#like i was just helping my brother feel safer about going to sleep and my bf was mad at me for not coming on xbox sooner

[theemporium]

“Baby?” 

Silence.

“Babe?”

Silence.

“Luke?”

Silence. 

“Are you awake?”

“No.”

You let out a small huff as you shifted once again, like you had been doing for the last fifteen minutes. Luke had tried to ignore it, tried to pretend that he was already asleep and that he didn’t notice the way you kept wiggling around. But it was hard to ignore it when you were practically shaking the whole bed every twenty seconds. 

“Stop being rude,” you muttered as you turned your body so you were facing him. You tucked one arm under your pillow, the other picking at the duvet in the space between you both. “I can’t fall asleep.”

His brows furrowed together slightly, even if his eyes were still closed. “You good?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered honestly. 

You didn’t know why you felt so off. Everything seemed fine. In fact, everything seemed perfect. This was the first year you were invited to join your boyfriend at the lakehouse. You had met Luke just before last summer had started, near the end of the hockey season at a coffee shop. It felt like a scene written out of a book or a romcom, with him rushing out as you were rushing in—only to collide and have iced coffees split over both of you. 

It had been an awkward but wholesome meeting. Luke was fumbling over his words, his cheeks burning pink and his brain seeming unable to properly work with a pretty girl right in front of him. You found it endearing, especially when Jack had opened his window to yell at his brother to hurry up before they were late to morning skate. 

Luke had blurted out, asking for your number and it had been a dream ever since. 

You spent all of last summer texting and calling and getting to know each other. When he came back to Jersey, you met up at the same coffee shop for your first date, which only led to many, many more. And when summer rolled around again, Luke had asked for you to come with him and his friends to the lakehouse, and you had accepted. 

The lakehouse was a dream. It was the perfect summer destination, his friends were amazing and his family were even better. You got along with his mother, you bonded with his father, you laughed with his brothers, you joked with his friends. It was perfect, and yet you were still unable to wave off the tightness in your chest that hadn’t left. 

And now, lying in the dark room after a long day out on the lake, you should have fallen asleep the second your head hit the pillow like Luke was fighting to do right now. Instead, you were squirming and rolling around and trying to shake off the weirdest urge to cry.

“C’mere,” Luke murmured as he opened his arms, giving you a total of three seconds to react before he was wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. “Talk to me.” 

“M’sorry, you were about to sleep,” you muttered, your cheek pressed against his chest and it helped a little. “We can talk in the morning.”

“I don’t wanna sleep if you’re not okay,” Luke said with a frown on his face. He blinked his eyes open, the bleariness still there as he looked down at you. “What’s going on in that pretty head?” 

You sighed, your arms winding around his torso as you settled on top of him. “Just feel…weird.”

“Weird?”

“Weird,” you repeated with a small shrug. “It’s probably nothing. I’m just getting in my own head.”

“Baby, don’t do that,” Luke grumbled, softly pinching your hip in retaliation as you squealed softly. 

“This helps,” you reassured him. “Being with you helps.”

“It does?” He questioned, sounding adorably clueless and flattered, and it made your lips twitch.

“Yeah, it helps being close to you,” you said to him, settling happily as his arms tightened around you. “You make me feel safe.” 

“Oh,” he murmured before he smiled a little. “You make me feel safe as well.”

“I’ll be fine, Luke,” you murmured, pressing a chaste kiss on his chest just where his heart was beating. “I’ll fall asleep now.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

But you didn’t. Because despite feeling safer in Luke’s arms, it didn’t stop the thoughts whirling around in your brain. It eased the tightness in your chest, but not the chaos in your head. And despite thinking you weren’t being obvious, Luke could feel how tense and rigid you were in his arms. He knew you weren’t fine. He knew you were getting in your own head. And he wanted to help. 

“Mmph,” you let out a surprised noise when Luke rolled over, the comforting weight of his body on top of you as he lifted his head up. “Luke—”

“Do you trust me?” He asked suddenly, cutting you off.

“Of course,” you breathed out before nodding. “Of course I do.”

“Just relax f’me then, okay?” He muttered out sleepily as his hands squeezed your hips before one hand started to slip beneath the waistband of your shorts. 

“Luke–” You started again, but he swiftly quieted you with a kiss. It was embarrassing how quickly you melted into his embrace, feeling your stomach dip with excitement as his tongue worked its way into your mouth as his large palm cupped your cunt.

“Just need to get that brain of yours to calm down,” he murmured between slow, messy kisses as his thumb pressed against your clit in slow circles. “Need you to just lay there and look pretty, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed out, your eyes fluttering shut as his kisses slowly trailed down to your neck.

“Good girl,” he praised in a low voice, pushing your downs until they were abandoned somewhere by the foot of the bed. His fingers softly glided through your folds, humming in delight when he felt you already dripping for him. “That’s my girl.” 

“Luke,” you whispered, so aware that the house was silent and that people were asleep, but so uncaring when your boyfriend slowly worked you open. “Please.”

“I know, babe, I know,” he murmured in a hushed voice. “Just gotta trust me, okay?”

“Mhmm,” you whined, a little breathy and high-pitched, and it made his cock twitch.

You felt like you were already spiralling with his fingers curled inside you, slowly thrusting in and out as he hit spots that your own fingers never seemed to reach. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer—and then he pulled out.

“No,” you cried out with a whimper, glossy eyes finding his in the dark as he chuckled softly. “Why—”

“Shhh, gonna fill you up, babe,” he assured you, silencing you once again with a kiss as his free hand worked his cock out of his boxers. “No need to cry about it.” 

Your mouth fell open with a silent scream as he slowly pushed inside you, so big and deep and overwhelming that it was hard to focus on anything except the pleasurable burn of him stretching you out. Your nails dug into his skin, legs wrapped around his waist to keep him from moving away and it was hard to think about anything else other than himhimhimhimhim—

“There we go,” he groaned, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck as he laid on top of you. “Takin’ me so well, baby.”

“Luke,” you breathed out. 

“Shhh, just gonna stay like this,” he told you in a whispered voice, his hands tracing up and down your sides. “Just gonna keep you full, okay? We’re gonna sleep like this tonight.”

Your eyes clenched shut as he thrusted a little deeper inside you. “But—”

“Nuh uh, just like this, pretty girl,” he murmured, kissing the pulse point on your neck. “Think you can do that f’me?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, clinging onto him.

“Atta girl,” he hummed. “Gonna keep you safe, okay?”

“You always do,” you retorted instantly.

“Exactly, baby. Go to sleep, I’ve got you.”

“Goodnight, Luke.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

.

#cece's smutober #luke hughes #nhl #new jersey devils #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes fic #luke hughes one shot #luke hughes smut #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot #nhl smut

[goldsainz]

MASTERLIST.

A/N: after the last episode i knew i had to write something about it, or even slightly related to it because IT WAS AN AMAZING EPISODE!! also this is is angstyyyy, there’s not much comfort really, just right person wrong time type of beat [gif cred: @alicenthightcwer]

WORD COUNT: 1,8k

──────────

CHOICES

You wished you could say that after the three years he had gone away, you had forgotten all about the Rogue Prince, but that just wasn’t the case. You heart yearned for his warm touch, and the sleepless nights in which you preferred staying awake than losing time together in favour of some sleep.

Daemon Targaryen was everything to you, you hoped he thought the same. You were almost certain he did, the longing looks he threw your way did not go unnoticed. 

You were no longer the young girl Daemon had once met, you’d seen each other grow up and form into your own people. You had to watch with a lump in your throat as Daemon fucked around with people who meant nothing, people who would never get to know him, not like you did anway.

In those three years in which he was away, the prospect of getting married was all too familiar to you. Your father wanted to marry you off to Harwin Strong, it would be proper, noble of you, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be happy about the notice. Yet there was a part of you that knew your life would be much safer in the hands of your future husband, than it really ever would be with Daemon.

There were numerous things you’d rather do than stand in the throne room, receiving news that probably meant so little to you. 

As you walked down the halls, accompanied by your father, you couldn’t help but overhear some rumours as to what the King had to announce. Some whispered he was naming Aegon II his heir, others that Alicent was yet again pregnant, but the one that stuck out to you was that Daemon was back. The whispers of Caraxes landing today with his rider made you uneasy. 

Could it be? Could Daemon truly be back?

You stood amongst a crowd of people, awaiting the King, and whatever news he bore. His crown was at the top of his head, sword in hand, his attention fully on the doors, or rather who hadn’t yet come through them.

Suddenly steps could be heard, the hard clink of an armour filled your ears. 

Finally Daemon stepped through the doors, a “crown” above his head while he held a sword. If you didn’t know who your King was, you would not have doubted it if someone said the Prince was him.

You stood frozen in her place for a while, but slowly started to follow his movements. He paid no mind to his surroundings, only looking forward to his brother.

When he finally reached the throne, the guards sethed their swords, one of them placed right on his chest. Daemon moved his hand, placing the sword in an offering motion.

“Add it to the chair.” Were the first thing she had heard from Daemon in three years, the noise of the sword falling on the ground was white noise for her ears. 

The crowd whispered, but you remained speechless. He always had that effect on you, but right now you just didn’t know how to feel, how to act. You didn’t know how to ever speak to him again, not with the things that would inevitably spill from her mouth if she were to open it. 

The two brothers were speaking, Daemon kneeled while the King watched him intently. Your train of thoughts had made you space out for far too long, but you still managed to catch onto the conversation.

“My crown, and Stepstones are yours.” The King had a small smile on his face, though it was evident it bore intrigue.

 “Well, where is Lord Corlys?” 

“He sailed home, to driftmark.”

“Who holds the Stepstones?”

“The tides, the crabs, and two thousand dead Triarchy corsairs. Staked to the sand to warn those who might follow.” After his words, Viserys started to walk towards Daemon, and you held your breath, fearing the worst. Even if your King was kinder than most before him, the Prince had still done things many would have no mercy while judging.

“Rise.” You let out the breath you were holding when Daemon placed his head on the King’s shoulder, clapping slightly alongside the crowd. “The realm owes you a great debt, brother. Come.”

Everyone slowly left the room, following their King, and you did so too. Though you hoped you would get even the slightest of moments with Daemon, you truly dreaded the idea of having to speak to him.

━━━━━━

“Why are you ignoring me, Y/N?” A voice boomed from behind you, the pastry you were eating, now made you slightly choke.

“I’m not, my Prince.” You responded, slightly defensive from his words.

“Drop the formalities, we’ve known each other for long enough.” He sounded amused, but you were far from being in the same mood.

“Yeah, and then you left for three years…” You mutter under your breath, making him tilt his head. 

“Pardon?” Daemon sounded almost offended, like he couldn’t understand why you would say that, as if he hadn’t whispered more times than you could count how you would run away together. Only to ultimately have left without you.

“I said nothing, my Prince.” You continued to use his title, slightly enjoying the annoyance that coursed through his body. You tried to leave, only to have your arm grabbed by him.

“Stop this game,” He told you, his violet eyes looking like flames rippling with conflicted emotions, “I missed you.” He whispered softly, almost making you falter, but you knew he could do better than that.

You said nothing as you walked away, his hand falling off your arm. His touch seemed to burn you, like it was too much for your own body to bear. Something that had never happened before, you wondered if it had been too long without it that your own body repelled even the slightest of touches.

You quickly made your way to your chambers, grabbing your dress so moving was easier. You knew some people stared as you practically zoomed by them, but you could not be bothered, when all you wanted was to wash your skin. You were betrothed, it was improper for you to be touched by anyone who wasn’t family, much less the Prince whose infamous reputation was hard to forget.

You threw yourself onto your bed the moment that your maid had been called to run you a bath. Now all you had to do was relax, and definitely not think about Daemon Targaryen.

You heard a knock on your door, and blindly assumed it was your maid. 

“Come in!” You exclaimed, pulling yourself off your bed, preparing to take some of your clothes off. Except that who came through the door was not your maid, but rather the one person you did not wish to see.

He smirked at the looser hold on your dress, making you roll your eyes.

“Daemon, get out.” You gritted through your teeth, going straight at him to kick him out.

“Is this how you treat your Prince?” He said, ignoring your demand.

“I’m serious, get out. Someone could see.” If anyone saw the state of your clothing - the state of a betrothed woman - it would be a scandal. No matter if the Prince was involved, no one would want you if people believed you were no longer a maiden.

“How terrible that would be.” He mocked, getting closer to you, closing the door behind him. 

“”It would be, yes.” You admit, annoyed at his light behaviour, acting as if he hadn’t abonded you. “Some of us don’t have the luck to be royalty, we can’t all damn the consequences of our actions.”

“If you married me you would be free, you could be whoever your heart desired.” You scoffed at his audacity, he disappeared for years and yet again made empty promises.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.”

“Daemon, you left for three years. I had no notice of what you were doing for months, you left with some whore I presume you don’t even know where she is now, and you expect me to believe you want to marry at all?” There were some tears gathering in your eyes, but you refused to let him see you cry.

“I came back, didn’t I?” He stepped forward, and as much as you wanted to step back, you couldn’t. 

“You can’t just come and go whenever you want to! You don’t get to say you want me so deeply, and then leave me stranded as if I mean nothing to you.”

“You mean everything to me, Y/N.” He murmured, cupping your face in his hands. You turned away, not looking at his eyes.

“You’re too late for those confessions.” You say after moments in silence, finally looking at him.

“What?”

“I’m to be married, Daemon.” You finally speak the truth, the truth that had been haunting you. You saw his eyebrows furrow, the crease on his forehead, some hairs shaking with his head. “Ser Harwin Strong offered his hand, and my father thought him to be the worthiest suitor.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“By the next full moon we’ll be married-”

“Stop…” Daemon cut you off, whispering words that were meant to bring comfort to his own thoughts.

“He’s kind, Daemon. He kisses my cheek when he sees me, wishes me goodnight, tells me where he’s going when he has to leave…” Yiou knew you were being harsh, but Daemon had to get your picture, he couldn’t walk over your feelings. Not this time.

“Don’t marry him, Y/N.” He pleaded, it felt strange to have a Targaryen plead for something like this. 

“You know I have no choice in that.” You whisper sadly.

“Then I’ll fight for your hand.”

“And then what? You marry me, and then what? What will my life be like if my husband does as he pleases, when he pleases?” 

“It won’t be like that, I promise you.” You wished you believed him. He looked so honest, and a part of you knew he could be true to his word, but you also knew his word wavered when he didn’t find it appealing anymore.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Daemon.”

“I swear, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry, Daemon, but we’re no longer kids. Marriage is all I have, all I can truly have, I won’t risk my whole life on the idea that you won’t mess it all up.” 

You both stayed silent. As Daemon rested his forehead against yours, you relished in the small comfort of his steady breathing. Your lips brushed, and if you had been the girl Daemon knew years ago, you would've kissed him. BUt you couldn’t. 

“Please leave, that’s all I ask.”

You watched defeat cross his eyes as he pulled away from you. All you could do was watch him leave. He didn’t turn back, you weren’t sure if him turning back would’ve been better, but regardless this was your choice. You had made your bed and now had to lie on it. 

taglist: @freerangesweets @westsidelegendary @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kiribrima @chevelledahuman @dkathl @ccallistata @beelanie @edum123 @booksbabes @watersquirtpewpewboomm @newtsniffles @deadstarkblacksoul @flowerisevil

#*ੈ✩༄ my works ! #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen fanfic #matt smith #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #game of thrones #daemon x reader

[ewitsren]

Hi sweetie! How are you doing? Hopefully great! So I wanted to request ,when their s/o comes home assulted' but with Haitani brothers (separated) and sanzu? Feel free to ignore my request, have a nice day:)

hey love! i haven't been writing for a while but i hope you'll enjoy this <3

their s/o comes home assaulted ft sanzu, haitani brothers

pairings: haruchiyo sanzu x reader, haitani ran x reader, haitani rindou x reader

tw/cws ⚠️: physical assault, mention of murder, beating up, mention of sexual assault

barrista's note ☕: i love sanzu

#SANZU

he'd been waiting for you to come home for hours, he'd called you countless times and you wouldn't answer. well, sanzu was wandering around on the border of a serious breakdown which could've had negative effects for a lot of people

so when you walked into the room with your clothes ripped off and a suprising amount of blood dripping down from different parts of body, sanzu had to take a moment to process

he looked at you

and he looked at you again because he couldn't believe the sight of you covered in bruises, crying silently in front of him

he even thought this state of you was just a hallucination popped out from one of his worst nightmares and he believed it for a second until he realized he hadn't taken any pills throughout the day

this was real

he approached slowly, scared to hurt you even more unintentionally

"w-who did this? why didn't you call me for help? where the fuck have you even been?"

at first he started off stammering and a second later he was yelling, you could feel the pure anger in his cracking voice

"I DON'T KNOW SANZU! they broke my phone, i couldn't call you!"

the thought of someone hitting your small, fragile body when he was so delicate and careful with it, the image of you laying on the ground in an alley waiting for him to save you had driven sanzu so crazy that he didn't realize you started crying louder when he yelled at you

"i'm sorry angel, i'm sorry. let's clean you up and we'll take care of this later, okay?"

he sits you down and clean your wounds, extremely careful not to hurt you more.

"i know it burns, look at my babygirl not shedding a single tear. you're so strong."

later he runs you a warm bath and listens to you talk about what happened while washing your hair and body, clenching his jaw at every purple bruise he sees on your skin as he thinks about how he is going to enjoy killing the fuckers who'd hurt you

sanzu dresses you up in his clothes hoping it'll make you feel safer

cuddles you to sleep while caressing your hair and doesn't leave your side the whole night

"i'm so sorry i couldn't protect you, y/n. this 's never going to happen again."

#HAITANI RAN

ran was about to call his men to get them looking for you when you stepped into the room wet from the rain, bleeding and bruised

he was worried about you, you should've been home hours ago like you always did and ran had a bad feeling in his gut

unlucky for the both of you, his gut was right

he was about to start yelling and asking who, why, when, where did this to you but he forced himself to calm down for your sake. "let's get you patched up sweetheart."

ran filled the tub with hot water, gets you out of your soaking clothes and started tending to your wounds

"who did this to you?"

his voice came out calm but you knew he was burning up inside with anger

"i d-don't know ran, one of them t-tried to s-strip me..."

ran pats your head as you try to tell him what happened between loud sobbings. he felt his cold anger spreading all around his head, how dare did those fuckers try to undress and touch you? how dare did they hurt your pretty face and delicate body?

"sssh, it's okay darling. this is never going to happen again, okay? i'll protect you."

ran puts you to bed after he makes sure you were all patched and cleaned up

he turns the lights off and holds you in his arms until you fall asleep

"they 'r dead now, they'll never hurt ya again."

#HAITANI RINDOU

just like his big brother, he was about to send his men to look for you

but he drops his phone when you entered the room, covered in blood and bruises.

"y/n what the fuck, are you hurt?"

he rushes to your side, he needs time to process

"where have you been? who the fuck did this to you?"

he sits you down and listens to you while he carefully tends your wounds

his first priority was to make you feel safe, he'd decided to destroy whoever did this to you in the morning

rindou dresses you up in comfortable clothes when he's done patching you up

puts your comfort sitcom on and makes your comfort food

cuddles you to sleep while you watch tv in silence

"no one's gonna hurt you again, darling."

@ewitsren 's work, do not copy or translate in any other platform

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers headcanons #sano manjiro #tokyo revengers #mitsuya takashi #chifuyu matsuno #sanzu haruchiyo #haruchiyo sanzu #sanzu x reader #bonten #haitani ran #haitani ran x reader #ran x reader #ran x y/n #haitani rindou x reader #haitani rindou #haitani brothers #rindou x reader #rindou x y/n #haruchiyo sanzu x reader #sanzu x y/n #sanzu headcanons #ran headcanons #rindou headcanons

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

If the Sky Comes Falling Down (For You)

First posted: January 25, 2019

Focuses on: Jason Todd and his various siblings

Favorite bookmark: "A variety of permutations and flavors of Robin h/c featuring Jason! The Baskin Robins of BatFam h/c, if you will."

Second favorite bookmark: "and so, step by step, the prodigal stray coaxes himself home."

Tier: #3 in hits & kudos & subscriptions, #4 in comment threads, #2 in bookmarks

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Individual chapter notations below the cuts.

Chapter One

First, to note, the title came last and is from "Hey Brother" by Avicii because it was already on my BatFam playlist and gave me strong sibling feels, so it worked!

Okay if I remember correctly, this fic came about because 1) I had jotted down story ideas, all surrounding Jason, that were all just a bit too similar for me to feel comfortable doing them as one-offs, and 2) it was late 2018 when I start writing so I was deep in 5+1 IronDad fics.

This fic was so deeply indulgent from start to finish, which I think might be why people liked it so much? Like, if you're into the tropes into this fic, you're really into them. It scratches the itch just right, because it's my itch and I wrote it for me.

The plan was to do like I did for my other multi-chapter fics (except Nature and Nurture, RIP me) and write it all out before posting anything, so I could be sure that I would actually finish. I don't have that kind of self-restraint anymore. But it was a fun challenge to figure out what should happen to whom and in what order.

Jason didn’t sleep much anymore. He’d always been a rough sleeper, his years spent in low-security public housing and then on the street grinding away at his ability to rest with ease. He slept lightly, his consciousness skimming just below the surface, ready to spring awake at the softest noise.

As I've said before, sometimes I have an idea for a fic but then, when trying to start it, a sentence pops up immediately as my opener. That's always a wild ride because sometimes it seems to have nothing at all to do with where I want to go, so then I have to backtrack and figure out but why tho????

Moving to the Manor had helped some, after he’d assured himself that no one was going to scratch at his door or steal his shoes. The cold mornings had been the best, spent curled under a mound of the softest blankets imaginable atop a mattress so perfectly contoured to his bones that it’d felt like floating on the surface of a pool. He’d slept, truly slept, at the Manor.

I like the idea of, even at Jason's most toxic and vitriolic, the Manor itself still representing safety and comfort. Maybe sometimes he would twist it into stifling or grossly indulgent, but I think deep in his stomach he would know that distortion was a lie. The Manor was safer than anywhere else, even with his mom.

Those days of rest were long gone. The Pit had done a number on his brain—intensifying and altering his emotions, erasing some old habits and dialing up others, leaving dark chasms where memories should be.

I've seen other fics play with the idea of the trauma of Jason's injuries, death, resurrection, and the Pit all combining to some degree or another to swiss-cheese his brain (a phrase I lovingly borrow from Quantum Leap.) And that of course leaves a bunch of really fun room to play with—how much does Jason know he's missing vs. how much is gone or totally distorted without him even being aware? (Again, another thing I tease out in various fics like N&N.)

It was like someone had jammed a stick in his skull and given his brain a good stir. Or maybe that was just the crowbar. Ha.

I made myself snicker with that one. It's so voiceily Jason but also that ha is so guttural and specific in my head, you all will never know.

He was making progress with his budding criminal empire—splashy progress, as displayed on the crusting cuffs of his sleeves and the splattered toes of his boots, but also more subtle progress, too. The subtle form was harder, so much harder, but he knew its changes would be more permanent, in the long run. Splashy got people talking. Subtle got them bowing.

Jason! Todd! Is! No! Thug! He is smart and cunning and uses violence to make an impact and that's that on that.

And though he’d heard her speak before in the careful neutral of the middle-class, the sounds being beat out of her now were Crime Alley crooked.

I like the idea of Steph and Jason growing up in the same neighborhood. It's not a hill I'd die on, but it makes for some interesting fic.

The girl put up a good fight. She was rough, no finesse, no real training. All knuckles and elbows and feet and knees. He spotted some of the Bat basics pop up in the way she ducked and spun, but she wasn’t lithe like Nightwing or crafty like the Replacement. She was a brawler. And she was losing.

She is who he might have been, without Bruce and Alfred and Dick. A decent fighter, stubborn, willing to brawl it out, but ultimately destined to lose.

It sucked in an abstract way, the way it sucked that someone was going hungry halfway around the world, the way it sucked when a stranger missed his bus. It sucked, but it wasn’t Jason’s problem, and he couldn’t really bring himself to care. B needed to learn to pick up his toys.

Starting with Steph made the most sense to me. She wasn't (and isn't) a member I know super well, with so much of her canon backstory being things I have no interest in, and she's part of the Family but in that awkward "we're maybe siblings but also I have a mom and also I dated one of you too??" ways, so she's got a little bit of distance, for me as a writer and also Jason. She doesn't have the emotional heat of the others. He doesn't hate her, just what she represents. He also doesn't care what happens to her, except—

The knife glinted in the amber streetlight and cast a shadow across the yellow emblem on her chest.

She's not Batman. She's not a Robin. She's Batgirl. And that's a different thing entirely.

Jason knew what they saw when they looked at him. He was big now, broad-shouldered and massive in a way he had only ever dreamed of being as a scrawny, malnourished street kid. His helmet was blood-red and gleaming, its angles sculpted to subtly suggest a skull. And his clothes were still stained with actual blood. He was an Alley myth, a nightmare with more bite than the Bat, because he wasn’t afraid to do real damage. He was death.

Jason Peter Todd is scary smart, and he knows how to make the exact impact he wants.

“I don’t know you, but I know your colors. You’re Ibanescu’s boys.”

I had to google Gotham crime families. I know literally nothing other than the name.

It was one thing to let her get the snot beat out of her. And even if someone else had taken a shot at her, he wouldn’t have minded. But he couldn’t. Not in that suit.

:3

“It’s not about you,” Jason repeated, his voice gravelly and rough. He pointed toward the yellow symbol on her chest, the symbol that, in the world he’d left, the world he remembered, belonged to someone else. “I owe her a debt. And now it’s paid.” Jason was a murderer. A thief. A criminal. A drug lord. He had no illusions as to his own goodness anymore, no hope for redemption or grace. But he had his values, the few precious things that he would not allow. One of those, it seemed, was watch a man restrain and stab a Batgirl while he did nothing.

Someday I'll write more about that. The partner and friend and maybe mentor who was still reeling from trauma and hadn't yet found her way when Jason was snuffed out of existence.

Jason was tired, but the night was just beginning.

So that's where it starts. Jason tired, literally caked with dried blood, stepping in not because of love or hate or curiosity or concern but because he felt he owed a debt to someone else and that debt instead landed on the person in front of him.

#fanfic bts brain dump #fanfic #batfic #batfam #jason todd

[freelancearsonist]

el chico del apartamento 512

➔ Frankie Morales x gn!Reader - 1.6k

➔ There's a rumor going around your building about the resident of apartment 512, and you're eager to investigate.

➔ Rated PG-13 for allusions to sex but otherwise just some plain old fluff and fun. post movie canon wife and kid erasure sorry, takes place in colombia, both reader and frankie speak spanish and everything is translated.

➔ this is my entry for the Selena Drabble Challenge hosted by mi esposa @fhatbhabie <3 sorry i've been sitting on this forever hehe but i hope you enjoy

Frankie barely manages to pull himself out of the slump he’s in for the first year or so after the absolute disaster in the Andes.

He misses his family, misses his friends, misses his crew–his brothers. He tries to convince himself that it’s for the best, that it’s only a matter of time before those assholes who were in cahoots with Lorea come after him–that the people he loves will be safer and happier if he’s not around them when it happens. And most of the time he can block all that sadness and pain out by throwing his whole mind and body into the earnest construction job he picks up in this new town within this new country. But it catches up to him late at night in dreams and quiet whispers of intrusive thoughts; that he’s a coward for abandoning the ones that needed him most, that he could’ve done more to make that damned mission less of a disaster. That he could’ve come out of it rich and happy if he wasn’t such a fuck-up.

He wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, an ache so deep in his chest that it feels like he’s been shot. He clutches at his sternum and tries to catch his breath but he can’t. His body wracks with sobs and he knows he’ll never be okay again.

But somehow, he ends up okay anyway. Somehow, he falls back to sleep just to repeat the cycle the next day.

There’s a rumor going around amongst your neighbors that apartment 512 is haunted.

People hear things–weird things. Screaming, crying, banging–and always at the dead of night. And everyone swears up and down that they’ve never seen the guy who supposedly lives there. The people who say they have seen him get more dramatic with their descriptions every time–toweringly tall, shoulders that could stand up to a wrecking ball, hauntingly sad eyes and gaunt face. It’s like he’s a thing of legend–a story they tell their kids to make sure they behave. “Don’t run in the halls or the guy from apartment 512 will get you.”

You figure he’s probably just some guy who works long hours and likes to watch horror movies to unwind or something–not a monster or a ghost, just misunderstood. You haven’t seen the guy yourself, but you kinda like him anyway. The building’s certainly been a lot quieter since he moved in… well, everywhere except his own apartment, at least. 

You find yourself keeping a more vigilant eye out, alert to any face in the building that doesn’t look familiar. It seems kinda silly to want to see someone you don’t know, but you’re a little nosy and a little more than curious. If there’s some truth to the rumors that have been going around by the people who claim to have seen him, you want to find out for yourself.

It’s a completely ordinary night when you notice an unfamiliar face in the mailroom, and you have to do a double take. This stranger is handsome–tall and dark with shaggy brown hair and an even shaggier patch of stubble across his jaw.

He’s just standing there, staring blankly at a row of mailboxes, looking so… foreboding. You approach slowly, cautiously; part of you thinks you should just walk away and let this man do whatever he’s doing. But there’s a large, louder part of you that approaches with curiosity. There’s just something about him that draws you in, that makes you put on your best smile and ask, “Señor? Necesitas ayuda?” (Do you need help, sir?)

He blinks slowly, heavily, and then dark brown eyes flicker towards you.

“Oh!” He clears his throat and it’s like he’s coming back from an out of body experience–the color returns to his face, his eyes lose that glassy sheen, and his posture loosens a bit. He looks friendly now, sheepish even. He wrings his big hands and shifts on his feet, as if he’s been caught at a vulnerable moment. “Lo siento, estaba en la nube.” (Sorry, I was spacing out.)

“Está bien,” you tell him with your most disarming smile. “Andas buscando algo?” (It’s okay. / Are you looking for something?)

“No, solo estoy recopilando mi correo,” he rumbles before flashing you the most charming smile you’ve ever seen in your life. (No, I’m just getting my mail.)

He fishes through his pockets and finds a small silver key–and then he inserts it into the box labeled “512”.

“Tú vives en el apartamento 512?” There’s a strange air of reverence in your voice despite trying to hide it. This is the guy everyone’s been talking about, and he doesn’t seem nearly as monstrous as everyone tried to make him sound. (You live in apartment 512?)

“Uhhh… sí?” He chuckles and looks over to you, and you can see the way his brow furrows at the look of shocked surprise on your face.

You realize you’re actually gaping open-mouthed at the poor guy, and you snap your mouth closed as soon as you see the little crease between his brows deepen. Not soon enough for it to go unnoticed, though–the corner of his mouth flickers up in a pseudo-smirk, and god he’s handsome.

“No hemos tenido la oportunidad de conocernos aún.” You look up at him and give your best, winning smile as you give him your name. There’s a strange, fluttery feeling in your stomach as his dark eyes meet yours–have you mentioned how handsome he is? (We haven’t had the chance to meet yet.)

“Mucho gusto,” he says with a smile. “Soy Frankie. Supongo que vives en el edificio también?” (Nice to meet you. / I’m Frankie. I’m guessing you live in the building too?)

“Oh, sí,” you say with a slight laugh. “No soy ningún tipo de acosador, vivo en el apartamento 526.” (Oh, yes. / I promise I’m not some kind of creep, I live in apartment 526.)

And then you catch his eyes dragging along your form, not even the least bit subtle, and you try your best to be nonchalant about the way you have to lean against the wall to avoid melting into a puddle on the mailroom floor; especially when you see those full lips of his curve into a smile, and you know he’s liking what he’s seeing.

“Nah, no creo que seas un acosador,” he hums–and there’s that damned smirk again. If you don’t get out of here you’re going to start drooling. (I don’t think you’re a creep.)

He grabs two letters from his mailbox, examines the envelopes, and then unceremoniously dumps them both into the trashcan in the corner with a mumbled, “Malditas estafas por correo.” (Damn junk mail.)

“Eso es lo único que recibo ahora también,” you tell him sympathetically. (That’s all I get anymore too.)

He brushes past you slightly as he moves to the door, and you get a whiff of distinctly woody cologne that makes your heart pick up a beat. You try to act normal and go to open your own mailbox, but he stops in the narrow doorway and leans against the jam to look at you.

“Te volveremos a ver aquí?” (Will I see you around again?)

You think the rumors about him were right, at least a little bit. He’s towering and imposing–he fills the entire doorway with ease. He’s firm and broad and sturdy and big. Maybe he would be intimidating to someone else, but all you can think about is climbing him like a tree.

“Sí. Puedes verme cuando tú quieras.” (You can see me whenever you want to.)

His eyes flicker indecisively for a moment, and then he draws his bottom lip between his teeth. “Qué tal viernes por la noche?” (What about Friday night?)

You try not to focus on how you want him to bite into you like that as you tell him, “Sí, eso sería perfecto.” (Yes, that would be perfect.)

“Perfecto. Te veré luego.” And then he flashes you that damned adorable boyish smile again before he retreats from the mailroom. You think he’s going to be trouble for you. (Perfect. I’ll see you then.)

The monthly building meeting is Saturday morning, and you’re glad to see Frankie’s decided to join in finally. Everyone throws curious looks his way as he walks through the room towards where you’re seated, but no one is curious or brave enough to ask who he is.

“Buenos días, querida,” he murmurs, discreetly ghosting a kiss against your cheek as he drops into the seat beside yours. There’s a hint of amusement in his eyes as they trail over your outfit: the same one you wore to dinner last night, the same one you picked up off his bedroom floor this morning and shoved on hastily to get to this meeting in time. (Good morning, dear.)

Before you get a chance to respond, your neighbor from across the hall plunks down in the seat on your other side.

“Escuchaste ese ruido anoche?” She asks, sounding more amused than annoyed. (Did you hear that noise last night?)

“Qué ruido?” You ask with a raised brow. (What noise?)

She smirks with satisfaction, like she knows something you don’t. And then she looks pointedly between you and Frankie. “Suena como si nuestro fantasma en el apartamento 512 hubiera conseguido un socio para él.” (It sounds like our ghost in apartment 512 got himself a partner.)

You nearly choke on your own tongue, but Frankie just chuckles raspily and wraps an arm around your shoulders. He learned all about the rumors from you last night over dinner, and he thinks they’re hilarious. Besides, they’ll die out soon enough anyway–he’s never slept quite as peacefully as he did last night in your arms–if he doesn’t feed them a little bit. And if feeding the rumors means keeping you moaning and groaning the way he did last night, he can’t say he minds it one bit.

➔ beta: @shakespeareanwannabe; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales one shot #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #cece writes

[welldonebeca]

Android Hero (8)

WC: 1k words Warnings: Future AU. Robot Steve. Unhealthy relationships. Vaginal fingering. Overstimulation. Multiple orgasms. Possessive sex. Degrading kink. Fluff.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and helps a lot while I go through these hard times.

Masterlist

You opened your eyes in a bit of a rush.

Oh, you were late. Fuck, you were so late.

"It's six in the morning, miss," Steve held your middle.

"It's Monday," you huffed.

"And you are on vacation," he hummed, nosing your neck, hand caressing your middle.

Oh. You were, weren't you?

"But now that you're awake," he pushed his thigh between yours. "Good to start early, uh?"

You felt a buzz between your legs and gasped.

Oh, God. That too.

You closed your eyes, feeling them still heavy now that the panic of being late left you, and squirmed. The toy wasn't in a high setting, but your body still squirmed in pleasure, sensitive.

Fuck, Steve had fucked you the whole night.

"Already?" you yawned.

"Is my sweet slut tired?" he caressed your cheek.

You nodded.

"Sorry..."

Steve cooed, kissing your cheek.

"My sweet miss," he hummed. "So sleepy. Do you want me to take care of you?"

You felt your cheeks hot, blushing at the thought, and Steve moved his hand between your legs as the vibrator got a little faster inside you.

“I’ll touch this pretty clit,” he hummed, tapping on it. “Get this vibrator a little faster in your sloppy cunt…”

You closed your eyes, squirming and fighting sleep.

“Don’t even need to keep your eyes open,” he kissed your neck. “I’ll take care of you, it’s I’m I’m made for…”

You blushed more.

Oh, it was so embarrassing.

“Steve,” you whined.

He rubbed your clit, rolling it and making you whimper.

“My poor little slut,” he cooed. “So needy and so shy… you need me so much, don’t you, baby?”

You let the movement rock you softly into a dazed state, not too sleepy but not awaken either.

“Yes,” you sighed.

“There you go, sweet slut,” he hummed. “Just let me make you feel good. I do that perfectly, don’t I? I know everything about you, I know what’s good for you.”

He kissed down your neck, sucking a mark on your skin.

Not that you cared.

“You’ve been in control for too long,” he rocked your hips slowly. “Let me guide you, pamper you and love you. Let me do everything, you just take it, baby.”

You couldn’t answer, pleasure and exhaustion just making you feel a little bit hypnotised.

“Gonna give you everything you need,” he nosed your neck. “You’re just going to be my pet slut, and I’ll take care of your needs,”

You moaned softly at the promise.

Your trance was almost stunted when a loud ring came from your phone.

Steve growled.

“Your brother.”

“Pietro? What does he want?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he rubbed your clit harder., voice cold. “Pietro, Wanda… They all the same thing. Whine and complain, all for your attention, always taking and taking, never being nice with you.”

You squirmed.

“Steve,” you yawned, pushing yourself to wake up.

The phone stopped ringing and he pined you down a little bit.

“They just want to use you,” he kissed your cheek. “Never caring about you, never caring about your feelings.”

His kisses were so soft, and even though he was holding you down, it felt more like a weighted blanket, just comfortable and warm, and your energy was quick to deplete.

“Just ignore them,” Steve hummed, rocking you softly. “Stay here. Stay with me. It’s safer and nicer.”

The knot in your belly tightened as you felt yourself once again rocked closer to the edge.

It was much nicer to be with him, wasn’t it? To be with him, to let him care for you.

“I’ll be your career, your lover and your family,” he promised. “You can work for home, you don’t need anything else.”

You hesitated.

“Steve,” you squirmed.

“Shh,” he cooed you, finger merciless. “Don’t you want to be my good little slut?”

“Yes,” you whined.

“We can do this every day,” he hummed. “Take little breaks, and I’ll be with you the whole day. Don’t you want it?”

You squirmed.

“Yes.”

“Then no more thoughts, okay?” he whispered into your ear. “Trust In me.”

Steve’s other hand found your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers, pulling and pinching.

“You don’t need to think,” he cooed. “No brain, baby, you don’t need it anymore. I’ll do the thinking.”

You nodded, whimpering a little.

“Please,”

“You wanna cum?” he cooed. “Wanna give up on your little brain, just be my little pet?”

Yes, you would love that. To not worry or stress or think anymore.

Just be his, his little pet.

“Steve,” you whimpered.

“There you go,” he cooed. “Good girl, cum for me.”

You bit your lower lip, moaning as you went over the edge and came.

“So good,” he kissed your neck. “Good pet, good pet.”

You panted riding his thigh, and it was ever harder to keep yourself awake as your body relaxed.

He didn’t stop, though, still moving and rubbing, and the vibrator buzzed more.

“More,” Steve whispered. “Give me one more, little pet.”

You squirmed, overwhelmed.

“Shh, no need to shake yourself awaken,” he rocked your body slowly. “Just cum, my pet. You always cum so quickly, you can do it for me.”

He brushed your hair back, softly, and you could see stars behind your closed eyes.

“You don’t need to think, your body knows what it must do,” he assured you, soft and gentle, as if he wasn’t torturing you. “Just let that pretty brain leak down your cunt, you don’t need it. You just need me.”

You came again too soon, and Steve kissed and rubbed you through it, slowing down when you leaned into his embrace, exhausted.

“Please,” you whined.

No more.

“Good pet,” he purred. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

He petted you a little more, but it was more soothing than teasing, until the vibrator stopped, and his finger was just glazing your wet folds.

“Such a tired little pet,” he pulled his hand up, resting it on your belly. “Don’t worry you can sleep.”

You started drifting off almost immediately as if he had some special power you didn’t know.

“There you go,” he spoke softly, almost to himself, as if he didn’t want you to hear it. “We have all week to train.”

But you didn’t care.

To be fully honest, you didn’t give a damn.

. . .

"Android Hero" was posted on my Patreon in January. To have early access to my work, subscribe to my page! It's just $2 a month and I post everything there earlier!

. . .

#welldonebeca's android hero #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader fanfiction #steve rogers x reader fanfic #steve rogers x reader fic #steve rogers x reader smut #steve rogers x reader fluff #steve rogers x reader angst

[books-and-catears]

Goodbye Dearest MC

Brothers reacting to MC dying while protecting them (Part 3: Leviathan)

<- Mammon // Satan ->

Leviathan

...MC...I'm a failure after all. I know you keep telling me otherwise but I'm an utter failure. Why couldn't I even keep you from getting hurt..

Levi fell as you pushed him out of the way. And he watched you, frozen in his place, as you took the brunt of the weapons. The weapons meant for him.

"MC!!!", he screamed his lungs out, fumbling to run towards you, press his hand over your wounds, stop the bleeding. He ripped the sleeves off his coat to make a tourniquet for you.

"Levi!" You smiled, even with streaks of blood pouring out the side of your mouth. The same smile you always have whenever you came knocking at his door.

"WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!!! Demons can heal faster than humans!" He bit back tears as he hoisted you up, looking around frantically for a safer place, for someone who could help stitch you up.

"So what? I didn't want to see you get hurt..." You pouted. "And besides you're my favourite, you know? And we always go all out with our fav-" You stopped to cough, "favorite..."

Levi had a sinking feeling in his heart but he had to ignore it. He's been in wars before, he's seen wounds like yours, it didn't end well. But he wouldn't dare let himself indulge in that thought.

"Keep your eyes open. Stay awake." He looked down. "Keep looking at me. Please keep looking at me." The admiral in him wouldn't give up without a fight.

"Why are your eyes flickering...why are you blinking like that... stop looking so faraway...stop it MC...don't you dare leave me here! DAMNIT, WHERE IS EVERYONE?!" He muttered to himself, turning away

"I'm not leaving you, silly." You tried force a giggle, his white cloth drenched red. "We have that TSL convention to go to next week, don't we? We worked so hard for the entry passes..."

Levi held you tighter against his body. "Yes, yes exactly! Exactly, MC! We have places to go to, so you have to stay awake okay?"

"Mhhm." You knew you weren't going to make it. You were trying to make it easier for him. From the look of his watery eyes, maybe he already knew that. Maybe this was just another roleplay. The last one.

"Levi." You tugged at his collar, "Have I ever told you have really beautiful eyes? They get even prettier in your room, when we turn off all the lights except the computer...I really love them..."

Even in this state of chaos and helplessness, Levi blushed. That's the sort of power only you could have. "Your eyes are prettier. Just keep them open like this okay?"

There was silence for a while. Only his pounding heart and your ragged breathing to fill it.

You tugged at his collar again. "Levi, please sleep on time... And don't bunk classes for games anymore...And use that magic I taught you to hide things from Mammon..."

"MC, why are you talking about that now?! Stop it, you need save your energy! Just stay put and stay awake, we're almost home!" Levi was openly panicking now.

But it seems you didn't listen. You were losing your sanity along with your conciousness. You sounded drunk. "Hey Levi...if I don't wake up in time, go have fun for the both of us...at the convention okay...?"

"STOP THAT! DON'T TALK LIKE THAT!" Levi knew what last words were. And he had heard enough of them to last a lifetime. You're far too young, far too good to have your last words now. No he won't allow it.

But to his horror, you listened. You didn't say another word. Your head tilted away from him, your hand fell limp.

But he didn't stop running. Even as your body grew cold, even as his vision blurred from his tears, even as you didn't respond to him screaming your name. He didn't stop running.

#obey me #obey me angst #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me levi angst #obey me imagine

[julieloves074]

My Girl (Conrad Fisher x Y/N)

Summary: Jere takes Y/n to the Deb ball but Conrad can’t help but reminisce everything that has happened between them.

Warnings: Sad, sappy, drinking 

Words: 2.6k

(Not my GIF :) )

Conrad’s POV:

“Now I announce Y/n Conklin” the woman says and then lists some of the charity events she’d completed in the last few months and her plans for college, I zone out the second I see her step out from behind the curtain. She looks beautiful, no- that’s an understatement, my whole vocabulary seems to have dissipated, her smile simply set my whole brain on fire, my body ablaze. There was no word in that moment to describe her- or how I felt for her.

That was before I saw him, my brother, she hooked her arm through his. He looked handsome too, his eyes didn’t leave her even for the photos, she was looking towards the table though, I can’t help but crack a tight-lipped smile though I’m sure she’s looking at my mom and Belly who looked more than glad she was missing out on this experience.

The dress outlines her body perfectly it makes me regret this whole summer even more than I already do- a sick, guilty feeling building up in the bottom of my stomach. This summer was a composition of shit, arguments and deception. Most of this caused by me, and this time I think I actually lost her. I should have fought harder- now she chose Jere. And she looked happy with that choice.

“Doesn’t she simply look gorgeous, like a goddess?” mom whispered to me and all I could was nod, throat dry as a desert.

When all the couples were set out to mingle after the boy’s dance Y/n made her way to the table, she was showered with compliments and hugs, she even embraced me which didn’t help soothe the itch of my heart because her touch simply reminded me of the time I took her camping, it was me and Y/n and some of my friends from school. She was determined to come and she already knew most of my friends from her random facetimes. Still, she knew me better than the rest of them and was against sleeping in a tent by herself so we ended up sharing.

By the time we had arrived to our destination it was already getting dark, we heavily underestimated the walk and the fact that the location didn’t look the safest. When we all settled into bed after making some food on the fire it was about half eleven maybe twelve. The tent was a two-person so we had more than enough space to lay on our sides of the tent; no matter how much I didn’t want to. I was going to respect her space even when all my muscles were aching with the thought that she was within my reach. That if I only reached out I could run my fingers across her skin.

Everything was fine until around two in the morning, I wasn’t asleep yet, only lucidly, when I felt her shift closer, I immediately turned to look at her. She was looking pale.

“Did you hear that?” she asked sounding panicked.

“No- what did you hear?” I asked, we had all had a few drinks, her more than me but I didn’t think she’d start hearing voices.

“Footsteps.. maybe someone is coming to murder us! Or worse it’s some animal coming to eat us!” she whisper yelled at me. I couldn’t help but smile, she was just adorable. She thought an animal would be worse than a killer.

“Y/n/n I’m sure that’s just the rustle of the leaves, we’re in a forest in October,” I remind her.

“My god I forgot we’re in Halloween month… we did this to ourselves this is a horror film ready to happen!” she exclaimed, wrapping herself tighter in the blanket on top of her sleeping bag.

I don’t know what caused me to do what I did next, the half-sleepy state or the few drinks, or maybe a mix of both… But I said, “It’s ok, come here,” unzipping a side of my sleeping bag and motioning for her to come closer. I laid my hand around her waist and she curled into me more, I could feel her every heartbeat. I kissed the top of her head.

“Thank you,” she whispered into my chest, “I feel much safer now,” she sounded half asleep but I still took pride in her words.

The next morning I woke up to a slight weight on my chest, looking down the corner of my lips listed into a side grin, Y/n’s head was laying on my chest, arm slung across my chest, a smile playing on her lips, my arms were wrapped around her. I know I shouldn’t but I let myself run my fingers on her skin and pyjamas, tracing random patterns.

After a few minutes her voice whispered, “Morning,” she rubbed her eyes and looked up towards me, not moving from her space, “Sorry you’re comfy,” she said and like muscle memory this made my arms closer tighter around her. We laid like that until we heard other’s voices collecting outside. We were the last ones out, I didn’t want to ever leave that position. That day we took every opportunity to be close to each other. To touch each other, accidental hand touches, her jumping on my back, my arm around her shoulder.

We travelled to our next location and prepped for the night, there was a hope in my mind that maybe we’d end up like last night, but I quickly shut it down, I didn’t want to make her feel pressured and I didn’t want to give myself false hope. When we got in the tent to sleep we laid on opposite sides again- but not for long.

“You are much comfier than this pillow,” she chuckled trying to move it around.

I took a deep breath to control my excitement “Well I’m right here,” I announced and she was shuffling closer before I could even finish my sentence. That’s how we spent the six nights of our trip, wrapped in each other’s arms.

I’m brought back to the real moment when Jere comes to give me hug too, I swallow before patting him on the back and teasing him for his dance moves.

I stay quiet for most of the half an hour that we’re all sat around the table, but my heart begins to drum loudly, uncontrollably. The announcing woman calls all the pairs back onto the dance floor. The second Y/n/n and my brother are stood in line jealously hits like a punch in the gut, it should be me up there with her.

The dance begins but all I can focus on is the way her gloves fingers run around his neck, back and arms. Suddenly I’m brought back to one of the nights in my room, everyone was outside talking and drinking after the barbecue. I left to go upstairs with an excuse of a headache but in reality it was more of a heartache for mom. I needed to get my mind off of it, I was going to complete my routine, lie in bed and cry until I fell asleep, but before I could there was a gentle knocking on the door. I ignored it- hoping whoever it was would just leave, thinking it was Jere trying to drag me outside.

“Hey Connie it’s me,” a sweet voice announced, pushing the door open the tiniest bit, I could hear her step in and I assume she looked at the bed. I was close to not saying anything and letting her think I’m asleep but- it was Y/n/n I couldn’t lie to her.

I sat up a bit, “Hey, you ok?” I asked turning towards her.

She brushed some of her hair behind her ears and took another small step into my room, still close to the door, “I was just wondering whether I could come and sit with you a little while?” her voice quiet but hopeful. She always knew what to do, I can only assume that if it was anyone else they’d ask the typical “You ok?” “Come back downstairs” “Headache? Ok I’ll leave you to it,” but Y/n/n wasn’t anyone else.

“Yeah, yeah that’s fine, I’d like that,” I said, she closed the door and came to sit on the bed, looking around, she’s been in this room plenty of times before but I don’t question her sudden interest, her eyes return back to my guitar every few moments.

“Did you want me to teach you a few chords?” I asked, a shy smile on my face, she’s said to me many times she wanted me to teach her since I began playing but I always pushed the notion away, I don’t know what changed.

Her eyes lit up though and a huge smile unfolded on her face and that was enough, I would do anything for her. She jogs over to pick the instrument up and brings it back to the bed where I sat on top of the covers, at I sat beside her, but after fifteen difficult minutes of trying to teach her basic chords I was about ready to give up with verbal explications.

“Ok let me do this differently,” I say shifting slightly, “Is this ok?” I asked and she nodded, I sat behind her, extending my arms over hers and moving her fingers on the stringers with mine. Her hands soft like a feather and her laughter caused her whole body to push back against my chest. She was warm, her hair smelled like lilacs and honey. This wasn’t the first time we were this close to each other, but this time felt different.

“This is C, and this is G,” I went through a few chords with her, and it was better than before but when it came to her doing it by herself it was a different story.

“Maybe I’m not made for music,” she announced turning towards me and shrugging her shoulders, I open my mouth to reply but she kisses my cheek, “Thanks for always being patient with me Connie,” she starts and I want to thank her for being patient with me, “do you want to watch a movie?” she asked. How could I say no to her?

She placed the guitar back on the stand and grabbed one of my hoodies off of the drawer and put it on before getting back on the bed.

“In here- just the two of us?” I asked, not allowing the little shaking in my voice.

“Yeah why not, this way when we watch a romantic sad film Jere won’t laugh, and you won’t be put off watching them with me for the rest of the summer like last year,” she explained getting under the covers, I switched Netflix on and looked towards her expectantly.

She got comfy and we started watching the Titanic, by the time we got to the ending she was grabbing the material of my shirt and crying, I ran my hands up and down her back, trying to soothe her.

“There was space for both of them on that goddamn door!” she expressed.

“I know, I know, shhh,” I whispered.

By the middle of the second movie she was asleep, I don’t know how long afterwards I fell asleep but by the time I woke up she was sat straight reading something on her phone. My head was on her lap, and it was dark, dark outside, there was no chatter coming from outside the window and she was running her fingers through my hair. This was exactly what I needed to soothe the ache in my heart.

Back in reality the cheers and claps begin. Everyone at the table stands up and mom moves to whisper in my ear again, I’m dreading her next comment because I have a feeling I know exactly what she’s going to say, “You taught her to dance like that Connie,” she had a smile on her face. Was she trying to torture me tonight? Was this the consequence I have to endure for my stupidity?

Still, it was true, from when I taught her the basic moves years ago, Steven and Jere were playing videogames, Belly was doing puzzles with Laurel and Y/n had been trying to do the dance moves herself, I offered to help her out. From then on it became a tradition and mom loved it. We learned all different types of dances and she became more confident in herself and each different type.

Mom loved to watch us dance and would often put on songs and watch us, I never complained because it meant I could let my hands linger on her body and she let hers trace my form. Still, we were human and we’d trip over each other’s feet or get tired and frustrated just leaning on each other and laughing. That was the true music to my ears. This was our thing and it meant we were comfortable with each other, it made us much closer. We got quite good too because we got invited to perform at one of the fancy ‘wine nights’ at the country club. After all those years, we were meant for dancing together.

I shake my head back into the reality as she glides towards the table again. A light blush in her cheeks, her arm interloped with Jeremiah’s again, and she’s smiling. That wide toothy grin I have always had the pleasure to witness when we were alone. Not anymore. Another stab to the heart.

“Ah! You guys were amazing! I am so proud of you both!” Mom exclaimed getting out her seat to hug them both. I closed my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. Only a few more minutes I thought to myself, then I can appropriately excuse myself.

“Thank you, though I couldn’t have done it without all those years of practise so I guess we should really congratulate coach Conrad,” Y/n answers back, Jere releases his arm from hers and wraps it around her shoulders, bringing her even closer. My whole body went numb. What made it even worse was that she called me by my name. She never called me Conrad, it was always Con, Connie, Fisher, never just Conrad. Even when she was mad or annoyed.

“Well we’ve got to go congratulate everyone else but we’ll be back when the food arrives,” Jere announces with a laugh as they walk away from the table. They’re a ‘we’ now, something her and I never were. Jeremiah may not have as many of Y/n’s firsts as I had, but he will have this.

Like I planned I excused myself to take a breather outside, sat on one of the porch chairs, the music from inside somewhere far away, blurred by my thoughts. I don’t look up when a figure approaches me and stars rubbing my back.

“Will it ever stop hurting mom?” I asked her, too afraid to look up.

“A love never goes away Connie, especially not a love like you two shared, if you ever truly love someone they will always hold a piece of your heart,” she said.

“I miss her,” I whisper, a tear in the corner of my eye.

“She’s right here, in that room with Jeremiah,” she confronts me.

“That’s what makes this all so much worse,” I comment, I didn’t know how she’d react to my comment- he’s her son too, she’s seen this summer unfold though- noticing things we never thought the mom’s saw, she laid her head on my shoulder.

I don’t know what happens next, how long they will be together, whether I will ever be able to look at her without all my organs crushing inside, knowing the way I hurt her. But all I know is that there was a time where she could have been, maybe she even was my girl.

 Masterlist

#conrad fisher #conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher x y/n #conrad fisher x you #jeremiah fisher #jeremiah fisher x reader #jeremiah fisher x y/n #jeremiah fisher x you #the summer i turned pretty #the summer i turned pretty x you #the summer i turned pretty x reader #tsitp jeremiah #tsitp x reader #tsitp fanfic #tsitp x you

[monkee-mobile]

I was rewatching the christmas episode and I love the part where Davy says he uses a security blanket, I know it was just thrown in to be funny but it’s actually really cute to think about. do you have any thoughts on it or similar headcanons about him?

It IS really cute!

I do have some thoughts on it. Probably many. These are going to be very disorganized and probably a bit overwritten, I warn in advance.

There was an interview that irl Davy did right before he died when he talks about needing someone there while he sleeps and I know when he was little (still real life davy) he had a “security pillow”. So I kind of stick those into my headcanon of tv show Davy sometimes. I think he likes having human contact and obviously we know the boys have zero personal space so he gets lots of it from his monkee brothers.

of course I’m a sucker for little tiny baby davy because he’s totally a spoiled brat toddler sometimes and he’s a fricken cutie whether i like it or not but i have some little thoughts that go more along the lines with that as well as contributing to him needing human contact I guess.

throughout the show when davy gets scared he tends to cling onto people (see clinging onto mike’s arm in the adorable monkee bed, or clinging onto micky’s arm when they think peter falls off that balcony in some video for a song that I can’t think of right now. maybe for pete’s sake?) or he jumps into someone’s arms and they carry him away, or he calls for out for Mike (see the circus episode when the guy starts throwing knives at him. like honey, what is mike gonna do? he’s a skinny little scarecrow man. michael tries his best.) OR he gets all jumpy and overstimulated and then devolves into nervous little giggles (see the wild monkees episode when he thinks the biker is gonna kill him but it turns out she’s a girl and starts kissing him and he’s nervously laughing and she can barely hold onto him. he’s definitely panicky and overstimulated there.)

but basically i think that when davy’s scared, he kind of just turns into a kid in certain ways. He wants the security of someone there to take care of him. he’s all bark no bite. he acts all tough because he probably grew up needing to act tough or else he’d get picked on for being small, but now he’s got his friends to help him and i think it allows him to feel safer and to be able to rely on others more.

This connects a bit to another portion of davy’s real life that I connect into the show headcanon even though it’s clearly not meant to be within the written show. real life Davy lost his mom when he was young, and I sometimes think about the implications of if that had happened to davy in the show even though show davy has probably honestly never felt any real pain in his life. in certain ways I think that could be a reason he wants that security in the show, if he lost his mom.

I think this is a reason he clings onto mike, who’s very obviously the “protector” of the group (he’s their mama hen!! and they’re his little baby chicks following him around!! but i digress…) and mike has become a bit of a surrogate mom for Davy, and gives him what he lost as a kid losing his mom so young.

THIS IS SO SO LONG SO FAR IM SORRY

but mike being a mama to the boys, especially to peter and davy because i think micky’s more older brother type and they’re more of the “little ones” (don’t get me started on peter’s connections to mike. they run deep and peter is very much a very complicated kid in certain ways. he needs a lot of love and has deep down a fear of abandonment that i don’t think he even realizes he has, and mike is trying to help him through it. davy also helps with peter. they all help with peter, peter is so loved. anyway this is not about peter). Mike being the mama is so important to me and I love it so much and im gonna ramble about it so im sorry in advance (the monkees cuddling and making each other feel safe is so very important to me. they’re just my warm squishy comfort characters and i project everything onto them)

I made a post i think on my main blog about all of the monkees using mike’s big hands to stim with (people put davy as the “neurotypical one” but i don’t think he is. idk what he kind of neurodivergent he is but he’s something, he just conceals stuff well. i don’t even think he realizes or may ever realize. this is the 1960s we’re talking about) but I touched briefly upon my thoughts that davy just lets out his toddler energy when him and mike are on the couch and he just plops down in mike’s lap and grabs mike’s hands and occasionally bites them, but also grabbing his fingers and straightening them and stuff and making mike clap and things. Mike is just used to this at this point (davy is spoiled. don’t tell davy. he’ll deny it.) but sometimes it can be too much and I think mike has to set some boundaries about how much he can handle as a “mom” at points and Davy listens. In some of my thoughts I think Davy and Mike have known each other the longest (they just have that easy groove, i don’t know) and I think they’re able to talk well so mike can communicate if it’s just too much for him and davy’ll listen.

also Davy totally just parks himself in mike’s lap a lot and clings onto his shirt and just sits. Sometimes he just needs a nap or something and mike is warm and comfortable and davy knows he’s loved. The monkees full-group cuddle position on the couch watching the television is often peter and micky on either side of mike (pete sometimes sits on mikes lap but he’s a bit heavy and davy has a tendency to kick him off of it. davy be nice!). and davy on mikes lap and they’re all very sweet and nice and i love them.

i keep getting more and more thoughts im sorry…

one more thing i guess. davy wishes mike could pick him up. hes like a little purse dog and sort of internally wishes to be able to just be carried around on someone’s hip all the time. Mike has tried but it hurts his back. micky can do this a bit but davys just too heavy for him and he can hold him better carrying him “bridal” style like he does when davy gets scared in the show. peter is the only one who can really pick Davy up on his hip because he just doesn’t realize davys heavy because monkee logic, and davy is very startled by this at first because peter can just scoop him up and carry him around.

okay. that’s all. i’m gonna leave it at that. this post is so long, i apologize dearly. but i have many many thoughts so thank you for the ask anon!

#the monkees #davy jones #mike nesmith #peter tork #micky dolenz #anon ask #this post is SO self-indulgent #i’m SO SORRY that this is SO LONG #if anyone gets through this whole thing you’re a real trooper and i’m sorry if it makes absolutely no sense #i just have many thoughts that are a little too out there #but i still hold mike trying to mother them and everyone just being comfortable cuddling each other it’s just important to me #alright thank you thank you very much #my wrist hurts so bad from typing so much i’m sure this does wonders for my carpal tunnel

[theanothersherlockian]

You Are In Love

Frankie Morales x Reader

I’ve been on school break, i was bored so i made this little story. It’s based on “You are in love (TV’s)” by Taylor Swift.

It was fun writing this. English is not my first language so it might not be well written.

It’s fluffy. Mutual pinning. Reader speaks Spanish at the very end but is just one sentence.

Happy Frankie Friday! ❤️

1,600-ish words

Starting a new life away from where you grew up was difficult, eating alone in your job as a waitress at first, learning the shortcuts on the road or where the potholes were, not knowing anyone to hangout on weekends or days off. But you wanted to be far away from anything that could hold onto being someone you weren't, your household not being a home since you were a teeneger and feeling that you belonged somewhere else.

It was like that at first, until one day you met Benny Miller, an energetic young man who used to visit the restaurant at the same hour every week. He would always come at five pm, order a double cheeseburger with a milkshake, and then leave.

After a month of him entering the restaurant at the same time you started chatting with him, started to know him better, knew he was an MMA fighter, had a big brother named Will (who sometimes came with Benny) and that he had two best friends that had known when he was serving in the military.

Then he started inviting you to his fights and you met his friends there. A sassy but responsible man named Santiago Garcia and a shy with brown eyes named Francisco Morales, you knew by the way they were with each other that they meant the world to Benny and to the rest of them as well, they were a family.

With that they treated you as well like you were family, you started going with them everywhere, you went to the beach that summer and spent the whole time joking around with the guys. Benny and Will helping you move furniture. You felt comfortable with the guys around, but liking the company of someone specially.

You don't know how it started. The way his eyes shine when you tell a joke; or the way you both glances at each other at a party from the other side of the room talking with just the eyes; maybe it was when you found his bald patches where it's supposed to be a beard and joked about it to him; having inside jokes and the guys teasing you about it. You don’t know how it started, you just knew you felt safer when Francisco Morales was around.

~o~

He is driving you to your house after a night out. Hopping on his old truck like always. You were resting against Frankie’s shoulder. Watching him drive was one of the best views you ever encountered, watching his eyes dance around every car, his face when he's focused on a job, the way he licks his bottom lip without noticing but at the same time he acknowledge the things you say to him or still hums to the song at the radio drumming with his fingers the steering wheel.

You were talking to him, telling him how your week was, about that flickering light in your kitchen, rambling because no matter how mundane your thoughts were, he always wanted to hear them.

Frankie stopped at a red light and saw you looking at the window now. Cheeks still resting on his jacket. Feeling how both of your body radiates this soft warm energy, nobody knows how to explain it, just want to be together. The way the red light washes your body, lingering on your chest where his dog tags laid, in a secretly “you belong with me” way. He wanted to make this scene longer, to be with you like this.

To relive this intimate moment with you all night when he can’t sleep because of his nightmares. But he won’t tell you that. He won’t tell you that when he has nightmares, the nights when his PTSD gets worse, he calms himself remembering the times you spent time together. Remembering the way your nose crunches when something disgust you. When you think no one's paying attention and you start singing a song you get stuck in your head.

When Frankie’s all by himself those nights he remembers you, you are his light.

“Look up,” he says and your shoulders brush.

You both look at each other, his soft brown eyes stared as though hypnotized by something, someone. Everything felt slower, you could feel the way your heart pulse through your ears. Your breath becomes shallower by the time passes. Gently, Frankie moves a strand of hair from your face and opens his mouth, but before he could say anything a car behind him honks. The traffic light was green.

You both glance awkwardly, not sure how to react. He coughs trying to diffuse the tension.

“We should go,” he says.

~o~

The strand of light that passed through the curtains woke you. You laid there accommodating, trying to understand where you were. It wasn't your room, you knew that by the way the furniture in the room was different, but you heard an unmistakable voice singing in the kitchen.

Frankie had carried you to his bedroom after you’ve fallen asleep on the couch.

Grabbing a shirt from his closet, you came out of his bedroom. The music becomes louder every step you take. He was giving you his back, the white shirt Frankie was wearing stretching around his broad shoulder whenever he grabbed something, those big arms had you drizzling for just how big they were. He looked good like that.

“Good morning sleepy” he said cheerfully when he noticed you, but he stopped when he fully saw you. Standing there in his house wearing his shirt as pajamas, you were breathtaking. Your heart suddenly missed a beat the moment his eyes landed on you. A soft shy smile appears on your face.

And you knew right there, this was all what you dream of. A place where you can be yourself. You created your own safe space without knowing. And be grateful for them everytime. Benny, Will, Santi and Frankie rescue you when you thought no one could ever love you the way you are. You let go of your insecurities the moment you met them in that stinky MMA ring.

The air felt warm and you couldn't pinpoint if it was always like that or just you, until Frankie smelled it.

“shit the toast!” he hissed.

After breakfast and clearing the table, and some bumps into each other while doing so, you went to Frankie’s bedroom to change. But he grabbed your hand delicately, looking at you. His eyes conveyed vulnerability that you saw only when you were with him. You step closer to him. Skin tingling where his fingers went onto your skin, slowly going to your face.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered.

“Please” you sighed.

Franke had you feeling like you were the only one on his mind, of course he was your best friend, but you also had wanted more. So when his soft lips connected yours it felt like a weight got off your chest, he's been feeling the same for not knowing how long. You take your time, there's no place where you would rather be, slowly melting into one. His left arm hugging your back gets you closer to him, caging you against him, your own fortress against the world. His mustache tickles your upper lip. His kiss was warm, comfortable, and dizzy, just like his pouty lips look like. Your hand sliding its way into his hair, grasping it.

You both pull out, looking at each other. Grasping for hair. His head resting into yours. Both cheeks pinks with fluster. Your hand still on his hair, those brown curls getting wilder. Giggling, you still couldn't let go of each other, afraid that if you let him go it will all disappear into a weird dream.

“You have a crush on me, Morales?” you jokingly say, kissing him again softly.

~o~

“Took you long enough,” Santi said, hugging you.

“We are just dumb” you look at Frankie and smile at him.

“Yeah you are” Benny said giggling, he was the happiest one. You could wonder if he was a part of this relationship too.

After the kiss it felt easier. All this time wasting time wondering if the other felt the same, when it was obvious. He had told you the many times he almost confessed to you, he couldn't stop giggling at the thought of it. You’ve never felt this peace before, both were walking on a cloud when were around each other.

It was the first time you were with them as a couple, you didn't want to tell them right away. Sneaking into each other's houses while pretending to be just friends.

Touches lingering more than a friend would on each other's bodies when playing soccer at the beach. Escaping when Santi invited you to his house, Frankie pulled you just for himself, the others without a clue in the world about what was happening. Just couldn't get enough of each other, wanting to be with the other, to be touching, to feel him on your body, the roughness of his calloused hands on your back, your neck desiring the scratch of his beard whenever you see him.

But tonight you decided that you were just happy with each other. It felt natural like this, Frankie’s arm around your shoulder, taking your hand and playing with it, kissing him in front of the others. He wasn't afraid of showing you off. He was so proud of you.

“I just have to say that I already knew it,” Will says, sipping from his beer.

“What?” you laugh “How?”

“There’s a certain light in your eyes when you are together filled with magic, and it only radiates love” will say softly looking at you “that and, he has a photo of you in the garage and saw your new nickname on his phone”

“oh fuck off” Frankie say blushing.

“Te amo, Francisco” you say, kissing him softly.

“Y yo te amo a ti, mi amor”

'Cause you can hear in the silence. You can feel it on the way home. You can see it with the lights out. You are in love, true love.

#frankie morales fanfic #frankie morales #francisco morales x you #triple frontier fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #frankie my beloved #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #triple frontier

[bokettochild]

According to my sister, rabbits feel safer when they can’t see.

Just something I thought I’d share :3

Well I WAS just going to coo and give some sort of answer, but this is a rabbit thing and I have a weakness and had some free time sooo......

How about a very barely relevant fic based around a story I heard as a kid and barely remember + this particular idea?

Full fic under the cut

The Selkie King

  There are many times it's easy to forget how young his fellow heroes are.  

  As a soldier, the Hero of Warriors has seen boys and men alike on the field, fighting, dying. He's held many a hand in final moments, his own still stained with blood more than not as final words and regrets are spilled to him by grizzled veterans and terrified teens.  

  Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that one of his brothers qualifies under both of those titles.  

  He tries not to see the other heroes like he does his soldiers. Tries to remember them as people and not pawns. It’s hard, after so many years tipping back whiskey to forget the humanity of those he’s had to slay, trying to retrain his mind to seeing others coldly, to remove emotion from his dealings with those who fight beside or against him on the field.  

  It hurts, getting attached.  

  He’d made the mistake countless times. Some, he regrets, others, like Mask and Tune, he’d never think twice about.  

  Still, even with his brothers, even with no regrets given for having let himself care about them; cry for them and treasure them, it’s easy to forget certain realities. It’s easy to forget, when he sees them with weapons in hand and blood dripping from crown to toes, that half of them are merely children themselves, and those who aren’t were hardly even adults when fate stole their lives from them and burdened them instead with the lives of all of Hyrule.  

  It’s easy to forget that Sky is hardly old enough to be served in a bar, that Twilight is still stumbling through the early years of his twenties. It’s easy to forget that Four and Hyrule are innocent to many of the greatest evils of the adult world, or that Wind- pirate or no- is still only just starting to go through the joys of puberty. It’s easy to forget that even for all of his scarring, Wild is still just barely learning how the world even works, in many ways still a child in his mind even if his memories, what few there are, are those of a man and a soldier.  

  Time, it’s harder. Time, he still remembers holding in his arms, rocking the kid to sleep because the motion helped, because the promise that he was still small enough to be held to begin with was a precious assurance the poor boy needed to feel secure enough to close his eyes. He’s wiped tears and wrapped injuries and tucked the now older hero in so many times that the child in his mind in many cases has blocked his vision of the man his son has now become.  

  And then there’s the vet.  

  Legend isn’t like the other heroes. He’s distant, reserved. There’s almost nothing they know about him save that he carries an arsenal fit for a whole battalion and knows more magic than the lot of them could ever hope to see performed.  

  He knows the veteran hero as a powerhouse and a threat.  

  He holds the vet at a distance, just as Legend does with them. Out of all of their group, the pink haired hero is the one with the least to share and the most to say. He's quick to redirect, to refocus, to tease and quip and jest, and despite all, he’s still capable of holding them away from himself with a wariness that makes the captain wary in return.  

  He’d like to claim that that is why it takes so long for him to realise. He’d like to claim that he'd been distracted by all the red flags, too much to see the similarities. No one would blame him if he’d claimed that his concerns were what prevented him from seeing the truth, but Warriors won’t lie to himself; he just didn’t look close enough.  

  It’s a night at an inn that opens his eyes. Twilight, Time and Wild usually room together. In a group of nine, it makes sense to get more than one room, and to keep it fair, they have three in each when they can. More often than not, he pays. Unlike his brothers, the captain has a steady salary, and the princess is personally financing his investigation into this increase in monster attacks, so while Legend may claim he’s broke, he does have a hand in the royal purse to use at his discretion. Providing beds for his brothers when they can find them is no issue. Tonight, that means that the wolf trio has their own room. Wind had insisted on having Four and Hyrule room with him, claiming they rarely got a chance to be alone and “without adults” and honestly, Warriors gets it. He trusts the sailor, and he understands the need for space. Granted, rooming with Legend of all people isn’t his first choice, but at least Sky will be there as well, and at least the Chosen Hero is someone they both can get along with, even if neither of them truly have much fondness for each other.  

  Honestly though, he’s not all too picky about where he lays his head. It’s been a long day, and he’s soaked to the bone, as are they all by the heavy rainfall currently going on. Time says it’s normal for spring in his world. Warriors doesn’t care. There’s mud all up and down his boots, his clothes are clinging to him and Nayru knows the combination of chain mail and rain isn’t pleasant for any of them.  

  At the least though, Legend’s been quiet today, so maybe there won’t be any hang ups. Hopefully. All Warriors really wants right now is a bed and a change of clothes. Well, he’d like more, but realistically speaking, he’d settle for just a bed and something dry to wear, neither of which are much of a hassle. Getting out of his wet things is a bit of a struggle, and chain mail wasn’t exactly designed for one to be taking off and putting on alone, but Sky is a blessing to Hyrule in general, and the man lends him a hand that Warriors willingly returns while Legend does whatever he does in the background.  

  He’s just tugging on a new shirt, dry, clean, and only minimally stained with blood, when the first flash of thunder rolls over the inn.  

  Sky flinches. “I hoped that wouldn’t happen.”  

  “Unavoidable I’m afraid,” he consoles, clapping his brother’s shoulder firmly. “No worries though. It’s distant.”  

  Another roll sounds over them.  

  “It’s moving though,” he muses, the first bolt of lightning flashing across the window and sending strange shadows dancing over the dimly lit room that has only a simple fireplace for both warmth and light. And Hylia knows it gives precious little of either. Ah well, the beds are soft. “Travelling towards us, I think.”  

  “Wonderful,” Sky drawls, shucking his tunic and then going about peeling off the first of his undershirts. “Just what I wanted.”  

  He chuckles, meeting Sky’s rueful smile before moving to settle on his bed. He’s not tired yet. Well, bone tired actually, but his mind isn’t ready for sleep and he’s rather inclined to fill out his daily report and maybe enjoy some poetry before actually getting some sleep.  

  He has the chance for neither. Another clap of thunder sounds and only seconds later there's a bolt of lightning that paints everything, from the bed to the walls to the floor to the ceiling, to their crumpled clothes on the floor, in cold white light.  

  Legend starts.  

  The vet’s been a wreck all day, predicting the storm by the ache in his joints alone and watching everything like a hawk. He's been tight lipped too, more so than usual, and not even his characteristic quips and barbs made an appearance as they wandered down soaked paths and sloshed through mud and mire in order to make it to the closest town before nightfall. Warriors hadn’t thought much of it besides that maybe the vet might just be in a lot of pain, but now he’s given a chance to think differently.  

  Now, Legend starts like a cat whose tail has just been pulled, and, in a motion that honestly surprises the war captain, the vet’s first action is to cover his eyes.  

  “Vet?” It’s Sky who asks it, but they’re both staring. Trained warriors watch every sudden motion, but that one had been... strangely out of character. “You okay?”  

  There isn’t an answer, but when the next rumble sounds, he knows he sees the vet tremble.  

  It’s.... startling.  

  Not the storm, Hylia knows he’s seen his share of those over the years. A storm like this isn’t even the worst he’s seen, but the vet... cowering- honestly there’s no other word to be used- it's... it’s odd.  

  “Legend?”  

  A shuddering breath is his answer, the soles of gnarled hands being pressed ever closer to tightly shut eyes, and suddenly the captain is stuck by the fact that Legend looks very, very young.  

  The vet is small, they all know this. He's the third shortest in the group, with only a literal child and someone with confirmed stunted growth ranking below him. They don’t have an age, but he’s always assumed, based off of skill and sarcasm, that Legend must be at least in his twenties, if not a bit older. When standing beside Sky, he seems older, beside Time, he’s just as seasoned and strong. Here on a bed in an inn, with lightning and thunder joining the cacophony of rain outside though, he looks like a kid, eyes hidden in his hands and breathing ragged.  Warriors can’t name what it is, but he looks like Mask.   

  “Ledge, hey, you alright?” Sky stares at him for the softened voice, well used to an exchange of heated barbs and insults, but the captain hardly takes note as he crosses from the bed that he’d fully intended to stretch out on to the one the vet sits on, curled up tight and trembling. “Vet, hey,” he’s gentle when he brushes fingertips over slight shoulders, and it’s shaking to realise how small the vet feels when he’s actually touching him.  

  The title says it all, paints an image of an adult with years under his belt, but the Hero of Warriors tends to forget that many of their number start young, and experience may be one thing, but it’s no promise of age.  

  “Hey there,” his voice is dropping soft and low without his consent, but he can’t help it when Legend flinches back at the mere brush of his fingers, and when he settles himself on the bed beside and the vet shifts away, he knows the change of tone is for the best.  

  Sometimes, people who distance themselves aren’t plotting and scheming. Sometimes, people who shy away from transparency are hiding, protecting themselves in the only way they know how. That's how Mask had been, hiding behind masks both physical and metaphorical, sharp tongue and acerbic wit defences against loss and heartbreak.  

  He’s struck, sitting there, that perhaps the same could be said for others in their number.  

  “Legend,” he tries again, and then there’s another flash and roll, right overhead this time, and the vet freezes.  

  “Oh,” Sky breathes, his own lightning scars still on full display as he pauses midway through changing, his own eyes wide as he watches the hero who’s gone from distant and inscrutable to small and childlike in what seems to be the blink of the eye- or, if one wanted to be more direct; a single clap of thunder.  

  It’s instinct that has his body moving before his mind has quite caught up to what he’s doing with the brother who he knows the least, hands catching slight wrists and dragging away, holding even as breath hitches and shoulders tremble. They cease though when he settles his own hand, so much bigger in comparison, over tightly shut eyes. He can feel the flutter of lashes against his palm, surprise evident as the other pauses, seems to miss entirely the next clap in favour of registering the new situation. Warriors takes the stillness as an invitation, settling closer, hand holding its place, pressed gently but close against freckled skin, blocking out light to the best of his ability.  

  “Okay, that helps, yeah? Okay, I’m moving closer now, alright?” And he does. Legend says and does nothing but sit there, but he feels the twitching under his hand and watches ears swivel towards him as he moves closer, leg brushing thigh as he moves as close as he considers safe, hand still held still and solid as his own ears track ragged breaths.   

  He's acting on impulse alone. Mentally, he’s questioning what the dickens has gotten into himself.  

  Legend stiffens further at the close proximity, but pressing a bit firmer, hand held closer, seems, somehow, to make that stop.  

  “There we go. You good, mate?”  

  A light shudder.  

  “Legend?” Sky murmurs, tugging his shirt on the rest of the way and starting closer towards them. The vet’s response is immediate, ears flicking towards him and head turning to face him, but Warriors, for some reason he can’t even begin to name- but which he thinks might be affiliated with Mask- prevents it. His hand tightens its hold again, the second settling on the other hero’s arm, just above the wrist but not confining, firm but not tight.  

  “Breathe.”  

  The order is obeyed.  

  “Sky is coming towards you right now,” because he’s now beginning to recognize the panic for what it is, and while apparently having his eyes covered helps, Legend still seems keen on being aware of those around him at all times. He’s still tightly wound though, so Warriors turns his attention on Sky as he continues to speak. “He’s going to sit across from us on the other bed, okay? He’s right here.”  

  Assure where people are, assuage uncertainties about actions, positions and behaviours, and provide some source of grounding. Or at least he’s pretty sure that’s what that therapist Zelda hired had recommended, before he’d stormed out and refused to come back anyway.  

  “I’m right over here,” Sky reaffirms, and it’s amazing to watch how the vet’s posture eases at the sound of the other man’s voice as Sky settles close, but not close enough to touch.  

  Legend’s breath rattles through the room again.  

  “Do you not like the storm?” It’s the size, he thinks, it must be the size. He knows that Legend’s a capable fighter and warrior, but the size and the shaking and the sheer childishness of the vet’s motion; covering his eyes against the storm, has a part of him that he’d tried locking away peeking back out and gentling his voice and hands.  

  A shudder is his answer.  

  “I’m lifting my hand now,” he says, just a moment before the motion is done. Legend’s breathing hitches, but when it’s the hand on his wrist that lifts, it starts again, although still shallow.   

  Huh.  

  “Now,” he continues, reaching blindly towards Sky, who watches him with confusion until he continues speaking “I’m going to have Sky hand me my scarf.”   

  It’s out of reach, on the bed he was planning on lying down on before, but Sky hands it over readily. It's still wet, but it’s honestly his trump card to help younger, shaken up heroes and while he’s never tried it with Legend, it’s worth a shot. The vet’s got to be younger than he assumed, and if the scarf works on Wild, there’s a chance that however old the other is, it could still work on him too.   

  “Can I bring it over here?” He asks.  

  Twisted fingers twitch, raising a bit, reaching out blindly. Legend makes no move to shake off his hand however, so Warriors doesn’t lift it. For some reason, he gets the impression that the lack of sight is somehow actually comforting.  

  “Okay,” he shifts a bit, hand holding over twitching lids but moving just enough for him to shift position, “I’m pulling it towards us, and I’m going to set it over your shoulders, okay?”  

  It’s telling that Legend doesn’t complain about him breaking down every motion and explaining it as he does it. Telling in a way he really doesn’t like. Just as telling though is the way the weight of the fabric, damp as it still might be, has the younger hero relaxing some, and on impulse the captain adds to the weight by settling an arm around thinner shoulders.  

  Legend all but sinks into him.  

  Oh crap. Yeah. It’s happening.  

  He feels like shit honestly. He totally missed a kid in his group, and he’s been treating them like an adult this whole time. It was a mistake with Mask, trying to respect his insistence that he was an adult and should be treated like one, but it’s more of one with Legend.  

  He can only imagine, based off of listening to the kids, what it’s like being a hero at a young age. His first adventure saw him nearly a teenager, and despite a demon at the end of the tracks, there had been fun and games and a trusted companion by his side the whole while. Not everyone has that. Legend is purported to have completed- at the least- six adventures, and he can only imagine what the laundry list of traumas associated must look like. Settling such a weight on young shoulders is a sure recipe for distrust and distancing.  

  Suddenly, the vet’s reservation around them makes a whole lot more sense.  

  And hurts more, because he should have noticed.   

  Thunder makes itself heard again, and while Legend doesn’t shift much, he still feels the other press just the slightest bit closer, head ducking and hand raising to pull his hand along after. There’s no need though, he’s already following along, arm wrapping just a bit tighter around slight shoulders even as he hums lowly. “Hey, shhh, I gotcha.”  

  “We’re here for you, Ledge,” Sky murmurs, voice rich and smooth and heavy, like caramel or honey. “Wars has you and I’m right here in front of you.”  

  Another shudder is followed by the slightest of nods; small, so as not to displace his hand.  

  “It’s a big storm,” the captain muses, shifting and finding himself strangely pleased when the teen beside him lets himself be shifted with him. “My sisters hated this sort of thing when we were small.”  

  He can feel Sky’s eyes, and Legend’s too in a more literal way; long lashes tickling the pads of his palm as dark eyes must flicker open. There’s no attempt made though to displace his hand, and until there is, he elects to leave it. Still, he can feel the unspoken question from them both, and he answers it without much undo delay.  

  “I have six sisters. Five younger and then my twin. You’ve seen her actually, but we didn’t get the chance to talk.”  

  “Six?” Sky repeats, blinking slowly.  

  The captain shrugs. “What can I say? My parents had quite the torrid love affair.”  

  The desired result of that statement (although true) is achieved, and while Sky only levels him with a look, Legend, like Mask and Tune before him, shudders, squeaking out some semblance of nervous and flustered laughter at the words.  

  Oh yeah, if stuff like that had the vet flushing red hot under his hand, it’s only further proof that the younger is, in fact, a baby.  

  “Yeah,” he continues, settling into the bed as best he can and rather wishing his back was to the wall or a headboard or something, “all of us have ‘L’ names too. Link and Linkle, Leah, Laura, Lyrica and Lillian- they're also twins- and lastly little Lila.”  

 “Your dad and mum have ‘L’ names too?” There’s not the usual bite to the jest, voice shaken and almost timid, but it’s a relief all the same, and proof he’s doing some good here.   

 He chuckles, looking down to the face settled almost against his chest, his hand covering dark eyes and blocking any sight of expression or thought that may have slipped through the cracks. “Yes, actually. Luke and Lynn Taylor.”  

  Any answer or reaction is lost as thunder rumbles through once more, and the vet under his hands cowers back at the sound.  

  Impulse once more takes the reigns. “Sound like the Selkie King really isn’t having it tonight.”  

  “The what?” It’s Sky that asks, but long ears twitch beside him and the face that was almost buried in his chest now raises again, his hand still over dark eyes even as lashes flutter open a second time, soft and whispering across his nerves like fairy wings, but in no ways hiding the clear curiosity of the younger.  

  It works every time.  

  “The Selkie King,” he says again, and then, “I’ll tell you the tale, but only if you let me actually settle here, I’m too old for hunching over like this, it’ll give me a widow’s hump.”  

  Sky scoffs. “You’re like twenty-two.”  

  He’s off by a few years but the captain doesn’t correct him.  

  Legend’s surprisingly pliable and let’s himself be tugged into the corner of the bed, walls on either side and blankets pulled up, both for warmth and for weight, although the captain says nothing of either, and with the younger pulled against his side, much as he’s done for sisters and sons countess times before, he explains.  

  “The Selkie King,” and goddesses, he’s got to fight at his accent at those words, half tempted to let it on through to add further to the sound of the story, which always sounds so much better in the tongue of the fae or those whose voices carry the remnants of their kind, “was a great powerful creature who lived in the seas to the East. The Selkie are a people who are neither man nor beast, or so they say, but both. A man who, with the donning of a coat of fur, will change into a seal to roam the seas at their deepest, most happy by the water and with eyes darker than night skies.” In retrospect, if he believed in selkies anymore, he thinks they’d have eyes like the vet’s; endless, dark, and always touched with some sort of emptiness or sorrow.  

  “Woah.”  

  He smiles as Sky’s awe, but more so at the settling of a smaller body against his own as long ears prick up but soft cheeks settle against his chest. His fingers slip just the slightest to accommodate, but he leaves his hand pressed where it blocks the next flash of lightning, and though the vet shivers at the next roll of thunder, he doesn’t start away.  

  Something inside wonders whether this clinginess is born of fear or loneliness, and he wonders, for only as long as he dares be silent, when’s the last time someone offered the veteran any form of friendly contact.  

  “Storms-” he continues, once he’s certain he can’t be silent any longer “-they say are caused because the sea and the wind stole from the Selkie King.” he drops his voice, low and almost whispered, like when he’d told the same story to wide-eyed little sisters before tucking them in with kisses and laughter and warm smiles that are long since forgotten. “The Selkie King is the most powerful of the Selkies. He’s said to be strong enough to fight the wind itself, and the seas must bow under his command. With a power like that however, it’s hard. Being strong is a lonely life,” and one his brothers will know well, and the heavy sigh that sounds from beside him is proof of that. “As such, he lived solitary for many years, watching man and his kind and walking among them, but finding none to be his queen and companion, until-” and here his sisters would squirm under the covers, big blue eyes sparkling up at him as they begged ‘till what, Link?’ but his brothers don’t do so. Sky cocks his head, a manner he’s certain is learned from Twilight, and Legend’s face turns up to him again, eyes still hidden, but neither speaks.   

 It makes sense, he supposes. They are Links after all  

 “Until” he continues “one day he came to an island he’d never seen, and met there a maiden with a voice to make any selkie rejoice, and eyes like the seas themselves, the sort the king could only find himself lost in. She had a soul like a bird, and a wish for the beyond, and unlike others who stared and saw the uncanny way of the selkie, she saw to the soul of the Selkie King, and it was in her heart that he found solace from the loneliness of the world.”  

 Sky’s eyes are misty, that distant smile in them that means he’s thinking of his own Zelda, and Warriors almost, like so many times before, lets himself change to story.  

 He doesn’t. The point is to give an answer to the roar of the sky and the fury of the lightning. It’s all fairy stories made to make the remnants of Demise’s fury less a terror to small minds, but there’s no age limit for fairy stories, as he well knows.  Still, few end in a truly happy manner.  

 “Life is cruel though,” and how cruel. He’s not told this story in some time but it’s now beginning to make his own heart twist up in memory of how deeply he’d felt similar things to what the Selkie King would as he continued. “As time passed and their love grew, the seas and the storms began to brew. They wished to rebel against the Selkie King who had tamed them, to make war with him, and though he had no wish to leave his maiden, he was called from the island beaches and her side to fight the sea once more, and the storms with it.   

 “The oceans rose in those days, the sky dark, much like tonight. All that could be heard or seen was the fury of the sea and the wind as the Selkie King sought to bridle them. He fought them, I know not how long, but when at last they were calmed, the Selkie King turned to return to his island and his maiden, only to find both sunk beneath the waves that had risen in his fight.”  

 There’s a shudder beneath his hands, and dampness touches his palm as long lashes once more stir against skin. It’s sad, he’ll grant. He’s not sure if Legend’s young enough to be crying at fairy stories, but he won’t judge. Heroes grow up too fast, and by his knowledge, they haven’t the time to let their minds and hearts age as they ought. He’s not about to judge a few tears at a sad story.  

 “The Selkie King searched and searched,” he continues, “but the sea had already taken away, in final vengeance, what he loved. They say,” and thunder rolls right as he speaks, “that the thunder is his shouts to the sky and sea for their cruelty, and the lightning is his magic, light surging across land and sea to light his search to find what was lost to him.”  

 “What about the girl?” Sky asks, looking startled himself at the turn of the tale, “what happened to her?”  

 His only answer is a wry smile. His sisters would ask the same thing the first time he’d shared the story his grandfather had told him growing up, but the answer is always the same: “she was lost to the sea, as though never there.”  

 He’s not expecting the sob, or the hand that clutches in his shirt as shoulders tremble and tears dampen the hand still held over eyes not unlike those of a selkie. At first, he thinks it’s just the panic catching up and hysterics taking over, but after the first few sobs are over and they just get stronger, the captain realises there might be more to it than that.  

 “Legend?”  

 There's no answer, only inconsolable tears that seem to flow without end, even as he lifts his hand for the first time in a while to try and wipe them away. The younger hero’s face finds its way to the front of his shirt near immediately after, and he’s left trying to hold his brother, clueless as to what he’s said or done to incite the new rainfall that drenches the one clean shirt he’d had.  

 “Vet?” Sky is starting up from the bed, but he doesn’t touch, likely aware that doing so unprompted and without warning isn’t a good idea right now. Warriors though, closer, is free to wrap his arms around trembling shoulders and meet sapphire eyes, questions unspoken flying between them as confusion clouds the air where agonised sobs and tears do not.  

 In the end, he elects to leave it be, soothing gently and running one hand up and down a spine he can count every bone of, hushing softly all the while until the tears finally run out and Legend is limp against him.  

 “I'm sorry,” he says at last, not sure what exactly he’d done wrong. “That one usually helps my sisters feel better about-”  

 “He wasn’t a selkie.”  

 The captain pauses. “What?”  

 “He wasn’t a selkie,” comes the soft words again. “He was mer.”  

 “It’s just a story, vet, he wasn’t-”  

 “They were real.” And it’s so desperately spoken that it stops all other assurance in his throat as a hand tightens in the front of his shirt. “Her name was Marin. She wanted to fly, she wanted to see the world. I promised I’d take her, I wanted to show her everything.” There’s something so broken about the vet’s voice, and when he looks down the eyes of the younger are still closed, but there’s clear agony on the face of his brother. “I didn’t want to destroy her; I never wanted it to fade.”  

 He has no context, no clue, but some part of himself, the part that remembers holding another young hero like this and listening to agonies and losses, knows that something said in the story, some part, has brought a memory or loss back afresh, and his attempts to sooth have only reopened wounds.  

 Warriors wraps his brother tightly in his arms, draping blue fabric over tighter shut eyes. “I’m sorry.”  

 “I didn’t know it wasn’t real until it was over,” the younger hiccups, “I- I wanted to live there forever. It was so... it was so peaceful!”  

 Somehow, that single word, and the agony behind it, stabs through a heart blocked behind stone walls and chain mail.  

 Why should a wish for peace sound so desperate from the lips of a child? What right have gods to burden someone so small with sufferings that would lead their greatest desire to be for something so devastatingly evasive?  

 It’s cruel. It’s familiar in its cruelty, and all that the captain hero can do is hold tighter still and murmur soft comforts that are as empty as the praises lauded on shoulders such as their own. “I know, Link, I know. It’s not fair.”  

 “I fought him three times,” and it’s naught but a whisper, “is it so wrong to want to be allowed to stop?”  

 He’s going to find Hylia and murder her.  

 Once is enough. Once is too much for a kid. Thrice? And twice as many adventures? Oh, no, no-no-no, he’s going to be having words with the Golden Gals when he gets to see them, even if that means fighting his way to the Goddess’ Realm himself. He’s sure he could convince the deity to help him under the right circumstances.  

 Aloud though, his answer is softer. “No. It’s not wrong. They’re wrong to ask so much of you,” words he’s whispered countless times to the hero who is now their leader. Looking at Time, he knows that peace has been achieved. The ranch, the wife, the beautiful home and satisfied smile, the longing look in his eyes after the days have been long since last they’ve visited; it all points to a life now granted chances to be lived and lived well. He only wishes the same could be meted out to all who’ve suffered as they have. “You deserve better,” he assures. “And for what it’s worth, I understand. Not everything of course,” and he’d never meant to tell, “but I get it. Losing someone, it’s hard.”  

 “I loved her.”  

 “I know.”  

 What sort of love, it doesn’t matter now. Be it puppy love or that of a far more intense sort, love is still love and when lost it can shatter. No wonder dark eyes hold longing deeper than the sea and desolation like the coldest of desert nights.  

 Sky stares but doesn’t speak or move.  

 Legend though, shifts, and dark eyes lift to him for a moment before being shut again as another flash disturbs the room. Without thinking, he raises a hand to cover the younger’s face, tears still fresh against calloused skin. Despite all this, the question in desolate eyes is still spoken aloud. “Who was yours?”  

 And his heart nearly stops, lodged in his throat, but he breathes and guides a pink haired head to settle against his collar, cheek resting in downy soft hair to hide further his face from both. “My wife and son.”  

 One trembling hand settles over his own, awkward in placement but intent clear. “I’m sorry.”  

 His smile is real, although pained, as he wraps his brother tighter, pressing, without thought, a kiss to a crown. “It wasn't your fault.” It was his own, his pride and his folly and his failure that had left him with his son ripped away and his wife turning her back. There’s none to blame but himself and fate’s cruel hand.  

 Despite this, there seems to be a word on the tongue of the younger, indeed, on Sky’s own too, but he cuts both off. “How about a lighter story?” he’s deflecting, he knows, but tonight is not about his losses and mistakes, and suddenly he’s gone from wanting nothing more than dry clothes and a warm bed to being content to hold one smaller and offer what meagre comforts and distractions he can while covering sorrow-ridden eyes and avoiding sapphire stares that bore with sadness for both himself and their little brother.  

 Legend hiccups. “Seriously?”  

 “I’m an excellent storyteller,” he returns, smile real but pained despite himself as he looks down at a face blocked by his own hand, “I’m a father and an older brother after all, I have no business being anything less than skillful with bedtime stories.”  

 “I’m too old for bedtime stories.”  

 He’d beg to differ. Someone still small enough to be held as he holds his brother is still of an age for bedtime stories, and he resolves to find the best he can to share. Not one about heroes though, or about lost love or Selkie Kings. Instead, he tells the story of the Goddess’ Rabbit and the stars it set in the sky. Instead, he holds a brother who he only now knows to see as anything more than another of Hylia’s soldiers, and he treasures the whisper of a chance to redeem some of what was stolen by fate.  

 Maybe it feels like redemption for himself too. Just a little bit.  

#lu warriors #lu legend #lu sky #linkeduniverse #linked universe #linked universe fanfic #ketto writes #silvercaptain my beloved #based on bunny facts #dad wars is my weakness #as is hurting legend #i neer intended to write a koholint fic but here we are #hopefully it isn't cringe #inspiration hit me like a truck while cooking dinner last night and i was up until 2 writing this #despite having work today #hopefully y'all enjoy

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The Way He Looks at You Series I:XVII

Act I: The Way He Looks at You Chapter 17: The Way He Follows You

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Chapter Summary

Cal begins his new hunt after his plans go awry. Rating: 18+ Words: 2.7K

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The darkened sky is changing as I clip my lightsaber back to my utility belt. The job is finally complete, though I waited until the last possible moment, a teenage boy lies dead at my feet. I had tried for too long to convince him to join the Empire; showing him the power that can have as an Inquisitor. But his heart was unfortunately in the right place and I can show no further mercy.

I stare at his face in pity; the feeling is annoying and unexpected. Since becoming an Inquisitor, I have enjoyed hunting others who are Force-sensitives. The Jedi were easy kills for my conscience, a clear enemy and threat to the Empire. But as their numbers dwindle, we now also hunt those who were born after the purge. It hasn’t been a problem as I find myself furious that they would reject the power of the Dark Side when I so nicely offer them a choice.

That’s why I prefer working alone, I can present a choice; though it hasn’t worked, I sleep easier knowing I tried. I don’t have the same blood lust as several of my Brothers and Sisters. Still, I did like killing those that spat in my face and rejected my offer. But since meeting her, I almost feel bad for the boy in front of me. It didn’t help that he was polite about it, telling me he understands why I must kill him. The interaction makes my blood boil, and I roll him over with my foot, placing his face down against the sand.

I shake the lingering feelings of guilt and turn my attention to think about her as I begin the journey back on foot. I really need to figure out what to call her, I don’t know her real name, it’s safer that way. Mine? Makes her sound like nothing more than an object. She is mine, but I don’t want to reduce her to just that. Though it has a nice ring to it.

Perhaps my love? She looked so pretty when she confessed her love, all while letting me claim her tight cunt. The name would fit and I’m sure she would like it. She’d probably blush and give me a big smile the first time I use it. If I say it to her each time she cums, I could make her even more needy just by calling out to her. Make her body crave me whenever I whisper it against her ear. She is already so easy; only requiring that I give her eye contact and her lustful mind does all the work preparing her body for my taking.

It’s why I kept her to begin with, I like the way she thinks about me. I did not know how badly I wanted submission, specifically submission without having to ask. It is contrary to the rest of my existence where I have to fight for everything. But not with her, from the moment I met her and peered in her mind, I saw she wanted me; wanted to submit to me, to belong to me. I’m sure the Force brought her to me, though I’m not sure why I would deserve her after the atrocities I’ve committed.

The sky is lighter, but the sun remains hidden, if I am late, she may already be gone. Though the thought of her actually leaving at dawn causes the corners of my mouth to raise. She has proven her loyalty and there is no doubt in my mind that if I were late, she would still wait for me.

Though I may have to punish her for not obeying my command, bend her over my knee until she is begging for the pain to stop. I imagine she would like it despite the pleas; each strike causing her body to weep for me. Perhaps I’d rub the red skin tenderly between blows, maybe dipping my fingers down to stroke her slit once or twice before raising my hand again. I almost want to be late just for the opportunity of seeing her so broken in my lap.

The walk is now significantly more uncomfortable as I have to adjust my hardening cock in my pants. Her lustful thoughts are rubbing off on me, I thought little about such activities before her arrival. When I had carnal needs, I would find a willing enough woman and take what I needed, then return to my work. But now, I need her; I find it difficult to think about much else.

I take care to be as kind as I can, but the things she thinks; it makes me hungry to overpower her, own her, consume her. I desire her more than I thought possible, but I try to resist the needs for her sake. She seems to prefer when I am more gentle. I don’t want to hurt her, however I so badly want to lose control each time I fuck her. I am hoping over time to expose her to the other side of my lust, the side that she created with her thoughts.

A small part of me dislikes her kindness and loyalty, if only she would resist enough to give me the opportunity to be rough with her. While her thoughts are bad, she is so good; even betraying the Jedi for me. While I don’t like him, it is nice to not have to kill one of the few remaining parts of my past life. However, I hate that our time together was less than it should have been, but she more than made up for it with her words the other night.

The walk is tedious, but the time passes quickly enough, the sinister thoughts of tricking her into disobeying are a pleasant distraction. The edge of the city nears and I jog to get there faster. Despite my dark desires, I feel giddy with excitement at the thought of holding her in my arms. When I am close enough, I use the Force to reach out, trying to feel if she is awake or not since the sun is on the verge of rising.

Odd, I felt nothing, perhaps I have not meditated enough recently. Entering the dim lobby I continue to feel for her. There is no sign of her life, and I break into a sprint up the stairs, taking several at a time and using the Force to propel me upwards. Terror floods into my veins as I run, every worst-case scenario enters my mind. In one motion I unlock and open the door, hoping I’ve lost my connection to the Force and not her.

I am horrified to find that no one is inside. The first thing I see is the curtains shoved to one side by a dresser that is now blocking the window. I look around carefully, searching for any evidence of what transpired here. There is no doubt in my mind that the Jedi is the cause. The fear quickly turns to anger as I search the room.

She made the bed, meaning they did not steal her in her sleep. Her belongings are gone as well, she either left me or was already heading out for the day. The window makes me believe it was the latter; they trapped her in this room, and she didn’t have a choice. Then I see a piece of crumpled paper near the edge of the bed. Rushing over I recognize it immediately as one of her folding papers. I reach out to pick it up and the touch causes my mind to transport elsewhere.

I see the memory of her holding it, her face filled with joy as she reads the note. It warms my heart to see her smile. I would do anything to keep her happy, she’s so cute when she smiles, or does anything really.

The expression turns to fear as she opens the door to an attack trapping her in the room. The memory cuts and switches to the Jedi glaring at the note while she stands beside him, her face streaked with drying tears. Then I see it, his arm around her waist. I am filled with more hate and rage than I have ever felt. How dare he touch what is mine! I let him live and this is how he repays me?

The echo ends and I am holding my activated lightsaber; my body preparing to kill a man who is not here. I immediately deactivate it and clip it back to my belt to use both hands to open and smooth out the crumpled note. A clear boot print sullies the message I had left for her as a reminder of the night we shared and the important words that were exchanged. The sight increases my rage tenfold, I will make him pay, I will remove the Jedi’s head from his shoulders.

It takes all my strength to stay calm and continue to search the room. I do not know where he took her; I need more information. The rage threatens to cloud my judgment but I close my eyes to refocus my mind. I must treat this as another mission, another hunt. If I allow myself to be consumed by the thought of revenge, I risk missing important evidence needed to enact it.

Calming slightly I get to work, overturning every item in the room, looking for something I missed. I start at the front door and work my way inside, touching everything, hoping for my psychometry to latch on to something I’ve missed. The entire room is empty of information to locate her, I am becoming frantic.

I enter the bathroom at the back of the room and I don’t have to search at all. There is an obvious tin on the counter, I approach it and am provided another echo at the touch.

I see her speaking to a Gree woman in a bookshop; a shop I remember passing on the way into town. The Gree woman explains the contents of the tin and I realize the conversation that they are having. I feel a flush of embarrassment warm my cheeks. It feels so strange for someone to know about the intimate parts of my life and be willing to help them along.

I tuck the tin into my utility belt, trying to remind myself that I am an Inquisitor, not a Jedi who would be shy of such things being discussed openly. Checking the bathroom quickly for anything further but I am sure now that I have all I need. I stride outside heading quickly toward the bookshop.

It doesn’t take long to find it and since it is barely dawn; the shop is understandably closed. I use the Force to slide the lock open and pull the glass door towards me; it makes a noise, warning of a customer entering. Though at this hour, on can assume that I am no customer. I hear small footsteps pad across the upper level; I watch their passing above me and wait. Sliding the lock back into place as the door closes behind me. I move further into the store and a small Gree woman comes around the corner of a large bookshelf. I stand at my full height and start down my nose at her, one hand gripping my lightsaber menacingly.

She seems surprised but not fearful, only eyeing me carefully. “Three days is a lot.” Is all she says.

I falter, my eyebrows furrow and my posture slightly. “What?” is all that I say in response.

“Well, she was here the night before last, and the day before that, and now you’re here. I rarely have such loyal customers. Terrible customers you are, since I assume you aren’t here to buy anything.” The small woman picks up a stack of books on the ground and begins arranging them on the shelves.

“Where is she?” I say, trying to regain control of the conversation.

“Second time someone has asked me that.” She says simply, “I assumed she had returned to you that night.”

“She did.” I say slowly, feeling angry that this woman does not fear me as she should. “I left early the following morning and it would appear he took her since then and now.”

The woman stops what she is doing and turns to face me. “Perhaps she left?” There is a hint of concern on her face.

I shake my head, “There was clearly an altercation, he blocked the window to prevent her escape.”

The woman looks more worried and whispers to herself, “Oh dear.”

“Did you see her walking past with someone else, a Jedi?” I demand, my voice raising.

“I did not see her with the Jedi, Inquisitor.” She hisses back, obviously annoyed with my tone.

I try to calm myself before speaking again. This woman became close with her in just a couple days, it is the only connection I have right now.

I try again, more softly this time. “Can you help me find her? Anything is helpful, something you saw, someone who might know something. Even something here that she touched.”

The Gree woman nods and beckons for me to follow her, leading me to a door at the back of the shop. I follow her inside to see the walls lined with various tech; mostly dismantled devices that the public has access to, but some stolen from the Empire. I decide to look past it in exchange for her help.

There is a datapad in the center of the workbench. Without asking I pick it up, examining her work, remembering how much I enjoy tinkering. Though her work is far beyond my skill level, I find myself impressed, almost forgetting the reason for the visit. I turn back to face her and she is staring hard at me, as if expecting to be robbed of her work. I place the datapad back down, trying to show that I am not a threat to her creations.

“I sold her one of those, for reading.” She explains, “if she still has it with her, I can send a message.”

My face lights up, “Really? Can we track her location too?”

“Perhaps, though I can’t promise a precise location, I did not design it for that.” She explains, “I might get you a general area, but there could be many planets and moons included.”

I watch as she fires up the datapad on the workbench and types out a message to be sent. I try to grab the device but she smoothly pulls it out of immediate reach and gives me a harsh look.

“You cannot send the message, we risk losing her if they see your words. Perhaps they will destroy my device as well and we’ll have no ability to find her.” She warns.

I nod and pull my hand away, allowing her to work. She sends the message then gets to work tracking the device’s location. I wait, barely able to breathe, hoping for a quick response.

“How long will it take to get a location?” I ask impatiently.

“As long as it takes.” She responds, “Go make us some tea while I work.”

I am stunned by the order, “Absolutely not, I will wait until you have found the location.”

“I work better after I’ve had some tea, though if you’d prefer to extend the process, I understand.” She shrugs as she dismantles the device and tinkers with the small parts.

I glare at her but she does not appear uncomfortable. It feels as though I have no power here, which is not true, I could easily end this woman’s life, destroy her home, her business. Still she is calm and I realize she has the upper hand. She is the only one who can narrow my search.

I sigh heavily and grumble, “Where’s the kitchen?”

“Up the stairs. Bring two teacups with the pot.” She says without glancing in my direction.

I begrudgingly turn and try to find the kitchen. I hope that this humiliation pays off.

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Next Chapter: The Way He Changes for You

#HereForTheFanficsAndRomanceWorks #The Way He Looks at You #TWHLAY #Cal Kestis x Reader #Cal Kestis x You #Inquisitor Cal Kestis x Reader #Inquisitor Cal Kestis x You #Inquisitor Cal x Reader #Inquisitor Cal x You #Jedi Fallen Order #Jedi Survivor #Jedi Fallen Order Fanfiction #Jedi Fallen Order Fanfic #Jedi Fallen Order Fic #Jedi Survivor Fanfiction #Jedi Survivor Fanfic #Jedi Survivor Fic #Fallen Order Fanfiction #Fallen Order Fanfic #Fallen Order Fic #Star Wars Fanfiction #Star Wars Fanfic #Star Wars Fic #Cal Kestis Smut #Inquisitor Cal Kestis Smut #Inquisitor Cal Smut #Jedi Fallen Order Smut #Fallen Order Smut #Jedi Survivor Smut #Star Wars Smut

[soft-for-them]

I don't know a thing about love - Daryl Dixon x plus size non-binary reader

Summary: A Daryl x plus size non-binary reader based off the song 'I don't know a thing about love' by the White Buffalo.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: This is both a non-binary reader and a plus size reader, so cis people this isn't for you. The reader has been left vague because this is a short fic and not all plus size non-binary people are afab (really, it's real problem with authors, non-binary people aren't women!) This is coming from your very own non-binary/queer op. 👍

Everyone knows that you and Daryl Dixon are partners but everyone also knows that your relationship, or lack thereof, is complicated.

It’s clear you love each other, Rick or Carl could tell you (with various amounts of excitement) about the first time the two of you met, how Daryl’s eye widened, how you smiled like you had be given the sun and moon.

From the very start of joining Rick’s group you had it hard. Having to explain to people that you’re non-binary and not a man or woman was hard, both for yourself because you were coming out again to complete strangers and for them for most of the group aren’t queer.

Carl got it straight away, he happily used your preferred pronouns and asked you many questions most of which weren’t about being trans but where about random this like comic books and how your survived.

Rick, Carol, Glenn and Maggie learnt quickly too whilst the rest took their time getting used to someone so different to their heteronormative life.

Maybe it was because living people are hard to come by, maybe it’s because most of the bigots of the group had met their grizzly end but somehow you feel safer with Rick’s little rag tag group of survivors then the people you house shared with before the apocalypse arose.

Then there’s Daryl.

Now don’t get me wrong, the first few weeks of you joining Rick’s crew he didn’t talk to you, he just stared at you. He was raised by bigoted people and he was trying to be better, before the end of times even began he was trying to be better. He wasn’t racist or homophobic like his dad or brother nor did he go out his way to antagonise anyone (for he isn’t Merle after all) but still he was learning.

He was drawn to you, it made him panic just a bit but he has long realised that he isn’t so straight, that he identifies with both Bisexual, Pansexual and Queer, that he didn’t need a label for one he loves you and two who fucking cares.

But still it took a long time to come to terms with, thankfully you were there with him to help.

He remembers one day when you still were new and everyone was still stuck in the prison out the blue he asked about your jacket, an oversized black denim jacket sparsely covered in handmade patches.

You told him about the small amount of patches that you had; a non-binary flag on the breast pocket, an anti-Nazi patch on your arm, two ridged band patches that really should have been ironed on instead of sew on dotted around, tin badges decorating the collar like a jewelled necklace.

Over the years the jacket has evolved like he has, both have become more outward and full of love.

Daryl still cracks a smile at the back patch adorning your jacket made out of an old t-shirt of Carl’s that depicted a superhero dog.

You and Daryl talk, sleep close, sneak kisses when people aren’t looking, go hunting together, laugh at each other’s silly jokes. You’re out going and talkative whilst he stands back quiet and stoic his eyes always filled with love for you. You share clothes like it’s nothing, he loves holding you close at night the feeling of your plush body against his better than any bed or pillow, he knows you in and out, as do you for him.

But somehow still the two of you have never breached the subject of how much you love each other, you’ve neither had the conversation trying to figure out what to call one another.

Well not until today.

Sitting idly on the front porch of a nice enough house in Alexandria you work away under the watchful eye of your lover.

It was no surprise that you and Daryl were put together in the same home, neither is it a surprise that you both sit so close as the sky starts to turn orange, the sun slowly setting and the moon rising into the sky.

Knees touching, you carefully try to stick on a new patch onto your jacket next to one of many pride flags you’ve acclimated over the years.

Daryl leans over watching you quietly sew wonky stitches, his face almost pressed to the side of your round cheek.

“You know what Daryl?” you whisper, eyes flickering up to look up at him.

He just hums out a yes.

“When I first met you I didn’t know anything about love, I don’t think I fully know a thing about love now but with you I- I well-“ you face goes warm, your fingers stop sewing as he looks up at you with sparkling eyes, “-I think I’m learning because of you.”

He just stares at you for a moment, shock and what you assume is love morphing his face into a sweet smile.

That moment disappears as he leans down and kisses you, his chapped lips gentle on yours, your hands dropping your handiwork on your lap to hold his face in place.

You pull away first but still hold onto him with pin pricked hands, eye still connected staring like a fool at him, happiness flooding through your bodies.

“For years I was told I’d never find love because of who I am-“ you begin again still in a whisper, the thoughts of the long dead people who said such cruel things being pushed away by the many memories of your and Daryl.

You push a piece of his long brown hair back from his face, you smile growing big and proud.

“- but I had been looking for love below and above despite all the dead roaming around and then there you were.”

He lets out a small chuckle, one that isn’t filled with malice like old lovers did but one filled with a joy you’ve only seen for yourself.

“Do you?” he asks covering your wondering hands with his, “Because I do, I love you.”

“So many eyes in the world are searching for love and somehow I find you, of course I love you Daryl.”

The two of you laugh together as you kiss again, the set of wings you were stitching onto your jacket fully discarded as the kiss deepens.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x plus size reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x nonbinary reader #x nonbinary reader #nonbinary #x plus size reader #the walking dead #the walking dead x reader

[candied-boys]

Luke's POV x F! Reader - Part 8

Warning: Dark Content!

Including but not limited to references to prostitution, child neglect and abuse, war and death, PTSD, flashbacks, nightmares, suicidal ideation, and historically accurate ages for relations. The dark content is almost entirely drawn from/same as Luke's route.

Themes: protection, hurt and comfort, mutual healing, learning to trust, letting yourself feel, and eventually giving into love. Everything is written from Luke's POV.

Part 7

You shouldn’t have let Honey drag you into bed with her that night at the inn. She hasn't taken no for an answer since. Though the cold winter nights are well past, you ran out of excuses long ago — both to sleep alone and to send her on her way.

Every time you pulled up the covers and tucked her in next to you, you swore it was only until spring, only until it wasn't so bitter outside, only until…

You couldn't let go anymore…

“I think Leyla's bears are lonely staying here by themselves… Maybe the little bear you made me can keep them company until you come again next time…”

You visited the cemetery at Hope together that day and found the graves of her mother and grandmother. Once a rose was laid out for each, you brought her to the little house you rebuilt yourself. There she left the tiny bear you had made out of the same yellow wool as her dress the morning after you brought her home from the brothel. Now she clings to her newly sewn bear where she lies curled up asleep in your arms.

“Surprise! Happy birthday, Leyla!”

“Wow! A bear! It's so cute!!”

“Glad y’ like it. Why’d y’ want a bear anyway?”

“Because it reminds me of my big brother!”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you're like the bear in my story book that helps the little girl who got lost in the forest! You're always looking after me and playing with me, so I wanted a bear like you to play with while you're at work.”

The next town over. About an hour's walk. That's where you were when the invasion happened. Work.

“And there's still so much work left to do before…”

A rap at the door pulls you from the darkness beginning to cloud the rays of April sunshine seeping through the shutters. Careful not to wake Honey, you sneak out from the bed and over to the threshold to peer through the spy glass. On the other side stands a man dressed in black silk robes that make it clear he is, by no means, one of the townsfolk. Upon opening the door the devilish looking man greets you by proclaiming to be a palace minister and declaring that you are the long lost eighth prince.

Shaking your head and crossing your arms, all you can think is that bullshit like this should stay in fairy tales where it belongs. Worst of all is that if what he says were somehow true, it would be a sick twist in your already gruesome fate. When the word ‘prince’ echoes in your ears again so do the horrors of that day ten years ago.

“See you later, Big Brother!”

Though your blood curdles at the mere recollection, you realize you don't care whether he's got the wrong guy or you are some lost prince. Taking up residence at the palace as per his request would cut your work by years, so you agree — on one condition.

“Prince Luke, you must understand that this is a strictly confidential matter. Not just anyone can be permitted to stay at the castle…”

“I'm not leaving her here alone,” you counter as you shut the door and step out to keep Honey from overhearing.

“The castle is a den of beasts. It is certainly not safer for her there. However, I promise you our best knights can be made available to see to her here in town.”

“I don't give a damn if y’ promise the whole army. I'm not leaving her by herself.”

With an exasperated sigh the slender man scowls up at you, “Prince Luke, you are oddly protective of someone who is neither your sister nor your lover.”

For a split second you reach to grab him by the collar and give him what for, but you catch yourself just in time and ask through grit teeth, “What of it?”

“You must understand that by insisting she joins you, you are condemning either yourself to lying or her to secrecy. Should the details of what we will discuss at the palace be known, it would mean treason.”

“If y’ already know enough about her to know who she is to me, y’ should know enough to understand she don't have no one to tell nothin’ to.”

“This includes even the palace staff. If you do not wish to lose what you cherish twice, Prince Luke, I advise you to choose carefully.”

This time you snap.

“Just who the fuck are y’, anyway?”

Prying your grip off his robes he answers calmly, “I shall explain in due course. Pack whatever is most important to you. The rest will be furnished to you upon arrival at the castle. A carriage will be here to pick you up in an hour.”

Without another word he disappears, leaving you to hide the chaos of emotions roiling within because you can tell from the shadow under the door that she's awake and waiting on the other side. Running a heavy hand through your hair you turn the knob and find her standing there, clutching her bear tight with anxiety.

“How much did y’ hear?” you sigh.

“Nothing really…” she mumbles after a moment of glancing around warily. “I just woke up because you sounded um… upset…”

She hasn't seen you get riled up like this since the night you brought her here, but you know there's still a deep-rooted fear of the violence that accompanied anger in her family.

“I'm sorry I scared you, Honey. Everything's okay. C’mere,” you coax with open arms.

Her hesitation soon lifts and she scurries into your arms, nuzzling her face into your chest. When her shoulders give up their tension, you pick her up and sit her on your knee at the table.

“Do y’ remember I told y’ I've been workin’ to become a knight in the king's army? Well, I got an offer to go to live and work at the castle.”

Instantly she stiffens, eyes wide and brimming with panic.

“Hey, hey, nothin’ to be scared of. I'm not gonna leave y’ here all alone,” you shush with a hand on her cheek.

“But Luke… I can't go with you. I don't belong in a place like that… and I'm already a burden on you as it is… and I don't want to hold you back more… and…”

“Shh, none o’ that,” you press a finger to her trembling pout. “Y’re a good girl. Don't go thinkin’ otherwise. Now if y’ wanna stay here I can make sure y’re taken care of. We'll get y’ set up with a job like we talked about and y’ can keep livin’ here in this room if y’ like.”

Little hand fisting your t-shirt, she chokes, “and if I don't?”

“Y’ can come with me. Nothin’ll change except where we sleep at night. I'll still look after y’ and keep y’ safe.”

Her eyes scan yours for a minute longer than you expect and you quirk a brow to draw out her question.

“But what do you want, Luke?”

You always tell yourself she needs you, that you can't leave her on her own yet, that she isn't safe without you around. But you know that's barely half the truth. If you lie to yourself and say you don't care, you'll leave her deeply wounded. And yet if you let yourself be honest, you might just fall apart.

A dozen answers dance on your tongue, but all you can manage is to pull her closer and drop your head onto her shoulder, hoping your grip on her waist is enough to tell her what you can't bring yourself to say.

Part 9

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen luke #ikemen prince luke randolph #luke randolph #ikemen prince luke #ikepri luke #ikepri fanfiction #fanfiction #ikemen prince fanfiction #ikepri fanfic

[tmuse-ac]

How would you feel about somebody writing a short story based on fairy friends AU?

I would be HONOURED! Are you kidding? This is amazing! Thank you very much if you do!

I've been working more on how their story goes myself, but I'm sadly not confident enough to post my own writings as stories. If enough people want it, I could probably post any short stories I have at some point.

--

Here's some more information to help if you consider writing:

-I finally decided to keep this au in medieval times; the boys still have their jobs of caring for children and sometimes adults in their sleep, but it is now much more dangerous with active creature hunters and sorts.

-They have to be very careful when traversing the world to aid people, so they end up doing their job at night (including staying in their tree hollow during the day). Sun is still able to work, but he is much weaker due to this.

-The boys never leave each other's side for anything, as it is much safer to go together. This led into Sun learning much more about how Moon uses his powers to capture nightmares. While Sun can't do this, he's able to keep his brother completely calm and focused the whole time. While work is more dangerous, it is easier together.

-Witch Y/N is a kind person who cares deeply for creatures of all kinds, even humans... sometimes. But they're a gremlin too and get up to classic witch things like making potions from poisoning crops to straight up murdering people who did despicable things and people do nothing about because they have power. (Basically think of Eda the owl lady from The Owl House, but only slightly more responsible as well as sadistic if anyone hurts magical creatures.)

-Witch Y/N is pretty protective of the two as soon as they see them in the glass lanterns, forced to constantly have their wings out and glow to be pretty lighting decorations for the captain of that royal squadron. They don't let it show too much until Sun learned to trust them.

--

That was more than a bit of info. Sorry got carried away! Hope it helps though. Though even though I have thought up so much for this au, I'm using @/ayyy-imma-ninja's as a base for any information on the boys, just translating it to medieval times. They are really cool! :D

#petrixmuse answers #fairy friends au #sun and moon fnaf

[raised-in-hell]

Can I request (separately) jason and bubba for sure and maybe freddy and pinhead x pregnant reader who is obsessed with crafting and keeps making random things to fill the nursery and they begin to worry that the reader is overworking themselves and breathing in toxic stuff from paint and that they'll burn themselves with hotglue and when they bring it up the reader is sad cause crafting is what keeps her entertained so they try to compromise like maybe instead of crafts, puzzles?

Of course! I did my best on this one, I'm still getting used to this but I hope you like it.

Pinhead

When they first saw how much you were working on the nursery they were curious.

They and the other cenobites loved any types of puzzle and crafts (Even if their is made out of the flesh of their victims) and now their s/o likes them too? They were so happy! They honestly saw it as a way to connect to you.

Especially when it's for your baby! They saw many opportunities and thought it'd be a wonderful idea. What can go wrong?

Until you told them about the toxins in the paint.

They were a cenobite, they like pain, they love it! But... having YOUR life at risk... Enough is enough!

After you told them this he got the nursery door locked and would only let you do more decorations for 1 hour a day.

"Darling... your sadness is misplaced, don't humans get happy when they are protected?"

They are extremely confused when they see you're sad about something like this, they would go through hell (literally) to make you happy but they just think that what you're doing is dangerous.

Then, they get a idea.

Since you like puzzles so much he brings you different lament configurations every day to distract you, so you have something to do while you're not working on the nursery and having the hell priest as your partner gets you out of danger.

He's getting out of material though... you're just too fast!

Bubba Sawyer

He and his brothers loved crafts too! Have you seen the Sawyer house? The nursery will have all kinds of bones! You can trust Chop Top and Nubbins on that!

Bubba loves to watch you doing your crafts and the decorations, he'd always smile and try to make some too to help you.

That was until he saw you burn you fingers with the hot glue, then he went crazy with worry!

You kept saying it was nothing but he just got so scared!

Not just that! Drayton was complaining about you not helping anymore in the Kitchen and Chop top and Nubbins were missing you for the radio nights!

Even Bubba was wanting some attention and it ended up with the whole family trying to get your attention and take you out of the nursery.

When you explain that this is what you love the most Bubba feels like he should have seen it coming.

Why didn't you told him you wanted to make crafts? You can make them in less dangerous ways! Look at Nubbins and his bones!

He'll teach you how to use bones and pieces of the victims to make way safer crafts and it ends with the baby getting a wonderful, Sawyer style, room.

What? You feel uncomfortable with bones and gore? Then you can just leave! No way the family will let you date Bubba like this!

Jason Voorhees

When he sees you decorating the nursery he cries of joy, this... was so perfect!

His mother (Fuck it, Pamela's alive! I need her ;-;) loved to help you with the decorations to and it ended up becoming a family thing.

Jason would bring you all types of materials he could find while his mother would buy whatever she could pay for. It was perfect!

Until they notice you coming late to dinner... the smell of the paint... and then your anger when one of the crafts didn't came out right.

Jason cried one time because he thinks you forgot about him and then he decides that too much is too much!

He gets into the nursery one day and gives you a large, heavy hug before lifting you up (Carefully not to hurt you or the baby) and taking you to the room so you could get some sleep.

When he sees you're sad and want to keep doing the crafts he gets desperate and calls the only person he knows has a answer for everything.

Pamela, of course.

She notices your love for crafts and how you want to make things for the baby and decides to teach you knitting! Turns out you really loved it!

Now you spend a lot of time knitting clothes for the baby and Jason couldn't be happier to see you're resting!

Freddy Krueger

I'm sad to say this everyone but his first reaction at seeing you craft was:

"The baby's not even going to remember the room! Just get them a cardboard box and they'll be happy!"

Followed by a shrug and the loveable sound of you slapping him across the face.

But yeah, he doesn't really care about it, until he looks at the room, then he has a faint understanding on why it's important to you.

Truth is, it reminds him of his daughter's nursery and he may feel a bit emotional now.

That is until he notices you're spending less time in the dream world and that get's him suspicious.

"Babe, have you been, ya know, sleeping?"

He asked you one day as you were working on the nursery but you brush him off.

He doesn't really care about the situation but then he remembers that if you're not sleeping the baby's not sleeping too, at least he thinks that's how it works.

Then, he'll be dragging you out of that room, no matter what!

Screw you like crafting! He likes to kill teenagers and he's not doing it all of the table!

Sadly there will be no convincing, you need to find a way to cope with the situation yourself, but again, just look at your boyfriend! Your choices never were the best!

#pinhead #jason voorhees #freddy krueger #bubba sawyer #headcanons #x reader