasso. It just wraps you up and makes you feel warm and appreciated, like there are people out there that are pure and good and they can make you feel pure and good too. 

And then you get into season two and you start to see behind the curtain. Ted’s really not okay with his divorce (which, I still think is because his wife couldn’t deal with his optimism? Which is so insane to me and I can’t even, I never forgave her like, what the fuck is that) and in general and they tackle a lot of mental health issues and social issues and it’s a bit hard to get through.

But at the same time, season two has some of my favorite bits? Which is confusing??! The scene where Sam asks Isaac for a haircut - everyone gets a single cut from the captain once a season - and the entire team watches and whoops and freaks out and it’s like, an intricate performance and everyone is just so fucking thrilled to be witnessing it? It’s weirdly beautiful. 

Ted and Beard teaching the entire team the choreography to NSYNC’s Bye Bye Bye so they can send off the team shrink in a ridiculous way? Incredible. When they finally get the dance right, they lose their fucking minds. It’s so JOYFUL.

The episode where Roy finally realizes he wants to join the coaching staff and he makes a dramatic trek to the stadium while “She’s a Rainbow” blares? The theme of that one was believing in rom-communism - to rouse the team Ted tells them “Fairy tales do not start nor do they end in the dark forest” and yo that’s so TRUE - and when Roy finally showed up on the pitch he said, “You had me at ‘coach’.” I cry every single time I see that one. I literally watched it twice in a week when getting the family into the show and I cried both times. Hard. 

I think part of the reason this show is so resonating is because dark shit happens, but a lot of really sweet things happen too. There’s an episode wherein Rebecca’s dad dies and they’re all attending the funeral but it still is somehow achingly funny too, even though you learn some terrible things about Ted and Rebecca both in that one. They really ride the line of darkness and light and it’s messy and that’s life.

And then season three is hard.  So much happens. And you know that you’re barreling toward the finale. There’s only 34 episodes in the entire series and it’s not nearly enough but they do try to make the most of their time. 

Watching the finale season in real time was really interesting though, I’ll say, because the fandom was so nuts at the time. So many random theories and outrage over some of the story points. And at the time I did kind of agree, but seeing it all back to back now in my first true binge, it all makes sense. Everyone had their own journey and some of them were ridiculous and maybe we just wanted things to stay the same because that’s how we fell in love with the characters but that’s not the point, gang. Shit is forever changing.

I’ll never get over the moment when Roy finally relents to the diamond dogs. Or Jamie teaching him how to ride a fucking bike in Amsterdam. Or when the team comes together to help Sam put his restaurant back together after it’s completely vandalized. Or Beard explaining to Nate his background with Ted, and offering his forgiveness to Nate as a way to honor everything Ted has done. Or Rebecca calling Roy out on his shit, saying that instead of helping himself he’d rather “eat shit soup and then complain about the portions”. 

There are so many little beautiful pieces. So many things that will pull at your heart strings and make you realize things that maybe have been niggling around in your brain but refusing to come forward because you were scared of them. Ted Lasso helps you be less scared of them. Ted Lasso helps you be less scared of everything, because it encourages you to accept yourself as you are.

In the final episode, Higgins says “Human beings are never gonna be perfect. The best we can do is to keep asking for help and accepting it when you can. And if you keep on doing that, you'll always be moving towards better.” 

And that’s what all of us need to understand. This show will ingrain that thought into you, and it’ll buoy you, and you won’t even realize it. 

So maybe now I’m feeling less ennui. Because I’m still laughing at the hijinx and basking in the wholesomeness and the amazingly perfect relationships  and the belief. Ted Lasso makes you fucking believe.

#what g's watching #ted lasso #coach beard #rebecca welton #roy kent #keeley jones #comfort show #jamie tartt #be a goldfish

[fever-project]

Succession of the Third Kind - LU AU

The Chain begins to learn about the Downfall Timeline, and the secrets Legend holds. Ao3 Link Here. After the Finish the Prompt thing I did I suddenly got inspired to write this. Well, I’ve been trying to write this before, but the first version was literally just one sentence and the second I just did not like. Focusing on Legend and eventually the doppels once I get to them. The abandoned doppel is the only one here so far.

This is not sci-fi, unfortunately. There are no aliens. Sorry if the title mislead you into thinking that. Four/Vio’s POV.

Chapter 1 - Four’s Successor

The reveal of Four’s ability to split went far better than he thought it would. Vio looked out at how Wind was running circles around Red, his kid curiousness taking full force as he asked them loads of questions. Red tried his best to answer them, but he kept looking at Vio for help. He was the smart one after all.

But Vio preferred to just sit down and read a book, rather than interact with people. Blue was arguing with Warriors and Twilight about something stupid, Time and Sky were off to the side and looking after Red and Wind, and Green was chatting with everybody else.

Except for Legend, who was leaning against the next tree over. Staring at him.

“Are you wondering why I’m not with the others?” Vio asked without looking up from his book, but he wasn’t reading anymore.

“Kinda,” Legend answered, still not looking away from him. Does he even blink? “I’m just thinking.”

“Hmm. Nothing important it seems.”

“You don’t know that.”

Vio sighed and closed his book, looking over at Legend. His face was blank, blinking seemingly manually at odd intervals. Did he always do that or was that a new thing? Hopefully it was a new thing.

“Are you okay?” Vio asked, more confused than concerned.

“Eh, I’m fine. You?”

“Obviously,” Vio stood up, “But you seem like you’re trying not to fall asleep or something. No one’s forcing you to stay awake you know?”

“I think I’m your successor,” Legend dumped out of nowhere. Vio blinked a few times, stumbling back. He knew that they obviously weren’t on the end of the timeline compared to the others, but he couldn’t yet figure out where in the timeline he was. If Legend only just figured it out-

“You have the Four Sword, don’t you?” Vio asked, having regained his composure. Legend slowly got off from the tree, stretching, looking away from Vio. He waited for the veteran to speak, he was patient.

Vio looked back over to the others, the joyous scene continuing from before. He remembered that Four still hadn’t revealed the whole shrinking thing, and wondered about what would happen when he did. They’d probably let him ride on their shoulders, and coo at how small he was. Yeah, that’s what they do.

“Happy at the scene, or that I could be your successor?” Legend asked, making Vio straighten up. He didn’t know he was smiling.

“The scene. And we still haven’t confirmed that you’re my successor.”

“That’s fair. Just depends on whether you’re…” he trailed off, grimacing. He looked over at the others, staring at Time for a bit longer than the others before continuing. “Don’t tell anyone about this,” Legend stared at Vio until he nodded his head in agreement, “But I know of the Hero of Time. He was before me, but I’m not sure if he was before or after you.”

“Well I’ve never heard of him so-“ Vio stopped abruptly. If Legend wasn’t his successor, “-Is Time my successor?”

“Could be,” Legend had the same blank look on his face as he stretched again, “But he clearly never heard of you.”

“But you have?“

Legend makes eye contact with him, briefly. His eyes carry as certain sadness to them as he spoke, “I’ve…been to your tomb.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well that’s not too surprising, I guess,” Vio waved off the way his stomach had dropped, “Of course I’m dead by your time.”

“So was the Hero of Time.”

“Now how long we both were dead is the important question.”

“I…think you could’ve been dead for longer.”

“Then Time’s my successor.”

“Seems like it.”

“And you’re his.”

Legend flinches. Vio doesn’t understand why he would. Was he just wrong about that then?

“Are you Twilight’s-“

“Third option.”

“Wha-“

“Third. Option.”

Vio’s brain works quickly to figure out what Legend’s trying to say. Twilight is one of the options, Time is also an option, and then there’s Wind. But he obviously isn’t Wind’s successor, and Time and Twilight are somewhat close in time. Twilight and Wind are both Time’s successors from two different timelines, but a third timeline could exist. That was the third option.

“A third timeline!” Vio’s eyes widened, a smile encroaching upon his face as he figured it out. Legend laughed heartily.

“Yeah. I was thinking about telling Time after we all figured out the timeline stuff about both Wind and Twi, but…"

“Something happened to the Time before you.”

“Annnd that’s why I’m talking to you now. I’m just hoping you won’t tell Time.”

“So you’re withholding the information you know about me over my head, so I won’t tell, aren’t you?”

A moment of silence passed. Vio looked at Legend right in the eyes, his blank look annoying him. That’s Vio’s thing damn it.

Unexpectedly, Legend laughed, a sly sort of laugh, accompanied with a sly smile. He had to have picked up on Vio’s thirst for knowledge, his need to know more, he had to. He still didn’t know if Legend had the Four Sword. Or what happened with Time. Or why Legend was in his tomb. Vio needed answers. He needs it.

“If I was Blue I would’ve strangled you,” Vio said a nonchalantly as he could.

“Uh huh, sure, sure,” Legend waved his off as he looked at nails, “Listen, I’m telling you this because I can’t tell anyone else. Even though I’m technically Time’s successor, I feel more like I’m your successor. I know more about you and that sword compared to anybody else here. Except you guys of course.”

“…What do you know about it?”

Another moment of silence passed. How annoying. But he must have a reason for this. Vio sat back down on the ground, letting out a sigh. He returned to his book, and a while passed before Legend speaks again.

“So, why are your names so basic?”

Well that definitely wasn’t what Vio was expecting. Might as well answer this since it’s not like the veteran would answer any questions he had. Not like he had anything better to do. Might get him to open up a bit more as well.

“We were around ten and Red couldn’t think of anything better,” Vio closed his book again, “At least I think it was Red, I could be mistaken. What names would you choose?” Legend scratched his chin, thinking. Whether he was actually thinking or not, Vio couldn’t tell.

“I…would name us after the goddesses,” Legend began, already baffling Vio yet again, “The red one would be Din, green would be Farore, blue would be Nayru, and purple would Hylia, now that I know of her because of those guys.” Legend gestures over at Wild, who was currently running around with Warriors and Red, all of whom had Fire Rods, with Sky, Twilight, and Green chasing after them. “Should we check up on them?”

“Us,” Vio said simply, “Name us.” Legend made a strangled type of noise. A Freudian slip, was that what’s it was called? Vio looked at Legend directly in the eyes again, the blank stare now gone, uneasiness clear as day.

“I never used the Four Sword,” Legend quickly spat as he crossed his arms, looking away from Vio’s inquisitive stare.

“I never said you did,” Vio said with a small smirk, “Who knows, it could be something different, yet similar to my experience. You are my successor after all.”

“…Yeah, I guess I am.”

Their conversation ended there.

▲

“Alright, whose time is this?” Time asked. The group looked around the forest they were now in. It was a pleasant and rather normal looking one, save for the logs large enough for a person to walk through and the random swords on pedestals dotted around the place. The one next to Four was made out of cardboard, for some reason.

“It’s my time,” Legend said. That immediately excited Four. The last time they were in his time, it was brief, only being in his house for a few hours as they met Ravio. Then the black blooded monsters appeared as well as the portal, so they left without even seeing most of Hyrule.

And now Four knows this is his future, one of his futures, at least. He was a little curious about where his tomb would be. A little sacred as well.

But first they needed to get out of the forest.

“We’re in the Lost Woods, north of Kakariko Village. And don’t even bother with the swords-they’re worthless,” Legend said, annoyance tainting his voice for some reason.

“These remind me of my first attempts at making a sword,” Four remarked, poking one of the swords, and it wobbled like paper. Actually, this one was made out of paper. Why? Who would do this?

“How likely are we to get lost in these ‘Lost Woods?’” Wild asked, leaning over Legend, who scoffed.

“Not likely, it not that big,” Legend grabbed Wild and went over to grab Hyrule, pulling them both along. “Just follow me, I know the way out. We’ll be in Kakariko in no time at all.”

“Thank you Legend,” Time spoke, “Don’t wander off you lot, just follow the veteran.”

And so they did. Four held the back with Twilight and Wind, Warriors and Sky near Time, and Wild and Hyrule were with Legend.

The vet lead them through the logs, the occasional fucking crows being the only monsters they encountered. It was a nice and short walk all things considered. Four could see Wild pick up a few swords that were made from actual sword materials, and Four got a couple as well. They were shoddy, to put it nicely. But he could probably salvage something if he had the right tools. Soon enough they were out of the woods.

“Alright guys, we’ve made it,” Legend announced once they all filed out. Four could see the village in the near distance. It would likely take less than an hour to get there.

“Woohoo!” Wind cheered once he stepped out, “When are we going to your house Leg?”

Warriors snicked, as he always does when someone calls Legend ‘Leg’, “Yes Leg, where is your home and your rabbit-themed friend?”

Legend groaned, “It’s east of the village. Let’s just stop there and restock or whatever.” He slumped over as he made his way towards the village, mostly ignoring how Wild and Hyrule tried to talk to him.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Wind asked as he leaned over to Four and Twilight.

“He could be tired,” Twilight looked over at the vet, “But he has been acting strange lately.”

“Yeah! Ever since…” Wind trailed off as he looked over at Four. “I-I mean who knows when he started being a grump you know-“

“Wind, it’s fine,” Four sighed, “It’s…a bit complicated.”

“He’s your successor isn’t he?” Warriors suddenly appeared behind them, causing them all to jump.

“Gah! Wars!” Twilight lightly slapped Wars’ arm, glaring at him. He chuckled and rubbed the back of his head nervously.

“Whoops, sorry,” Warriors said with a smile, “I just saw him talking with the purple you for a while, so I assumed you must’ve had an important conversation.”

“Like Legend being Four’s successor?!” Wind looked very excited at the thought, before his face scrunched up, “But when are you guys in the timeline? Probably before Time, right?”

Four shrugged, putting on the best poker face he could. Which was much easier when it was just Vio doing it.

“How about we talk about this after we find a place to rest,” Twilight reasoned, “Also, we’re falling behind.”

The four of them rushed to catch up with the others.

Four soon figured out he was right about it not going to take too long to get to Kakariko. The streets were lively, the people were nice, although a one did run away from them-from Legend. Legend proudly stated that the woman had once reported him to the knights after he was framed for kidnapping the princess, when he was ten years old nonetheless. Now she was way too scared to even go near him, and everyone seemed to hate her. Four also hated her now.

Everyone restocked on their resources, and Four visited the blacksmith with Legend and his posse. The blacksmith and his family were very nice, not looking down on Four like most blacksmiths usually do. Four and Wild gave him the swords to to melted down, which wouldn’t give much useable materials because of the way they were made. But Four didn’t really mind that. He and Wild payed the blacksmith, they all said their goodbyes, and went out to find the others.

Four and Legend didn’t speak to each other the entire time they were there.

Night soon arrived, and with it, the gaggle of heroes arrived at Legend’s house.

“I’m home Ravio!” Legend called out as he opened the door. Immediately, Ravio’s little bird, Sheerow, flew right into his face. Some Links-especially Wars-laughed at how much Legend was taken aback by it.

“Mr. Hero! You’re back!” Radio called from within the house, “Come in, come in. Oh! And I see your family has came along again as well.”

The group headed in, and noticed that the place was a lot neater. It looked like there was slightly less stuff, but most of it was there, either organized in neat boxes or large, nice display cases. Everyone immediately started to wander about, each trying way too hard to stop themselves from touching everything. Four did not know why they were like this. Four did not know why he was like this.

“Did you move my stuff?” Legend sounded like he was trying to hold back his anger. His hooded friend shrunk back, holding his hands up in defense. Sheerow was now perched on top of his head.

“Listen, listen. I can explain, alright? I simply reorganized everything because I kept tripping on everything,” Legend shrunk back this time, a bit embarrassed, “It’s simply safer this way.”

“Some stuff is missing,” Wild muttered. How he noticed, Four didn’t know.

“Oh! I put some things in the basement. I also made a basement!” Ravio said cheerfully, Sheerow chirping along.

“I wonder if there’s anywhere to sleep,” Sky asked.

“I wonder too!” Ravio said, still somehow chipper, “I have made myself a cot to sleep on,” he gestured over to the dark purple mattress at the uppermost left corner of the room, “I don’t know where your bed went Mr. Hero, but I forgot to ask you before you left.”

“You didn’t find the attic?” Legend asked. He was fiddling with a yellow cape with red accents.

“There’s an attic?”

Legend sighed as he strode towards the upper right corner, slinging the cape on. In a swift motion he pulled out his sword, half-swording it and hooked the cross-guard onto something. A quick pull and a set of stair fell down to the floor.

“That’s the attic,” he stated simply. A couple of them oohed and aahed. “Now, I’m going to sleep in my room. Have fun!” In an instant, Legend jumped up, higher than usual and it quickly clicked in Four’s mind that it was because of the cape.

Everyone was surprised, no being able to react in time to stop Legend from going up into the attic and pulling up the ladder, cackling like a mad man as some of them-mostly Ravio, Time, and Sky-tried to get him to stop and be normal. It didn’t work as Legend was successful in locking the attic door behind him, and no one could unlock it.

Four noticed something on the wall near the door hatch. He resolved to check it out later.

“…Well,” Ravio twiddled his thumbs, “I can make some room for some sleeping bags! Free of charge, since your Link’s…family.”

“I don’t wanna sleep in a sleeping bag again!” Wild and Wind both whined.

“Ravio,” Warriors snapped to get his attention, “Is there any space in the basement?”

“Well, yes, but it’s cold down there. I uh, I can-was going to move these boxes down there, but if some of you help, I’ll give you all discounts for future purchases!”

“Well-“ Time began before being quickly cut off by Wars.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t we help? Come on men! Let’s assist our merchant friend.” The rest of the Links sighed. Of course they would help but it not like they wanted to move boxes all night before they could go to sleep. It’s not like it would take too long with all of them working together, they just wanted to go to sleep as soon as possible.

Legend was a lucky man indeed.

After clearing enough space, everyone obviously went straight to sleep. Ravio was the only with the bed, and it was clear that he felt a bit bad about it. Would’ve felt even more bad if Warriors didn’t keep encouraging him the whole time. What was the deal with that? But nobody really questioned him, because fatigue was starting to get to all of them.

But Four couldn’t sleep. He said he’d go out for a walk before he did and no one objected. In reality, he was going for a bit more than just a simple night walk.

It didn’t take long to find one. A Stump Entrance. A Minish Portal. Jackpot.

Four stepped on the stump and shrunk down, falling in between the cracks of the wood. He had missed jumping on the mushrooms within these Stump Entrances. The tiny stones that once framed the portal door with were worn and chipped, maintenance having stopped long ago.

But the Minish were here, he knew it. Where they’ve gone now, he didn’t know. He at least hoped that they were still around long after he was dead. They were no longer in Hyrule, or this part of Hyrule. As he made his way back to Legend’s house, he wonded how Ezlo was doing, what could’ve happened to him. He thought about Vaati, who once was a Minish as well. Did Legend know about him? Had he ever even heard of the Minish?

These thoughts continued once he finally got to the home. There was a small door near the front door, big enough for only Minish to go through. At least they were still here when the house was built, at the very least.

Four had to be very careful when traversing around the home. It was like a maze to avoid his sleeping companions, to not wake him up. After a terrifying time of almost getting smacked by wondering hands, he finally reached the corner the attic door was at. And Four silently cheered when he noticed the very worn engraved steps going up the wall, with a tiny hole up on the top. He was very glad for his Grip Ring, but he still almost fell down numerous times. But he eventually got to the attic.

The first thing that pulled his attention wasn’t Legend, no. It was a mask that he’d only seen before in the hands of Wild. Four now understood why Legend thought it was one of a kind. And now he understood it really was dark magic.

It was covered by a glass case, hanging upon the top of wall. Shaped like triangle, fitting perfectly between the roofs. The dark magic still seeped through, barely, but Four could feel it in his tiny form. He forced himself to look away, for fear that it’ll convince him to try to covet it’s power, like how Time had once described the legend behind it. The old man knew more about that mask than just that legend, even if tried to make it seem like he didn’t. Why did Legend have this mask? And how did he get it? Was it all connected to Time?

Four turned his focus to Legend, the scene before him being a surprising sight. He was sitting on a wooden stool, a stone statue the same size as the vet in front of him. It looked like him too, except for the outfit and hair being much more simple and blocky. It was chipped in various places, and Legend was repairing them at a rapid pace. It must’ve looked a lot worse before he started working on it, Four knew.

The statue had an odd mask on where its face would be, two large hollow holes for the eyes and a smaller one for the mouth. There was…an aura, around it, that Four could sense. Not really an actual aura, per se, but a feeling, a feeling that made it seem more than just just a statue. Like it was alive, yet resting, somewhat similar to an Eyegore Statue and yet very, very different. It was like it was in a deep slumber, like it was never alive to begin with yet it’s heart was beating proudly.

An odd sight for Four’s eyes.

Four wandered about the attic, looking around Legend’s quaint room. The closet was slightly ajar, enough for Four to see what was inside even if he wasn’t Minish size. But if he was normal size, he wouldn’t be able to jump inside of it. There were a lot of colorful outfits inside, and he felt a bit overwhelmed. The closet was also much bigger on the inside, like an actual walk-in closet. Legend really did love his magic items huh. The outfits were also probably magic items as well, due to the fact that Four couldn’t ever imagine Legend wearing full body tights. One of them was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen, and the other was clearly based on Tingle.

There was also one that looked a bit like Time’s armor, with a mask hung next to it that had the markings that Time had on his face, except the red markings were under both of the eyes. The eyes are painted to be entirely white, an odd, but important choice to note down in Four’s opinion. But it was yet another thing related to Time, Legend’s actual predecessor. Yet he told him that he felt more like Four was his predecessor, despite having so many things connected to Time. He still hasn’t found the Four Sword. And despite his efforts, he couldn’t find it within the closet. He did, however, find a number of different tunics in different colors. Most of them green, but there was a certain set of tunics that caught his eye.

The tunics were simple, each having matching, lighter shirts of the same color. There was a swirl on the belt buckles, reminiscent of Wind’s. There was a red one, a green one, a blue one, and a purple one, the last one looking newer compared to the rest.

Before Four could question why that was, Legend suddenly opened the closet. The tiny blacksmith quickly ran to hide underneath one of the many different robes. Peaking from underneath the robe, he saw Legend grabbing the purple tunic he was just looking at and walked out. Four scrambled to follow him as quietly and sneakily as he could.

Legend thankfully didn’t notice the tiny hero behind him as he walked over to the statue, now fully repaired in such a short time. Or it could’ve been a long time, spread out across many months or many many years. He put the clothes onto the statue, an anxious look on his face as he did so. Four was also a bit anxious, deciding to wait this out before tying to figure out what exactly was going on.

Legend cheered silently as he finished dressing the statue. Four found himself cheering alongside him.

“Looking good Hylia,” Legend whispered with a wide smile, “Hylia. Yeah, that’s a good name for you.” He sat down on his stool, examining the statue from there. Four inched his was towards the hole near the door, since it seemed like Legend was almost done with this.

“I just need to figure out how to make you like the other two,” the other two colors, Four noted, “But I don’t really want to go back to Hytopia. Hmm…” Legend bit his lip as he thought about what to do. Four was finally at the hole, standing in front of it. Without a warning sign of any kind, Legend glanced over to the attic door, to where Four was.

The both of them froze. Legend definitely noticed the colorful little speck that stood out like a sore thumb against the wooden floor. The vet’s eyes were wide, but didn’t move much other than that. Four didn’t want to move at all, his mind racing on what to do now. Legend kept staring at him, wide-eyed and unblinking, for the longest time. What was less than a minute felt like hours as Four became more and anxious about what his friend would do.

Legend inhaled sharply as he pressed his lips together, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“Well then,” Legend spun towards the statue, leaning forwards, propping up his head with his hands, “I suppose I could figure out something with the Four Sword. That could help. But that’s something for another day, don’t you think?”

Four fervently nodded, but he didn’t think Legend could see that. Either way, he then ran out out the attic, slowing his fall down with his Roc’s Cape. He was able to glide away a good distance, soon able to go through the small door, go to Minish Portal, turn back to normal size, and return back to house through the normal door. As quietly as he could, he wormed his way into his sleeping bag.

He couldn’t fall asleep. All he could do was wait for night to pass, and process what just happened.

His shadow was definitely laughing at him.

#linked universe #lu fanfiction #lu legend #lu four #legend lu #lu vio #triforce heroes mention ooo #purple doppel!!! #also the rest of the guys are here but are no focused on in this. I guess time kinda counts #lu time #around 4000 words last I checked #also didn’t mean to post this so soon after the official update. neat

[imwriting0verhere]

Love Again

Chapter 2

It’s been four days since the party and you had finally managed to talk to Sam. Or rather, ask him over so you could talk.

Usually you would be excited to see him, greeting him with a hug, picking up some beers from the kitchen and then making your way over to the sofa. And that’s where you’d usually spend hours talking and laughing and having the best time together.

But today, you’re so nervous to see him. Walking around your flat, constantly looking out the kitchen window to check if he is here yet. You almost jump as the doorbell finally rings.

You take a deep breath before reaching for the door and pulling it open “Hiya” you exhale, while trying to look everywhere but his face. You hear him chuckle before he replies “Hiya sweetheart” which finally makes you look at him.

He is gorgeous as ever. Short curly hair, a bit tousled from the wind on his walk over. His blue eyes warm and welcoming as always. A bit of stubble on his face, which means he hasn’t shaved since you last saw him. The smile on his face turning into a small frown “You going to let me in like?” he asks. “Oh of course, yes, come on in” you laugh awkwardly as you let him slip past you and shut the door behind him.

You two wordlessly make your way into the kitchen where he immediately opens the fridge and takes out two bottles, walking right up to you and passing you one. “So what’ve you got planned for today?”

You take a sip before looking up at him, trying to gauge his reaction “Um actually I was hoping we could catch up and talk…about some stuff” you say before loosing confidence and staring at the beer in your hand “there’s something a wanted to ask you, Sam”.

“Okay” he says before gently taking your hand and guiding you over so you two can sit on the sofa.

“When do you leave for Amsterdam?”

“In two weeks, our first show is on the 19th”

“I’m glad! I don’t leave until the 24th so we can make the most of our time at home together” he tells you with a big smile, before squeezing your knee lightly. He sips his beer as he casually leans back against one arm of your sofa, his body turned towards you. You have one leg resting on the cushion, the other is still on the floor, bouncing up and down nervously. He’s looking at you for a moment longer, seemingly not noticing the nervous energy in our body. Or he just doesn’t say anything.

“You must be excited to go back over to the States eh?” why is this so awkward today? Talking to Sam about literally anything never feels this tense or dull.

“I’m fucking buzzing like! I hope we’ll be finally breaking into America this time like” he looks so excited and ready for this chance again. Now with a proper album under his belt, it should be a cinch to start making a name for himself with international audiences as well. Him and the lads have worked so hard for this and there is no one who deserves it more.

“It’s a shame you can’t come with us” he pokes your arm teasingly.

You had moved to London only 5 years ago, and up north to Newcastle only 2. And even though it truly feels like your home now, with all your friends and found family, the happiest you have been in years. You still miss it to be home sometimes, truly home. In New York, where you were born and raised and had lived with your mum and younger sister. You had taken the opportunity to move to London to further your career. And it helps that you travel for work anyways, so you can visit home much more frequently than you first thought. But knowing that Sam and the boys are going over without you this time, after having your band as support act the last time they played the States, feels a bit strange. And wrong.

 “I hope I’m going to be too busy to worry about that. And then over the summer I will have some time to go visit mum for a bit” you say fondly.

“I bet it won’t be the same this time around though. Sooner or later you’ll miss the craziness us lads brought with it” Sam winks at you and you can’t help but laugh at that.

“Yeah right Fender, keep telling yourself that” you can’t keep the smile out of your voice. And Sam is just as happy and relaxed. This is how it’s supposed to be between you two.

It makes your stomach churn, thinking about how he made you feel at the new year’s party, and why you had actually asked him over today. This time it must show on your face because instantly Sam shifts forward on the sofa and looks at you with concern in his eyes. Concern for his best friend.

“Everything ok?” and as he’s reaching out to you, you realise that you can’t delay this any further. So while taking a shaky breath you mirror his actions and lean further towards him.

“I um, I actually wanted to talk to you about NYE and, um and your girlfriend” you swallow thickly, hating how that word tastes in your mouth. Slowly finding the irritation and hurt you felt a few days ago, when he had showed up with her.

“Ok sure, what about it?”. He seemingly still has no idea how he had made you feel that night.

“Sam. I was honestly really surprised you’d bring someone. I didn’t even know you’d met someone new, after…” you look up at him quickly, your voice getting quieter as you try to make him understand what you mean.

He nods as if finally understanding what you mean “I honestly didn’t expect to meet someone so quick as well. And definitely didn’t expect it to turn so serious” he chuckles at that, seemingly not the slightest bit aware of how much this hurts you.

“And I just figured it would make more sense to tell you and finally introduce her to everybody in person”

You are torn because, yes it does make sense to hear it like that, but at the same time you know that some of the boys had already met her while down in London over the past couple weeks.

“Well, apparently Joe and Dean had already met her prior to the party. So I’m just a bit confused as to why you wouldn’t tell me”

You really don’t want to start a big fight over this, but your irritation grows as Sam is trying to play this down.

You can see in his expression that he’s surprised by you knowing about that “Oh, well, ya” he’s rubbing the back of his neck before he continues “The lads were with me for some last-minute recording. You knew that. I guess we went oot for a few pints after and she came along one night”

He is looking at you now, confident stare, as if trying to get you to believe what he just told you. But you can see he doesn’t even believe it himself. Why is he being so cryptic about this though.

“And how did you know about it anyways?” he adds accusingly.

“Tom told me” You reply sharply. “He told me because he had noticed something was off at the party. Something you didn’t seem to notice or even care about!” you are getting agitated really fast now, but you just can’t help it. You’ve known Sam for so many years now, having gone through so much together and nothing seemed to be able to come between you. You two were each other’s confidant and you never ever lied to each other. So why are you getting the feeling that he is keeping something from you? Why do you feel so betrayed?

“Why are you getting so worked up over this now? I go to the pub all the time with the lads, and we meet other people, all the time! I don’t have to tell you about that”

“You know that’s different Sam!” you huff and get up from the sofa, turning your back towards him for a moment. Letting out a sigh and pinching the bridge of your nose, you turn around to look at him again.

“Sam I just, I was surprised ok.”

He looks up at you from his place on the sofa, a sympathetic look in his eyes.

“I didn’t think I’d see you with someone else. Least of all at our friends’ NYE party. And because you hadn’t said anything I expected to be spending New Year’s Day with you, like we usually do”

He lets out a breath before getting up as well and stopping right in front of you “Come ‘ere” he says gently before pulling you in for a hug. You hesitate at first, put quickly relax into his arms. Relishing in the moment. Sam is a fantastic hugger and you had missed this.

You pull apart and look at each other “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner” you nod in acknowledgement “And a’m sorry you had to find oot from Tom” he laughs lightly at that, trying to lighten the mood.

“Thank you, Sam” he sits back down and takes another swig of his beer

“I’ve got to ask you one more thing” you announce, barely above a whisper. You’re afraid that this will make the situation worse again, but you have to. This is what’s been weighing on you the most. What hurt the most when you saw him and Amber together.

He looks up at you, expectantly

“You told me, when we broke up, that it wasn’t the right time. That you weren’t capable of committing to a serious relationship right now.” you swallow, feeling the tears starting to collect in your eyes

“And I understood and accepted that. We are both on tour soon. We won’t be home for months”

You can see the hurt in his face now too, his sense of guilt, because he didn’t want to hurt you. Or he didn’t stop to think about how this would hurt you.

“So why did she get promoted to serious girlfriend, but I wasn’t good enough for that?” a lonesome single tear rolls down your right cheek, which seems to spring him into action

“Y/N, I… that’s not…” his left hand cups your cheek and he wipes his thumb over your skin

“Darling that’s not what happened” he reassures you. And you look up at him, searching his face because this is Sam. You want to believe him, you usually do. But you need him to explain it, need more from him.

“The conversation we had, having to tell you I couldn’t be with you right now, was the hardest thing a had to do. But it’s for the best right now.”

More tears are now rolling down your face and you try to desperately blink them away

“When I was introduced to Amber a few weeks later, I didn’t expect anything to come from it. And I didn’t think of giving her any kind of status, but, after we’ve spent some time together she insisted. And I didn’t think anything of it because a’ll be in the US soon. I don’t know how long this is going to last with her like, if at all.”

“So you just thought you’d string her along until you’re leaving here?” you don’t even know where this is coming from. You don’t even like the girl, but hearing Sam justify his behavior like that. It’s making you angry.

“What?” he says perplexed, not expecting your reaction. He slowly drops his hand from your face and takes a step back.

“Sam, less than three months ago you still told me you love me. Then you break up with me and now you found some poor girl to entertain yourself with, just so you won’t have to deal with it?! Does she even know about us?” your voice getting louder and more probing. You can’t believe he’d just do this and not see how wrong it all is.

Sam has taken another step back, looking at you in disbelieve

“No she doesn’t know about us! And why should she? Y/N/N, what you and I had was different and very special to me. I don’t know how long this will last with her yet, she doesn’t need to know” Sam looks so convinced of what he is saying. Trying to convince me as well, that this is okay.

“Then why even get with her in the first place? Do you know how this has made me feel? To see you parading her around our friends” you ask him.

“This has nothing to do with yer though. And I don’t need to explain myself like. I don’t get how this is such a big deal?” he’s frustrated and you know he didn’t expect you to interrogate him about this.

“But it is a big deal Sam! You’re my best friend and I thought we trusted each other! I can’t believe you’re playing the victim here now”

“I’m not playing victim, I just don’t get why you’re all of a sudden acting like you’re the one that’s getting pissed on! I’m not going oot with you, for fucks sake, so why don’t you just mind your own business?!” Sam is livid now and you can’t believe he is throwing this in your face. You feel your heart clench at his words, a painful reminder of how he’d hurt you in the first place

“No, you’re not” your voice is laced with sorrow as you angrily wipe your tears away “But I thought you might reflect back to our relationship and take some time to process what happened, and what I meant to you. Before going off to fuck someone new!”

“Oh great, I wonder how long you’ve been waiting to throw that in wor face” he seethes at you with a humorless laugh before grabbing his coat. Holding up his hands in defeat he looks at you “You know what, I don’t need this shit! You think whatever the fuck yer want, Y/N!” before storming out of your flat.

In every other situation you would’ve stalked after him and made sure you don’t leave a situation being mad at each other. But today you just wait until you hear the front door shut. You’re standing still in the middle of the living room before you release a frustrated scream and decide to make your way over to your tiny back garden for some fresh air. This is unfamiliar territory for you and Sam. You have no idea what will come of you both now.

#sam fender fanfic #sam fender imagines #sam fender fanfiction #sam fender x reader #sam fender #love again

[tennessoui]

democratic fic part four

(democratic fic masterlist) (2.5k)

“We should go,” Kenobi says.  His voice shakes as much as his hands do, and Anakin has the almost irrepressible urge to grab them and still them. Hold them. 

“You should never have come down here in the first place,” Anakin bites back, even though his anger is far from productive. They should go. Anakin knows this. Anakin should be leaping at the chance to whisk a willing Kenobi back up to the safety of the Upper Levels. Kenobi is being cooperative. He’s only known the boy for a few days, but he already understands that Kenobi is rarely cooperative at all.

Kenobi’s lip curls up into the beginnings of a sneer, but something freezes suddenly in his face. His eyes go blank as he looks around, and then they start to water.

Oh stars, the boy is crying.

Oh stars, the boy cries so prettily that it makes Anakin feel like a dirty old man to have his hands all over him like this.

“They—” Obi-Wan blinks tear-filled eyes up at Anakin. “They were going to—”

Anakin swallows rather thickly. “Yeah,” he mutters, letting his hands fall to rest on the boy’s shoulders. The Force sings around them, so damned loud Anakin can hardly concentrate. “But uh. You’re safe, alright? I, uh.”

He flicks his eyes back to the crumpled, still forms of Obi-Wan’s would-be attackers, and the reality of what he just did catches up to him like a tidal wave. “I killed them,” he says out loud, eyes widening. Oh fucking Sith’s hells, he just killed a sentient. He could be—arrested or lose his seat in the Senate—he took another’s life—Force, the Jedi would demand he be put in Force suppression cuffs again. Worse, he’d have to sit through their remedial lessons and the Council would lecture him for hours on proper use of the Force. 

At least if he’s behind prison bars, he’d be forced to pay attention this time around, he thinks rather hysterically.

A pair of slender arms wind around his waist, shocking him out of the spiral of his thoughts. “For me,” Obi-Wan murmurs, pressing up into his hug and resting his head on Anakin’s shoulder, face turned into his neck. He can feel the wetness of Obi-Wan’s cheeks from his tears and the softness of his lips brushing his skin as he speaks.

He fits so well into Anakin’s arms, like he belongs there. 

This thought is just as hysterical as his previous ones.

“You killed them for me,” Obi-Wan repeats, nuzzling further into his neck. The way he says it makes it sound like it’s all fucking good, a justification to explain the literal fucking crime Anakin’s just committed. 

A voice that sounds very much like Padmé is screaming at him in his head that no justification can explain away taking someone’s life, but then Obi-Wan pulls back from his one-sided hug and looks up at him again with wet eyes. His face is scratched up and bleeding. His hair is mussed up too from the creature’s claws gripping and twisting it.

It makes such a sense of wrongness well up in Anakin��s chest that he almost chokes on it. 

“They would have hurt me,” Obi-Wan says. “But you killed them before they could.” 

Anakin gets the very strange impression that if Obi-Wan were a loth-cat, he would be purring right now. Purring and rubbing up against him.

Though, he doesn’t have to be part loth-cat for that last part, which he’s already proven.

But it’s not as if the boy is wrong. The Zephrian would have hurt him. Anakin prevented that hurt from coming to fruition.

As if someone else is controlling his body, he raises his hand to Obi-Wan’s face and fits it against his unblemished cheek. They’re both shaking now. Adrenaline leaving the body perhaps. Residual fear from Obi-Wan. Maybe even shock settling in.

“We should go,” Obi-Wan whispers, even as he stands still, face cradled in Anakin’s palm. “This may be the lower levels, but eventually a Coruscanti guard is going to find the bodies.”

The bodies. The bodies that Anakin made.

Obi-Wan’s eyes flare for a second—a trick of the light making them shine golden as he huffs out a breath. “I’m cold,” he says, and he shivers again.

He’s cold because he’s wearing a skimpy little outfit among the shadows of the Lower Levels. He’s cold because more skin is showing than he’s got hidden away. He’s cold because he is not tucked away in his grandfather’s apartments where a pretty little bird like him should be.

Anakin’s nostrils flare even as he drops his hand away from Kenobi’s face to yank his cloak off and drag it over the boy’s shoulders. “We’re leaving,” he bites out, anger rising once more at the sight of the little princeling in front of him.

“That’s what I’ve been—Force!” Obi-Wan’s snappish reply turns into a surprised curse when Anakin takes his elbow and pulls him into motion. “Ow, Anakin!”

But Anakin knows now what Obi-Wan really sounds like when he’s in pain, the high, pitchy gasp he’s capable of making, so he does not ease up on his grasp. He just—he needs to get the boy back where he belongs, away from him, and then he needs to forget all about Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“You’re going home,” Anakin snarls, cutting through the crowd in the opposite direction. The smartest of the people around them get out of the way as soon as they see him coming. Kenobi makes a little noise of surprise when someone shoves into him, pressing closer to Anakin. “And then I’m never going to see you again.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic,” Obi-Wan says, panting slightly as he has to walk twice as fast to keep up with Anakin’s strides. “My grandfather will hardly ban you from seeing m—”

Anakin swings them to a stop and pushes the infuriating princeling up against the closest wall. “That wasn’t an opinion,” he growls, using every inch of his greater height to loom over the boy. “That was an order.”

Kenobi’s eyes are round, wet. There’s none of that fear that had been present earlier, even though he is being held against an alleyway’s disgusting wall by a murderer. 

“You should be afraid,” Anakin mutters, tracing his eyes over the lines of Kenobi’s face. “Why aren’t you afraid.” This isn’t a question either; this is a demand. 

Kenobi blinks up at him and then relaxes into the wall. “You killed them for me,” he murmurs. “And then you gave me your cloak.”

As if that’s an explanation.

Anakn bares his teeth, feeling wild as the Force howls around him.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan adds, dropping his eyes away only to look at him once more from under his fucking eyelashes. “For saving me.”

Some newly awakened beast inside Anakin roars at this, though even he cannot tell if it’s from satisfaction, hunger, or rage.

“I am never going to see you again,” he repeats as firmly as he knows how.

“Yes, Senator,” Kenobi replies. His mouth curls up into a small smile. Anakin wants to bruise him. “But I can’t fly like this, Senator,” he bites at his lip. The cut on his face has stopped bleeding, but it looks wicked. His hair is still a mess. “Please take me home.”

Anakin scowls. The boy calls him senator like it’s some other title altogether. It makes his tongue feel heavy, his chest tight, and his face hot. “I’m flying,” he barks before turning out of the alleyway. He feels wrong-footed. Wrong. 

He killed a sentient today, but all he can think about is Obi-Wan Kenobi’s pretty little face looking up at him as tears beaded along his eyes. All he can think is that he should have kille the Zephrian faster, before they or their monkey could ever touch Kenobi. All he can think is that he wants to make Kenobi cry again.

Kenobi’s speeder-bike is where the boy left it, watched over by the same eager vendor. “No one touched it,” the man swears as soon as he sees Anakin approach.

“Good,” Anakin tells him. “Much obliged.”

He swings his leg up and over the seat grabbing its handles. It’s a new make, of course it fucking is. The little princeling would never fly anything but the newest speeder on the line. It makes him seethe, that Kenobi will never know the poverty Anakin came from, that he’ll never appreciate how fucking good he has it, that he’ll risk everything he has on a whimsical decision. He’ll leave a brand new speeder in a shit alleyway. He’ll parade around the Lower Levels in diamonds and sapphires. He’ll cry for others—

“Hey!” The vendor protests. “Hey, you said—”

“I lied,” Anakin growls back. Kenobi’s arms wrap around his waist again. The boy presses indecently, unnecessarily close. 

“You sleem—”

“You should leave,” Obi-Wan’s voice chimes in, lilting and calm and filled with such a heavy application of sheer power that Anakin’s feet automatically kick the speeder into low gear before he realizes that Kenobi wasn’t commanding him. 

“I…should leave,” the vendor repeats, sounding struck over the head. Anakin feels rather struck too. He’d heard of the Jedi mindtrick, most people had given the prevalence of the Jedi in popular culture, but he’d never seen it in action. He’d never heard it.

It sends a shiver of disgust down his spine in a way the popularized idea of the trick never had. To take control of someone’s mind—to enslave them to your will, even for a second….

Kenobi presses his face against his neck, turning so that his lips slide over his skin. “We should leave too,” he murmurs as if he has not just stolen a man’s free will from him, if only for a moment. 

But then—Anakin killed a sentient tonight. Does he have any room to be disgusted with Kenobi’s actions?

Padmé would despise both of them if she knew what they got up to tonight when they left the gardens. Wouldn’t she? Not that he’d ever tell her.

Anakin’s mouth forms a thin line as he pushes the speeder into motion. The engine purrs near-silently as it’s guided forward. Anakin almost wishes it were louder so he could not hear Obi-Wan’s inhales and exhales—but then, he’d still be able to feel them, plastered to his back as he is.

He flies, with Kenobi’s loose instruction, to the sector and apartments the Count is renting out. All the lights but the ones illuminating the docking bay are shut off, the quarters completely dark.

Anakin pulls the speeder parallel to the docking bay and waits for the boy to slide off and onto the platform.

“Is this the trade then?” Kenobi asks lightly as he dismounts, his hands clutching each other beneath the too-long sleeves of the cloak when he stands straight on the safety of the docking bay. “I keep your cloak, you keep my speeder-bike?”

“I will have one of my aides return it to this address tomorrow,” Anakin says flatly. “But you can keep the cloak.”

“I don’t want your stupid cloak!” The words burst out of Obi-Wan, much louder and more fierce than Anakin expected. The boy’s hands make fists at his sides. 

He recovers quickly though. “Then what do you want, Kenobi? Because I can’t pretend I have the slightest idea!”

“I want—” the boy cuts himself off an scrubs his hands over his face so roughly that the cut across his chin and up his cheek starts bleeding once more. Anakin watches it re-open in the moonlight, Kenobi’s blood appearing more black than red. “I just wanted you to like me,” Obi-Wan finishes with a sniffle, voice breaking halfway through his confession.

Anakin clenches his jaw and looks away, feeling awkward and confused and strangely sympathetic. “You cannot force another into liking you, Obi-Wan,” he finally replies, cutting his eyes back to the boy’s pathetic figure. “It is not like one of your mind tricks.”

“I know that!” Obi-Wan says, “Of course I know that, I’m not a youngling!”

“You’ve been acting like one this entire night!” Anakin snaps back, sympathy draining away from him to make room for the anger.

Obi-Wan stills, and his eyes flash. “I can show you, Senator,” he says, tone changing completely. Becoming sultry. Dark with promise. He takes a step forward, allowing Anakin’s cloak to shrug off his narrow shoulders and pool around his feet. “I can show you I’m not a youngling…if you want…”

“What—”

Obi-Wan flicks his fingers through the air, and the speeder’s engine is sputters into idleness at the same time Anakin finds himself pushed roughly back on the seat, leaving just enough room for Obi-Wan to slither over his spread legs and sit himself in his lap.

“Kenobi—”

Obi-Wan’s arms wrap loosely around his neck. The only reason Anakin doesn’t shake him off is because he’d probably fall to his death off the docking bay just to be contrary.

That’s the only reason.

“I don’t want you to think of me as a youngling, Senator,” Obi-Wan murmurs, ducking his head and catching Anakin’s eye. “I’m not a youngling, and if we’re being honest, I’m not sure you’ve been looking at me like I’m one either.”

“Get off—”

“Exactly what I want, Senator,” Obi-Wan says, using his grip around Anakin’s neck to rock down against him. It feels good. Stars help him, it feels good.

And Obi-Wan must know it or feel his pleasure in the Force or something, because he smirks slightly, a crack of honest emotion in his seductress mask. 

It sends a pang of arousal up his chest at the same moment he finds the strength to raise Kenobi off of him and push him to the docking bay’s floor.

The little minx falls easily onto his back, spreading his legs wide as he props himself up on his elbows to pout up at Anakin. “Well now I’m just confused, Senator. Do you want me to act like a youngling or act like a man?”

Anakin exhales forcefully, hands clenching into fists on the speeder bike’s handles. His front feels cold; his lap too empty.

Palpatine was right. Kenobi is dangerous. Best avoided. Best to be put out of sight and out of mind. “I want to never see you again.” 

The words come out flat and robotic. He can’t even fucking blame Kenobi for laughing when he hears them. Anakin sort of feels like laughing at himself the entire flight back to his apartments.

When he wakes in the middle of the night, erection straining against the thin material of his sleep pants and Kenobi’s sweet face fading from behind his eyelids, he doesn’t feel much like laughing anymore. Perhaps more like sobbing, as if he were the young temperamental boy out of the pair of them. 

(Poll For The Next Part LIVE)

#democratic fic #obikin #sith obi-wan #sith obi-wan is not as good at this whole deception thing as he thinks #he's like i have 2 modes: slutty and bitchy #and if senator skywalker does not fall for either then im gonna try murder #because he can only pretend to be innocent for like 5 seconds #his halo is slipping so fast #so easy to break lmao #i really enjoy writng this obi-wan #and i cant wait for the next bit #cause i think it'll probbaly be in obi-wan's pov

[seriesxwriting]

My alpha male

W Rafe Cameron

Warnings- fighting, swearing, hidden messages of sex, mentions of injuries.

Series- outer banks

Summary- you and Rafe are on holiday in Cyprus. And some drunk guy thinks he has the right to talk to you in front of Rafe. Bad move mate. (Protective rafe)

Idea from a similar situation I witnessed on my holiday in Cyprus yesterday 😂🫶

“Morning beautiful” Rafe smiled as I rolled over to check if he was awake yet. “Mm good morning handsome” I giggled snuggling into his neck, rafes soft arms came over pulling me into a bear hug. “You excited?” “Hmm i would be if I was here with literally anybody else” “shut up” Rafe laughed into my hair nudging me slightly.

“I’m joking, I’ve never been more excited” I kissed his jaw before sitting up and looking around the hotel room. My hair was all wispy and messy when I looked into the mirror in front of me. Rafe sat up too putting his head on my shoulder, I watched him through the mirror and when he noticed he smiled. The famous Rafe Cameron smile. “I love you” I whispered turning my head to kiss his.

“Mm where’d that come from” he asked still with that smile that just made me melt. “Just felt like saying it”. Rafe moved his head and turned my face towards him so I was looking him in the eyes. He gently laid a soft kiss on my lips and then pulled away “I love you so much” his thumb came up swiping my face gently. “We should get to breakfast” I told him with a wide smile.

Throwing the covers off me I jumped out of bed and walked over to the wardrobe. “Which bikini do I wear today?” I asked him with an eyebrow up, Rafe lied down with one arm under his head looking at me pull out all different types of swimsuits. “Pink? Or yellow maybe oh or the white one? And I have a…” “…the white one” Rafe cut in pointing with his free hand. “You’ll look amazing in all of them especially that white one”

“I’m surprised you know, that your so eager for me to wear these around other boysss” “you can wear what you want y/n, wear whatever makes you happy” Rafe smirked at me from the bed. “Why” I half laughed squinting at him “because darlin” the boy jumped up and when walking past me grabbed my waist making me look up at him. “I can fight” he told me pressing a kiss on my forehead.

Before taking off into the bathroom. I shook my head smiling to myself before taking my white bikini out of the wardrobe changing into it. Me and Rafe went down to the breakfast buffet and helped ourselves to the pastry’s, coffee and bacon. We then went down to the pool to lay on some sun beds and splash each other in the pool before realising we looked about half our age.

“Here” Rafe passed me my towl as we climbed out and walked back over to the sun beds to dry off. “Thanks hun” I took it off of him taking a seat on my sun bed laying down, Rafe did the same thing. About four seconds later I heard a sun bed being dragged to my side. Me and Rafe both snapped our heads to my left side.

“You alright guys?” A boy, maybe a bit older than me and Rafe, middle or late twenty’s, was standing above the sun bed. He plodded down next to me putting one arm behind his head and then exhaled. Me being the nice chatty person I was became smiley and excited to meet someone new. “Hi, we’re fine thanks how are you today” “oh I’m just chilling” he smiled turning his head to look at me.

“Cyprus is lovely huh?” “Wellll hmm the place is nice I guess, but the reason I’m here- just isn’t” he shook his head and looked back up to the sun. I looked over at Rafe who had a stern straight face, staring directly at the guy. “Why’s that?” I asked him turning back away from Rafe. “Oh um I have a wedding to go to on Saturday” “your wedding?” Rafe asked curiously “no no- not my wedding I’m single”

“Right” Rafe frowned getting pissed off, that’s when the wind blew the smell of alcohol off of the guy towards me. That made me feel more sympathetic for him, he didn’t really know what he was doing. “Yeah yeah, I’m the only single one and I have eight friends it’s a high school wedding, and I’m the only single one there” he told us. “On no” Rafe put bluntly clearly wanting him to go away.

“Are they always trying to set you up?” I asked with a sympathetic smile. “Y-yeah spot on!” He drunkenly exaggerated. “That’s okay, that’s how me and Rafe met, now we’re two years together tomorrow” I explained grabbing my boyfriends hand making sure he felt secure and making it very clear to the other guy that I had a man. “Yeah but like, what would you do in this situation?” “I’d probably go bed” Rafe stated not caring that he flipped the answer .

“Hmmm” he hummed and then jumped up from the sun bed without saying anything and wondered off into the crowed. “Fucking freak” Rafe muttered watching him walk over “Rafe he was drunk” I laughed quietly whacking him with my arm. “If people are drunk you just talk to them” “yeah thats just you, your too friendly he clearly wasn’t trying to just be friendly with you” Rafe stated before lying back down on the bed to soak up the sun.

“He didn’t know what he was doing” I shook my head smiling “I’m sure he didn’t” Rafe rolled his eyes before turning his wrist to look at the time. “Snack bar is open now” he clapped his hands together and rubbed them together. “Want anything beautiful?” “Erm- I don’t know what they have, just have an eye out for chicken please” I smiled patting his wrist. “Will do princess” he brought my hand up so he could kiss it.

Rafe got up to walk away but after two steps he came back “y/n if that guy comes back text me, phone me, shout my name what ever you want just tell me- gave me propa dodge vibes him” “okay rafe” I laughed shaking my head at his jealously. Little did he know how completely and utterly whipped I was for him, I’d never put our relationship in jeopardy especially for some random guy.

“What you thinking about” I heard a voice on my left. “Oh- hi again whered you disappeared off to?” I questioned being slightly weary now that Rafe had warned me about the guy. “Just about” he shrugged turning on his side to look at me “yeah it’s a nice hotel” I smiled while sitting up to get away slightly. I looked around towards the snack bar for my boyfriend but he was nowhere to be seen. “You know, you look really pretty in that bikini”

“Only I can say that, mate” I heard the familiar voice of Rafe’s. Shit. “Hey You alright” I looked around hearing the guy going in with the innocent response that clearly wasn’t going to work. “You got a name?” Rafe questioned to which the guy answered “edwardo” to him “Well edweirdo, I’m a bit confused right now because I just don’t understand how you didn’t get the hint when I told you to go to bed” Rafe bit his lip pretending to think.

He was playing with his prey. Except his prey didn’t realise he was about to be hurt. “Oh there was a hint?” He asked looking up at rafe. He put the plate of chicken nuggets on the table next to the guy before his arm swung out grabbing him by the neck and dragging him upwards so he was sitting. “Get up” Rafe snarled dragging him by the neck “rafe that’s enough come on” I rolled my eyes putting my arm out.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll make the man go away princess” “Rafe come on I’m serious” “fuck sake” he hissed pushing the man away from his grasp. He put his hands immediately up to his neck gasping for breath. “No one talks to my girl like that, now fuck off before I change my mind” Rafe snarled stepping forward to intimidate him. “Okay okay, I’m going” he put his hands up in defeat stepping a few paces back and the looked at me.

“Just quickly What are you doing Saturday?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve basically just signed your death Warrant” I told him with an eye roll. “Yeah” Rafe agreed before throwing his left fist into the man’s face. He stumbled backwards and Rafe strode towards him. “Shit” the guy tried throwing a punch back at rafe but he dodged it skilfully. I exhaled deeply knowing nithing could stop Rafe now. I layed back down on the sun bed facing another direction ignoring it all.

Until I heard a bottle smash which made me whip my head around quickly. Rafe had the guy pushed down against the counter of the bar and was holding a bottle to his throat. The bartender was shouting at him in Greek. “Rafe stop It!” I hissed jumping up from the beds. I felt like everyone was watching us, because they all were. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I was just lonely” “then grow a pair of balls to be friends with” Rafe scowled throwing the bottle on the side.

“Stop it Right now are you trying to get kicked out” I asked him angrily “n-no”’ he shook his head listening to me that I’d gotten pissed off. Rafe placed the bottle in my hand and let go of the helpless guy. “Now sit down” I snapped pointing at our sun beds across the walkway. I noticed he had a bruised forming on the jaw of his cheek. That was his only mark, edwardo was injured a lot worse. His right eye was swollen and had blackened already, his lip and eyebrow was cut as well.

“Dick” Rafe shoved him before walking off to where I told him to go. I followed him crossing my arms. But the people staring were pissing me off now too. “If you have something to say fucking see say it” I shouted throwing my arms out staring back ar a few of them. Rafe saw I was stressed and came over to me putting an arm around my waist. “I’m sorry” he whispered gently kissing my temple. “Rafe he was drunk he couldn’t even defend himself”

“Don’t give it out if you can’t take it” Rafe shrugged his shoulders with a little smirk. “This isn’t funny Rafe- I don’t understand why you get jelous do you not trust me?” “What? Of course I trust you y/n” he widened his eyes in complete shock. “Then why hurt him?” “Im selfish, I don’t want anyone to talk to you like that your mine and only mine”

“I’m yours and only yours, i would never touch another guy so stop It stop trying to be the alpha male” “I don’t need to try princess, I am the alpha male” Rafe half laughed laying back down the bed setting the food in between us. “You don’t need to be the alpha male there are no other males you need to dominate” I told him taking one, shoving it into my mouth. “Y/n im sorry” Rafe sighed rolling his head towards mine.

“Your not though rafe, if you could go back in time you’d do the exact same thing with out hesitation” he thought about that for a second before shutting up. The both of our hands came out to pick the last chicken nugget and we clashed, we looked up at each other and laughed gently. “I don’t want you to be pissed off on our two year anniversary holiday” “I’m not pissed off rafe, it’s hard to stay mad at you”

“I love you” Rafe picked up the chicken nugget and put it in my hand. “I’d love you too if you wasn’t so annoying” I smirked biting the nugget. “Ouch” he muttered laying back down. “I’m joking” I giggled nudging him. “But all will be forgotten of you get me a drink” “what do you want princess” “hmm- sex on the beach” I told him scratching my chin playfully.

“Oh if that’s what you wanted you should have just said” Rafe smirked looking into my eyes. “Just get my drink you muppet” I laughed shaking my head. “What a coincidence I was planning to take a beach trip tonight” Rafe said winking at me as he stood up to leave. “yeah?” I asked raising an eyebrow. “Yeah” he stated smirking now.

“Okay then, yeah” I shrugged with a knowing smile “ugh I love you so much, I’ll be back in a second” he jumped excitedly to kiss me on the cheek before bouncing off to grab me my drink.

#fyp #netflix #imagines #writers on tumblr #short storys #writing #outer banks #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron #rafe x oc #rafe x you #rafe x female!mc #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron outer banks #obx rafe #rafe obx #rafe imagine #rafe cameron imagine #obx imagine #obx netflix #obx fic #outer banks series #outer banks s3 #obx x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fic #rafe fluff #rafe cameron fanfiction

[soupangel]

Could you write a Mikasaxfem!reader or Anniexfem!reader please?

Thank you so much for the request!

Synopsis: while on a date with Mikasa, the power goes out

wc: 404

cw: none all fluff!

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It was supposed to be the perfect date. You’d cook dinner, watch a movie, and cuddle. Unfortunately, nothing ever goes right for you. So here you were on your date with Mikasa, sitting in the dark. Just as you were about to turn on the movie, the storm outside worsened, causing the wind to knock down the power lines. Leaving you and your date scrambling to find something to light up the room.

“I found some candles,” Yelled Mikasa from the other room. “This is one of those moments where I’m glad you have an addiction to buying candles and never using them. “

“Haha, just bring them here,” you laugh sarcastically. You turn away from the drawer you were looking through to see Mikasa walking into the kitchen, holding four large candles.

"Alright, let's get this party started," she says, setting the candles down.

“I’d hardly call this a party,” you say as she lights the candles.

Carefully, Mikasa carries two of the candles she lit into the living room. “C’mon,” she gasps “We can build a pillow fort. It’ll be like a sleepover!”

“A sleepover? Isn't that a bit childish? We've literally had sex before.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you said that.” Mikasa cackles.

“What it’s true!” you laugh.

“just get over here and help me build this thing.”

You spend the next twenty minutes building the perfect pillow fort, which is honestly impressive considering you’re doing this with only candlelight to brighten the room. Once finished, you both crawled into the fort and took your laid down. Mikasa lying on her pillow and you’re on her chest, her hand rubbing the top of your head.

You let out a relaxed sigh. “This isn’t so bad, not what we had planned, but anything with you is always going to be good.” Mikasa lets out a soft laugh before speaking.

“I’m glad the weather didn’t ruin our evening, and you know the candles make this kind of romantic.”

“That’s true.” You murmured, already half asleep. The feeling of Mikasa softly rubbing your head and the sound of her heartbeat through her chest lulling you to sleep. Before you completely fall asleep, you hear Mikasa say a soft 'I love you' and you can’t help but think that maybe nothing on this date went wrong at all. This is exactly how it should be.

#mikasa ackerman x reader #mikasa ackerman x fem!reader #attack on titan fanfiction #mikasa ackerman fluff #aot fanfiction #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #fem!reader #mikasa ackerman #attack on titan #aot #mikasa ackerman drabbble #aot drabble #attack on titan drabble

[coughloop]

you are quietly organizing a weekend away with some close friends at a rented lake side cabin. For environmental reasons you all choose to arrive in separate cars, and as Fred pulls up you remark, "looks like everyone's here now! Time for the real fun to begin"! Peter, standing behind you on the deck, lets out a grunt and looks confused. Paul, who was inside but has very well trained ears pops out of the kitchen door. "All? what about Chugs? isn't Chugs coming?" Paul asks, while Peter and Fred look at you like perplexed pups.

He speaks again, "Chugs always comes to the weekend getaways with the guys! Didn't you invite Chugs?" You knew this was coming, you had planned your piece but you still weren't ready for what suddenly felt like way to bright a spotlight. "Ch-Chugs isn't c--coming" you manage to stammer out "i didn't.... want him to, okay?"

"Why?" Peter asks, genuinely confused. Fred rolls his eyes and Paul turns his head. "WHy?" your voice begins to rise "WHY?" you start to feel the anger boiling in you again "Because LAST time we had CHUGS with US" you are screaming now "HE DRANK THE ENTIRE FUCKING LAKE, THE WHOLE THING, IN ONE GO, ON THE FIRST AFTERNOON." your heart is racing "I DIDNT GET TO GO SWIMMING EVEN ONCE. NOT A SINGLE FUCKING TIME, THATS WHY" you can feel the blood flowing to your face, feel how red you've gotten thinking about it all again.

You're three friends just stare at you, time seeming to stand still. No wind rustles the leaves in the trees, no birds sit on the branches singing for their mates. in this moment the four of you are perfectly alone, perfectly in tableau, waiting for someone, anyone to speak. Finally, an exhalation, Fred had been holding his breath since he stepped out of the car because he couldn't remember if air was still breathable in the country side or if it was more like the moon. He gasps for air, laboriously at first, but it quickly steadies out as he realizes the air is lovely and the breeze is divine.

He looks at you and speaks "I don't think that's really your call. Badlands Chugs is a friend of all of ours, its not like, up to you to decide whether he gets to spend time with us, besides you knew he had to film that weekend and you wouldn't give him any of your 2 liters so what else was he going to even do? that was a dick move man, for real".

Fred, now walking towards the cabin pushes past you on the stairs you were standing on the whole time and goes up to Peter and Paul. For the rest of the weekend you are ignored by your once close good friends. Sure they would acknowledge when you spoke to them directly, or asked for life saving first aid advice, but overall, the spark of friendship, the comradery wasn't there. The love you had between you and your friends was gone.

After the weekend you started texting them all less and less. You weren't sure if it was just because their responses were getting shorter and shorter if you felt like you just had less and less to say. You still saw Badlands Chugs around sometimes, He never did find out about the weekend you went up to the cabin without him, so he still treated you pretty well. But you knew what you did, you knew the wool you pulled over his eyes wouldn't stay there for ever. So you drifted away from him too, the last friend you had. The last person you felt like really wanted anything to do with you. All because you didn't want Badlands Chugs to drink another lake again.

You are the asshole.