#I’m tagging it like this so you’ll see it :)

[discordantwritings]

Discipline (Crocodile x Reader)

Warnings: Fem! Reader, mean dom Crocodile, bratty Reader, spanking, fingering, orgasm denial, overstimulation, PiV sex, inappropriate use of Crocodile’s hook, creampie

WC: 4K

Summary: Despite your dad’s warnings you decide to go have some fun at Rain Dinners. Sir Crocodile decides to keep an eye out for you- but he’s not expecting just how unreceptive you’d be towards his help. Seems like he will have to teach you some lessons…

Notes: I just like when he’s mean ok

Tagging: @keiva1000 @fanaticsnail

“Are you sure you want to come? You know how dangerous some of these people are…” Your father’s worried voice causes you to hesitate on your way out the door.

“Dad, it’s not like anyone would hurt me, they know I’m your daughter. And besides- you never let me have fun I just want to play at the casino! I probably won’t interact with any of your contacts.” You do your best not to be annoyed with him, he’s well meaning but overly paranoid- although that’s probably why he’s been so successful in dealing with so many pirates.

“Just- promise me you you’ll do your best to keep safe alright?” He looks at you with earnest that melts any budding defiance you had.

“Of course.” You wrap your arms around your dad’s shoulders and pull him into a tight hug.

“Alright kiddo let’s get going.” He squeezes you once before letting go and opening the door for you, letting you lead the way to Rain Dinners.

You knew it was going to be loud but nothing could prepare you for the overlapping sounds of slot machines, roulette tables, cards, and yelling all coming together in a wall of noise. While off putting for a second you quickly adjusted- the loud hustle and bustle was just what you wanted to experience. Bouncing on the balls of your feet you give your dad a thumbs up before bounding off further into the casino, ignoring the worry on his face.

You quickly find yourself at a blackjack table- the only game you have some confidence in your ability to not lose all your berry immediately- and strike up friendly conversation with the people already at the table. You’re not ignorant of the way some of the men lean in when you talk, the way the man sitting next you tried to guide your choices. The attention was exactly what you wanted, giggling as you played dumb and let the man on your right explain to you that you should always double on an eleven as if you didn’t know that already. The attention rode the line on smothering- which is why you noticed when everyone suddenly went cold and glued their eyes to the table.

“Find another table.” A gruff voice sounded to your right and for a second you think it’s directed at you but when you see the man sitting next to you scramble away without his chips you realize what’s going on.

Sir Crocodile, owner of Rain Dinners and notorious pirate slides into the seat next to you, golden hook absently counting the chips left on the table. You can’t help but stare at him, broad shoulders pushing into your space and imposing presence making everyone else at the table slowly collect their chips and leave.

“Don’t tell me I’m getting kicked out already.” You smile up at him, already mapping the features of his handsome face.

“No, certainly not. You’re a valuable customer.” There’s a twinge of sarcasm to his voice that has you raising your eyebrow.

“Now don’t sound so enthusiastic.” You watch as he slides a bet forward and you do the same, letting the dealer get the round started.

“Your father called in a favor.” The dealer is showing a ten and you frown at your sixteen.

“Do I want to know what my dad did to get a favor from you?” You joke but Crocodile is still gravely serious.

“No.” Of course he has twenty in front of him so he waves and leaves you to pick your move.

“I’ll hit.” You tap the table and the dealer flips a card- a five.

Crocodile scoffs next to you as the dealer flips over his own seventeen. You shoot him a look as he lights an expensive cigar.

“You don’t hit on sixteens? It’s statistically even, one way isn’t better than the other.” You explain yourself but Crocodile just shrugs you off.

“I just don’t like seeing berry leave my casino.”

“Well I’m not leaving yet.” You slide another bet forward and Crocodile does the same.

“I doubt playing with me is the thrilling night out you wanted, you should just take your small winnings and get out of here.” As he does his best to dismiss you you realize exactly what your dad has done.

“He called in a favor for you to be my babysitter tonight didn’t he?” Crocodile rolls his eyes and you know you’re right. “He’s so… sometimes I don’t think he realizes I’m an adult.”

“Barely.” He scoffs and you glare back.

“More than barely. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to- I’m perfectly fine in a casino by myself.” You focus back on the table as you win another hand.

“I can’t imagine you weren’t aware of the way the sharks were circling you.”

“I was. And I was in control of the situation. I wanted the attention.” As you talk Crocodile pauses, turning slightly to face you more.

“You don’t realize how dangerous most of these people are.” You feel like you’re being talked down to like a child.

“What? And being alone with you is so much better. You’re not going to hurt me because it would ruin your relationship with my dad. The rest of them would do the same.” You stare him down but he just laughs at you.

“Oh, sweetheart, no one wants to hurt you. Those men wanted to take advantage of you.”

It’s your turn to laugh. “It’s not taking advantage of me if I want it.”

You watch as his eyes scan your face for a second before a grin settles on his face. “Your dad was right to have me watch over you.”

“I highly doubt you would care enough to stop me from going off and doing whatever- or whoever I want.” You fire back, blackjack game long forgotten.

“If you had done that before we had this conversation you would have been right. But now? I think you need to learn some manners.”

“Manners? Excuse me?” You can’t even get in his face, his figure towers over you even as you both sit.

“Yes, manners. Your father gets a very powerful man to protect you for the night and this is how you treat that kindness? With a bratty attitude?” You’re getting under his skin, his fist balled in his lap evidence of his waning patience.

“You’re stopping me from having a good night out. I think I have a little right to be pissed.” You say, dodging the probably appropriate brat label.

“You really don’t know how those disgusting men would treat you.”

“Oh- I am fully aware. Didn’t you hear me before? I want to be taken advantage of.” You push yourself up a bit to get some more height as you lower your voice. “I want one of those disgusting men to take me home. Well, honestly I’d settle for one of the very nice bathrooms here. Oh I bet there are some nice secluded alleyways around here… I don’t mind a brick wall if I’m being fucked well enough.”

The vulgarity of your words catches him off guard for a second and you let a smug smile come over your face- only for it to be quickly wiped away as Crocodile literally throws you over his shoulder.

“What the fuck!” You yell as he starts walking somewhere. “Put me down you piece of shit!”

Your objections fall on deaf ears as you’re hauled into an elevator and taken to some higher floor. You huff and stop yelling as he gets off the elevator and practically throws you onto a plush couch. When your brain orients itself you find yourself in a very nice office- one you quickly put together is Crocodile’s.

“What am I doing here?” You ask as he walks to his desk and sits behind it, already getting out paperwork.

“This is where I can keep an eye on you so you don’t do anything stupid tonight.” He explains like it’s a basic fact.

“Seriously? You can just kick me out of your casino instead of putting me in this weird time out.”

“I told your father I would watch after you tonight. As much as I want to kick you out I wouldn’t be holding up my end of the deal.”

“Perfect. Great. Whatever.” You pull your legs up on the couch and lay down. “So tomorrow night-“

“You’re not allowed back.”

“You could be at least a little fun.”

“I’m not really known for my levity.”

“Clearly.”

The room falls silence except for the scratch of his pen and the occasional shuffle of paper. You let your gaze drift over to him as he works. His large coat was draped over the back of his chair, leaving him in just his vest and button up shirt. You could probably watch the way his muscles subtly flex under the tight fabric of his shirt for hours. And so you let yourself watch, rolling over and perching your head up to at least give yourself some entertainment. You get probably 15 minutes of this before Crocodile’s eyes meet your own and his brows furrow.

“What?” You ask, smug smile on your face once again.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” You play innocent, head tilting slightly.

He doesn’t play into your game. “Staring.”

“Ok so I can’t play in the casino and I can’t even look at you so what am I supposed to do? Just lay here and stare at the ceiling?”

“Yes.”

You groan and dramatically flop onto your back. “Fucking impossible.”

“Well, when you act like a child you get treated like one.” He comments and that causes you to sit upright.

“Really? This again?”

“You’re throwing a temper tantrum so, yes.”

You get up and stalk over to his desk, standing on the opposite side and slamming your hands down, which in hindsight was not helping your case. “Let me leave.”

“No.” He ignores you and continues on his paperwork.

You walk around his desk and are about to rip some of the paper off of it but Crocodile is fast and the point of his hook is at your neck before you can blink. Adrenaline rushes though your veins as you fight to stay still as the cold metal threatens to pierce your skin. Crocodile hasn’t even gotten up from his seat, simply turned just enough so his hook can reach you. His gaze is cold as he looks you up and down and you feel fear creep up your spine.

“Do you know what I would have done to you if your father wasn’t a close contact of mine?” He asks, voice even.

“Kill me?” You guess, given the deadly weapon a few inches from ripping open your throat.

“Oh, no.” He stands up, moving slow and deliberately so his body towers over you and cages you against his desk with the point of his hook still at your throat. “I would have fucked this bratty attitude out of you on that blackjack table.”

Fear quickly bleeds into arousal, warming your skin and stomach. The power he holds over you is absolute there’s not a single doubt in your mind he could and would kill you- and for some reason that made you want him more. You test how much you can move, leaning back into his desk with both your arms behind you for support. The hook follows you but the movement doesn’t draw any punishment. Looking into his eyes you use your support to push yourself up to sit on the desk, already short dress riding further up your thighs. You watch his gaze dart down to your legs for a second and you know you’ve won.

“In front of all those people?” You press your neck gently into the point of his hook. “Took you for someone a little more private.”

“No one would dare look.” His hook drags upwards and settles under your chin, forcing you to keep eye contact.

You don’t move your head but you open up your thighs, the fabric of your dress bunched up where your ass sits on the desk. He keeps eye contact with you but you know he’s felt your movement as he steps forward, his large thighs now keeping your knees apart.

“You really think you can break my resolve?” He asks, voice low and gravely.

“I think I can convince you that you’re a very smart man who knows that I’ll keep this a secret from my father. Or…” You hum. “That this already looks very very bad for you. I could run down to my dad right now and say you… debauched me. Everyone already saw you take me over your shoulder and up to your very private-“

“That’s it.”

Before you can react Crocodile grabs your hips and forces you to turn, chest pressed against his desk and ass displayed for him. He shoves your dress up to your hips, fully revealing the incredibly small thong you wore tonight. His hook presses between your shoulder blades as his hand rubs over your ass, grabbing handfuls occasionally.

“Maybe I can teach you a lesson.” His hand stills and you look over your shoulder at him.

“What? Gonna make me beg-“

Your words are cut off by a harsh slap to your ass, the sting of skin on skin making your grip tighten on the wood of the desk. His hand rubs over the red mark forming as you see and feel him lean over you.

“I am going to make you beg. That smart little mouth is going to be doing nothing but pleading with me.” One of his fingers finds its way under the strap of your thong around your hip, pulling it up until you think it’s going to break before letting go and letting it snap against your skin. “Don’t worry. You’ll get off if you learn to be obedient.”

“Don’t you think for a second you fucking reptile-“ You hear the spank before you feel it and you have to bite down on your cheek as the pain blooms out from the impact.

“You can call me sir and nothing else.” He growls, pinching the spot he just hit causing tears to well up in your eyes.

“Fuck you.” You spit back, only to earn another swift hit that further presses you against the desk.

“That’s not how you get what you want.” His fingers go beneath the strap of your thong again, this time pulling the thin fabric over your crotch. “Although by the looks of it I’d say this is what you want.”

Your face burns red as you realize that he can see how soaking wet you are, slick drenching the scrap of fabric between his fingers. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Still so much attitude…” He sighs.

He pulls on the fabric until it snaps, ripping it free from your body. His foot kicks at one of yours, forcing your legs wide suddenly. There’s another swift hit to your ass that has you swearing under your breath but his hand lingers, fingers dipping between your thighs. You moan as a thick finger shoves its way inside you, easily slipping in with how wet you are. A second finger stretches you open and with how worked up you’ve been the whole night it’s not surprising that you already feel so close to your orgasm. You press your hips back to get him deeper but just as you feel like you’re getting close his fingers leave you.

“No! Fuck!” You try to stand up but his hook shoved you right back into the desk.

“What? Did you really think I was going to let you cum?” His hand continues to grope your ass, dragging your slick across your skin.

“You’re a piece of shit.” You mumble and he laughs.

“This could all be over. You could just be a good girl and I’d let you cum on my fingers or my cock… but you keep choosing to be a brat.” His fingers dip between your folds again. “You’ll come around eventually.”

Now you had a goal, if you could just get there faster before Crocodile realizes you’ll have beaten him. As his fingers slowly work into you you do your best to will yourself to orgasm faster but he can feel the way your walls react and is able to pull out again before you get too close. You yell as Crocodile chuckles at you, reveling in your suffering.

“It’s so easy. C’mon now.” His fingers press into you again and you feel like you’re going mad.

This cycle repeats until you lose track of how many times your orgasm has been ripped away from you. He can’t keep his fingers in you for more than a few seconds before you’re about to orgasm now, your body on edge and strung out. You’re not sure what’s the last straw- but you break.

“Please.” Your voice is hoarse as you plead quietly.

“What’s that?” Crocodile stops his movements and leans in closer to you.

“Please!” You repeat, louder.

“Not quite- I know you know better.” His hook rubs between your shoulder blades.

“Please, sir.”

But just when you thought that would be enough, he moves the goalpost. “Much better, but I know you could do just a little more. You had all these vulgar words before… where did those go? Are you suddenly shy?”

There’s still a small part of you that wants to fight back at those words, but you’ve come so far at this point that the bratty voice inside is easily snubbed out. You look over your shoulder at him, face stained with tears and swallow your pride.

“Please let me cum sir. On your fingers, on your cock, fuck I’ll take your hook just please-“ You plead and you’re afraid it’s not enough when he pulls back and sits down in his office chair.

You wait a few seconds before you slowly stand up straight and look back at Crocodile. He’s sitting with his legs wide in his large chair, hands slowly working at the buttons on his pants that strain against his large bulge. You watch, entranced, as the buttons open and he drags the waistband of his boxers down under his cock to free it. When his movements pause you look up at his face and he smiles, a single finger beckoning you over.

Your wobbly legs manage to carry you the short distance and he guides you to straddle his lap. His hand moves his cock so his tip drags against your folds and you move your hands to his shoulders to steady yourself. When he stops moving you take the initiative to slowly lower yourself onto his cock, both of you moaning as he fills you up. Taking him would have been a struggle if he hasn’t already been edging you for god knows how long, but even so you feel his girth stretch your walls close to their limit.

“Fuck- see? Being a good girl is so much better isn’t it?” His hand firmly grips your hip while his hook rests behind your back.

“It’s- it’s nice.” You relent, but wiggle your hips to encourage him to move.

“Just nice?” His head tilts and he has a smug grin on his face.

“What do I have to say to get you to move?” You snap back, brattiness threatening to rear its head again.

“Oh, sweetie. You wanted this so bad, you’re going to do the work yourself.” He leans back into the chair, hand now loose on your hip.

“But-“ You start to protest but he cuts you off.

“You still need to make up for your attitude. Now, be a good girl and fuck yourself on my cock.”

You want to be angry. You want to smack that smug look off his face. You want to spit in his eyes and leave him here. But more than any of that some deep traitorous part of you wants to be a good girl for him. That maybe making him cum too would earn you some respect or praise. And most of all you just need an orgasm.

Your thighs are already burning as you raise yourself up, you have to use the support of his shoulders as you try not to let the drag of his cock take away your little remaining control over your legs. Dropping yourself back down is a relief in more ways than one- your muscles getting a short break while his cock hits deep inside you. Just one thrust has you needing a break, leaning forward to press your forehead to his.

“That’s it-“ His thumb rubs over your hip in a surprisingly soft move. “You’re so close already, I can feel you tightening around me.”

You nod wordlessly as you raise yourself up again, mouth hanging open as you savor every inch of him. When you drop yourself down you hold yourself there, grinding your hips down, chasing the sensations you need to bring you over the edge.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me and cum all over my cock?” He asks, and those filthy words send your orgasm crashing over you.

The release after so much denial is overwhelming, stars swimming in your vision as your head collapses on Crocodile’s shoulder. You’re confident you’ve made a mess of his very expensive pants but you’re also sure you don’t care. Crocodile doesn’t give you a second to rest though.

His strong hand maneuvers you around, twisting you until your back is to his chest and your legs are over top of his. You make a noise of confusion, unable to form words, but are quickly shushed.

“I’ll do the work this time- don’t worry.” You can still hear the that smug smile but you suddenly don’t care when he starts thrusting up into you.

The new angle paired with the fact you were still feeling your orgasm has you practically screaming, reaching up and behind you to tangle your fingers in his dark hair. Every rough thrust hits your bruised ass, sparking new pain that you are learning you love.

“Fucking tight- see this is all you needed huh? A good fucking? Next time maybe I’ll get all those mean words out of your mouth by shoving my cock down your throat- shit- I feel how much you like that idea.” His arm is holding you tight against his chest as he says all these nasty things into your ear.

“Sir-“ Your body feels like it’s on fire, overheated, overstimulated, and every inch of his cock drains what’s left of you.

“I know baby-“ He coos, and you feel the cold metal of his hook trail on your thigh. “Just need you to cum one more time, get me off like a good girl-“

The outside curve of his hook travels up your thigh and finds your clit, the sensation of the hard cold metal unlike anything you’ve ever felt there. He presses down firmly as his thrusts become faster and less consistent and despite having cum just a few minutes ago you’re pushed over the edge to another orgasm. Crocodile isn’t far behind you, burying himself inside your contracting walls and cumming deep inside you.

The two of you sit there in silence, both catching your breath as you feel his cum slowly leak out of you. He still has you held close to his chest and you can’t help but relax back into his hold, back of your head resting on his shoulder.

“So…” You break the silence first. “Am I still banned from the casino?”

“As far as your father is concerned? Yes. But don’t worry, I’ll show you where the back entrance is.” His nose brushes against your neck as he speaks. “I’m sure you’ll need a lot more discipline to keep you in check.”

And despite how absolutely destroyed you feel, you think that’s exactly what you’ll need too.

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #x reader #crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x reader #crocodile x you #sir crocodile x you #discordantwritings

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: we're here to boo Andrew.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“So, you’re coming?” Jacob’s voice quavers with excitement. You can’t imagine how he’d sound if you said no. You hate letting people down, it seems to be all you've ever done.

“Uh, yeah,” you say as you steer around the track; opting for some MarioKart over Minecraft that night, “boss says it’s no problem to get the days off. Just have to make it up after. Is... Is everything still good on your end?” 

“Oh yeah, sure thing,” he assures buoyantly, “I can’t wait. Did you still wanna split the airBnB?” 

“Actually, I got a place to stay for the night then I’ll take the early bus back,” you explain as Princess Peach knocks you off the track, “argh!” 

“Right, that’s good,” he says, “good to know you won’t be stranded out there.” 

“Mhm,” you use your boost to catch up to Peach and get your revenge. You don’t mention that Kara will be with you at the con. You just want to be sure this isn’t something wonky. “It’ll be nice to get out of town. My grandma will probably be happy to have the place to herself.” 

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “what’s her problem anyway?” 

“Just the way she is. She likes her space,” you shrug, “I don’t know, I don’t think she expected to be raising her granddaughter...” 

“Ah, yeah, I guess that would be stressful,” he says, “still, seems like you’re not too bad to be around. Got a job, go to school, all that. Think my dad would love it if I put in half as much effort.” 

“Yeah? You make him sound like a hard ass.” 

“Can be. Lawyer, so kinda his schtick,” he chuckles. 

“Oo, fancy,” you snort. Maybe if either of your parents had been lawyers, you wouldn’t be living off your grandma’s resent.  

“I guess. Never really see him that much...” he grumbles. 

“Hm, well, no winning, is there?” You mutter. 

“Not really,” he sighs and hisses, “ugh, Toad!” 

You chuckle and cross the finish line. A respectable second. You wait for him to finish and stifle a yawn. 

“Tired?” He asks. 

“Little.” 

“Me too, long day,” he groans, “neck’s killing me.” 

“Oh, what’d you do--” 

“You know, I’m-- an idiot. Was messing around on my bike.” 

“Of course,” you snicker, “well, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna sign off. I don’t wanna keep my grandma up and my head’s starting to go.” 

“Sure, I gotta get up early anyway,” he sounds less than enthused. “Good night.” 

“You too.” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“Can’t, work. Day after?” 

“Okay, I’ll make it work,” he confirms, “I’m excited about meeting up. Aren’t you?” 

“Yep,” you try not to show your doubt. You’re still not really sure about everything. 

“Can’t wait,” he rasps and the silt in his tone makes you shiver. 

“Yeah, er, bye then,” you hit end session and take off your headset, your ears tender and a bit sweaty. Even if it is awkward, at least you’ll get to hang with Kara for a bit. You haven’t seen her since grad. 

🎮

You’re already exhausted and you’re not even inside yet. The line for the convention is bustling and your excitement keeps you going as you and Kara gab away and move with the slow crawl. The sun beams down and has you sweating, though you could easily blame that on your nerves too. 

“So, this Jacob... is he cute?” She winks. 

“Kara,” you roll your eyes, “it’s not like that. Really. We just game.” 

“Oh yeah. But do you want it to be more?” She teases. 

“You know I’m not really into all that. I don’t have room for a boyfriend in my life.” 

“So boring. Never change, girlie,” she nudges you playfully. “But really, that’s smart. Calvin is too much. I’m thinking of cutting him loose.” 

“Again?” You squint. 

“Not my fault he keeps coming back,” she giggles. 

You peer around, searching out a familiar face amid the ocean of strangers. You haven’t seen Jacob yet. You’re almost hoping he doesn’t show up. Then again, why wouldn’t he? He paid for you to be here. The reminder of the fact strikes guilt in your chest. 

You pause as your eyes catch another pair, further back in the queue. An older man with a beard. He stands out among the crowd. He wears a tidy button-up where most wear graphic tees or cosplay attire. He stares for a moment before he turns away and looks down, probably at whatever kid dragged him there. 

“Well, what are you going to do if he sees you and falls in love?” Kara asks. 

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. 

“If he’s a nerd like you, how could he not?” 

“Hey,” you frown. 

“What? You’re like the sexy gamer girl type. Isn’t that what dudes want?” She shrugs. “Let me see his pic again. He’s a skinny little thing. He’d definitely be into you.” 

“Urgh, stop,” you cross your arms. 

“Sorry, I’m only playing. You just seem so nervous, I’m trying to loosen you up.” 

“I know,” you puff, “it’s just... I should’ve just said no. This is stupid. I don’t know why I even agreed.” 

“To get out of that shithole,” she snips. “Why do you think I hauled ass the minute I popped by grad cap on?” 

“Mm, yeah, I just hope... do you think he really wants that? Maybe I gave him the wrong idea. Oh, Kar, I really didn’t mean to lead him on.” 

“No, no, I’m sure it’s nothing you did if he does. I mean, he’s probably a virgin so...” 

“That’s mean,” you pout. 

“What, so are you,” she laughs. 

“Exactly,” you shake your head and drop your arms, a buzz jittering your skirt pocket.  

You look down at yourself as you slide your phone free. That was probably a bold choice but it’s so damn hot out. Besides, your Pikachu tee is loose enough to counteract the denim sheath. You turn the screen up, shading it with your hand as you read. 

‘Sorry, not going to make it. Something came up. 🙁' 

You frown and reread the message. Really? You came all the way here, took time off of work, and he’s flaking? 

“What’s up?” Kara asks as she clicks her manicured nails impatiently and stands on her toes, trying to see past the bodies ahead. 

“He just cancelled,” you mutter and type in your reply. 

‘Oh no. Hope it’s nothing bad. Maybe another time.’ 

You hit send and drop your shoulders. You’re surprised how disappointed you are. More so about the wasted effort than anything. Even if you are a bit relieved, it’s shitty. 

“Ah, bullshit!” Kara sneers, “what the hell? What did he say?” She reaches for your phone and you hold it out of her grasp. “That fucker.” 

“It’s probably not his fault. Shit happens.” 

“Babe, you’re gonna settle for a lot of nonsense if you keep that attitude. I’d be friggin pissed if I was you. He brings you all the way here and now he’s too good for you. I bet he saw some cute girl in line and she smiled at him once so now he’s ditching,” she scowls, “I hate boys.” 

“I’m sure... it’s nothing,” you say glumly as your phone vibes again. 

‘I’m real sorry. I hope you still have a good time. Take lots of pictures.’ 

You don’t respond. You lock your phone and put it back in your pocket. It never feels good to be stood up. Even then. 

“You know what, screw him,” Kara snarls, “let’s go in there and buy you the cutest plushie you can find. Hell, maybe you can find an even cuter guy.” 

“Kar,” you warn her. 

“Fine, just the plushie. Maybe two,” she trills, “forget that loser.” 

🎮

The chaos of the convention wipes away the dark cloud over you. You’re almost thankful that Jacob gave you the opportunity to catch up with Kara. You didn’t realise how much you missed her. It’s perfect day where you can forget about your grandmother and your lame job and everything else. 

You rush around from booth to booth. You look at fanart, handmade figures, and stuffies. You’re mindful of your wallet and how empty it really is. You’ll get one thing and a snack. That’s all you can afford.  

As the hours roll by, your early morning bus ride and time spent standing out in the hot sun catch up to you. You feel your muscles starting to ache and your eyelids turning fuzzy. You yawn as you shuffle behind Kara as she waits in line to get a signature from the one D-list celeb she’s heard of. You’d get one too but it’s way too expensive. 

“Hey,” you rub your cheek, “mind if I sit and wait? I wanna grab a soft pretzel anyway.” 

“Sure,” she agrees easily, “looks like it’s gonna be a while.” 

“Want me to bring you a drink or something?” You offer. 

“Nah, just text me where you are so I can find you,” she says. 

You leave her reluctantly. You’d rather not be wandering alone through the hordes but your feet are killing you and your stomach’s been roaring for the last hour. You stand in line for the pretzel stall and get yours with cinnamon sugar and syrup. Messy but delicious. 

You find a table in the corner and settle in. You put your phone beside the napkin and tear apart the doughy goodness. Your phone lights up with a notification from the merge game you like to play and you see several other icons; missed messages. 

You focus on your snack, savouring each bite, as your eyes drift around the crowded centre. You can barely see some of the booths as hordes cluster around. Some cosplayers bat at each other with toy swords as children fight over the arcade machines. You’re overwhelmed by the sheer amount of activity all around. 

You put your head down trying to block out the lights and noise. You feel yourself getting overstimulated. It’s like when you’re in the lecture hall and suddenly you can hear every sniff, sneeze, and keystroke. You close your eyes as you wipe your fingertips on the edge of the napkin, only half-finished your pretzel. 

“Looks good,” a deep voice cuts through the blaring din. 

As you recognise the timbre, your heart squeezes and the world pinpoints at the centre of your skull. You open your eyes and slowly raise your head. You blink dumbly at the unfamiliar man stood in front of you. You think you’ve seen him before, or at least he sticks out from the typical convention attendee. 

It isn’t that he’s too old, there’s lots of older geeks hanging around but they have neckbeards and greasy combovers. His hair is tidy and his beard trimmed close. His clothing also lacks the typical Dorito dust or anime character. You remember, he was outside in the line. 

“Uh, hello?” You utter. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he says as he pulls out the chair across from you. He sits as your insides plunge. You know his voice. 

“Jacob?” You murmur in shock. How? Why? This isn’t the stringy teenager you met online. 

He nods, his jaw tensing, and he crosses an arm over the table, pointing to your half-eaten pretzel, “what’d you get on yours? I can’t decide between sweet or savoury.” 

“Who... are you?” You croak, head spinning as your eyes prick. You knew something was weird. You knew you weren’t talking to Jacob or whoever that boy was in the pictures. 

He takes a breath and lets it out slowly. As his chest deflates, you do too. He’s older than you, bigger than you, and by the looks of him, a lot better off. Why the hell would he be chatting with you? Why would he lie to you? 

“You’re right. I’m not Jacob,” he confesses, the colour draining from his face. He steeples his fingers and considers his next words carefully. You sit back and hug yourself defensively. This is fucked. “My name is Andy, Jacob is my son.” 

“Your son?” You eke out, “why-- why would you lie?” 

He cringes and takes another breath, “he was my son,” he corrects himself, “he... passed.” 

You feel like you’ve been struck. Your mouth falls open, stunned. Not only did he hide behind his son’s photos, but his dead son’s. Oh, god. You feel sick. No, you feel stupid. 

“Look, please, just hear me out. I just—it wasn’t meant to go on this long. When I first lied to you, it was supposed to be that one time. I was... I was lost. I just lost Jacob and I was going through his things. I started playing because I missed him. I wanted to feel like he was still there--” 

“No, no, you got on discord and you started talking to me. As him!” Your voice shakes and your eyes tinge. “That’s not just missing him.” 

“I know, you’re right. I lied but... I got lonely playing by myself so yes, I went onto that discord. You were nice. You didn’t call me a noob or whatever. And... and after work, looking forward to hearing your voice, it got me through a lot of pain. Being alone in that house after so long, I couldn’t cope--” 

“So you lied to me?” You stand and snatch your phone, nauseous to the core, “you manipulated me. How do you know—if you had just been you that I would’ve been any different? If you just wanted to play games, to be friends--” 

“I was scared--” 

“I don’t care if you were scared,” you hiss as you stomp forward. “You’re an adult.” 

He stands and blocks your path. You recoil, put off by his height. He’s a lot bigger on his feet. 

“Please, move or... I’ll scream,” you breathe. 

“You don’t have to do that. Just hear me out,” he pleads. 

“I don’t want to hear anything else from you, Jacob. Or Andy. Or whoever you really are,” you sneer, “move.” 

He shudders and hangs his head. He makes himself seem small as his shoulders round and he backs out of your way. You bite down and march past him.  

You need to get to a bathroom. Now. You’re going to spew up your guts. More important, you need to get yourself together before you go find Kara. She can’t know this happened. It’s too embarrassing. 

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #defending jacob #end game

[ghouljams]

Here's Hoping Things Look Better On the Other Side Chapter 1: The Cowboy Rating: E (minors please do not interact) Words: 6k Tags: Ghost x f!reader/OC, fingering, unprotected piv sex, oral (m and f receiving), deep throating, soft sex, face riding, dangerous driving practices, one night stands, first meeting, dom!Ghost, flirting Summary: You decide to spend you last night of freedom before saddling yourself with farm work, saddling up on something else. You know what they say: Save a horse, ride a cowboy. a/n: happy 1 year anniversary to this blog, as a mark of this occasion I'm doing what I kept talking about but never had the courage for and posting the "official" Cowboy Ghost story, or at least the first chapter. If some of this looks familiar, it's because a lot of my initial posts in the au were straight from this draft

Thank you @ethereal-night-fairy for giving this a once over, you're the best ❤️

There’s plenty about small towns that you miss living in the big city. The lack of bars is not one of those things. At least your friends don’t seem to be complaining. Anything to take the edge off the hours you’d spent in the car. One of the girls laughs pushing at another’s arm, the table is littered with empty shot glasses and half drunk beers. You glance back at the room over your shoulder, eyes darting to find a tray you could pile some of this on to make the bartender’s life easier. It’s dimly lit, as all dives are, and may as well have a sign hung up boasting about how flammable it is with all the wood in here. Wood tables and chairs, wood bar, wood floor, wood walls, you wouldn’t be surprised if the mirror over the back of the bar was wood too.

Still, you’re happy to be home. You miss small town living, miss the farm. You’ve been an accountant long enough, lost the calluses on your hands and you’re ready to dive back in. You’ll have to report to your daddy’s ranch earlier than the sun once morning rears its ugly head. You may as well have some fun, enjoy your last night of freedom before breaking your back breaking horses. And lucky you it’s the start of planting season, plenty of fresh blood in the water.

It’s good timing really. You know everyone in town too well, and the last thing you need is for word to get back to your daddy that you slept with the McKennan boy or worse. No, seasonal help is the best choice for a one night stand. No one you know that knows you(or your father). You glance around the bar, plenty of faces you don’t recognize. No one interesting though. No one that seems like they’d give you anything good. Mackayla already has a hat fixed square on her head, a cowboy coo-ing at her like she’s the luckiest girl in the bar.

Your eyes hit the man hunched against the bar. An unfamiliar face, a dark black hat, and denim stretched tight over his thick thighs. He’s got a good build, broad shoulders, thick fingers that dwarf the long neck in his hand, biceps you could sink your teeth into… You can’t see his face, but there’s an air about him that screams “leave me alone”. That plus the way he keeps to himself says he doesn’t know anyone or care to. Perfect. You toss the last of your bourbon back and toss a few bucks on the table.

“I’m gonna snag a cowboy,” You tell your friends, “Don’t wait up.”

You earn a few thumbs ups, a whistle and a “get it” that makes you laugh, before turning to snag the spot next to your man in black at the bar. You lean against the bar to catch his eye, standing close as you push your chest out, and tip your head. They’re brown, you think, warm like liquor and kept steadfastly forward. Must be having a staring contest with his own reflection. There’s a mask too. A black swath of fabric with a jaw bone painted onto it covering half his face. That explains why you couldn’t get a good look at him across the bar.

“So-” You start, only to be cut off.

Your cowboy holds up a twenty neatly folded between his fingers without even looking at you, "How much is it gonna cost to get you to leave me alone?" He asks, the bass rumble of his voice making you all the more sure of your decision. You glance from the skeletal mask to the black Stetson tipped low over his eyes.

"The hat."

"Not for sale."

“Not even just for tonight?” You ask, feeling buzzed and bold as you lean against the bar. There’s the slightest turn of his head as he looks at you. The warm brown of his eye as it peaks from under the shadow of his brim hits you better than any shot could. His gaze drags over you, and you let it, feeling his eyes settle on the way you push your tits out, then trace down over your hip. Your skin prickles with warmth, your stomach fluttering excitedly. He drags those lovely brown eyes back to meet yours and hums, looking back at the mirror.

“How about a drink,” He says, motioning for the bartender.

“How about two,” You grin, his mask shifts, his eyes crinkling a little at the edges, “What are you drinking?”

“Piss,” He says, pushing his mask up enough to get a swallow of his beer. He’s funny in a dry sort of way, you’d laugh if you weren’t so entranced by his lips against the bottle. You rip your eyes off him when he pulls the mask back into place. You gotta get this man a decent drink. You press up onto your toes to lean across the bar and talk to the bartender.

“Are the Sisters still making hooch?” You ask, the tender nods and grabs two shot glasses for you. You settle back on your feet, feeling the pleasant weight of your companion’s gaze dragging over you. You wait as the glasses are filled with 2oz of the only thing you missed on the coast. Well, maybe not the only thing. A glass of crystal moonshine is set in front of each of you. Your cowboy’s fingers pinch around the sides of the shot, his hand dwarfing the glass as his other hand tugs at his mask. You both tap your shots to the bar before throwing them back. You shake your head at the burn as he lets out a cough.

“Oh that is dead,” He says, lord his voice is so thick when it’s pleased. Rumbling nicely in his throat, you’re desperate to see what it tastes like.

“So,” You draw his eyes back to your face with just one word, “What’s a Manchester boy doing in this shithole?”

He lets out a breath through his teeth, flicking the brim of his hat back to get a better look at you. His eyes make you warm all over in a way that alcohol never could. “Manchester, huh-” He motions for another shot, “You even know where that is, Princess?”

Oh the way he says it, so deep and condescending, but inquisitive, makes a shiver run down your spine. You’d do anything to hear him call you that again. Including answering his question with the minimum amount of sass.

“North of Birmingham, west of Sheffield. Do you need my footie team too before you to take me home?” You smile, tapping your refilled shot against his before downing it. His fingers hesitate on his glass as he looks at you, eyes following your tongue as you lick the last drop of moonshine off your lips. 

He reaches up and takes off his hat, settling it on your head. It’s big and warm, and sits just a little too low on you, but you don’t care, it’s his. His claim on you. He takes his shot clean, pulling his mask back up as he tosses far too much cash on the bar and grabs your hand. 

You barely get to his truck before you’re pressed against it, his hands gripping your face as he presses his lips to yours. Too eager to remember he’s gotta pull his mask off first apparently. It’s warm and cotton-y. Not that you mind. You laugh, feeling bubbly from the moonshine, as he growls and rips his mask off before kissing you again.

And oh, he’s good with his mouth. You can tell by the slide of his lips, the way he holds your face just the way he wants to. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips and you open eagerly for him, letting him taste the cheap sugary booze you’d been sipping before you saw him. He licks into your mouth, skimming your teeth before twisting his tongue against yours in a way that makes you shiver. His mouth is warm and wet, and he groans when you suck on his tongue. You want to hear that sound for the rest of your life. He tips your head back and back, his hat held to your head by the closed cab door as he crowds you against his truck forcing you to take everything he gives you. 

Your chest is warm and you can feel your blood pumping want through to your fingertips as you twist them into his shirt. You want to be drunk on him, want to feel your head spin as your thoughts turn to cotton. You think this is the best decision you’ve ever made. Especially when his hands leave your face to grab your hips, his leg wedged between yours. He drags your hips to grind against his thigh, all hard muscle and oh you can feel him. The hard line of his cock just at the apex of your movements. It makes all your heat drop to pool between your legs. Mm, he was absolutely a good decision.

“What am I screaming for you?” You murmur, between kisses, desperate to know your cowboy’s name. 

“Simon,” He tells you, ducking to mouth at your neck. “Simon,” he says it again, bites it into your skin, like he’s reminding himself.

“Simon,” you sigh, enjoying the way saying his name makes his hold on you tighten.

He works your hips against his thigh, his lips sucking at your neck before his teeth dig into the blooming bruises. There’s something animal and desperate in his movements, something that speaks to a man who hasn’t had a woman in a long time. Good. You want all that pent up stress, all the need, that he can muster. You make a soft noise at the twitch of your hips, the tingle of need in your own body starting to soak your panties. It’s only when you start to feel that same wetness soaking the denim scraping your thighs that Simon pulls away.

“You drive stick?” He asks, the warmth of his iris consumed by dark black. You tip your head, pull him back to brush his lips against yours. You want him to keep kissing you, his lips just on the right side of chapped and his tongue exploratory. You hold onto his face until he grabs your wrists and pulls you off. “Manual, Princess. Want you in my bed before I fuck ya.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You murmur, eyes fixed on his mouth, “I can drive stick.”

Simon pulls you away from where you’ve been plastered against the truck cab and opens the door. You squeak when he picks you up and sets you on the seat. Your eyes dart to the wet patch on his jeans, then to check out his ass when he leans down to grab his mask off the gravel. Damn.

You pull your door closed as Simon pulls himself into the driver's side of the cab, turning the ignition and switching gears. You always liked the click of the gear shift, but now the engine thrums in your blood, a heady promise of what’s to come. Simon grabs your hand from where it’s settled on your thigh to hold it under his on the gear shift. He shifts up a gear, then drops his hand to your thigh. His hand is big and warm, a bear’s paw gripping your leg, digging his fingers into your skin. You’re glad Amanda convinced you to wear a skirt.

“You shift when I tell you, alrigh’?” Simon asks, one hand sliding under the edge of your skirt as the other turns the wheel to leave the bar's parking lot. You nod quickly, your fingers tight on the stick shift as his skate across the edge of your panties. One thick finger tip drags along your sopping slit, feeling you through your underwear. He gives you the next gear and you pull the shift with a shaky hand, rushing to accommodate him, to show how well you follow directions(to not get the both of you killed if the engine stalls). His fingers don’t move, giving you space as you shift in your seat.

It’s different when you lean back against the seat again. His fingers press against you properly, teasing you through your panties with his thumb against your clit. The feeling of cotton against the sensitive bud, wet and cool from the night air, makes you whine, and push your hips towards his touch. Simon chuckles from the driver’s seat and you feel a wave of heat rush over you.

“Spread your legs love,” He orders, you’re quick to comply, going a step further to shuck your panties so he can touch you properly. After all, you’ve never been one to disregard an order that directly benefits you. Simon’s fingers touch you, spread your sticky slick folds with a pleased noise. He’s got calluses, you can feel the rough edges of them as he drags his fingers over you, and you follow the motion with a slight raise of your hips. “Eager thing, aren’t you?” Simon rumbles, you glance at him, at his lap. As if he’s one to talk.

His cock must be aching from pressing against his zipper like that. He says something you don’t hear, too busy trying to measure his bulge with your eyes. He smacks his fingers against your slit and you jerk your attention back to him. Shift down. Shift down, you can do that. You know how to do that. 

Your clit tingles when his fingers find it, still aching from the smack and desperate for attention. Simon rolls it between his fingers, pinching it enough to be felt before rubbing at it. Then he’s up and down your slit, spreading your slick as it drools from your pussy, lubing his fingers to keep toying with you. You try to keep your mind on his words, try to keep your brain from giving in to the feeling of it. He doesn’t stop rubbing just because you need to shift gears, and it drives you mad.

One thick fingers pushes into your cunt and you whine. Your toes curl as you try to force yourself down against the shallow thrusts he pumps in and out of you. The drag of his callused finger against your walls warms in the pit of your stomach. It’s more than your finger’s ever been but it’s still not enough. You want to feel the stretch of him, you’re sure you’ll need it. The heel of his hand grinds against your clit, your hips following the feeling. He pulls away just enough to add a second finger and you moan. 

The stretch is divine. Friction heat tugging at your entrance, pushing warmth through you with every pump. You do your best to fuck yourself on your cowboy’s fingers as the slick noise fills the cab of the truck. Your breathing is heavy, your whines turned to whimpers. He gives you just enough to make you eager for more. His fingers are slow and dutiful as they thrust into you, keeping you alert for his next command.

You try to reach for his cock, your fingers digging at his belt buckle. Only to have his fingers leave you, his firm hand wrapping around your wrist to put it back on the gear shift.

“Gotta be patient, Princess,” He tells you, “you want somethin’ you ask for it.”

Your fingers tighten, and you spread your legs a little wider. “Make me come,” You tell him, because you don’t think he can do it at this angle, with his eyes on the road.

“Good girl.” The praise shoots through you like lightening, your nerves on fire when his fingers push back into you. Slow and steady is gone, replaced by a pace that makes your head spin. Simon’s fingers curl, hitting the soft spongy spot near your entrance until you’re seeing stars. There’s a tightness in your belly, and a heat that washes over your cunt. He keeps his attention on your hole, your tingling clit ignored in favor of punishing your cunt for your attitude. 

He doesn’t let up when he asks you to down shift. Your brain mush, your hips squirming as your muscles try to figure out what they’re supposed to be doing. You barely manage to get down to the next gear before you’re consumed by the raging heat and tightness his fingers fuck into you. Your whimpers are full blown moans, his name on your lips as you attempt to find the brain cells to beg for him to let you come. It’s all too much, too tight. You can hear the wet squelch of his fingers louder than the blood rushing in your ears, louder than the rumble of the engine.

You feel wet, something dribbling over your cunt, as your head tips back to account for your eyes rolling. Your back arches and all your muscles shudder as Simon’s fingers work you through the slip-splash of wetness. He only slows enough for you to get your bearings. Just enough for you to take in the wetness on the dashboard and soaking the fingers he raises to your mouth. Another downshift, your eyes fixed on him more than the scenery, your tongue swirling around his fingers. 

Simon’s fingers leave your mouth to settle over your hand on the gear shift as you hit a gravel road. It’s so dark out, you could be anywhere, but Simon promised you a bed, and you don’t think a murderer would make you come before killing you. The truck is thrown into park, the engine switched off, your brain catches up just in time for Simon to open your door and pull you out. You’re tugged into a little house, and almost as quickly as the door is closed behind you, you’re set on your knees.

It’s dark in here too, but you can hear the rustle of denim, the groan of a man freeing his hard cock. You know your eyes will adjust, you’re already starting to make out the shadows of moonlight streaming in through the window, but you’re dying to see the monster you’d seen straining against his jeans. Simon’s hand finds your cheek, cupping your jaw as his thumb brushes your lower lip.

“Open your mouth love,” He murmurs, “Lemme feel your tongue.”

You follow his command too eagerly. His shadow leans over you, huge in the darkness, and his tongue drags against yours before he pulls back and spits on it. Your breath stops short, your stomach flipping as it starts to kindle a new heat. Simon’s cock slaps against your tongue. It feels heavy, uncut, the skin soft and salty. He drags it over your tongue, barely dipping into your waiting mouth, lubing himself on his own spit. Your head goes a little fuzzy at the thought. Your cheeks burn with humiliation, your cunt aching between your legs. As if he didn’t just get you off all over his truck.

It’s worth a little embarrassment for the way Simon groans at the feeling of your lips wrapping around his cock. He’s heavy on your tongue, weight against your jaw as he feeds you his cock. Inch by inch, so slow you can drag your tongue over the veins that thrum under his skin. Just the taste of him makes you want to buck your hips, and you reach to settle your hands on his thighs when he hits your gag reflex. 

He stills, your fingers digging into muscle and coarse hair. You take steadying breaths through your nose before pushing your head down again. Something bright and ringing like a bell in your head is desperate to know where he stops, to feel him stretching out your throat. You have to swallow, shake your head to find the spot that doesn’t make you gag, not that Simon seems to mind. You think he likes when you pull back, gasping, so you can spit on his fat length and try again. Sucking and bobbing your head as you take him deeper and deeper is the least you can do for this man. That doesn’t mean you don’t feel a swell of pride when your nose finally buries itself in the curls at the base of his cock.

Simon’s hand comes around to cup the back of your head, holding you there. You glance up at him, his eyes shining in the low light. “Good fucking girl,” He growls out, “Just made to take my cock aren’t ya?”

You hum around his length, roll your tongue against him as best you can. His fingers grip your hair and pull you back, your spit slicking his length even with just moonlight setting the room aglow. Simon holds you at the tip, letting you circle it with your tongue, sucking and swallowing down the pre-come that drools from him. Simon’s hips buck, a soft swear dropping from his lips as you take the unexpected inch. His hand leaves the back of your head, fixing his hat where it’s started to tip off you and gripping the sides of your head. You lean back to look up at him, blinking the static of dark vision from your eyes. 

“Gonna fuck this pretty face,” Simon tells you, his voice rough, like his vocal cords have been dragged through gravel. Despite the lack of tone, you know it’s a question, one you give a short nod to.

The first thrust of his hips is gentle, testing. You breathe through your nose, let him get acquainted with your gag reflex as you get used to the in and out feeling. Simon holds your head still, inching his cock deeper into your throat with each thrust. You hold your tongue flat against the underside of his heavy length, feeling the pulse of blood, the twitch of muscle as he works himself faster and deeper. 

Your throat constricts and Simon pauses, before his hands yank you sharply, bypassing your gag and nestling you at the base of his cock. Your eyes water, your nose starting to run as your throat works around the intrusion. He stretches your throat around his thick cock, you can feel the press of him, uncomfortable but dripping warmth down your spine. Simon pulls you off, and you gasp, suck in a breath as you watch spit string between your lips and his cock. You get one good breath in before he’s fucking your face in earnest.

You whine around the fat cock testing the ache in your jaw as Simon’s hips snap against your lips. His balls slap against your chin, heavy and already pulling tight. You do your best to keep your mouth open, lips sucking at him as he moves. There’s an ache between your legs, a voice in the back of your mind that wishes it was your pussy getting this treatment. You can only imagine how deeply he’d hit you, the stretch of your lips around his cock making you prickle with ideas of the way he’d split your cunt open.

Simon pulls back with a low groan, and come hits your tongue before he’s pushing back in. You blink the tears from your eyes, swallowing as best you can as he comes down your throat. It’s a lot, enough that your hands leave his thighs to cup under your chin, waiting to catch the drool and spend that you’re sure is dripping from between your lips. Warm and bitter, you wonder what he’s been eating since he came to town, if he needs someone to put vegetables on his plate. He pulls his cock out of your mouth and you tip your head back, swallowing the hot come still on your tongue. You open your mouth, tongue out to let him see that you’re empty.

Simon is silent. Something in his shining eyes seems to mirror yours. His thumb strokes over your tongue, with a hum that makes you think he’s got something on his mind. It feels almost sweet, almost affectionate, as his fingers stroke over your jaw. He crouches in front of you, and his hands leave you, only to reappear on your waist, pulling you up and over his shoulder as he stands with nothing more than a grunt. His shoulder is broad and warm under your stomach, you drag your hands up the corded muscles of his back and feel a pulse of attraction thrum through the heat simmering in your stomach. Fuck, he’s strong.

You’re tossed onto what must be his bed. You bounce on the mattress and attempt to get your bearings in the low light. Simon’s hat tumbles off your head, and you glance about in the darkness for it. The lamp next to the bed clicks on and you flinch at the sudden rush of light. The wash of warm light is too much after so long in the dark, but you’re faster adjusting to this than the darkness. Simon settles a hand on your thigh, pulling you close as he settles on the bed beside you.

“On me love,” He murmurs and you drag your eyes to his face, “wanna see when you ride my face.”

Oh. He isn’t wearing his mask. His eyes are desperate, brows drawn low to shadow the watery browns that stare at you. His nose looks like it’s been broken one too many times, and there’s a scar running across his lips that tugs a little too much of his teeth into such a pretty picture. There’s something soft to him though, something aching in the length of his jaw that makes you want to hold him close. You must hesitate, must take too long looking at him.

“Tongue still works,” He teases you, the pink muscle dragging over the split in his lip, his teeth.

“You’re awfully pretty to be wearing a mask,” You smile, moving to settle your knees on either side of his ears. (Big enough ears you think he must’ve had to grow into them) Simon hums, his hands coming to grip your thighs and pull you down against his mouth. You can see pink starting to creep over his cheeks even as his tongue drags along your slit. The thought that Simon must not take compliments easily is erased from your mind as his lips close around your clit and suck hard.

The electric feeling jerks through your body. So much time on your knees worshiping a cock that should have been splitting you open left you buzzing and now you’re getting some well deserved relief. Simon’s tongue is hot as it splits your folds, wiggling to lap at the slick you’d been drooling before rolling against your clit. Each touch to the sensitive bud sends another zap of pleasure ripping up your spine. You whimper, your chest heaving with breaths you hardly have the chance to take with the way he sucks at you. One of Simon’s hands leaves you, fishing around on the bed beside you. You frown down at him, pout really, until you feel his hat settle on your head again.

“Gotta keep your- your claim on me?” You ask, though you don’t think your tone is quite right. Simon hums under you, a groan of assent. He tips his head, dragging long strokes of his tongue over your slit. You’re too worked up already, his mouth feels like a furnace, his tongue touches you like a brand. Your hips move on their own, following the course of Simon’s tongue, your clit bumping against his nose as you grind yourself against his mouth. Your fingers hold your skirt up out of the way, you may as well be planning to shred the thing with how tightly your fingers dig into the fabric. 

Simon stares up at you, his eyes closing with a satisfied groan as you grind a little more firmly against his tongue. Having his attention on you like this makes your stomach clench. You can feel his smile, feel his teeth just graze over your clit, teasing before he’s sucking at it. You squeeze his head between your thighs, half formed praises on your tongue as you feel your muscles start to tremble from the strain of your tightening orgasm. 

The longer he licks you the less you can hear your own thoughts, too consumed by the satisfied groans and slurping sounds between your legs. Simon eats you like a starving man getting his first meal. His hands move to grab your ass, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers, and spreading you open just to feel you. Your slick is smeared over his mouth, smeared over your thighs where his stubble has dragged it across your skin. You feel wet and warm, your cunt tingling on the edge of your second orgasm of the night. His tongue wiggles its way into your hole and you break.

“Fuck me.” You whine, your words almost sobs as he shakes his head. You’re not sure if it’s a demand or simply a needy expletive. It doesn’t stop Simon from sucking your clit hard, his tongue swirling around the bud until your back arches and the tension in your stomach bleeds out in a rush of shivers and moans. Your pleasure coursing through you as Simon licks and sucks at your cunt until you’re jerking at the new sensitivity.

Simon holds your hips, drags you down to sit on his stomach, the firm muscle flexing as your legs are forced further apart by the sheer width of the man. He drags your sensitive pussy against his stomach, letting the blond hair tickle your clit. You pout, settle your hands on his chest to hold yourself steady with even when your muscles still shiver with every twitch of your hips.

His fingers grip the bottom of your shirt when you demonstrate you can grind by yourself. Simon tugs it up over your head and you happily assist in undressing. He’s quicker with your bra, unhooking the clasp before you can shrug the straps off. Simons big hands come up to cup your breasts, thumbs rolling over your nipples. The touch is firm, appreciative, he squeezes the soft skin and you whine.

“Lemme ‘ear it again, Princess.” Simon rumbles. You can feel his voice low in his chest. His hands drop back to your hips to guide you. You don’t need to think to know what he’s asking.

“Fuck me Simon,” You breath, leaning to kiss him. You pull your tongue over his lips, tip your head to clean your come off his face. His mouth opens to catch your tongue, pushing his own to meet yours as you dip it between his lips. His hands raise your hips, angling you to notch his cockhead against your entrance. 

You know this part, know the press of your hips down onto him, the breathless anticipation as he slowly stretches you. You must have forgotten how big he was on your tongue. You drop your head to rest your forehead against Simon’s cheek, the stretch of just his head making your eyes start to roll. His fingers stroke down your back, a comfort as you ease yourself down his length. Your every breath feels like it’s softened by a moan. The stretch of him burning against your entrance, his cock dragging against your gummy walls. You feel so tight around him you can feel the curve of his dick, the veins that line it, the ridge of his thick head. 

Your legs still shake from your orgasm. If it weren’t for Simon’s hands holding you, you would’ve sunk down to the base of his cock just from the inability to hold yourself up. You attempt to push yourself up from the way you’ve cuddled close to your cowboy, and he holds you tight. The hand which had been petting down your back presses firm between your shoulders, his other arm wrapping over your him. You wonder- and then he thrusts the rest of his fat length into you and you don’t wonder anything else.

You all but collapse on his chest, his arm tight on the small of your back, arches your hips up as you bury your face against his neck. You can feel the mattress dip where he plants his feet before you feel the drag of his cock out of you, and the sweet friction of it sliding back home inside you. You dig your teeth into Simon’s shoulder, the scarred skin dipping under your bite as he fucks up into you.

Each stroke of his cock is like a punch in your stomach. The stretch of your cunt around him, his cockhead hitting your sweet spot every time it nudges your entrance, only adds to the devastating length of him. Your eyes roll, your voice tight when you have the air to let it escape you. He hits something inside you that almost hurts with how good it feels, the electricity of it shivering up your spine and tightening your muscles. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to push your hips back into the feeling.

“Tha’s it, sweet’eart,” Simon murmurs in your ears, “Jus’ like that.”

You whine at the praise, at the groan that follows it. He keeps you held so tightly against him, your nipples dragging against his firm chest with each thrust. You try to kiss at his neck, lips parting to pant with each pull of his cock. He fills you so full and deep you can hardly think. You’ve never had anyone hold you like this, never had anyone fuck you with the same sort of intense desperation. Simon’s lips press to your temple, his hips snapping to meet your weak thrusts with the wet squelching sounds of pleasure following.

Trying to draw a full breath is too much, you moan and squeak against Simon’s skin. Your lips travel over the scarred flesh, your teeth desperate to mark, to hold onto something as your fingers curl against his firm chest. There’s nothing for you to do but hold on and let this man take his pleasure from your body. Your hips stutter, the pleasure hitting you too tightly to keep your muscles moving. The tension in your muscles doesn’t stop Simon’s movements. His groans turn to growls, his lips moving with silent praise as he pistons into your clenching cunt. 

The drag of his skin against your soft walls, the burn of friction, coupled with the deep punch of his cock drives you to the edge and holds you there. Every twitch and movement making sparks of pleasure light up your skin. Your muscles shake with the burn of contraction, the ache of being split open. Your cunt burns with desperate heat, and you snake one of your hands down to rub tight circles over your clit. It doesn’t take much for you to fall apart. Your cunt flutters, sucking at Simon’s cock as the attention to your clit shoots up your spine and melts over your muscles. You fall apart, and just as sincerely you fall against Simon’s chest, panting and whimpering his name on every stroke.

He fills you fast, his cock stilled inside your cunt as you feel it twitch. Heat fills you, burns you, marks you from the inside. Simon moans low in the back of his throat. He gives a few short thrusts, enjoying the clutch of your pussy, as you settle into the floating feeling of satisfaction. He pulls out and you feel his come drip out of your hole, sliding through your folds to pool against his softening cock.

"What is your favorite footie team?" Simon asks once he's found his breath. You yawn, wiggling to cuddle against him.

"Reds," You murmur, and hear him snort out a short laugh.

"Liverpool?"

"Can't all be Man U fans," You sigh, and Ghost thinks your voice must be like honey the way it sticks to his mind, "Someone's gotta win games."

Ghost bites down his smile, feeling the way you unspool against him. Your body going lax and your breathing evening out. Do you trust him so readily that you'd fall asleep like this? You barely know him, hell he doesn't even know your name, but here you are.

“Gonna keep you,” He tells you, it feels like speaking sin into the world, tainting this perfect thing that's fallen into his lap, but he's too greedy to care, “Not le’in’ you go, can’t.”

You don’t answer him with anything more than a half asleep hum. Your lashes flutter against his skin, your face pressed against his neck. Wrapped around him with all the comfort he could ask for. Ghost swallows, turns his head to press his lips to your temple, breathing in the scent of your shampoo and the sweat of sex. Such a pretty thing to fall into his arms so willingly. You compliment him too well, know what he wants before he asks for it. He’d be a fool to let you go. No, he’s keeping you, you’re the sort of girl men chase after with wedding rings, and he can already hear the bells ringing for him.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #x oc #cod x oc #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x oc #oc: goose #cowboy au #cowboy!ghost #cowgirl!reader #f!reader #minors do not interact

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 1

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — on set, with lots of paint involved.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

Tag List: let me know if you want to join! :)​

Author’s Note: This is part 1 of what I hope will be a six-part series, but it can be read as a stand-alone too. I am so obsessed with Colt right now that I can't even see straight, so just take this and do whatever you want with it!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you, you’re not sure it actually happened.

You’ve been on set for about two months now, and your job as set decorator for the biggest action thriller of the decade has ended up being way more challenging than you expected. Every day, it’s a new demand from the director — more realistic graffiti, more subtle light fixtures, more beat-up furniture. It’s going to look amazing, but you’re exhausted just thinking about another day of smearing grime on the set walls by hand.

The one bright spot of every day is Colt Seavers. He’s the best stuntman in Hollywood, so naturally he’s been recruited to perform stunts for almost every scene in the movie. Watching him get thrown against walls, riddled with bullets, and dropped from dizzying heights is heart-pounding for you, but nothing gets your heart pounding as hard as when he leans a little too close to you, so close you can see the dusty brown of his eyelashes against his soot-stained skin.

“Nice sign,” Colt quips, dropping onto the picnic table seat next to you. You’re hand-painting a bright-red Do Not Disturb sign for the next scene, and you barely manage to keep from smearing the paint when you whirl to face him. “Is it for your trailer door?”

You give him a mock glare, laughter slipping through the edges. “Very funny. It just so happens that you’ll be kicking this sign in half in tomorrow’s scene, so show a little respect.”

Colt’s eyes sparkle at your words, all his attention focused on you. He leans forward on one elbow, the other reaching up to ruffle the dust out of his hair. “Wow, a handmade prop just for me to kick in half?” He grins, inclining his head in a mock bow. “I’m honored.”

You can’t hide your return grin, or the blush rising under your skin at his close proximity. Colt always has this effect on you — never pushing the limits to make you uncomfortable, just taking up space with you in a way that steals your breath.

“What’s this?” you ask, using your free hand to tug on the shoulder of his fireproof vest. One side is seriously singed, close enough to his skin to set you to worrying.

Colt shrugs, flashing you a crooked smile that makes his left eye crinkle. “Little pyrotechnics mishap,” he informs you casually, brushing imaginary dust off his arm and onto you. You roll your eyes at him playfully. “Ray got a little overexcited with the stun grenades.”

“What?” You can’t keep the concern from slipping into your voice, even though you try to disguise it behind a joking tone. “You’re working with real stun grenades now?”

“Well, yeah,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “It’s only a stunt if it’s real, you know?”

You narrow your eyes, cocking your head to one side. “I think that’s the opposite of how it works, actually.”

Colt just laughs at that, the golden rays of the setting sun turning his tanned skin golden. His smile is warm and directed entirely at you, heating up the blush in your cheeks again. You turn your eyes back to your painting to keep from completely giving yourself away.

These past few months have been both paradise and torture for you. You thought you could hide your crush easily enough — it’s not like you haven’t done that before. But with Colt, it’s different. He sees through your stoic facades and teases out your laughter, searches for ways to make you smile even on your bad days. Whether it’s pulling a goofy face at you from his rig or remembering that you like sour cream in your soup, Colt has found some new way to surprise you every day that you’ve known him.

The thing is, you’re not sure if he’s actually interested in you or just being flirtatious. Misinterpreting the signals would be awkward and painful for you at this point, so you’ve decided that he’s just going to have to make the first move. You’re too old to play middle-school games with him.

Even if he does give you middle-school butterflies all over again.

You don’t realize that you’ve been lost in your thoughts until you notice that Colt has imperceptibly moved closer to your side, peering over your shoulder as you put the finishing touches on the purposely-sloppy sign.

“So I kick the sign in half tomorrow,” he says softly, his husky voice in your ear sending goosebumps over your skin. “What happens if we have to do another take?”

You risk a glance over your shoulder at him, letting a coy smile slip. “Do you really think this is the only one I’ve done?”

Colt just lifts his eyebrows at you and smiles, returning his eyes to the sign in your hands. Colt has a way of burning you up just with his gaze, and you can’t help breathing an inner sigh of relief every time he focuses his attention elsewhere. Concentrating on anything when he’s looking at you is impossible.

“You know, I could definitely give you some pointers on set design sometime,” he mutters, as if he’s genuinely musing on the thought. You know he’s warming up for a joke, so you let him continue, hiding your smile while he watches over your shoulder. “I have tons of experience in your department.”

“Oh, really?” You grab your black paint and begin the focused task of sprinkling the sign with the darker color for a realistic touch. Realism is the key to making memorable set designs, and you’ve mastered the technique.

“Mm-hmm.” You feel the murmur reverberate in his throat when he leans forward, resting his chin on your shoulder while you lightly dab your paintbrush in your paint bottle. Your heart skips at least three beats when you feel his hair tickling the side of your neck, his eyes still locked on the sign as if he’s studying it. Does he really not know what he’s doing to you, or is he doing it on purpose?

You try to keep your hands steady while you feel his chest rise and fall against your shoulder. Struggling to hide the tremor in your voice, you tease, “What could I improve about this piece, then? I can always use an expert opinion.”

He tilts his head to the side, his chin still resting on your shoulder. You can feel the bristly stubble on his cheeks now. It’s an oddly comforting sensation, one that forces every bit of your self-control to the brink in order to keep yourself from moving your face to the side and nuzzling your cheek against his. You feel his face move slightly as his mouth turns up into a smile.

“If you really want some advice…” he begins, lifting one hand up to trace the edge of your sign.

“Careful,” you warn him, “that’s wet paint.”

Colt doesn’t even get close to smudging your paint, but that doesn’t stop you from lifting your free hand to rest on his wrist, holding it in place while you set your paint bottle down. Colt stills at your touch, and your heart accelerates again at the gentle way his fingertips rest on the edge of your sign.

He lets the moment hang in the air between you for a moment, then comments, “I was just going to suggest a nice artist’s signature. See this big gap right here between Not and Disturb? Your name should go there in big red letters.” You’re already swatting his hand away playfully as his serious tone devolves into snickers. “Just like Bob Ross does on TV.”

“You are so ridiculous,” you laugh, glad to feel the tension slipping out of the atmosphere. Colt lifts his chin off your shoulder now, his hair brushing your earlobe as he does.

“No, it would look perfect,” he insists, his eyes sparkling as his smirk widens. “And then I can aim right for your name when I kick it in half tomorrow.”

He laughs out loud when you slam the sign down on the picnic table surface in mock irritation, your grin making your amusement at his joke obvious. The slam sends a few drops of the black paint from your brush flying up, spattering your jawline.

You reach for a dry rag nearby, still grinning as you prepare to respond, but Colt stops you with a hand on your arm. “Allow me,” he says seriously, placing your hand back into your lap and raising his other hand to the side of your face. You freeze in place, unprepared for the wave of emotion that washes over you when Colt touches the side of your jaw softly.

His eyes are still sparkling with humor, and you know he’s about to do something to make you laugh, but you can’t help the feeling that sweeps through your heart when you’re face to face with him, one of his hands holding yours on your lap and the other just beginning to cradle your face. It feels so gentle, so intimate, so right, and your heart aches as you realize that there is no going back from the feelings you’re developing for Colt Seavers.

He hesitates for a split second, his hand hoving on your jaw for practically no time at all, but it feels like a lifetime to you. You watch his dark blue eyes as they dart down to look at your lips, flitting back up just as quickly to latch onto your eyes with a stare that could melt diamonds.

Then the corner of his mouth turns up again into his usual smirk, and he strokes his thumb across your jaw to smear the black paint up the side of your face.

“Now,” he offers, “don’t you think you look more realistic?”

He dissolves into laughter as you reach up and feel the streaks of black now smudged across your face. You immediately reach past him to dip your fingers in your bottle of red paint, giving him a mischievous grin as you slather three fingers’ worth of paint across his nose and cheeks. The combination of his semi-shocked expression and the ridiculousness of his painted face pushes you over the edge into another fit of laughter.

“You’re the one who will be on camera,” you retort, smiling wider than you can remember doing in a long time. “Shouldn’t you be the one who’s realistic?”

“Touché,” he acknowledges playfully, rubbing his face and only succeeded in smearing the red paint further across his face. “Though I doubt Tom Ryder is going to accept any glimpses of my face on camera, so I won’t even have to wash this off.”

You impulsively reach up and drag your fingertip through the splotch of paint on his cheek, resisting the urge to draw a heart and settling on a simple smiley face instead. His own smile resurfaces at that, eyes twinkling as they stay locked on yours.

“If you keep it until tomorrow, you’ll match my sign,” you muse, trying to lighten the atmosphere, which has suddenly grown a bit more intense now that Colt’s gaze is focused on you again.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t play it off, doesn’t do anything that you expect from him. His breathing seems to slow down, while yours feels like it takes off in a flurry of movement. Colt doesn’t make a move to touch you, but you can feel the distance between the two of you closing infinitesimally.

You’ve never noticed the flecks of silver-gray in his eyes, or the almost-invisible smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, or the ragged cut of his hair right beside his ears. Even the brilliant red streak only serves to bring out the golden tones of his skin, the swirls of blonde in his hair. Every detail of his face seems vivid, as if you’re seeing him for the first time.

His eyes seem to drink you in, too, traveling over every inch of your face before stopping on your lips again. This time, though, he doesn’t flick his eyes back up. Words escape you, as do any coherent thoughts. This is it. He’s actually going to kiss me. This is real.

“Seavers, on set, ASAP.”

The squawk of his walkie-talkie shatters the intense moment, and both of you release a breath that felt like it had been held for an hour. Colt swallows, smoothes his hand over his beard, turns to slip the walkie back into his pocket. You turn back to your painted sign quickly, trying to regain some composure.

Uncharacteristically, Colt doesn’t speak as he stands and turns to walk back to the filming set. He does, however, glance back at you the moment you lift your eyes to watch him walk away. Your heart is still hammering, recovering from his closeness to you.

With a wordless smile, he reaches up, swipes a bit of red paint off his face, and presses it onto the tip of your nose in the shape of his fingerprint. Then he walks away.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Part 2

#hi guys i'm having a full on heart attack over this #please send help #i had an absolute blast writing it #fanfiction #colt seavers x reader #colt seavers fanfiction #original #colt seavers #the fall guy #ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #the five times colt seavers almost kisses you (and the one time he does)

[niceboyeds]

but daddy i love him (e.m)

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: sometimes you have to put the gossipers in their place, and sometimes you have to give them something to talk about. inspired by none other than the masterpiece that is The Tortured Poets Department!

contains: bullying, fluff, language, sexual innuendos if you squint, i think that's it but please reach out if i missed anything!

word count: 1.2K

a/n: hi babies I'm baaaack! with that said I'm rusty so please don't hurt my feelings lmao. i have an idea for a smutty pt. 2 if enough of you want it! okay here we go...

(tagging some mutuals so i don’t get lost in the blackhole: @luvmunson @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @munsonology @lightvixxen @ali-r3n @espressomunson 🫶)

masterlist

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

there was always something exciting about being with a bad boy. but then again, there was nothing “bad” about Edward Munson. he may get a bad rap but, aside from his lunchbox goodies, he is a gentleman before anything else. and a damn good lover. 

you sit in the diner with your friends, snickers and snide remarks could be heard all throughout the room and dozens of eyes burn into the back of your head for what felt like the millionth time. unfortunately that’s one of the prices to pay living in a small town like Hawkins.

Eddie is better than you, though, and doesn’t let it get the best of him. and while you know you could never physically fight someone, you still aren’t shy enough to threaten it. you are, to put it gently, less “reserved” with your words, and make sure to put the lonely housewives and their preppy children in their place about their assumptions of him. 

things have gotten worse as your dating life has expanded out beyond the four walls of Eddie’s quaint trailer or the few friendly drunks at the hideout once a week. you and Eddie both craved being together in public and decided long ago that you don’t care who has something to say about it. 

besides, you know who the real Edward Munson is, you don’t believe what the judgmental church-goers or ex-cheerleaders think of you. the only time it gets you is when you can see it hurting him. 

throughout lunch you keep one hand in his, feeling him tense up every so often when he hears his name come out of their mouths. 

“i wouldn’t be caught dead with that freak!” you hear from a group of your old classmates’ table followed by an eruption of laughter. 

Eddie squeezes your hand three times before letting go, scooting his chair out from the table and excusing himself to the restroom. the friends at your table all look to you for the next move, enough looks of defeat for you to end this once and for all. with a soft smile, you throw a $20 bill on the table and rise from your seat. 

“sorry guys.” you sigh, motioning for them to gather their things to leave as you push in your chair and make your way to the table across the room. Dustin trots his way to the restroom to grab Eddie as you hear Robin say your name softly, urging you to leave it be but everyone knows you can’t.

“hey guys! how are you?” you beam at your old friends, doing your best to smile at them. “Stacy, Lauren, Molly…” you exaggerate her name, informing her you heard her comment loud and clear. 

mumbles of good’s and small nods emit from them and their eyes bounce to one another nervously. “aw that’s so good to hear!” you beam, “i’m doing great too, in case you were curious. ya know, i couldn’t help but overhear you guys chatting over here and i just felt like i needed to come say hi.” their smiles drop immediately as you talk, and you let them sit in their fear of what you’ll say next. 

“yeah, you know what they say… once a bitch always a bitch, right?” silence fills the diner and you hear Max cough to cover her giggle at the door. 

“i’m sorry?” Lauren scoffs, genuinely unable to comprehend the fact that you might be putting them in their place. 

“aw, you should be. because let’s face it, it’s pretty embarrassing that we graduated years ago and you still act like this.” you look at them with pure disgust, knowing they haven’t changed in the slightest. you speak with confidence, your tone still friendly, “and to think you used to truly care for me.”

“w-we do still care for you. we just want what’s best for you.” Stacy chirps as the other two nod along with her.

“what’s best for me? pretending like you’re all some fucking saints walking around and saying you’re praying for me to ‘come to my senses’ as if i have no control over my own life? who i love is my choice, so save your prayers for yourself because you’re the most judgmental creeps i’ve ever met.”

you turn to leave, your sweet group of friends still standing by the door waiting for you, Eddie having joined them just in the heat of your argument. reaching for his hand, you crack open the door and turn one last time to their table. 

“and by the way? i’m having his baby!” their eyes widen with horror and their mouths fall agape as you follow Eddie through the door and giggle, skipping to be directly next to him.  

“woah, woah, woah?! you’re pregnant??” Steve asks, genuinely unsure as you laugh at his question. 

“no, i’m not. but oh my god did you see their faces??” 

Eddie chuckles alongside you, and you feel relieved he’s made light of the situation along with you. “yeah, not yet.”

~~~~~~~~

you sit on the couch with Eddie seated directly in front of you on the shaggy carpet. one by one you twirl his messy curls into ringlets with an unfathomable amount of hair products. you feel his once tense body relax against your knees as he twiddles with the frayed pieces of your blue jeans. 

“it’s true, y’know…” he says softly, barely above a whisper. 

“what’s that?” you ponder, curious more-so as to why his tone has saddened during your comfortable silence.

“what they all say. that you’d be better off with someone else- someone other than me..?”

“no, i don’t think they know what the hell they’re talking about.” your hands continue to work on his hair, with only a few sections left you couldn’t allow yourself to leave it be. But you continue to reassure him. 

“Eds, i don’t care that they think i shouldn’t be with you. i want to be with you. I love you. isn’t that what matters? not what all these bored-ass people think, but what we want?” 

“you… you love me?” he turns his head to face you once you drop the final curl back against his head. an ear to ear grin plastered on his face and his eyebrows wiggle. 

“of course i love you, silly. i love you more than i have the words to express.” you tell him truthfully, knowing in your heart that he is the man for you. 

“i love you too. i love you so fucking much.” 

he stands up from his crouching position, pulling you up from the couch with him. your lips instinctively crash into his. 

you interlock your fingers around his neck, trying to bring him closer to you as if you weren’t already impossibly close to him. you sloppily kiss each other before you pull away from him, a small string of saliva still connecting you to him as your lips separate. 

“eww!” you laugh, before pulling him by the hand and dragging him down the hallway to his bedroom. “come on, slow poke!”

“hey! i thought you said you weren’t having my baby.” he teased, bringing up the silly comment you had said earlier at the diner. 

“yeah, not yet.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie munson blurb #eddie blurb #eddie munson fanfic

[happyheidi]

how do you become so successful on tumblr with followers and likes and reblogs? i make so much blogs and the most followers i could get is max 10 ":( i feel like people here hate me even tho i don't speak to anyone and never send any aks to anyone not even nice ones :(

nooo angel! 😥💛 Lack of followers doesn’t equate to hate! Just as having lots of followers doesn’t equate to love.

As for gaining “success”/followers on tumblr, find a niche/community (cottagecore for example) and start making your own posts, tag them, preferably with some tags that show your personality a little, as well as the “cottagecore, nature, naturecore” etc (as is my case), and spread out your posts, don’t post your own all at once, that way more ppl can see it in the tag(s) you use, and reblog things you like. Make your blog a place you enjoy yourself and ppl will most likely do the same. It takes time. So don’t expect it to grow ‘huge’ overnight

- also, I’d be more than happy to share your blog so hopefully you’ll get some followers of it? Reblog your posts etc. just dm me 💛 I bet a lot of ppl will want to follow but if they don’t, it’s not the end of the world and it’s certainly not hate towards you. I can promise you that! 💝

you know what u need? You need a pic of my dog Moffe looking baked in front of my new currant bush (gonna post about it soon!) 🐕🍃

I’m here if you need more advice or just wanna talk. Looking forward to check out your blog 💚

#ask #moffe #cottagecore #dogs #animals #chihuahua #she turns 14 in august !! #my little old lady <3

[oneweirdbookaddict]

Alright @undertheopensky and @violet27writes (hope you don’t mind the tag! Sorry!)

This one is for you guys 😂

Part two to this fic!

Can be read separately but will make more sense if you read that one first.

Summary:

Time and Four have Issues as the rest of the chain tries their best to get their resident skyloftian back.

6358 words!

Warnings for torture, violence, mentions of death.

~~~~

Sky takes a slow breath, his return to consciousness rather unpleasant.

His head aches, a dull thrum deep inside his skull.

Weak coughs rattle in his chest, and he a metallic, coppery taste lingers in his mouth.

He’s pretty sure he’s laying on the ground, but it seems… rocky. Tilting and moving and rolling underneath him… as if he’s on a boat.

His head pounds.

His tongue is bleeding… had he bitten it?

He… right… he’d been captured… He’d heard Four screaming his name… Four! He’d head Four screaming- he tries to sit up and immediately collapses back down, floor swaying underneath him.

“Four?” He groans, moving his head off the rough, hot wood. “Four? Smithy? Time?”

He wants to look around, to see if they’re with him, to see if they’re ok, but he’s too weak.

He takes a slow breath.

“Four?” He pleads, jolting when metal clatters.

“You’re awake, good! Hate to think we’d killed you before we got to have our fun! Those other two didn’t last long.”

He manages to look up, finding one of the people who captured them.

Shakes his head, straining from the effort of looking up.

A laugh. Cold and harsh, no humor in it.

“The little one was weak. All bravado until we got him figured out. He wasn’t so brave when his organs were being removed!”

His blood boils at the thought of them hurting Four, face twisting into a glare.

“I’ll kill you.” He promises, forcing himself to sit up and look at the face properly. He’s going to remember this guy and kill him for laying a finger on his friends-

Another laugh.

“I wish you the best of luck.”

And he starts walking away.

“I’ll kill you!” He screams, unsure of where the sudden strength is coming from. But he’s grateful for it. “I’m going to kill you, you hear me?! You’ll pay for their blood with your own! I’m going to kill you!”

He has to pause, out of breath now. Slumps back again, tears burning in his eyes.

They can’t be gone… they… no.

No, they’re the strongest people he knows, Four and his unwavering bravery, unshakable Four. And Time, unwavering and confident… no.

He refuses to believe it- they’re trying to break him.

So he takes a slow breath, scrubs his face off, and lets the self pity wash away into fury.

~~~~

“How’s that cut on your stomach feeling?” He asks, undoing the bandages on Four’s bicep. Brushes his scarf out of the way, too.

“Sore,” Four admits in a volume just above a whisper. He doesn’t think the kid’s talked in full volume- or even half volume- since he woke up for good. “But not terrible.”

“That’s good, these are looking a lot better too.”

“Can we take the stitches out of my thigh?” The smith asks quietly, and he pauses.

Chews his lip- the answer is probably not, but he doesn’t want to just say that. So… “We’ll look at it in a minute.” He decides on, and Four nods.

Hyrule inspects the four slices on the smith’s calf, murmuring softly that they’re healing well.

Four doesn’t like those cuts. Not at all. All the deliberate cuts have four of them- the ones on his calf, on his arm, his bicep, and the four deep gashes on his thigh that he’s honestly still worried about.

He’s sure the four cuts and Four’s namesake isn’t just a coincidence. Something in particular happened with those ones.

“Can I ask-” he starts gently, but the kid interrupts.

“No.” Four says quietly, looking away.

“Four, buddy, we need to know-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

And they let it go.

A few minutes of silence as they clean, rebandage, note the progress and areas of concern- until Time walked into the room.

Four’s whole demeanor changes instantly, tensing up, face going stony.

Both he and Hyrule pause nervously, waiting for the explosion…

Time’s gaze flicks between the three of them, then slowly steps into the room.

“How-” Time’s voice cracks and the old man pauses to clear his throat. “How are you doing? Those… healing up ok?”

Four’s eyes are ice cold, not even sparing him a word.

Just ignores him, staring determinedly at the cuts over his bicep. He’s finished cleaning them, careful of the forming scabs over them.

“These are healing well.” He says again, if only to make Four feel… better.

It’s disheartening to see the kid so defeated.

Four just nods, expression unreadable.

“Let’s leave the bandages off tonight. Let it air out.” He suggests softly, and Four nods again.

Just looks… so worn down.

“Ok… Rulie?”

“Yep, looking good here. Cleaned and healing well.”

“Good, let’s look at the ones on your thigh.”

Four nods again and scoots his pants down, shifting the fabric of his underclothes up to reveal the deep cuts.

“How are those, any changes?”

A shake of the head.

He gently inspects the cuts, looking for signs of infection, scabbing, straining or pulling stitches…

“Looks good. Want to take these out?”

It’s a bit early, but… they could get away with it if Four wants. He’s desperate to get a smile out of the kid.

He only gets a shrug in response.

“You asked earlier.” He pushes a bit. “Do you want to take them out?”

A long second, then Four nods. “Yes.”

“Alrighty. Want me to help you, or you want to do it?”

Four holds up a trembling hand in response, answering that question.

“Well. That answers that, then.” He says lightly, accepting the small scissors that Hyrule hands him.

He doesn’t get a smile. Just a sad flick of the eyes in response.

~~~~

“There you are, think that’s good.” He says, tightening the bandages around Four’s thigh.

Four stands to adjust his clothing, then looks up at him.

“Thank you.” The teenager whispers, and he nods.

“Yeah. Anytime, Smithy. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do, alright?”

Four nods, drifting to the door.

“Four-” Time tries, but Four ignores him again.

He and Time watch Four slowly leave the room, shoulders hunched.

Time sighs slowly, sinking down into a chair.

“I see you’ve made progress with him.” He says, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know what else to do.” Time says flatly. “He won’t talk to me.”

“You can’t force him.” He shrugs, moving over to the desk. Time sighs from the other side of the room.

“Did you notice Four was limping?” He asks, genuinely curious if anyone else has noticed.

“What?” Time asks quickly. Apparently not.

“Yep. Had a limp. Right knee. Hiding it well, but it’s hurting him.”

“Is his knee injured or accommodating for…”

“His ribs? I don’t know. We need to leave tomorrow, we can’t risk another day. Take the five of us, search the place top to bottom, not leaving until he’s found…”

“If his ribs are hurting him from walking he might just be accommodating to that.”

“Yeah.” He offers offhandedly, not really paying attention anymore. His mind is on their plan, frowning over the map of the base they’d sketched out. What can they do better than last time?

Things had gone wrong quickly last time- the three of them hadn’t been together, they didn’t get all of them into the base, Legend had been discovered, and Four…

He tries not to think about how bad Four’s injuries were. The way they fought to keep him breathing, to keep him alive.

They weren’t expecting any of them to be that injured. Banged up, sure. Some serious injuries, if they were unlucky. That?

They hadn’t even brought a potion- glass was… noisy. That’s a mistake they won’t be repeating when they get Sky out.

He shakes himself out of the unpleasant thoughts, focusing on what he can control now. Their plan.

“We have to assume security is going to be increased… should we brute force it..? We don’t have the numbers. Stealth mission… Wild, Legend… Hyrule? Twi will insist on going, I’m going to insist on going… is five too many?” He mutters under his breath, letting his gaze drift around the room.

Time understands he’s more talking to himself than to him, and he appreciates the quiet.

“Four’s gonna be pissed when I tell him he’s not coming… but we can’t take him. Hmm…”

It’s late. He can worry about this tomorrow- he needs some sleep to clear his mind.

He sighs, setting the quill down and standing.

Time glances up at him, looking exhausted.

“Get some sleep, Sprite,” He says softly, dabbing his inky fingers on the parchment so he doesn’t stain anything. “You look exhausted.”

“You-” Time starts, but he cuts the man off.

“I’m just going to check on Four, and then I’ll be heading to bed myself in a minute.”

Time nods with a sigh, standing and blowing out the lanterns in the room with him.

“Goodnight, Captain.” Time says quietly, and he gives a small nod as they exit the room together.

“Goodnight, Time. Sleep well.”

~~~~

His stomach rumbles as he walks down the hall, reminding him suddenly that he’d completely forgotten dinner.

So he alters his destination to the lobby of the inn, finding both of his desired goals- a plate of sandwiches Wild had made, and the smith he’d been looking for.

And a bonus- the rancher, who blinks up at him in surprise.

Four’s… dozed off on Twi’s lap.

Twi makes a slashing motion across his throat, the meaning coming across clearly: you wake him, you die.

He nods his understanding, heading to the plate of sandwiches Wild had made for dinner hours ago and taking one.

Studies Four, a task made difficult by the fuzzy blanket engulfing him.

Slow, gentle rise and fall of his chest… lips slightly parted, small hands lightly gripping the fabric of Twi’s tunic, head resting just over the rancher’s heart. Shifting slowly every so often, giving a sleepy mumble every so often.

“He alright?” He asks, and Twi sighs softly.

Makes a weird shrugging gesture, one arm gently wrapping around the smithy.

“I… I don’t know, Wars. He’s a mess.”

He nods with a sigh.

Four has been a mess since he woke up for good.

Barely sleeping, barely eating, refusing to rest from his near fatal injuries, refusing to talk about what had happened unless he thought it could help Sky…

Talking to himself, zoned out all the time, getting his attention was difficult, getting him to do something he didn’t want to do was impossible. Rest his ribs and relax for an hour? Nope.

Sleep for the night? Not happening.

Eat something for dinner? Don’t even think about it.

If you pushed the kid at all? You were on his ‘I don’t like you’ list for a good day or two.

Unless you were Time, who seems to have a permanent place on that list.

The kid could barely stand to be in the same room as their leader- he sees this causing a lot of problems if this continues.

But for now the kid sleeps- somewhat restlessly, he admits, but still sleeping.

He scarfs down another sandwich, ignoring Twi’s raised eyebrow, thinking back to the last time he ate. Did he eat lunch? Yes, he must have, it was… it…

Well… ok, did he eat breakfast? Did he… sleep last night?

No wonder he’s so exhausted.

He blinks slowly, shaking his head at himself. He’s a mess. He stands with a yawn, eyes finding Twi.

“I need to get to sleep, you want any help with him or something? Getting him to bed?”

“Nah, I’ve got him. Thanks, Cap. Sleep tight.”

“You, too, Rancher.” He nods, heading down the hall, finding his room, flopping onto the bed and crashing almost immediately.

~~~~

“What’s with the urgency, Cap?” Twi asks as he walks in with Legend.

“Plan to get Sky back.” He answers, and all the heroes perk up.

Even Four focuses on him long enough to meet his eyes, then slowly returns to staring out the window.

Now that everyone’s in the room and he’s got all their attention, he starts explaining his plan.

“Ok. Plan is to go tonight- Wild, Hyrule, Me, Twi, and Legend. We’re going stealth rather than force, so let’s try to make this an in and out entry. Hopefully no combat.”

“I want to go.” Four says quietly.

He takes a slow breath, meeting the kid’s eyes.

“Not happening. Wild, you’re good at stealth and can offer us stealth potions. We’re going to need those, the ones that last as long as you can manage. We’re going to split and search, Wild and Twi on the bottom floor, Me and Hyrule will take the ground level-”

“Hyrule and I.” Someone corrects- Twi.

“Oh, can it.” He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Legend, your job is to use all those fancy tools and tricks of yours to figure out if there’s any secret rooms or anything they could be hiding him in.”

“I want-”

He meets Four’s eyes and holds his gaze.

“Four, for the sake of your safety, no. You’re recovering, you’re exhausted, I understand you want to come with us, but your ribs are still busted, your wrist is weak, you’re in pain- fighting is going to be a challenge for you.”

“But the goal is to not be in a fight-” Four tries, and he smiles softly.

“That doesn’t guarantee there won’t be one, Smithy. You’re not coming with us. I’m sorry.”

For a second he thinks Four’s going to cry.

Then the smithy’s eyes dart away and the kid slumps in his seat.

A long moment of silence.

He addresses the group once again. “We’re leaving in six hours- nightfall. More security, but less general activity. Get what you need, eat a bite, whatever. Meet back here at nine chimes.”

Some nods, and they all disperse.

Both the smith and the rancher linger, Twi raising an eyebrow at him after glancing at Four.

Expecting an argument, he waits for the smithy to talk first- but the kid just slowly slides out of his seat and carefully makes his way out the door and down the hall with a sharp sniffle.

He makes a mental note to check on the kid in a minute.

Glances at Twi, waiting for the rancher to speak.

“He had a panic attack earlier.”

His heart sinks. “Four?”

“Yep. Kept saying… you know. What he’s been saying. Sky’s dead and there’s… no point in…”

Two trails off, and they stand in a horrible silence.

“Well.” He sighs slowly, “I was about to go talk to him anyway. Maybe…” he trails off.

“Yeah.” Twi says quietly.

Then- “Do you really think-”

“No.” He says firmly. He refuses to consider it. “Sky… no. He’s fine. They didn’t kill Four, they didn’t kill Time… I think he’s alive. They want information, and… Sky doesn’t have it. He’s gonna be in rough shape, but he’s going to be alright.”

They don’t mention the horrible minute Four wasn’t breathing.

Another long silence.

“Well…” he starts, mind going back to the smith.

He makes to leave, but Twi hesitantly takes his arm and stops him. “Wars… this is going to work, right?”

Taking a deep breath, he musters a smile. The confident, easy going one he was known for back in the day. “If everything goes to plan.”

Twi nods, unconvinced. “I don’t know what it’ll take to break that kid, but I don’t want to see it. This has to work.”

“It will,” he promises, though they both know it’s empty words.

~~~~

Four is a lump of blankets on the bed of his room when he gently pokes his head in after receiving a small ‘hm?’ When he’d knocked.

“Hey, buddy, you doing ok?” He asks softly, making his way to the bed.

The lump of blankets rustles, making room for him to sit.

He does so with a groan as his knees ache, stretching out and laying on the bed.

Four’s frozen for a moment, but slowly scoots closer.

“C’mere,” He says quietly, and Four shifts to slowly nestle into his side. He’s not a touchy person, but Four needs a hug. He can manage for a moment or two.

His arms gently wrap around the kid, rubbing his back with a yawn.

“You in pain?” He yawns, only getting another rustle from the lump of blankets.

Four clearly doesn’t want to talk, so he lets him be. Just rubs his back slowly, the kiddo slowly cuddling back, small but toned arms wrapping around him.

His eyes close for a moment, giving another yawn.

He’s never been very relaxed with physical contact, but he finds himself enjoying the relaxation.

Four somehow seems to realize this, or perhaps it’s merely a habit when Four slowly starts drawing small circles into his back.

Tracing little loops, eventually switching to what he assumes is letters and words, continuing even when his hand stops and he’s gone still, savoring every moment.

Eyes closed, until he’s drifting… drifting…

“Captain?” A voice says softly, and his eyes flutter blearily. Not wanting to be awake, he slowly sighs and curls into the blankets around him more.

“Wars, hey, time to start getting ready.” The same voice says gently, and he sighs again. Gives a mumble that even he’s not sure what he’s saying.

There’s a soft laugh, a hand touching his shoulder-

He snaps awake, shoving the hand off him, heart rate spiking panickedly in his chest.

“Hey… sorry, we’re getting ready to leave.” Twi offers quietly, and he nods slowly, trying to calm his breathing down.

Glances down at Four, ignoring Twi’s second apology. The smith is still sleeping, hair all in his face.

“Leaving… yeah… what time is it?” He says as he blinks away the grogginess, standing carefully.

“Almost nightfall. Eight and a half chimes. You should eat, we’ve still got a while.”

His eyes linger on the kid on the bed- despite Four’s insistence, he couldn’t convince himself that Four was of age.

“Wars, hey, you fell asleep, that’s all. We’re going to get Sky back. Are you alright?” Twi asks softly.

“I- yeah. Yeah, sorry.” He says, shaking his bleariness off. “Just… don’t remember falling asleep.”

It’s easier than explaining he fell asleep with Four cuddling him and the kid was at the opposite side of the bed when he woke up.

He looks back at the bed. Four’s… still asleep. Breathing slowly, lips slightly parted, face peaceful…

He shakes his hesitation off, following the rancher out of the room.

~~~~

Fifteen minutes.

He starts strapping his armor to his body.

Laces his boots.

Straps his sword and shield to his back.

One knife on both arms, one in his boot.

“Please let me come.” Four whispers, and he jumps.

Looks at the teenager, sitting up on the bed, looking miserable.

Hopeless.

He moves back to the bed, taking a seat next to the kid. Four’s eyes slowly find him.

“Do you trust me?” He asks softly instead of giving the response Four knows he’s going to get.

Soft grey eyes blink at him.

A small nod.

He reaches and gently takes Four’s hand.

“Four, buddy. I’m gonna get him back. I promise you. I’m not leaving without him. When I get back tonight Sky is going to be with me. I promise you that.”

Ten minutes.

“I’m worried about you, smithy. I think you’re pushing away what you went through to focus on Sky.”

Four looks away.

Swallows, blinking.

“I want to help you, buddy.” He practically whispers. “But I don’t know how. Do you trust me? For real?”

Four looks him in the eye again, nodding.

With much more confidence this time.

“I’m glad.” He says quietly, patting Four’s arm gently. “I trust you, too, you know. I’m not leaving you behind for anything you did. Or because I don’t trust you, or… or anything. I want you here because I’m worried sick about you. That’s all. So… can you do me a favor while I’m gone?”

Four nods slowly, blinking again.

“Eat something for me. Drink some water. Clean your wounds off, see how they’re doing, maybe even take a bath. Take some time to take care of yourself.”

Another nod.

He offers a smile, and almost gets one in return.

It’s the best he’s gotten since he got the smithy back.

“Thanks.” He says, patting the smith’s shoulder.

“Be safe.” Four whispers, and he nods now.

Offers a little smile, walking to the door.

“Safe is my middle name.”

He swears he hears the tiniest laugh before he closes the door, leaving Four behind.

~~~~

He’s sitting against the wall, pressing his forehead to the cold stone.

The guards open the cell door, carrying his food for the night, and he waits.

Waits for the one to get closer… grabs the neck of his uniform, scowling.

Shoves him roughly against the wall, using his forearm to cut off his oxygen.

“You’re going to tell me where my friends are,” he says calmly, despite the rage burning through him. “And maybe I’ll consider letting you live. Do we have a deal?”

He’s weaker than he’d like- woozy, not quite steady, hunger and pain making him less aware than he’d like.

But this is his chance- and by the goddess is he going to take it. His hand slowly finds the concealed weapons the guard has- a knife, a heavy but short club-type thing…

Takes the knife, tossing the other thing away.

“Good.” He releases some of the pressure on the guard’s neck. He feels no guilt as the man wheezes and coughs. This is the same one who bragged about torturing Four.

“I don’t know.” The man rasps shakily. “They’re just- gone. We tortured the little one- we were attacked afterwards. It was- it was chaos.”

Another long coughing fit.

“Your friends were gone. The boss was furious- we might’ve killed the small one.”

His hand trembles, knife nicking the man’s throat.

A drop of blood runs down the guard’s neck.

Before he can reply, he’s shoved roughly.

Losing balance in his weakened state, stumbling away, and something cracks over his head. He gasps, knife plunging into something soft-

For a second, he’s blind. Only seeing white, his knees hit the ground, nausea clenching in his stomach-

Ringing.

Loud ringing.

He slowly scoots to find the corner of the cell as he hears sounds of a struggle through the ringing- metal on metal of swords clashing, a pained grunt-

“Sky! Sky, Sky, hey… hey, talk to me, buddy, where are you hurt?”

“Wars..?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here, Sky. I’ve got you. Where are you hurt? Drink this, bud.”

A cool bottle is nudged to his lips, hands easily moved when he attempts to push it away.

“Where’s… others?”

“Shh… drink.”

He takes a sip, sighing softly as the pounding in his head fades slowly. The ringing fades slowly. His vision clears, revealing a dusty and slightly bloody friend.

The body of his captor on the floor next to them, unmoving.

His knife sticking out of the little space between pieces of armor.

“Most of us are here, we got Four and Time, they’re alright. Promise. You just drink that, Sky. Rest up.”

He slowly finishes the potion, feeling much better afterwards. Achy and exhausted for sure, but… no longer feels like he’s burning from the inside out.

“Mm…” he tries, but his lips don’t really work.

“Good…” Wars says softly, hand slowly reaching out but backing away at the last minute. “Let’s get you to the inn, yeah? You’re safe now. I’ve gotcha.”

“Wars?! Hyrule?!”

“In here! I’ve got him!” Wars calls, making his head pound again.

“W’rs… Four?” He repeats, and Wars shushes him gently.

“He’s safe, Sky, I promise.”

He blinks grime out of his eyes, forcing himself to squint at the captain.

Legend runs into the room, kneeling next to him.

“Hey… hey, Sky.” Legend says softly, and he manages a small smile.

“Hey, Lege… how… y’doin’?”

“Good, really good, you alright? You hurt?”

“ ‘ve… been better.” He confesses, gratefully slumping into Legend’s arms when the veteran carefully scoots him away from the cold wall.

“I got him a potion, he doesn’t seem to have any serious injuries…” Wars is saying softly, and he can hear more voices slowly adding to the chorus.

Chorus? Singing… Zelda sings… he misses Zelda.

Zelda… he ought to write to her again, it’s been a while… because he was captured…

Hm. He probably shouldn’t tell her that, though.

“You can rest, Sky.” A voice whispers softly, and he manages a drowsy nod before giving in to the pull of sleep.

~~~~

“I got him a potion, he isn’t injured too bad anymore, he just needs some rest and food. Let’s get him back, we’ve been here too long.” He says, and the little group nods and readies themselves quickly.

It’s an easy trip out, to all their surprise. Sneaking past their security is… not difficult, and they only guard the cells. With little activity going on around the base, getting out unnoticed is easy.

There’s absolutely no urgency to get back to the inn like there was with Four. Sky… is… well, mostly ok.

Not really all that injured, as far as they can tell.

And he’d already had a potion.

Sky dozes off in Twi’s arms as they walk, having eaten some spare snacks and water they’d had when they got out of the base.

Not much, but more than the knight’s probably had in days.

The master sword is strapped to his back, and he has the oddest temptation to draw the sword.

His mind itches, unsatisfied with the results. He feels like he’s missing something- something important.

But Sky is with them, he’s fed and healed and sleeping gently, they have the master sword… nothing is wrong.

The skyloftian twitches.

It’s a quiet walk back to the inn.

They walk in the door, scanning Sky over for the hundredth time, meeting the others in the lobby as they walk in.

“He’s alright, he’s-”

Four’s at his side in an instant, eyes flickering over Sky, hand reaching out to gently brush over the Skyloftian’s shoulder.

“We’re guessing a nasty concussion, broken ribs, starvation and malnutrition, dehydration-”

“He has a head injury, look at his arms, put him down-”

And that’s when the seizure happens.

Twi yelps, immediately setting Sky down, Four practically shoves all of them away from the man, forcing them all to watch helplessly as Sky convulses.

“Stop!” Four says quickly when he tries to move toward his friend, and he freezes.

And they wait- not too long, until Sky slowly stops twitching and goes still.

“Sky?” Four asks softly, slowly kneeling next to the skyloftian. Blue eyes find Four slowly.

He moves next to Four, and the smithy lets him this time.

“Hey, Sky, how you feeling? You ok?” He asks softly, noting how confused the man looks.

“Mhm… ‘m ok.” Sky mumbles, eyes flicking to him before back to Four.

Four’s holding Sky’s hand… checking his pulse. Eyes lingering on his chest, watching for rise and fall…

“Sky? Can you answer some questions for me?” Four asks softly, and Sky nods.

“Good… where are you right now?”

“An… an inn. We were in the cell… Wars n Legend got me…”

“Good. Let’s get you a potion, alright? How are you feeling?”

He’s got a potion in his hands in a flash, handing it to the smithy. Four nods his thanks, eyes still on Sky.

“Just… sore. Tired.”

“Weak? Lightheaded, dizzy?”

“No.” Sky answers, and Four nods again.

Offers the potion, slowly getting to his feet.

Sky sips at it slowly, still seeming really out of it.

“Think he’s alright.” Four says quietly, looking at the ground. “That’s common after a seizure. And he had a head injury… not surprised he had one. Get that potion into him and let him sleep.”

And the smith is gone, out the door of the inn.

~~~~

It’s a long night.

Four comes back with a thick book about seizures, sitting in the room Sky’s taken with him. The kid doesn’t sleep at all, and he doesn’t have the heart to try to force the teenager when he’s not sleeping either.

So they’re both exhausted when it’s morning.

He glances at the door when he hears it open, meeting Time’s gaze. “Morning, Sprite.”

“Morning, Captain.” Time says distractedly, looking at Four. “Morning, Smithy. How’s Sky?”

Four’s eyes don’t move from the man on the bed.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” The smith says in a whisper.

Time steps into the room and closes the door. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’d quite like to talk with you, though, and you’ve been refusing for days.”

He holds his breath, the tension in the room unbearable. But the silence lingers- neither one says anything.

“Four, I’m sorry.” The old man says quietly, not moving from the door.

In case Four tries to escape.

“You’re not.” The smith mutters.

Time sighs deeply, eye closing. “Ok. I’m not. I wasn’t about to watch you die when Sky-”

“Shut up.” Four whispers, eyes flicking briefly to the door.

“Four,” he pleads, and the kid jumps. “You don’t even know what happened. Sky wasn’t in the cell when we found Time, he wasn’t with you, you were actively bleeding out, we looked for him briefly but-”

“You should’ve found him, no one cares if I-”

“BUT chances were he was in much better condition than you were!” He continues over the smith.

“You didn’t know that.” Four says, voice flat.

The kid’s fighting tears back. Good- the kid needs to process things somehow. If this is how it’s gonna happen… so be it.

“We didn’t, but-”

“If it were Wind you would’ve torn the base apart looking for him.” Four whispers, voice shaking. Then looks at Time for the first time. “If it were Twi you’d want to be the one left behind.”

The old man physically flinches.

“You don’t get to choose-” the smith’s voice breaks, and the kid stands quickly. “You promised me.”

Four’s hands jump to his eyes, scrubbing furiously at them. “You promised me. And you lied.”

He stands, too, moving slowly to the smith.

“I am sorry for that, Four. But I could never live with myself if you had died.”

Tears drop down Four’s cheeks.

“And if Sky had? If he still does?” Four chokes, grey eyes flicking to the bed again.

“I still-”

“You don’t get to play god. You don’t get to choose who dies and who doesn’t-”

Four’s voice breaks again, and then the kid is just crying.

“You promised and you still lied to me.” Four chokes, staring at Time with pure hurt.

Time slowly moves to sit in the chair Four had abandoned, meeting the kid’s gaze.

“I never intended to hurt you, Four.” Time says softly. “I took a risk- I was hoping Wars or Legend had found him, and when they didn’t… you had deteriorated so quickly. We had to get going right then. We took a risk- as far as we knew, Sky wasn’t injured badly. You were. I won’t ask for your forgiveness- I only ask for your understanding. We took a risk, and I’m not sorry for saving you. But I am sorry for the pain that choice caused you and breaking my promise.”

Four scrubs at his eyes again, sniffling.

Tries to talk, but he only manages a choking noise before the kid is just bawling.

Knees on the floor, arms around himself, face tucked into his arms to hide it.

He stands quickly and kneels next to the smithy, putting a soft hand on his back.

Which quickly turns into the kid curling into his chest, arms around him.

“Shh…” he whispers as Four cries. “I’ve got you, buddy. It’s ok. It’s gonna be ok.”

“This is all my fault.” Four sobs, and he freezes.

Then grabs Four tightly, startling the poor kid, crushing him tightly to his chest.

“No. No, you listen here. This is not your fault. You hear me? Everything was way outside of your control- no part of this was your fault. I promise you- you trust me, right? This was not your fault.”

Four chokes weakly, face pressing into his chest.

Hands weakly grabbing his tunic, sniffling sharply.

“I promise you.” He says, much more softly. “There was no part of this that was your fault. You didn’t choose to be captured and tortured. You didn’t choose any of this. It isn’t your fault. And I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it, ok?”

Four finally gives a weak nod, pulling back just enough to wipe his eyes, then sinks back into him.

And they sit there, supporting each other in silence.

~~~~

Sky wakes up slowly.

Much… nicer than when he had before.

Not nearly as much pain, just some lingering soreness… and he’s on a comfortable bed.

Four sits next to him, in a chair next to the bed.

Eyes locked on him, looking… nervous.

“Four.” He rasps, trying for a smile. He bursts into tears instead, startling the hell out of the poor boy.

Then Four’s fretting over him in a panic, asking if he’s hurt, what he needs, should he get Wars-

“You’re ok?” He sobs, grasping Four’s arm tightly before the kid can move.

Four nods, blinking oddly. Another nod, and Four makes an odd noise. Like a squeak.

He coughs, Four slowly helping him sit up and drink a bit of water.

“Yeah.” Four says softly, slowly taking his hand once he leans back again. “Yeah.”

He wipes his eyes, nodding.

Four still hovers, watching.

“It’s ok… c’mere, Four.” He chokes, patting the bed next to him and carefully scooting to the side. “We’re ok, we’re…” his voice breaks again, and he almost laughs.

Four joins him without hesitation, curling into his side with a shaking breath.

He slowly hugs his friend, rubbing his back. “Hey… hey, what is it?” He asks softly, and Four chokes.

“Nothing, it’s nothing, I’m fine-” Four cuts off weakly, swallowing thickly.

“Hey… hey, talk to me, what’s going on?” He asks softly, and Four sniffles.

Silence. He looks down at the teenager, worried-

“ ‘m sorry.” Four whispers suddenly, voice choked.

“No… no, no no, kiddo, you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong, ok? I promise.”

“They hurt you cuz of me- because I got hurt and had to leave- ‘n they didn’t try to find you-”

“Shh… breathe, kiddo. Just breathe. It’s not your fault. I promise, ok? You did nothing wrong. I’m glad you’re ok, and that’s all. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you if you were… I’m just glad you’re ok.”

Four sniffles again, but nods slowly.

Then- “Love you.” The kid whispers, making a small gulping sound.

He squeezes the kid tighter, blinking yet more tears out of his eyes. “I love you too, kiddo.”

~~~~

Sky doesn’t have another seizure.

He improves rapidly, much to all of their relief.

He grows more comfortable, the lethargy wearing off, gets back to walking around, eating with them…

The skyloftian clings to Time and Four in particular.

Time still tends to stick to himself- never one for intimacy like that- but Four…

Four won’t leave Sky alone.

The smith follows the skyloftian around as often as he can, sitting next to him during meals, sharing the room and eventually even bed when Sky assures the kid he’s ok with it, and doesn’t sleep well unless Sky’s nearby.

Sky seems to enjoy it, never pushing the smith away and seeming… happy.

Their both dealing with their kidnapping and torture, but… he’s glad they can find comfort in each other.

Always has an arm around the kid, or his sailcloth, letting Four lean on his side when they rest…

Sky in particular struggles with nightmares and flashbacks, which Four helps with. A lot.

He confesses once, in a shaky whisper, that Four’s screams haunt him. The ugly scar on Four’s side that Sky’s eyes linger on, Four’s hand lingers on when the skin is exposed… and Four sleeps curled up on that side. Protecting it.

It’s a sad realization that Sky actually points out without meaning to.

Four’s drifted off early, curled up with his head on Sky’s leg, and the skyloftian casually asks “Is that the side he was cut open on?”

They all pause to look at the kid, and he nods slowly.

“Yeah. The side he’s curled around? Yeah… see the stitching in his tunic? From being repaired. That’s the side. Weird he sleeps on it, wouldn’t that hurt?”

“He always sleeps on that side. Won’t sleep otherwise. It’s like he’s protecting it- see how his arms are?”

Dead silence as they all realize this.

He slowly shifts Four to undo the belt the kid wears all the time, slowly pulling his tunic up-

“What are you doing? Wars?” Sky protests quietly.

“Making sure nothings wrong with it.” He says equally quietly, and that silences the group.

It looks fine, just a long gash of scabbing from his rib cage to his hip. Hyrule gently prods it, checking for tenderness and other signs of internal bleeding, reporting that there’s nothing.

So he’s not in pain. Probably.

Just… well, traumatized.

Sky helps him pull the kid’s tunic off, taking his headband and boots off so they can actually put him to bed. Unsurprisingly, Sky goes with him.

He carries the smith, waking past Legend, setting him gently on the bed when he gets to the room Four and Sky had been sharing.

Knees tucked up to his chest, arms wrapped around his stomach where the cut was.

“How the hell can he sleep like that?” Legend says, having followed him to the room.

Sky gets ready for bed, too, giving a small smile at them.

He has to laugh. “Right? Looks crazy uncomfortable.”

They watch the pair for a moment, then he sighs and leaves the room with the veteran.

“Think they’re gonna be ok?” Legend asks, uncharacteristically uncertain.

He takes a glance at the veteran, then nods his head.

Starts down the hall to his room, stretching slightly.

“Yeah. Yeah, they’re gonna be just fine.”

~~~~

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu four #four my beloved #lu legend #linked universe four #lu time #lu warriors #warriors lu #linked universe warriors #linked universe wars #sky Lu #Lu Sky #linked universe Sky #sky linked universe #time Lu #twi lu #Lu twi #that’s kinda everyone that has a big role lol #wow I forgot to tag this 😂

[dira333]

Of Swings and Snakes - Matsukawa x Reader

part 1 - this is the angsty start, for someone who likes angst to fluff, leave a note so I can tag you in part 2

Warning: Angst, Relationship ending, failed communication

tagging: @lees-chaotic-brain and my angsty Mattsun Anon

The old swingset creaks loudly as you push yourself forward. It’s the only noise in the park and it would probably be creeping you out if your thoughts weren’t occupied as is. 

You barely have enough energy to push yourself forward, but you cannot stay in place either and the loud, whining creak is enough to cut a little slice out of the gloom that’s been settling heavily into your skin.

“This seat taken?” 

You don’t look up. Makki settles in the swing next to you without waiting for an answer.

For a while, there’s just the sound of two swings creaking, the soft sound when your feet hit the floor to push you forward just a little more.

Eventually, though, you come to a stop. Makki follows, puts his feet down so hard dirt flies through the air. 

His left hand moves over to take yours, folding around your cold fingers holding the cold metal.

“I’m staying with you, okay?” He says, “You’re not going to be alone.”

Finally, your tears start to flow.

-

When you’re dating in high school, the reactions are always the same.

There are the ones who think it’s cute.

“Youth,” they’ll say with a wistful smile. “To be young again.”

There are the ones who think you’re too young. 

“You’ll regret this later, trust me. Don’t bind yourself to someone else too early.”

And there are the ones who look like their heart breaks just at the thought of it.

“I wish you the best,” your mother had said when you brought home the news, “I hope it turns out better for you.”

You hadn’t thought to ask then, what she meant. Would you have decided differently, if you had? If you’d heard about her own love story at seventeen? How she loved and lost in much the same way?

Or maybe you’d have told yourself that you are different. 

Only to realize that you are not.

-

“Please welcome our new manager to the team.” 

You wave shyly as the boys turn toward you. Your Middle School Volleyball Club was way smaller.

There’s talk of them making Nationals this year and you do your best to help.

“Oikawa made a name for himself in Middle School,” they say like he’s the Messiah that will bring new life to their hopes and aspirations.

And he’s good, that’s easy to tell. But where your Senpai seem to forget that Oikawa isn’t the only first year, you can see all of them gleam and glitter in the background, like Stars, unable to outshine the moon with their light.

Iwaizumi is a little shy, but you stay back to help him practice his spikes sometimes. 

Hanamaki and Matsukawa, or as they ask you to call them, Makki and Mattsun, tend to goof off most of the time during training but it’s not hard to call them to attention. Watching them play together is something you will not get tired of.

“Hey, Manager, can you help us?” Makki calls out to you, “I wanna practice blocking with Mattsun.”

“Coming!”

.

You don’t make it to Nationals this year. Shiratorizawa has also gained a new star and if Oikawa is the moon, outshining the stars, Ushijima Wakatoshi is the bright midday sun, burning away all memories of the night.

“You are a good manager,” he finds you in the hallways later, face set in a passive frown, “you should come to Shiratorizawa.”

And you’re sure it’s a compliment, in a way. But there’s no question of your loyalty.

“I wouldn’t be half as good as you think if I’d just abandon my team the moment someone asks me to.”

There’s surprise evident on his face that soon falls away.

“Come on, Ushiwaka, we’re going to be late,” a redhead calls for him just as Mattsun appears at the corner, waiting for you.

“We’ll meet again,” Ushijima promises and you shrug before turning around. You suppose there’s nothing you can do about it.

-

“Mom, can you give me my water bottle?”

Silence falls over the Gym, then laughter.

“What?” Watari asks, hackles rising.

“You just called our Manager Mom,” Sawauchi points out.

“No, I didn’t!” Watari defends himself and you pity the poor first year.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind-” 

“You don’t mind?” Makki leans heavily onto your shoulder. You don’t know how he could appear so fast out of thin air. “Mattsun, did you hear that?”

“Hm, I did.” He leans heavily on your other shoulder, winking down at you when you look up at him. Mattsun’s so close you can see every single one of his unfairly long lashes and the slow growth of his lazy smirk. 

He’s terrifyingly good looking and you suspect he knows it too.

-

“Mom!” Kyoutani yells through the Gym a few weeks later, the Nickname stuck like glue.

“Coming,” you yell back, emergency kit ready. “Jeez, you guys need to stop being so rough. Everything okay, Watari?”

“Yeah,” the Libero’s clutching his nose, blood dribbling out from under his hands. “Just managed to receive with my face.”

“Thanks for calling me, Kyoutani,” you tell the other boy who nods gruffly before returning to the court as if nothing happened.

“Come up,” you say, but he stays on the floor, growing paler. 

“I don’t feel so good,” he mutters and your head flies around, looking for someone, anyone who can help.

“I’m here,” Mattsun calls out immediately, already by your side. You didn’t see him come over, nor do you know why he decided to do it, but you’re too thankful to think about it now. 

Together you manage to get Watari out of the Gym where he empties his stomach into a nearby shrub.

“Let’s get you to school nurse,” Mattsun decides before looking at you. “That okay?”

“Yeah, thank you.” 

With Watari supported on your left and Mattsun’s right arm, the walk is more than a little wobbly - height difference and all - but your mind is going elsewhere, unable to focus on the first-year’s health.

Mattsun’s arm rests under yours on Watari’s back, warm and steadfast and safe.

He smiles softly, reassuring, whenever your eyes cross.

He doesn’t have to say anything, he just has to be there.

-

“Hey, I was wondering…” Mattsun’s rubbing the back of his head and you stop to give him some time to think.

“Yeah?”

A pink blush grows on his cheeks. You wonder if this is really what you think it is.

“I really like you. A lot. And I was thinking… if you’d want to be my girlfriend.”

You swallow thickly, look around for any signs that this is a prank.

“Are you being serious?”

“When have I ever not been- scratch that, yes, I’m serious.” He stretches out his hand as if this is a business offer, realizing half-way how weird it looks.

But it’s too late, you’ve already clamped both hands around his and shook it.

“I want to be your girlfriend,” you blurt out, just as awkward in your affection as he is.

A wide, satisfied grin spreads over his face and the blush intensifies to your delight.

“Wait,” Makki calls out from somewhere behind him, “Does that make Mattsun my Dad? I’m veto-ing!”

“You don’t get a say,” you declare just moments before Mattsun pulls you in, face mushed into his chest.

“If we run now,” he whispers, “we can outrun him.”

-

“If you miss this serve, you’re buying Ramen!” Makki declares.

“I want mine with pork!” Mattsun immediately adds on.

Oikawa rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. They might be playing an important game, but this team knows better.

“I want mine extra spicy,” you call out from the side, waving when both Mattsun and Makki give you a thumbs up for the order.

.

“What are you going to do now?” Kindaichi asks after their loss.

“What do you mean?” You ask back.

“Are you still going to come to practice? You’ve got your exams coming up.”

“Are you trying to steal my girlfriend?” Mattsun hooks his head over your shoulder, trying to stare Kindaichi down.

“NO! No, no, I just… it will be different without you there.”

“Yamagata-chan will be helping you just fine,” you assure him, smiling at your feisty first-year manager. “I’m not sure yet, it depends on how well I’m getting on with studying.”

“Lies,” Mattsun whispers into your ear when Kindaichi turns his back on you for a second. “You’ll be back. You care too much.”

And isn’t that the truth?

-x-

“Where’s he staying?” You ask, your hand curled around the doorframe. Even from this distance you can tell that Mattsun’s missing.

Later you’ll find your suitcase missing, along with his suits and a few sets of underwear. He’s never been a materialist.

“I-” Makki pulls his head in as if to avoid the question. 

“Please?”

“He’s staying with Kyoutani for the moment,” he sighs, moves as if to hug you but pulls back when you step out of reach.

“I’m staying with you, okay? You won’t have to be alone.”

“What if I want to be?”

Makki cocks his head to the side, eyeing you curiously. “No, you don’t.”

“Fine,” you sigh, “but you’re making Dinner. I’m going to take a bath.”

“Don’t drown.”

You flip him off.

Though when you’re sitting in the hot water, surrounded by remnants of this lost relationship, you can’t help but weep.

-

“What’s this monstrosity?” You ask when Mattsun drops his hands from your eyes. There, on the shower curtain, is a giant cat in Seijoh colors, flying through space.

“Do you like it?” Mattsun asks, giggling, “Kindaichi ordered it.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“No, he didn’t, Kunimi ordered it. But Kindaichi paid.”

“Poor guy,” you huff, “but I suppose we can’t get rid of it now.”

“You always wanted a cat.”

You snort. “Yeah, and I guess I got one now.”

“And look, Kyoutani got us this kitten soap dishes to match. Isn’t that thoughtful?”

You sigh. “It is. At least now I’m glad I had the foresight to steal towels during my time at Seijoh.”

“You didn’t,” Mattsun gasps, “I’m dating a criminal!”

“You do,” you sling your arms around his shoulders and press a kiss to his jaw, “gonna kill you if you sing.”

He laughs, dips you like you’re dancing. 

And yes, your apartment is barely big enough to fit the two of you, but it doesn’t matter. Not as long as you’re together.

-

“What’s for Dinner?” Makki asks, closing the door behind him with a snap.

“I wanted to make Lasagna but I only had Ramen Noodles left, so I don’t know what to call it,” you announce from the stove.

“Oh, LaRamna, my favorite,” he chirps, going straight for the snack drawer until a well-aimed spoon cuts him off.

“No chocolate before Dinner.”

“But-”

“You can set the table.”

“Fine,” Makki huffs, sticking his tongue out at you. “I brought wine with me, by the way.”

“Oh, how classy of you. Are we pretending to be something other than College Kids?”

“Who’s pretending what?” Mattsun’s still in the door, wet hair hanging into his eyes.

“Oh baby,” you coo, walking over. “Did you forget your umbrella again?”

“Mhm,” he leans down to kiss you, leaving droplets of cold running down your skin. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” you hum back. Mattsun leans in to kiss you again though this time he stops, turns and “Makki, no Chocolate before Dinner!”

-

“You good?” Makki asks, pushing an open bar of chocolate in your direction.

“Yeah,” you hum, doodling yet another heart into your book.

“You don’t look it.”

“Just lonely, I guess,” you admit, “I’m not used to Mattsun staying out this late.”

“How long is this course going?”

“Two weeks,” you groan, rubbing your eyes.

“That’s not that long.”

“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not.”

But the gloominess doesn’t really go away that night.

.

“Another course?” You ask, focus on the carrots you’re cutting.

“Yeah,” Mattsun’s at the table, going over the bills. “This one’s not mandatory but I’d get ahead much faster. My uncle said I could start working part-time for him as soon as I’ve got through this one.”

“You wanna work for your uncle?” You ask, turning to look at him.

He purses his lips, taps the table with his pen.

“I mean, it’s honest work, right? I don’t really have any passion to follow and it pays good money.”

“Yeah, but what if you realize you hate it?”

“I’d figure it out then, wouldn’t I?” He cocks his head to the side to look at you. “Do you think I wouldn’t like it?”

“I don’t know. It’s just… I don’t like those late classes.”

“I know,” he coos, getting up and walking over. “I know you hate falling asleep without me.”

“That too,” you huff and lean into him. “I just… I didn’t know growing up was this hard.”

“It won’t be for long, I promise.”

-

The numbers on your alarm clock are a bright, annoying red and a slap in the face.

It’s two hours past midnight yet the other side of your bed is cold and empty. 

There are no new messages on your phone as you slip out of bed and stalk around the room, chewing on your lower lip as you consider your options.

Call the police? Call Makki? 

You call Mattsun, because that’s always been your go-to if you needed help.

The familiar ringtone cuts through the silence, muffled only by the closed door.

When you open it, you’re greeted by the dim lights over the stove and a long body stretched out on the Couch. 

He fell asleep waiting for the Microwave to get done and though you want nothing less than to curl up beside him, he looks far too exhausted for you to wake him up.

So you tuck him in the best you can before you slip back into the bed he should be sharing with you, unable to get rid of a chill that has started creeping in.

-

“Instant Ramen?” Makki’s stopped halfway to the fridge, staring at your choice of Dinner. You shrug and dig your chopsticks into the meal.

He looks like he wants to add something, but instead, he picks a pack out of the drawer Mattsun pretended to hide them in. A few minutes later he’s sitting across from you, blowing on his own bowl of Ramen.

“I thought they’re not healthy.”

“They’re not.”

“Period incoming.”

“Had it last week.”

“Hm.” Makki squints, takes a first sip, and curses when he burns his mouth.

“Okay,” he huffs finally when even that doesn’t make you smile, “Spill. Why are we eating Instant Ramen instead of the usual healthy stuff you like to make?”

“I hate cooking for one person.”

Makki stops, chopsticks halfway to his mouth.

“But you’re not cooking for one person,” he says, confused, “You always cook for-”

You stare at him until he breaks off in the middle of his sentence.

But Makki wouldn’t be Makki if he could be convinced to shut up by a glare alone.

“It’s only a few more days until the course is over.”

“I think he’s cheating on me.”

Makki’s chopsticks drop into his bowl, spraying broth everywhere. But you don’t care. Not about that, at least. 

You eat on, try to stare a hole into the wooden tabletop, right there, where you usually put Mattsun’s bowl when he sits down for Dinner.

“You wouldn’t-” Makki stumbles over the words. “He wouldn’t- Why do you think-”

“Working late,” you count on your fingers, “coming home later than the course needs him to, smelling like perfume. Do you need me to go on?”

“Did you talk to him about it?”

“Yes,” you nod sharply, “but apparently it’s a secret I’m not supposed to know.”

Makki sighs. “It really is, I know it and it’s supposed to be a surprise.”

You freeze. Makki dares to show a small smile and you look up at him, surprised at your own feelings.

“I was actually kinda relieved,” you admit, voice hollow, “because that would have explained why he doesn’t want to spend time with me anymore.”

-x-

It’s hard, getting up in the morning after your first - and worst - breakup.

It’s hard, getting through the day and coming home again only to realize that this is it. This apartment will never be filled with life again, not in the way it was supposed to be. 

Makki only leaves your side for work, sleeping on the Couch as if it’s his bed and not a torture instrument created to destroy your back muscles. 

You think it’s sweet of him until you realize that Mattsun’s probably camping out in Makki’s apartment now. 

All the friends you have are tied to the two of you.

And while none of them pick sides, you kinda want them to.

You want them to tell you that this is wrong. That you should have stayed, that you should have tried harder. 

Because if everyone’s just sympathetic, doesn’t that mean you don’t have any chance to mend this? To have a future with Mattsun in it?

You’re not home when Mattsun comes to pick up most of his things.

All those feelings come back up again at the sight of empty spaces where his things should have been.

The mountain of blankets because he likes to wrap himself like a Burrito. His movie collection. The sweaters you loved to curl up in when he wasn’t around.

But he left the shower curtain and seeing that still hanging feels like the worst betrayal, a knife straight to the heart. 

You’re not doing the best job taking it down, but you’d rather spray water everywhere than look at it again, be reminded of what could have been but didn’t.

-

This time he wakes you up.

Makki must have told him, managed to get a hold of him between classes and work and this stupid course. You can see it in his face, can feel it in the way he holds you, not too close but never too far.

“I’m not cheating on you,” he assures you, shadows under his eyes from not sleeping enough, hair disheveled and sweaty, “I swear, I promise, I’d never do something like that.”

And maybe it’s the late night or the loneliness, watching him be so nonchalant about all the time spent apart, or something else you haven’t yet faced, but the words slip out like snakes, quiet, quick, and unstoppable.

“I want a break.”

“A break?” His voice is high, frightened, like that time he dragged you to a haunted house and realized he’s so much worse at getting through them than you are.

“A break. I can’t go on like this. I don’t see you anymore. I don’t… I don’t know if I love you anymore.”

Mattsun sinks into himself, shrinks until he’s barely tall enough to look at you. 

This is what you did to him, you think, this is what he did to you.

“A break like Rachel or a break like Ross?” He asks, voice wavering.

You stare at the wall behind him, at the absence of a mess in the bedroom because you keep it tidy and he falls asleep on the Couch more often than not.

“Like Ross,” you say because you’ve always believed in clean cuts over jagged edges.

The worst thing is that he doesn’t fight.

Mattsun doesn’t argue with you over the end of your relationship.

If he had, this might have turned out differently.

But he doesn’t, he just sneaks back to the Couch in the living room, curls up in the blankets like a dog that’s been banished to his corner.

He doesn’t even wake up when you sneak outside, unable to sleep, unable to stay in one place.

It’s not Mattsun who finds you at the swingset, the place you always go to when you have to think.

It’s Makki.

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#my writing #matsukawa x reader #mattsun x reader #matsukawa angst #mattsun angst #mattsun #matsukawa issei #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/N

[planetaryplut0]

A rant, which I typically don’t do.

You are NOT “transabled”. You are not “transid” or “transx” or whatever. YOU ARE AN ATTENTION SEEKER.

There are REAL people with REAL disabilities that struggle daily with ableism and depression because of their REAL disability, not the fake “UwU I’m so cute and silly! I have transautism transadhd transdepression transosdd transdid transfreckles transthisandthat!”

I get it-you want to feel like part of a group. You want attention, you want friends. But minimizing the struggles of real disabled people, or saying you have whatever when you DON'T is not the way to do it. Essentially, you’re just being ableist.

Tldr: Get off the internet, you’re not disabled.

Also, I HAVE autism, and I, a “cisautistic” person, find it absolutely horrific that people WANT to have autism. Sure, it may give me “superpowers”, but often, it just makes life harder. Disabilities MAKE LIFE HARDER. Be thankful that you have a body that works in the way it should, and a brain that makes life easier, not harder.

#Transx #transid #radqueer safe #radqueer #transabled #pro transx #I’m tagging it like this so you’ll see it :)

[h-didanart]

I could try to make this a whole comic, but I don’t have the patience to. So….

Bloodmoon giggled to himself as he scurried away. It wasn’t always that he could get such a good glance at the Daycare idiot’s daily routine, but when he did, boy was it a blast.

Some odd creature emerged from the portal and some confrontation took place, he was excluded from it, having been up in the rafters and all, so he had been in a perfect position to see the absolute frustration in the Sun-Man’s face as the creature toppled over his precious barrel towers, and then, and then— he snorted just remembering— and then the Sun-Man chased around the creature screaming every single swear word that could ever be said.

He had almost fallen off the rafters from laughing too hard, which had sadly gotten him spotted by the computer, which meant he had to leave. But still, it had been very amusing, so now he was on his way to the place he and the little Pumpkin Sprout usually met at— the theatre basement, with its infinite food supply and stuff— and he was going to talk to them about it, because they had to know.

He entered the space, bouncing in place at seeing the pumpkin bot already there, and he approached them.

Hmm, Little Sprout didn’t usually go for knives that quickly. Nor did they usually tackle him that quickly, nor would they aim for his eye, nor would they be the ones to start a sneak fight, nor— okay this was just not how Jack normally acted. Which meant…

#sun and moon show #tsams #the sun and moon show #sams #sams bloodmoon #sams fanart #tsams bloodmoon #sams jack #tsams jack #based off that really cool idea of #Virus!Jack #And Bloodmoon fighting #(And BM getting their ass beat) #Part 1 #probably #i mean I like this too much to just leave it here #So you’ll see more stuff! #… at some point #Okay but like should I make a tag for Jack and Bloodmoon semi canon compliant friendship things? #I already have names in mind #But they sound a bit shippy so I guess I don’t actually have names in mind #I’m rambling again #:P

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: I'm a sleepy babay.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

There’s a finality to the tap of your thumb. You hold the block button for a moment before you let it go. The window pops up asking if you’re sure. Yes. Certain. This is just a mistake and when you’re older and wiser, you’ll be thankful you made it. If you even remember it. 

You lay back and put your phone down. Done. Over. No more Jacob. No Andy.  

Maybe you’ll go back and see Kara again, or she can come here, even if she hates this town. You can at least be thankful that it reconnected you two, and you have to be grateful to learn a hard lesson. Don’t mess with strangers online. You’re better off alone. 

You close your eyes. You’re exhausted. Mentally, emotionally, and yes, physically. Who knew scooping ice cream could be so much work? 

When you wake up, you’re sore and still groggy. The sun peers in at you brightly in the slat between the curtains. You groan and hide under the pillow. Your shift starts at noon. You can’t spend all morning doing nothing or the whole day is wasted. 

You drag yourself out of bed. Your grandma is still asleep. You’re sure she was up until dawn with her latest haul from the used book store. You clean up the cluster of wrappers around her chair and tidy up the kitchen, dumping the old coffee and brewing a new pot. 

You go to grab your phone and pause as you see an unusual notification. Your email? Huh. You don’t really use that besides for school. You open it up, thinking it might be about enrolment. No. It’s him. Andy. Holy moly. 

You scroll up and down, skimming the blocks of text. Oh god. You hit delete. You’re not reading all that. You said what needed to be said. 

You have your coffee and load the machine for whenever your mother gets out of bed. You eat and wash up, catching up on some Youtube before you make yourself get your uniform on. You head out, walking to work to enjoy the sunshine, and key in between tying on your apron and chatting with Gavin, the high schooler who does half-shifts every now and then.  

He leaves at four and you have your complimentary cone just after five. Peanut butter chocolate; classic. You eat at the window as you watch the mostly empty street. Your phone vibrates and you slide it out, hoping to take advantage of the lull. 

WhatsApp request? No way. The shammy recruiters always want a piece of you. At least you never fell for that. 

You bite into the cone and your phone suddenly blows up with Insta notifications. Bots! Ugh. So annoying. Every new follower is faceless with some generated name. You mute the notifications and put your cell away. You really are a boring person. 

As you look up, tires crush over a patch of gravel and your barely catch a glimpse of the car as it rolls just around the corner. You feel like you’ve missed something. Maybe your grandma is right about you always having your nose buried in a screen. Who is she to talk? She lives in her novels. 

Your shift ends at eight. You lock up and stop by the convenience store down the block. Nothing special, just a tray of carbonara you can shove in the nuke. As you pay at the counter, the door chimes to signal another customer. You accept your meagre meal as the other patron strides into the aisle. You don’t look over as you go directly for the door. You’re starving for more than a scoop. 

Your footsteps seem to echo through the dull streets. The frozen meal makes your hand hurt as your other holds your cell phone close. You text Kara as you finally get through the essay she wrote about Calvin’s latest antics. You wish you could convince her to play something. You feel aimless without an analog stick under your thumb. 

There’s a scuff, close behind you, loud enough to make you jump. You fumble with your phone and glance over your shoulder. You don’t see anything but the thick oak outside Luella’s. Ugh. Alright, you need to eat and lay down. It hasn’t been a busy day but still a long one. 

You pass through your grandma’s front door. She’s where she always is, in her chair, but something’s off. Something’s different. The smell of pollen hangs in the air and a pot stands on the coffee table with several white orchids tall in the soil. You frown. The last time you got her flowers, she didn’t even put them in a vase. 

“Oh, those are pretty,” you say. 

“Mph, not mine,” she grumbles, not looking up. 

“Not... who’s...” 

“Delivery man said your name. I didn’t read the card. I’m not a snoop.” 

You nod, thankful at least that she isn’t nosy. You go to the table and examine the pot. Who would send you flowers? 

You take the card off the tall pronged stick and open the envelope. You slide out the paper and unfold it. 

‘I know I’ve told you a million times, so I’ll show you how sorry I am instead. Yours always, Andy.’ 

You nearly drop your handful. Your eyes flick up to the pot and you have to stop yourself from pushing it off the table. What the hell? How... how does he know where you live? You never even mentioned what town you’re from. He only knows your college and it’s so small, he wouldn’t have heard of it. 

It’s enough to unsettle you. That he knows where you live is bad enough but the flowers themselves make a point. It’s not over. He’s not walking away but what else can you say to make him? Didn’t he get it? You think were pretty nice considering. 

“You got some boy?” Your grandma raises her eyes from the page. You can’t remember the last time she even bothered looking at you. 

“Not exactly,” you tuck the card away and put it in your pocket. “I’m going to make my dinner.” 

“Eh,” she grumbles, “fine. Get them flowers somewhere else. They stink.” 

You lift the vase, hugging it around the pot, and carry it from the room. You balance it against your hip and go into the kitchen. You use your free hand to pull open the freezer and put the pasta inside. You’re not so hungry anymore. 

🎮

The irises are pretty. The pot they came in is fancy, probably expensive. It underlines once more the gap between you and the real Jacob. Between you and Andy.

It only reminds you of how ridiculous you must have sounded. So, you just can’t understand why he’s doing this? Why is he still trying? For you? A girl with dwindling hopes of even finishing her low-tier college degree. 

You try to forget. You don’t have a shift that day but you can’t just sit around. Usually, you would. You’d hole up in your bedroom and play video games. Not anymore. He ruined that. You’re disappointed you’re letting him. 

You got down to the library for a while and wander around. There’s nothing there you’re very interested in. They still haven’t got the latest release in the series you’d read in high school. Oh well, you’ll wait around until one day you learn the fate of those revolutionary spies. 

You walk the main strip of the town. It isn’t very extensive. There’s a coffee shop and the used bookstore which also carries hobby supplies. There’s the same diner that’s been there since you were a kid and the interchangeable business that open and close year after year. 

There’s a vibe in your pocket. It’s not Kara. Another WhatsApp request, more Insta bots, and Discord. You haven’t been on the server in ages. You couldn’t keep up with all the channels and most of it was arguing about mining strategies. 

It’s Andy. Frig. You should’ve blocked him there too. You just hadn’t thought of it. 

‘Did you like the flowers?’ 

You don’t answer but he’ll see that you read it. It isn’t long before he’s typing. 

‘I am still very sorry. I wish you’d talk to me. Hear me out.’ 

Hear him out? He said everything. His son is dead and he lied to you. That’s not anything you can hash out. 

‘I know you’re not working today. I’ll make a new world and we can chat there.’ 

No. That’s not going to happen. Over. O-V-E-R. It’s done. You’re not going to be like Kara. When you cut the cord, it’s snipped. 

You won’t answer. That’s just bait. He’ll keep nibbling if you do that. You press the chat settings and block. That’s better, you can’t breathe. 

You put your phone on silent and back in your pocket. You wish you had the money to try the sushi place. It won’t last long in the bodunk town so you probably won’t ever get to. Oh well. Back on campus, they sell decent California rolls at the cafeteria. Decent, not necessarily good. 

You go home. To your grandma’s house. It doesn’t always feel like home. You know she’s counting the days until you leave. You are too. 

You wish you were brave enough to apologise. To say sorry your mom and dad didn’t want you. That she got stuck with you. It feels like saying it out loud would be worse. Just wallow in the unspoken resent, one day you won’t ever come back and maybe then you can both be happy. 

In your room, you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your Switch taunts you from across the room. You want to mine or race or even scare yourself with some Hellblade. You can’t. More Youtube. More wasted time. That’s what people like you do; people from small towns with no one who loves them and no money; waste time. 

The mindless videos help you relax but not forget. You just can’t get rid of the little tickle at the back of your head. There’s a tinge of shame that remains and a sliver of guilt. It will go. It has to, one day. 

You catch yourself staring at the orchid. You can smell it. You want to throw it away but that feels rude. Even if Andy would never know, even if you shouldn’t care. He hurt you, didn’t he? He lied. Well, you could give it to Mahalia next door, she loves flowers. 

You lay in indecision. You don’t want to do anything but lay there. Now that you’re still, you have no strength. Your day off is chipped away in your laziness.  

The next day awaits you with another shift at the booth. And the day after and the day after. 

Your fourth day in a row and you get a new Discord message. You know even before you open it, even by the blank avatar and nondescript username. It’s him. Just leave me alone. Let it go. Let me forget. 

‘I know you don’t want to hear from me but I need you to hear me. I can’t stop thinking of you and what happened. I can do better. Please, let me apologise.’ 

Blocked. Again.

Work. Again.  

You’re half asleep as you fill cones with soft serve. You smile and swallow yawns, faking it for the hyper children and cheerful couples. 

When it slows, you work on cleaning the freezer, switching out empty containers with ones from the deep freeze. As you check the soft serve, there’s a tap on the open walk-up window. Oh shoot. You should’ve been paying better attention. 

You turn back to greet the next customer but as you approach the window, your chest deflates. Frozen, like the tubs around you. You stare at Andy as he smiles at you. He wears a short-sleeve button up with blue, grey, and white stripes. His hair blows in the soft breeze. 

“Do you have butterscotch ripple?” He asks brightly. 

You blink and hesitate. You don’t know what to do. How did he get here? How did he find you? Why is he here? 

You reach for the window and before he can stop you, you shut it. You lock it from the inside and step back. His face falls and his brow arches as he stands straight. He says your name, his voice muffled by the glass, and puts his palm to the barrier. 

“Please,” he begs. 

You shake your head and turn your back to him. If your manager was here, you’d be in shit. That’s a no-no. Never turn away a customer, only shut the window when you lock up. 

You ignore him and go back to tidying. There could be a line up out there but you don’t care. Your hands are shaking and it’s not just the temperature.

You just can’t believe he’s there. You can’t believe he won’t just give up. You don’t want to believe it because you’re afraid. You’re terrified and he seems entirely clueless about how scary he’s being. 

Flowers are one thing but showing up at your job? That’s a flaming red flag that even you can see. Not only because you told him plainly that you don’t want to talk to him again, but because he’s a grown man. Fortysomething and he can’t take a hint. Why would a man his age want to talk to someone as young as you? That’s another red flag on its own. As if catfishing you wasn’t enough. 

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #end game #defending jacob

[honorthysalad]

Screw the ghost shit, this is the biggest mystery in HGSN. If Chapter 22 doesn’t open with a full telling of Yoshiki’s tragic backstory: the birthday party where he received 11 copies of the same book from 11 different people, then idk if I can continue reading…

#For clarity I am joking #But we do know he has relatives that live close enough nearby to give him a watermelon and have it not be bad by the time it gets there #I’m assuming they’re on his dad’s side since… mom from tokyo #And then I’m also guessing that’s where Yoshiki’s dad stays so it’d explain why Yoshiki never goes and sees them or thinks about them #Every one of my posts is some rambling bullshit and then the real post is in the tags… should I separate some of these into actual posts? #Nah that seems like effort #Also that relatives thing is only in the official translation. Not the one you’ll find online #So idk how we as a fandom have decided to treat the canonness of those translations #the summer hikaru died #hikaru ga shinda natsu #hgsn #My hgsn shit

[dollsuguru]

starting my curator!geto fic officially now! <3

#really want it to sound artistic bc obvi he’s an artist/art curator so i HOPE that comes through 😭 #also finally got the name of the fic down! i was lamenting for ages bc i couldn’t think of anything that was art-inspired #and then i listened to a song and in the lyrics… There It Was… shining like a beacon of light <3 #(funny bc the name has ‘shadow’ in it) #also by alter-ego you’ll see what i mean once i write more of the fic i promise that part will make sense 😭 #kenjaku exists in this fic almost like an Entity he’s not actually a person in this fic #it’s a no-curses au! just wanted to play w different facets of suguru’s personality is all :3 #why aren’t tags saving #oh now you save you bitch. #ANYWAYS. #editing me here: i’m already reworking this intro so it’s more descriptive and less choppy #but it’s hard bc i wanna use a bunch of descriptors but i don’t want it to be CLUNKY 😭 intro is beating my ASS rn #kenjaku has me against the ropes 😩🫦 #ignore the lipbite or don’t… but omfg… maybe I’M the tortured artist 😳😳😳 suguru step aside #double edit: the newer vision is so much better omfg i’m kinda gagged… #snippets #personal

[chrollohearttags]

everything that could go wrong today has and I’m just ready to call it quits for this year while I’m ahead. Not even going to try anymore.

#rant in tags ignore if you don’t want to see my bitching #literally two things broke in the bathroom while I was using it and ik I’m gonna have to hear my dad’s fucking mouth abt it #I literally never cause trouble break or ask for anything #always walking on eggshells bc I never wanna make trouble for him or anybody else #but the first to volunteer my help but getting yelled at over a stupid discrepancy for an Amazon order #I explained that my bank sucks so much so I’ve only stuck to using CashApp bc it steals money #but he basically accuses me of stealing his money to help my brother #my selfish ass brother who I do everything for can’t even have the decency not to touch my stuff I brought specifically for me #but you’ll gladly stick ur neck out for a neighborhood drug addict and help them #ur kids can never have room for error #I’m responsible for all of my affairs I don’t ask him for a damn thing I even buy groceries every month and the internet #god forbid one thing goes wrong and he flies off the handle #two seconds from slitting vertically #not even doing this I’m done #I’m tired of living like this tbh #I can’t even drive myself or barely even walk lmao #what is the fucking point #cherry chats 🍒 #I’m sorry I’m just frustrated bc how dare you act like I cause so much trouble

[laine-975]

I can’t wait any longer so have these two for right now !!!!

#I have one more to post !!! Which. Yeah I’m super proud of. :) you’ll see that later !!! #anyways !!!! #kaito #kaito vocaloid #!!!! Happy birthday to my little man ! #The light of my life !! #he means so much to me yall.. #like I wouldn’t have met my bestest friend ever if it weren’t for him :> he’s associated with so much good I - augh #yippee #fanart #the end of tags

[itissadbutitsmy-artblog]

wait that idea is making me lose it pep comes over to hang out one day and he’s like guys. I need you to not die. and they’re like?? aha ofcourse bud no problem. and he’s like (700 years of life experience and has watched several friends die) (probably just lost simon or finn and is raw but won’t admit it any other way to his wizard friends) no I mean it guys. I’m going to figure out a way, to continually extend your lifespans. since I’m immortal now. no it’s ok my mom has been into immortality experimentation and the extension of life and regeneration since like forever.

like where were you when our friend died a few years back when we were kids and can you bring him back

(oh yeah lemme check with my other mom, who can do necromancy. no, I said my OTHER mom, the one who can do it without the use of potions that frequently backfire)

#not art #I feel like when I talk about this au I lose a lot of my ability to give background I’m just like you guys know what’s up #you ppl who are here for gumball. or even advtime. you know enough about the intricacies of the advtime wizard city plot #to follow this au along. I know it. #well anyways. #honestly this works in that pepperminteppi au or in just regular. he just wakes up one day like nyyahg you guys cannot die on me #(like spader did)(like other guys in my life outside the city have done) #awww pep is your Sadness kicking in? dw we have a lot of resources for that hang on #<- take me to wizard city get me the sadness and madness resources they probably have everywhere #Unless. aw fuck I’m gonna go feral. unless it’s #—Guys I got so excited about madness and sadness (unrelated to this post even!) that I think I maxed out my tags it was crazy #you shoulda been there. anyways. I just talk so much #I saved them elsewhere you’ll see my thoughts someday but not here today #adventure time #distant lands #peppermint #I guess #just to organize it