#i have a headache and should be sleeping but i can’t get my mind to shut up so here’s this 😊

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Being immortal and married to Solomon means that every century that passes, you both hold a little ceremony on the anniversary of your wedding day to renew your vows.

You both get dressed in the attire you wore from the first wedding, kept away safely for special occasions like these. Solomon’s heart stops every. single. time. he sees you as those same old feelings of pure awe return as if he were marrying you for the first time all over again. Of course, you feel much of the same seeing him with his hair slicked back, knowing he only does that for very important occasions. That pretty shade of pink (a shade you’ve come to favor), dusts his cheeks the moment you both lock eyes…and it’s nothing short of beautiful.

Declarations are shared from memory, though no two declarations are the same. You both always have something new to say to the other, whether it’s of fond memories of the experiences you’ve had throughout the years or of feelings that never cease to grow. Anyone who gets to witness this moment will believe that no two souls are more perfect together than yours and Solomon’s. You both just glow from the sweetness of the day as you welcome in a new century of love and joy together.

[adayumantium]

Should I Stay Or Should I Go? 

Logan Howlett x fem! Reader smut

a/n: insp by the song by The Clash & graphic by @moosgraphics :)

Summary: Logan Howlett's annoying ass consumes your waking days. You're friends, you're not, you're arguing, you're not...whats the deal? How can such a pain in your ass make you feel so much better?

W/C: 1.6k+ my bad

tags/warnings: ENEMIES TO LOVERS YAHHHHHHHH, implied age gap (but like bc he’s 200,,,), terms of endearment (doll, princess, kid, baby), friendly combat, cursing, MDNI 18+ IM SO SERIOUS, kitchen hate sex WOOOO, vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (WRAP IT GUYS) 

Your foot connects with Logan’s chest, pushing him back with a swift kick. He grunts, heels dragging as he struggles to regain his footing. Sweat rolls off his temple, making its way down his neck. 

“Can’t keep up, old man?” you smirk, returning to a guarding stance. There were few things as exhilarating as a good sparring match, especially with Logan. You liked the physical challenge of someone bigger and more experienced than you. Not to mention the banter. You would never admit it, but even the most bitter of his words shot electricity between your thighs. 

“Is that mouth capable of anything that doesn’t give me a headache?” he huffs, lurching forward and throwing his own punches.

“Oh, sweetheart, you wish,” you beckon him with a motion of your fingers.

Maybe too cocky, you dodge once, twice, before Logan lands a blow that knocks you to the ground.

“Shit,” you groan, laying your head back on the cool training mat. 

“Had enough, princess?” Logan straddles your hips, towering over you. God, something about him. You consider your options. Against anyone else, a buck of the hips might send them flying, but Logan was maybe 400 pounds of metal and muscle. You were exhausted, sore, and just a bit distracted by the way Logan’s perspiration made his white tank cling to his sculpted muscles. You sighed, tapping the floor twice.

“Whatever,” you huffed, and Logan grinned before getting back to his feet. He held a hand out to help you up, and as your fingers graced his much larger ones, you felt the contact shiver up your arm. You swallowed silently, trying to ignore the tension in your neck and shoulders. 

“Y’know, you’re gettin’ better out there, doll. Maybe one day, you’ll be able to handle me,” Logan nodded. 

“Shut up,” you scowl. 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, kid. It was a compliment,” Logan rolls his eyes, leaving before you could conjure up a decent comeback. Ugh. As you make your way back to your own room, you can’t shake the interaction. Really, every interaction you’ve ever had with him. It was always teasing, always belittling one another, but you craved every inkling of it. You hated to admit it, but the idea of beating Logan made you want to be better and train harder. You loved having him on his knees, at your mercy. 

Stepping into the shower, you work to scrub the feeling of him off your skin. The feeling of him towering over you on the mat and the way it made your throat feel tight. The smell of tobacco and leather so far up your nose you can taste it. 

How could something so frustrating feel so good? 

Crawling into bed that night was no better. You stare at the ceiling for hours, restless as you replay your conversations with Logan in your mind. He was so infuriating, the way he pins your wrists during drills or threatens to wipe a sly smile off your face. Why are you so desperate to have him be present in your everyday life? Maybe, after all this time, you just have to get it out in the open. It’s late, though; no one can think clearly at this time of night. You eventually drift to sleep, and your subconscious betrays you with dreams of the Wolverine. 

An early morning jog is always exactly what you need. The rising sun and singing birds are waking up, and it reminds you how nice life in the mansion actually is. Peace and quiet is a virtue in a life as chaotic as yours. Sometimes, life happens too quickly. Short of breath, you fumble back inside, gracious for cool air and endorphins keeping you upright. 

Your stomach growling grounds you. You stand on your toes, pulling cereal down from the cabinets. Opening the fridge, you frown. Who drank the last of the milk? You sigh, a creek in the floor putting your senses on edge. Asked and answered. You whip around to see Logan leaning against the counter nursing his own bowl of cereal.

“Take a picture, huh? It’ll last longer,” he mutters, bringing the bowl to his mouth and taking an obnoxious slurp. 

“Of course you took the last of it, kitty,” you cooed, knowing his disdain for it. 

“Watch your mouth, doll,” Logan grunts, going to rinse his bowl without further acknowledging your physical proximity. 

“Or what?” you challenge, eyes squinting. The calm you felt melts away, replaced by that irritating itch Logan always spiked in your body. Your chest rose with rage, though you were mindful of your sleeping housemates at the early hour. In the loudest whisper you can muster, you let Logan have a piece of your mind. 

 “Seriously, what’s your problem, Logan? All you ever do is antagonize me, and I’m sick of it!” you clench your fists, meeting the man’s eyes. 

“You're playing a dangerous game, darlin',” he turns off the water, placing the bowl in the drying rack. You were fairly certain he was only doing this to piss you off and ignore you further; you’d never seen him do a dish. “Now, shut your mouth,” he growls. Your heart pounds so loudly, you could hear it in your ears. 

“Make me,” the whisper escapes your lips before you could think anything of it, and the world stops turning.

 Logan whips around, using his hips to pin yours to the counter as he greedily presses his lips to yours. Despite your surprise, you couldn’t help but find your hands tangling themselves around Logan’s neck, pulling him closer eagerly. In the chaos and hunger, you bite his lip, briefly making him bleed before it heals itself. Logan slips his tongue into your mouth, making you dizzy as he flicks it over yours. Fuck. You can taste his breakfast, the cereal you never got, and something about it makes you crazier. You run your fingers through his hair, engulfing every inch of him he lets you have.

“Mmm, oh,” you whisper. 

“Antagonizing you.” he mocks you in a whisper, sucking on your neck. “Do you have any idea how batshit crazy you drive me?” Logan scoffs. “Always runnin’ that pretty mouth, always flaunting that perfect body,” he huffs, slipping his hands around your ass and down your thighs as he lifts you onto the countertop with ease. “Probably just to get my attention, too,” Logan shakes his head, playing with the waistband of your shorts. The heat starts to gather in your belly as his fingers brush against your stomach. You tilt your head back, giving him more space for his tongue to explore your neck as he dips his hand into your panties. 

“W-why would I want your attention?” you roll your eyes; in pleasure or annoyance, neither of you can tell as he makes his way to your pussy. 

“Shut up, y/n,” Logan kisses you again, sucking on your bottom lip as his fingers work your clit. You whimper, legs spreading to meet him. “Oh, there you are. Gooooood girl,” he nods. “Finally, ya listen,” he purrs. “See what listenin’ gets you?” he mumbles into your lips, and you can’t help but whimper at his touch. If your fighting was passionate, this was intoxicating. 

“You want me to fill you, princess?” Logan asked, fingers playing with you. “You’re soaked for me,” he chuckled. You nod slowly. 

“What, shy all of a sudden?” he bites his lip with a chuckle, slipping two fingers into your entrance. “Where’s all that bark, baby? I know you’ve got quite a bite on you, too,” he nods, pumping his fingers into you as he runs a thumb along your clit. 

“Lo- fuck,” you hiss, adjusting to the size of his hands inside you. The way he felt made your face flush and your breath hitch, and fuck, fuck, fuck, you wanted more. 

“Just like that, I’ve gotcha,” Logan leans forward, letting you wrap your legs around his back. “You got it,” he comforts. “Cum for me, darlin’?” he insists as you jut your hips forward onto him. Chasing the high, you start to feel the knot come undone, and your breath becomes frantic. Logan holds you, no signs of slowing as you whimper on his fingers. 

Unadulterated pleasure ripples through you, and only then does Logan remove himself from you. As if he couldn’t get any hotter, you watch, drunk with pleasure, as he sucks your juices off of his fingers.

 You take the opportunity to fumble with his belt, eager to know the rest of him. “Christ,” he mutters, working to help you free his aching cock from his jeans. 

Logan’s erection springs free, obviously just as eager to know you. Touching his forehead to yours, Logan pulls your hips closer, teasing your entrance. Fuck, he was big.

“Please,” you begged, and sure as hell he was going to give it to you. Logan buried himself into you, covering your mouth as you gasped. 

“What did I say about shutting up, doll,” he tsked, pulling you down onto his hips again and again. “Geez, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” Logan whispered, thrusts becoming frantic. For the player he was known to be, Logan was awfully smitten with you. “Doll, I- fuck,” he moaned softly, pounding your pussy. “I’m gonna-” 

“Cum in me,” you nod eagerly, wanting to feel his warmth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, y/n, fuck-” Logan grunted, face dissolving into pleasure as he filled you. Relief coursed through both of you, panting, unable to look one another in the face as the world continued on its axis. “Didn’t think you had it in you, princess,” Logan mumbled, burying his head into your shoulder. “...You don’t think we could do that again sometime, do ya?” 

You smiled. “I told you I could handle you,” you whispered, kissing the top of his head

[darkbluekies]

Be good for me

Yandere!doctor OC (husband) x reader

Summary: Someone has left an anonymous tip about a certain someone in Kry's house, causing the police to stop by to ask some questions

Warnings: poison, toxic household, manipulation, toxic parents,

Word count: 1.8k

Dr Kry wets the cloth and cleans the counter, trying his best to stay calm. Their voices don't want to leave his head. They're banging through his skull.

“Let us in! We haven't traveled all this way for you to turn us away at the door!”

“I didn't ask you to come.”

“We shouldn't have to ask. We raised you for eighteen years. You owe us this.”

“I owe you nothing.”

He shouldn't have opened the door from the beginning. Would have saved himself from a lot of headache and anger.

He has just baked two sourdough loaves to get his itching fingers under control. They are now resting under a towel, waiting for the oven to get his mind off of everything. You are sleeping soundly upstairs, and when you wake up there will be fresh bread straight out of the oven specifically for you. The familiar itch in his hands comes back. That must have been the worst thing. That they saw you. And their stares towards you. He knew that they would look at you that way. I knew that you couldn't do better.

He stops in his tracks and presses his knuckles against his temple. He squeezes his eyes shut. His fingers are itching again. He wants to kill them. He should have. But you were there. God, he could never do such a thing knowing that you are nearby.

A knock on the front door brings him back to reality. He feels a shiver run down his spine as his suspicions levels rise. Closest neighbor lives a kilometer away and he's never seen them. Who would want something from him?

He gives the stairs to the second floor a quick look to make sure that you haven't awoken to come see who's at the door before he walks over to the front door and unlocks it. Two men in uniform meet his eyes. Cops?

“Good day”, one of them says.

“Good day”, Dr Kry answers, trying his best not to sound suspicious. “What can I help you with?”

“We have gotten an anonymous notice about someone in this house and we would need to come in and search.”

They’re talking about you, it must be. He already knows who has given them this “anonymous hint” and it makes his blood boil. But he can’t refuse them entry. They’ll know right away that he has done something. Better to play along and not give them a reason to distrust him.

I will deal with mother and father later.

“Of course, come in”, he says and opens the door for them.

His heart beats in his chest. He gives the stairs a quick look. Don't wake up.

“Are you home alone?” one of the policemen asks.

He can’t lie because what will he say if they find you? They will be suspicious of him.

“No, my spouse”, he says and feels how his throat dries out at the mention of you.

Now you are out in the open. He can’t take it back now.

“Where is your spouse?”

“Upstairs. They're sleeping.”

“We would like to speak with them as well.”

And I would like to kill you. He nods quickly.

“They’re sick”, he says stiffly. “I don’t want them to strain their body by physical exertion.”

“They can still be in their bed, we just want to talk to them”, they reassure.

Dr Kry swallows a deep, frustrated sigh. He refuses to wipe his sweaty palms. They will pick up on it immediately. He is about to fold his arms over his chest, but they will recognize that too. Kry glances towards them.

He walks upstairs with them behind him. He opens the door to the bedroom and walks towards your shared bed. You look absolutely wonderful sleeping on your side — the right side — of the bed. Dr Kry shakes you gently until your tired eyes flutter open. They look at him in confusion, and then at the men in uniforms in fear. He takes your hand, squeezing tightly, warningly.

“We’re sorry for waking you”, one of the cops says. “We just need to ask you some questions.”

Your wonderful eyes look at him, looking for reassurance. Dr Kry’s heart tightens. They’re scaring you. His heart can't take it, but what can he do? He should remain as normal as he can for as long as possible. Shouldn't do anything dumb.

“It’s okay”, he whispers. “They’re not here to hurt you. I won't let it.”

“What kind of questions?” you ask quietly.

Your tone is just enough careful and distrusting. His good girl/boy.

“Just some simple ones”, the cop answers.

Dr Kry squeezes your hand again, letting you know what to answer. It's not one of those hard ‘keep your mouth shut’ squeezes, but more of a ‘go ahead, it'll be okay’.

“Could you step outside while we ask questions, Mr Kry?”

He wants to scream. This can't be happening! Instead, he nods. He squeezes your hand once again. Watch your mouth.

You watch him leave and gulp. The cops turn to you.

“What's your name?” one asks.

“Y/N”, you reply in the same uncertain tone as before. “W-What is going on?”

“We're here to ask you some questions.”

You haven't done anything. You couldn't have. You've been here day out and day in!

“About what?” you hesitate to ask.

“We got an anonymous tip about a woman/man being mistreated here by doctor Karl Kry. We came to talk to you.”

Their words make you go cold. Scared that he will somehow be able to read your thoughts, when Dr Kry hasn't been nearby you have allowed yourself to imagine a scenario like this. But even fantasizing about it when he hasn't been home has felt sinful, scared that he somehow has been able to put a camera in your brain and know what you're thinking. He would be angry if he knew how much you've wished for a miracle like this.

And happy if he knew how hesitant you are now. What says that they will believe you if you tell the truth? Who says that they will take you with them here and now? If he knows that you've said something he will be angry. He will hurt you, make sure you will never talk to a cop again.

And if you leave him you might not be cured from this repulsive poison.

He walks back and forth, feeling nauseous. What if they take you away from him? Will he have to kill both of them here? In front of you? The thought is sickening. He can't kill them when you're watching. But what will happen if he does kill them? Do other cops know that they're here? Will they send more if they notice that they never came back? Kry can’t kill everyone.

Be good for me. Don't do it, please. I will reward you if you keep your mouth shut. I will be so good to you if you just do me this one favor.

The door opens and the cops walk out. Dr Kry hurries to stop and pretends to be unconcerned. The two cops walk out. He can hear you cry behind them and before he can think clearly, he pushes past them and marshes over to you, grabbing your shoulders.

What have you told them? He wants to shout.

He tries to look in your eyes to see if they're drenched in guilt or fear, to know if you have betrayed him or not. They're full of sorrow and regret … but neither fear nor guilt. He hugs you tightly. Your fingers dig deliciously into his waist.

“I think it's time for you to leave now”, Dr Kry says coldly over his shoulder. “You've upset my darling. I need to take care of them.”

The cops give no response. Dr Kry cups your cheeks, makes you look at him.

“Did you tell?” he whispers inaudibly to the cops.

He already knows that you haven't, but he needs the satisfaction of you audibly confirming it.

“No”, you sob quietly and shake your head in his hands.

He breathes out and gives you a small smile as his thumbs caress your wet cheeks. His neck bends down to kiss your nose.

“I'll show them out”, he says.

His big hands let you go. He leaves the room and follows the cops out to the stairs. Just a few minutes ago he would have wanted nothing less than to push them down. Kry can't relax yet. He needs to see their car start and hear their engine tune out before he can lock the door and feel that everything is over. That he won again.

The cops stop at the front door. One of them turns to him.

“You're a doctor, correct?” he asks.

“Yes”, Kry replies.

“What is wrong with your spouse?”

He hates the word ‘weird’ in the same sentence as you. Nothing is wrong with you. He decides not to argue about the term, and doesn't want them to stay any longer. Instead, he gives them a diagnosis that is similar to what he has caused you, just in case they decide to research it. It feels like hours before they let him off the hook and finally, finally leave. Dr Kry waits by the door and listens for the police car disappearing through the forest. He closes the door, locks it and breathes out.

He glances towards the stairs and runs up to you. You're crying into your hands. Dr Kry sighs and sits down on the bed, watching you with a heavy heart. The worst thing is that he understands how you're feeling. You wanted to tell them — you had a golden opportunity — but you didn't because you were afraid of what he'd do to you and the cops in case it failed. He hesitates before taking you in his arms. He rests your trembling body against his.

“It's okay”, he whispers. “You did the right thing. I'm so proud of you. You don't need to cry.”

“I- … I-”, you sob, not knowing what exactly it is that you want.

Dr Kry starts to rock you back and forth, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“I know, I know”, he coos softly. “It's okay.”

“I just want to sleep”, you whisper.

“You can sleep. I will go check on the sourdough bread.”

He lets you go and wipes your tears. Before he leaves, he tucks you in and turns on some white noise. Kry picks up his phone as he walks downstairs. He doesn't have any of their numbers saved and have done his best to forget them. But if he knew his parents phone numbers, would he call?

His fingers are itching again. If he gets the chance, he will kill his parents, he's sure of that. This could have ended differently and it would be all their fault. He doesn't want to imagine the other endings. Dr Kry opens the oven, ducks away from the scorching hot mist welling out, and takes out the sourdoughs loafs. The urge to kill doesn't go away and he knows his fingers will be itching for a long time. Until he gets his hands on his mother and father.

[bluejeanstrash]

tags: boyfriend! seungcheol x reader, just a little light-hearted fluff of seungcheol being a dramatic whiny baby when he’s sick, mentions of dry scalp and skin picking lol, seungcheol is very whiny | wc: 742

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

a classic cough and cold combo paired with a side of fever-related aches and pains — that was the diagnosis, not the life-threatening illness seungcheol was sure he’d contracted. he’d tried convincing you it was fast-spreading. like really fast. like it has taken over his body and has been shutting down his organs one by one for the past 6 hours fast.

‘i’m going to die. it’s not a joke anymore. i seriously feel like i’m going to die’ he tugs at the hem of your t-shirt as you clear up the mountain of tissues on the left bedside table, and then tugs again while you’re clearing up a pile of dishes on the right.

you sigh, ignoring him, and disappear into the kitchen to reappear with a fresh bowl of hot chicken soup ‘seungcheol, we’ve been over this already. you’re not going to die’

‘forget it! just get me my will. i have to make some last-minute changes’ he asks for it dramatically, draping a limp arm over his eyes.

‘you don’t have a will’ you blow on the hot soup in quick bursts before feeding him a spoonful.

‘ugh, never mind. it’s fine’ the will talk is waved off with a quick fan of the hand to make way for what he says next ‘they give everything to the spouse anyway. wait, do they?’

‘i don’t know, and we’re not married’ you remind him, stirring the hot liquid so the shredded chicken, his favourite part, rises to the top.

‘god, you’re right’ he sits up a little straighter and grabs your free hand, suddenly somber ‘do you take choi seungcheol to be your lawf-’

you force-feed him another spoonful to shut him up, a bit of it spilling onto the quilted blanket. the soup must’ve still been too hot because he lets out a little cry, whining, though it’s entirely possible he’s overreacting.

‘you’re not taking this seriously, i’m actually dying’

‘you’re not’

‘what do you know! you’re not a doctor!’ he grumbles, taking a moment to tell you he really likes the soup and really really appreciates you making it for him before continuing to rant.

‘yeah, and what about the actual doctor we called who said you’re not?’

‘he doesn’t know anything either, that hack. the people on the internet’ he picks up his phone from the bed, showing you a screenshot from some site you’re pretty sure is for hypochondriacs to confirm each other’s delusions, and taps on the screen ‘have told me i have less than 24 hours left. 24. 24!’

‘seungcheol, i can’t have this conversation with you anymore. seriously. you need to go to sleep’ you put the empty bowl aside, straightening, and then pulling the blanket up to cover him.

‘no, no, don’t leave. i want lap time’ he pouts, baby-talking his way into his third one of the day. you sit back down on the bed with a sigh as he repositions himself to lay on your lap, wriggling his head around until he’s comfy. your fingers slowly comb through his hair, your nails scratching lightly against his scalp to soothe him. in a slightly gross but domestic act, you pick a few bits of flaky skin out of his unwashed hair, flicking them away. you should wash it for him later, you think. he’d like that.

seungcheol always found the sensation of you picking at his scalp strangely comforting, and surprisingly quite sleep-inducing. minutes pass without a single sound.

it’s quiet. finally. or so you think.

‘if i die, you can’t date anyone for the next 10 years. at least’

‘what?!’ you jerk your thighs up, pushing him off your lap ‘10 years? you’re crazy’

he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

‘i was just being nice. you shouldn’t date anyone ever, but ohmygod, i can’t believe you want to be with someone else’ he presses his fingers to his temples, suddenly coming down with a headache.

‘so let me get this straight’ he continues ‘you’re telling me when i die tomorrow-’

‘you won’t’

‘-when i die tomorrow, you’re going to bring some other man to my funeral?!’ his cheeks now hot with a shade of distressed pink.

you’re not sure where he’s got that from but you’ve had enough. you get up, grabbing the bowl, and look him straight in the eye, pinching his cute little cheeks ‘well, it’s a good thing you’re not dying then’

you walk out, leaving him right there on the bed, hot and most definitely cold.

[winterrrnight]

there’d better be a mirrorball

PAIRING: soft!rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: you couldn’t attend senior prom, so your boyfriend bought the prom to you.

WARNINGS: mentions of puking and food poisoning, sweetheart rafe, usage of nicknames, intentional use of lower case

EDITH SPEAKS: huge huge thank you to miss @zyafics who had to see my poorly edited photo of a terrace and helped me figure out that it’s called a ‘gazebo’, except that picture didn’t actually have a gazebo in it (I’m sorry I’m so bad at explaining shit 😭) but yeah zya you’re a real one ilysm 💙🌟

if you liked reading this please consider reblogging! feedback is always appreciated 🪩

navigation || join my taglist || requests

it was the saddest day of your life.

you went to sleep all excited, your dress laid out, your shoes right next to the dress, your jewelry picked out, a clear image of your make up look in your head; just for you to wake up and do the last thing you’d expect for that day: puke.

your puke was unceremoniously cleaned up by your mom, who when touched her hand to your forehead, claimed that you were burning up. when you tried to speak, your voice barely came out – it was hoarse and heavy. and it was even worse when you couldn’t stand on your own two feet for a few moments before starting to feel an intense body ache that had you flopping back onto your bed.

“I’m sorry darling, but I don’t think you should go to prom today–”

“no!” came out your rough voice, tears starting to blur your vision as you took a look at your perfectly arranged dress and accessories for the coming night. your mom couldn’t bear to see the sight but she had to exercise her never expiring mom card and made you miss the prom.

you were laying in your bed, your curtains drawn and the lights turned off to not let any harsh lighting pulsate your already throbbing headache even more than before. you had called your boyfriend rafe and had given him the unbearing news of you not being able to attend prom because of your horrible health – which was concluded as food poisoning by your mother – and he felt his heart shatter with the news.

rafe, who was never interested in prom before, was looking forward to that night because you were his date. you made his decision regarding proms flip to a total 180 and convinced him on how fun it would actually be, and now what? now, you can’t go, you: the light to the dark side of his moon.

“then that’s simple, I’m not going either,” came his voice through your microphone. you groaned for what felt like the millionth time, and shook your head.

“you are going rafe,” you said, your voice clearing up just a bit thanks to those sharp tasting lozenges your mother dumped into your mouth. “okay? you are going. the rest of our friends are going to be there, and it’s the senior prom! you are going, and that’s final.”

damn. even when you’re lying sick in your bed, you still have your control over him.

rafe reluctantly agreed to go to the prom, but before he went there, he stopped by at your place to check up on you. he brought you some fresh flowers and put them in a vase to sit in your room.

“when I come back, I’m coming straight to you, okay?” he murmured softly as he pressed a kiss to your forehead gently, not listening to your whines on how he shouldn’t kiss you because you were sick.

the hours passed, and you made a quick scroll through your social media – something which you knew you shouldn’t. there were already a gazillion pictures and short videos from the evening, everyone dressed up in fancy fabrics from head to toe, jewelry gleaming on their ears and necks, and familiar pop music played in the background. you sighed, feeling yourself getting more and more sad and left out as you practically threw your phone aside, and decided to just nap to get your mind off of it.

you were woken up by your name spoken by an all too familiar melodious voice, and a soft nudge to your shoulder.

“wake up baby…” you heard in your ear. you opened your eyes and were met with rafe’s bright blue ones. his blazer had come off and was hanging on his shoulder, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to his elbows.

“yeah?” you muttered as you rubbed your eyes and sat up.

“come on, I want to take you somewhere,” he said in a hushed tone as he watched you awaken.

“take me where?” you asked and without any questions, you followed rafe’s lead, who helped you to your feet and helped you put on your shoes. he draped his blazer over your shoulders and took your hand, leading you out of your room.

“just come with me, you’ll love it,” he said softly, grinning from ear to ear as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and led you out. you lived only a few doors down from tannyhill, and rafe kept you well tucked under his arm as he kept up with your slower pace of walking than usual and led you to his place.

he led you inside the huge mansion, and when he saw how tired your body had gotten from the walking, he carefully picked you up bridal style and carried you up the stairs, all the way up to the terrace.

“now…” he hummed as he set you down, both of you standing right outside the closed door of the terrace. “i’m going to cover your eyes, okay?” he said softly, and when he saw you didn’t interject, he covered your eyes with his fingers. he opened the door and carefully led you out to the terrace.

“i’ll lift my hands in 3… 2… 1…”

at 1, his hands came off and you were greeted with a sight that made you gasp.

multiple strings of golden fairy lights hung all around the terrace, a record player spun in a corner, a table was covered with drinks, chocolates and other little treats, and to your right, right under the wooden gazebo, was a mirrorball.

a mirrorball hung right from the center of the gazebo, spinning slowly and slowly as it reflected silver light in different directions, producing a complex display. you gasped at the sight, the spherical object rotating and momentarily reflecting across you, the reflections mere spheres that appeared and disappeared on your body at different parts each time.

“rafe…” you muttered, and you felt his arms wrap around your waist from the back, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“this is our prom baby,” you whispered in your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your neck.

“when… when did you even do this?” you whispered, still in awe from the entire decoration.

“I came back from prom early, it was extremely boring without you,” he murmured. “couldn’t stand being there without my pretty girl,”

you turned around in rafe’s hold to face him. “this… this is so beautiful…” you whispered, looking in his twinkling eyes. you wanted to say more, you really did, but you were falling short of words because you were still trying to recover from the surprise.

“not as beautiful as you baby,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to your forehead and you broke into a smile. he can be so cheesy.

“now come on, I believe you owe me a dance,” he grinned as he walked up to the record player. he changed the vinyl spinning and you watched him curiously, but all curiosity washed away when you heard the gentle instrumentals of there’d better be a mirrorball fill the space around you.

he walked back to you with a cheeky grin and took your hand in his, leading you to the gazebo where you both stood right under the mirrorball. he took your hands in his and brought you closer to him, placing your arms around his neck and placing his around your waist, and starting to sway you gently to the music.

you rested your head in the crook of his neck and he kept you close in your arms, both of your eyes fluttered shut as you gently swayed to the music, taking in the moment.

“I love you,” you heard the faint sound of rafe’s voice in your ear. you felt your heart thump at his words, a soft smile forming on your face.

“I love you just as much,” you whispered back, burying your face in his neck. he smiled softly at your words, pressing a kiss to your temple as he continued to sway you both.

by the end of the night, you had completely forgotten you had to miss prom.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @lunalitva @sadfury @sage-burrow @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @callsignwidow @starkowswife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @jjchaer @f4ll-for-you @wearemadeofstardust0 @drewsmusee @rafegirly @addriaenne @leighbronk @rafesdrew @bejeweledreverie @raf3sgff @aerangi @drewstarkey1bae @moneymaybank @spideysimpossiblegirl @lukey-pookie-hughes43 @rafesgiirl @theoraekenslover @fals3-g0d @personalfavsthatarerandom @b1mb0slvt

[jenscx]

[15] CALL ME BACK — last friday night

9.57pm: ning yizhuo’s party

the moment you had replied to wonyoung, a voice rang out from the crowd, yelling your name. you turn your head, making eye contact with the tall beauty, smirking at you.

“hey, sweetheart,” wonyoung waves slowly, her eyes dragging up and down your body, “gracing me with your presence?”

you laugh, “only for a few minutes, i’ve got to settle things with sakura.” wonyoung tilts her head, reminiscent of a puppy. her bunny eyes stare at you, “what? i can’t hear you.”

before you even attempt to repeat what you said, wonyoung interrupts, “let’s go somewhere quieter.” her cold hand grasps around your wrists, pulling you to a secluded room upstairs. ningning’s party playlist and the sound of people cheering drowns out, only leaving the soft ambience of ariana grande’s voice in your ears.

“so!” wonyoung smiles, “what were you saying?” she settles on the massive guest bed, taking her heels off and massaging her swollen ankles.

“kkura and i have to talk, so i can’t stay for long,” you repeat, eyes trailing around the room. you wonder how wonyoung even knew that this room would be empty. in a party like this, it would be expected that all the rooms would either be full of people smoking, or having sex.

“talk? talk about what?” wonyoung asks curiously. you sigh, thinking about the impending headache of an argument that is your relationship.

sakura was a lovely girlfriend; she always took care of you and never complained about your clingy nature. but she never really liked the company you kept around, mostly avoiding hangouts that you tried to arrange between them.

(“i’m friends with jungwon, but you can’t be friends with my best friend?”

“jungwon’s not my best friend, so your argument is invalid. i’m not going five feet near park sunghoon.”)

“i didn’t tell her about this party,” you frown, “she found out ‘cause sullyoon tweeted about it.”

“oh? you didn’t? why not?” she asks, getting up and rummaging through the cabinets.

“don’t know. just didn’t think it was important enough to tell her.”

it still wasn’t, in your head. you didn’t need to tell sakura if you were going to a party or not. it wasn’t like you lied straight up to her.

“maybe she has some trust issues, it’s kinda common nowadays,” wonyoung suggests, pulling out a bottle of alcohol, “found it!”

“how’d you know it was there?”

wonyoung grins, “ning told aeri and aeri told me. secret stash hidden away from the party.”

she sits back down, taking a chug out of the bottle.

“what’s up with your relationship then?”

you take a moment to think.

“it’s mostly a me thing though, sometimes i just do things to annoy her,” you mumble as wonyoung hands you the bottle, “mhm, thanks. her reactions’ funny. i do it just to make her angry.”

wonyoung laughs, “ah, is that why?”

“yea, she gets annoyed easily,” you giggle, thinking about sakura’s furious texts flooding your phone whenever you did something.

“you’re interesting,” she remarks, “deliberately making her angry. when did you guys meet?”

“we met at a party, park jaemin hosted it. she was introduced to me by one of yoona’s friends, i think her name’s haewon? sakura was the one who asked me out first, it was quite cute,” you smile, the memory of a stuttering and blushing sakura appearing in your mind.

you continued with your story, taking sips every time wonyoung passed you the bottle.

“cute,” wonyoung comments.

“hm?”

“your relationship,” she clarifies, “it’s cute.”

giggling, you nod. “sakura’s a cutie. ugh, what was i supposed to say to her again? i think she’s mad at me.”

“you’re meeting her later?”

“yeah, i need to apologise…” at this point, your words were completely slurred. wonyoung watched in amusement at how you struggled to stand up.

“i don’t think you’re in the best condition to talk to her, or even walk. maybe you should sober up first.”

you nod, completely out of it. wonyoung’s angelic face was just a blurry figure in your eyes.

“let me… just sleep… wake me up in 5…”

“okay, y/n. sleep well.”

masterlist | next

TAGS ! @jiwoneiric @yoontoonwhs @haerinsloverr @wallfl9wer @klvarchives @r4cjh @jisooftme @jeindall777 @chaersly @perfectsunlight @thefckghost @pagedpick7 @pinxeajin @pandafuriosa60 @limbforalimb @idkwhatim-doinghere101 @sewiouslyz @manooffline @geeminz @flolio @watamotee33 @winzzie @gayforalll @xszn

[withdenim]

I think it’s time I introduce my doomed ancient yuri to the ninjago fandom. I’ll leave the story under the cut if anyone wants to read it 💜 it includes my Wojira backstory and why I draw Nyad as oni

Wojira is the younger, less powerful sister of firstbourne, I think. Wojira and Firstbourne we’re both chill with Oni, but Firstbourne was more Reserved about it . Like, she didn’t enforce weird rules or anything but she also . Didn’t stop her kids from being really awful.

Wojira spent more time with Oni than other Dragons. Even her kids (wind and water Dragons) were sort of weird about it. She didn’t really like the sort of power hoarding attitude of the other Dragons and decided to teach them a lesson about it.

When the first master was born she realized that Oni blood COULD bear elemental magic, and she took in two Oni kids (Nyad and her brother who I made up and haven’t named yet lmao) and gave them wind and water (separately) magic. And the other Dragons were VERY mad about this. They thought it was disgraceful.

They tried to get Firstbourne to banish her . Firstbourne refused and so her kids just all worked together to banish her instead. And sort of gave her a fucked up cursed eternal headache (in the amulets) Whoops . Nyad and her brother followed Wojira into the realm of Ninjago and tried to ease her pain for years but eventually it just sort of broke her mind and she started laying absolute waste to everything.

The FSM goes through his whole story (still figuring out details of it in my headcanons) and comes to Ninjago, desperate for a new home. And Nyad and her brother (I really need to name them DIFNDKFM) are scared of him at first. But he shows them his elemental magic and they realize he’s like them (Oni with elemental magic). And they bond over that and tell him about Wojira. The first master decides to help Nyad convince the Merlopians and Islanders to resist Wojira and hopefully bring peace to the realm.

Over several months they become good friends, and they often calm Nyad’s brother by making beautiful little worlds out of their elemental magic for him. And the FSM promises that one day Ninjago will be safe like these worlds, and they’ll all be able to live there.

And these very very lonely people have made a little family.

Of course, the Oni hunters are sent to track down the FSM, and Mystaké is the first to find them. She announces herself and demands the first master return with her. He begs to stay just long enough to make this world safe for the people there, and she reluctantly agrees when they show her the safe world they’re planning to build. It looks beautiful.

Mystaké joins their efforts, hoping to speed along the process of the first master’s return to the first realm, but she finds herself amazed by their magic and (worse) deeply fond of the little trio. She falls in love with Nyad, and starts letting herself indulge in their hopeful fantasies of a safe world where no one will find them. In this time, Nyad gives the FSM a name of his own to use when they have their safer world. Hajime.

When the preparations are as ready as they’ll ever be, the Battle of Nine Days begins. On the eighth day, Nyad’s little brother (who wasn’t even fighting) is struck near-fatally, and Nyad launches a risky attack to try and end the battle once and for all. It’s unsuccessful, but she realizes Wojira’s weak spot. Like in canon, she merges with the sea, desperate to give the others a chance at the world they’d all hoped for, and hoping that her brother could be saved if the battle ended and he could get proper help.

She knows she should kill Wojira, but she can’t bring herself to. And instead of killing her she decides to take the amulets, and send Wojira into a deep, painless sleep, hopefully eternal.

Hajime is devastated by Nyad’s death, and though Mystaké grieves her as well, she’s a lot more accustomed to death, and watches her go, surprised by the ache in her heart.

The brother lives, but passes on his element very soon after the events of the battle, sick of it’s consequence. Hajime builds the new world and appoints new masters, though he doesn’t know where the water and wind elements went (not his domain). Mystaké never even brings up the idea of taking Hajime back to the first realm again, and protects him from other hunters when she can. Hajime lives a long long time before choosing to pass on and find peace for himself. Mystake lives another thousand years, farming strange enchanted teas, occasionally a companion to Wu and Garmadon.

In Hunted, she confides in Lloyd that if or when she dies, she would like to be sunk into the sea where the battle took place (not that she tells him the story. Just the location), and Lloyd thinks it’s just some weird senile old lady talk. But when she does die at the hands of his father and the Sons of Garmadon in Hunted, Lloyd doesn’t get a chance to row her out until after March of the Oni.

She liked Lloyd. He was a lot like Hajime.

[medusapelagia]

28 Tomorrow

written for @steddieangstyaugust (prompt:Tomorrow ) and @augustwritingchallenge (Prompt: Caretaker) Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve/Eddie TW: open ending, description of injuries Words: 852

Every single cell of Eddie’s body hurt so badly. His joints are in flame, his skin was pulled so harshly to try to stop the bleeding of his bats’ bites that he’s sure it would rip off if he breathe in the wrong way, he has had a headache since he opened his fucking eyes, and still, the stupid doctors are going to lowering his pain meds, because they don’t want him to become an addict. Like… are you fucking kidding, right? 

But no.

They were fucking serious, and now all Eddie can do not scream in pain is biting the inside of his cheeks and trying very hard to sleep, but the pain is so devastating that he can’t sleep. Fuck those stupid doctors. Eddie’s no killer, that's what the TV said, but he would kill for a joint. Or maybe he should just murder the stupid doctors who decided to lower his meds.

“You ok?” 

Steve.

Dear, kind, smiling, Steve, who’s always there, reading to him some articles from the Rolling Stones and telling him what’s going on out there.

“Do I look ok?” Eddie hisses, his eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep.

“Do you need another pillow? I can ask Mary if-”

“I don’t need a fucking pillow! Harrington! I need my fucking meds!” Eddie yells, and the machine at his side starts to beat out loudly while Eddie grits his teeth, forcing himself to stay still and ride out the pain, counting in his mind.

One. Two. Three.

When finally his jaw relaxes, Steve’s still there, looking at him with fondness, “How far?”

“Huh?”

“How far did you get?”

“Seventy-four.”

“That’s great. A few days ago it was more than ninety.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, the only part of his body he can move without experiencing any pain, “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not. Things are getting better. And tomorrow they’ll get even better.”

Eddie doesn’t punch him in the face because he’s really hurting, but the feeling is there.

When the nurse knocks on the door with a tray, Steve immediately jumps on his feet and grabs it, thanking her profusely.

“Look, Eddie. Plain rice and boiled chicken. Your favorite.” Steve jokes, cutting the chicken into small little pieces, ready to feed Eddie.

“You don’t have to feed me. There are nurses here, they are paid for it.”

“I like to take care of you. We’re friends, right?”

Eddie lifts an eyebrow, “Are we? I remember that you didn’t do anything when Tommy closed me in the janitor’s closet. Am I wrong?”

“Well, that’s what before-”

“So let me get this straight: we risked our life together so we’re friends now and you like to take care of me while you wouldn’t even talk to me at school for four fucking years? Thank you, Harrington, but I don’t need anyone’s pity. Especially yours.”

Steve opens and closes his mouth a few times as if he is trying to find the words to reply to Eddie’s accusation, but in the end, he stabs a piece of chicken way too harshly and moves it to Eddie’s lips without a word.

Eddie eats his plate in complete silence, missing the gentle bantering with Steve but still taking refuge in the silence. Once the plate is empty, Steve takes the tray and moves toward the door.

“I’m sorry,” he says before opening the door, “I’m sorry for how I acted. I’m sorry for Tommy’s behavior and I’m sorry if we weren’t friends in high school. And I’m even more sorry if I misunderstood and thought we were friends now. I won’t bother you anymore.” 

When the door clicks close Eddie realized that he fucked up. He fucked up badly. 

Steve is kind and gentle, he loves to take care of the people he loves and the fact that Eddie is in pain isn’t enough of an excuse to treat him like that.

When Wayne comes to visit after his shift at the plant he’s surprised not to find Steve sitting on the uncomfortable plastic chair.

“Did Steve have a shift?” Wayne asks, grunting while he sits on the chair.

“He’s not coming back.”

“Eddie…” Wayne grumbles.

“What?”

“What have you done?”

“Nothing. Just told him nurses are paid to feed me, he isn’t.”

“That boy dragged your sorry ass back home. He saved your fucking life and spent almost every free moment here with you to keep you company, and you treated him like that?”

“I’m not a fucking charity project, Wayne!” Eddie hisses while Wayne gives him a stern look but doesn’t comment anymore. He just grabs his crosswords and starts reading the definitions out loud, trying to solve the puzzle with Eddie, but Eddie’s mind is too far away to be really helpful, so when the nurse comes back to tell them that visiting hours are over, half of the crossword is still blank.

“Eddie. Call him. Tell him you’re sorry.” Wayne tells him before leaving and Eddie maybe would, if he wasn’t too proud and the only phone wasn’t at the nurses’ desk.

But tomorrow he will.

Tomorrow he definitely will.

[jakexneytiri]

ohhhh love your dad! neteyam, can I request that the children fought with other children, like Lo'ak and Ao'nung, and how will we react to this?? or we'll scold them

thank you so much!!🥰

yes you can, i tried to tie it in with the other dad!neteyam ask i received, i hope this is what you had in mind, anon<3

(if it’s not, i can make a new part for you, just let me know! 💕)

forever & always (pt. 2)

⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰

neteyam rocks you side to side, arms wrapped around your slightly protruded stomach as his lips find their way to your neck.

“alone at last, my love. i missed you” he breathes against your skin, deeply inhaling your scent.

“i missed you more…” you ease into his embrace, resting your hands over his. you tilt your neck slightly, giving him more access to your neck as he places gentle kisses all along it.

he shifts his one arm below your shoulder blades, the other under your knees as he sweeps you up in his arms. carrying you the few feet to where you slept, he sits, gently holding you in his lap. carefully, he brings your legs together in a criss cross position, and begins to rub your feet.

you let out a sigh of relief, resting your head against his shoulder.

“that feels wonderful, ma‘teyam…but shouldn’t we be headed to this wonderful celebration you have planned for us?” you ask, guilt setting in from how much you enjoyed this time alone.

“in a bit, my muntxate (wife). were you not on your feet all day? you deserve a moment to rest.” he reassures you, kissing the top of your head.

you close your eyes, relaxing under his touch.

just as you were starting to get comfortable, a noise comes through both of your earpieces. it sounded like…

txonuk. and tsantu.

you sit up straight, pressing the headphone closer to your ear to see if you could pick up more. raising your finger to the button on your throat comm, you ask “boys? are you all right?” you look to your mate, worried now.

his mouth forms a tight line, not amused by this interruption. he pages in now, asking “lo’ak! what’s going on?”

lo’ak doesn’t answer, but jake does.

“we have a bit of a…situation here.”

you can hear lo’ak in the background of jake’s mic, yelling

“i’ll throw down with a kid, i don’t care! let me at him!”

the grip you have on your mates’ arm tightens as you listen to all this unfold.

tuk pages in then, laughing a bit herself “everything is fine, we’re handling it! see you soon byeeee!”

the fact that tuk was laughing put your mind at ease slightly, whatever happened couldn’t be that bad.

right?

neteyam growls, thumb and index finger pinched between his nose, like he was getting a headache.

“one. hour. one hour! is all i asked!” he snaps, sighing deeply.

you smile at the romantic attempt your mate made.

“it’s all right, sayrìp(handsome). once we put the children to sleep, we’ll have the night to ourselves.”

he smiles, caressing your cheek. “always so optimistic.”

“i like being optimistic. and it sets a good example for our kids.” you hurriedly say, walking over to the table where your new neck piece is laid out.

stripping quickly, you reach for your new one, and you can’t help but feel your mates’ eyes on you. you glance over, to see him absolutely mesmerized by you. his once sour mood quickly fizzled in seconds, now eyeing every inch of your body.

“nete.” you say, waving your hand in front of him.

he blinks, looking at you then. “yes, beautiful?”

“little help here.” you say, growing more irritated with your top by the second.

he chuckles, finding it amusing. “lift your arms for me, mama.”

you do as you’re instructed, watching your mate ever so gently slide your new neck piece on.

he grabs your face with one hand suddenly, squishing your cheeks, causing your lips to pucker as he places a soft kiss upon them.

“so beautiful…and all mine.”

you smile at him, resting your hand on his cheek before saying “we should go.”

he takes your hand in his, grabbing your shawl with his other, knowing you’ll get cold later.

walking hand in hand, you head to the surprise party. many clan members greeted you as soon as you entered the celebrating grounds.

as you grew closer, you spotted your family. your four children, along with kiri, lo’ak, and tuk. jake and neytiri were also present, but they were talking with unfamiliar faces…

as you finally get within feet of your children, you notice tsantu has a bloody lip, and txonuk has various scratches and cuts all over his body. you immediately kneel down, confusion plastered all over your face.

“boys, what happened?!” you hold each of their faces in your hands, inspecting one, then the other.

tsantu speaks first. “momma, the boys from the other clan were picking on se’ayl and nima…they made fun of our toruk toy because they can fly for real life and we can’t. and we told them to stop, but they kept saying it!”

“AND THEN!” txonuk starts “we did what uncle lo’ak says! talk shit, get hi-”

you cover your youngest son’s mouth, shaking your head.

part of you was so proud that they stood up for their sisters and themselves.

but the other part of you was mortified it happened in front of another clan, especially when you and neteyam weren’t present.

regardless, you needed to have a talk with lo’ak about giving advice to your children.

“please don’t say that word again, okay? it’s not nice. uncle lo’ak can say it because he’s older, but he definitely shouldn’t be saying it around you.” you say as you shoot daggers up at lo’ak, who rolls his eyes.

“can you actually keep your eye on them this time? we need to speak with the olo'eyktan.” neteyam asks lo’ak, clearly irritated with him.

he helps you to your feet then, walking over to where his parents are discussing with the tawkami clans leaders. the olo'eyktan gives you an icy glare, then looks down at your stomach, causing neteyam to pull you into his side. he rests his hand on your bump protectively, but also to avert the leader’s gaze from your body.

“this is the boys mother?” he asks, then directs his gaze back to you.

“yes.” jake confirms. “this is y/n, and my son, neteyam.”

the olo'eyktan’s glare only grew more cold and disapproving before he spoke again.

“how can you have another child on the way, when you can’t even control the ones you have!”

ice ran through your veins from his statement. was he implying you’re a bad mother?

…ARE you a bad mother?

neteyam growls, exposing his fangs as jake is quick to speak first, coming in between neteyam and the tawkami leader.

“that’s enough. last i checked, your kids started this whole thing.”

neteyam speaks next, visibly angry as he gets right in front of the tawkami leader, poking at his chest.

“she is my mate, the mother of my children, and you will respect her. if you do not, you are not welcome here.”

there is a thick tension between the two men, both of their fangs bared before the tawkami leader surrenders, bowing his head as a form of an apology. he nudges his children, who mutter quiet “sorry”s.

you didn’t really see the other children’s wounds until now, and they were much worse than your own kids. guilt started pooling in your stomach, making you nauseous. as a mother, you felt bad for them, but at the same time, for taunting your own children who also have their own wounds, you didn’t.

you grip your mate’s arm, pulling him off to the side as you whisper “nete…they must apologize. their wounds are far worse than our sons.”

neteyam silently nods, glancing over at your sons, motioning them to come to you.

“boys, you need to apologize to the olo'eyktan’s sons. now.”

“WHAT!” txonuk yells. “but they-”

“no buts.” neteyam grits his teeth. “now.”

tsantu elbows txonuk before they both speak.

“we’re sorry we hit you.” tsantu starts.

“…so many times.” txonuk mutters, earning another elbow from tsantu.

the two boys look at one another, then at tsantu and txonuk. “we’re sorry we teased you.”

tsantu holds his hand out for a peace making handshake, shaking both boys hands. txonuk hesitates, but eventually mimics his older brother.

jake and neytiri walk with the olo'eyktan and tsahìk, discussing other matters that involve both clans.

neteyam rubs your stomach gently, brushing your braids behind your shoulder.

“come, oeyä txe’lan (my heart). we have much to celebrate.”

he leads you closer to the fire, where there’s music, dancing, and plenty of food. se’ayl and nima are dancing with other clan members around the fire, spinning and laughing. tsantu and txonuk are sitting in a circle with lo’ak, and some of the other warriors from the clan, sharing stories from their battles.

neteyam brings you near the center of the fire, where he raises his hands for everyone to be quiet.

“thank you, everyone, for joining us. we are so glad we can spend tonight celebrating with you all. ten years with my mate have been the best years of my life, and i look forward to many more with her. she is the most beautiful, intelligent, kind, loving soul i have ever had the pleasure to know and love. she is a wonderful mother to our four children, and soon enough, five.”

he gently places his hand over your stomach, smiling.

“and i would be lost without her. so if i may, propose a toast. to my beautiful mate. to ten years, and many more!”

“pxay nì'ul!” (many more!) the clan chants, cheering for you both as the celebration resumes.

any insecurities you had from the tawkami leader’s words faded away with neteyam’s beautiful speech.

you take his face in your hands, placing a strong kiss to his lips. you pull away to whisper “i love you. so much.”

he smiles against your lips, pulling you in close as he says “i love you more. happy anniversary, oeyä muntxate.” (my mate)

wrapping an arm around your waist, the other holding your hand, neteyam sways with you, rocking you back and forth gently as the celebration continues.

[hotluncheddie]

high masking autistic steve snippet - a follow on from this and this

wc: 2.5k | rated: T | cw: none | tags: autistic steve harrington (and eddie but again this is about steve), hurt/comfort, established relationship, stimming

ao3

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Steve is spending the evening doing one of his new things. Where he takes time to just be. It’s recovering, or Stevie time, or whatever Eddie and Robin have decided it should be called. 

He’s alone basically, and it’s nice, because he’s letting it be nice. Letting it be restful. 

It’s for when he’s had a meltdown. Or can feel one coming on, because now he’s starting to recognise what overstimulation feels like on his skin. How it prickles at the back of his neck if his breaks cut short, makes his vision vignette if something too unexpected happens. 

Learned that after something like that he’ll need to rest. Needs time. 

And it’s not lazy. It’s not. (Sometimes it still feels like it is.) (Weak…that word always plays in the deep, scathing tone of his father’s voice…and selfish.)  

He’s on the couch, it’s dark, he actually feels really comfortable, and he’s watching The Breakfast Club. Watching it again. It’s his favourite, it feels like his. But he doesn’t like watching it with other people because they might notice how much he likes it and he doesn’t want that. Can’t be seen like that.. Embarrassing. 

So he watches it alone, when he gets home from work. He pauses whenever he wants, rewinds, pauses. Takes a deep breath, rewinds, pauses, stares into space. 

He also pauses to eat the snack he brought in. Actually tasting the food bc it’s the only thing he has to focus on. No lights, no sounds. He forgot how much he likes oranges when they’re ripe. Harder to taste if he has to listen at the same time. So, on a day like today, he lets himself do stuff one step at a time. 

It’ll probably take him double the normal run time to get all the way to the end. But who cares? It’s his time. 

The weird girl’s parents driving off; that feels like him. The jock’s Dad letting him off easy; that doesn’t feel like him. ‘No schools gonna give a scholarship to a discipline case.’ Maybe that does feel like him. Before through. A long time ago now. 

He claps sometimes. Keening high in his throat, a little happy hum that he only lets himself do when he’s alone like this. He does it after he whistles the same tune they do. And during the scene of them running around the corridors. It’s exiting. Makes his lips stretch wide and his feet flap around. He claps. Once. Twice. It feels good. 

He laughs at the characters. How they merge together with bits of his friends. He feels that swell of happy sad emotion looking at the jock when he first comes in, acting above the others, only seeing Molly Ringwald. He lives through a couple flashbacks of himself. Resigns to actually watch them, sit in them, begins to process who he was. Who he’s becoming now. Something like forgiveness tasting sweet on his tongue. He cries a little; that swelling and shifting as buried emotion finally passes. It overcomes him sometimes when he lets his mind relax.. He rewinds, and he laughs. 

“Stevie?”

Steve starts, fingers tangle in the blanket in his lap. Brain slow to process the change, the information. Eddie slipping through the door and coming over to him. Eddie dipping to look at Steve’s face, trying to catch Steve’s eye. Eddie smelling like cigarettes and crisp autumn air, it’s nice, but, it’s a lot. Panic sits bubbling somewhere in him. He wasn’t expecting this. 

“…Eddie?”

“Hey sweetheart. I know you had a shitty day, but Wayne’s at home with a headache and he needs to sleep it off. Wouldn’t’ve been able to stay quiet enough for him.”

Steve breaths in and out a little quickly. Eyes wide. 

Maybe it’s okay. Eddie knows he had a bad day. Maybe it’s okay.

“I’ll sit in the kitchen, work on my campaign, just forget I’m here.” Eddie speaks quietly, almost a whisper. 

He stares at his hand in his lap. “..You won’t, listen?” Steve feels small. Knows he’s not, his frame broad and strong. But, he needs small. Wants his world small tonight, slow. Wants to stay hidden. Him and the couch and the film and nothing else. 

Eddie just shakes his walkman and smiles (in that pointy way that makes Steve’s toes curl). 

“Kay” Steve whispers, still wary, off kilter. But accepts the kiss Eddie drops on his head, tangling their fingers together for a breath. Steve leans forward for a kiss on the lips. It’s deep, and lovely. Steve can smell Eddie’s cologne. Feels where the chill bit at Eddie’s nose. He shivers.

“No cooking.” Steve mumbles while their lips are still close. Small smile pulling at his face, eyes sharp, waiting for Eddie to get it. 

Eddie groans quietly in embarrassment but his eyes are soft and molten and Steve’s toes curl up again. “Course not baby, not again. Once you’re hungry just come through, yeah? Make us something nice.”

And the light of the kitchen doesn’t reach the couch. And Eddie listens to his walkman loud. And Steve’s safe. It’s Eddie. He’s not listening. Steve’s safe. 

His favourite scene; Bender and Claire in the stock cupboard. The way he looks so shocked, the way she bites her lip. ‘Why’d you do that?’ ‘Because I knew you wouldn’t.’ Steve whispers as they do. Claps. It’s such a good scene. He’s exited. He claps again. Rewinds to just watch her face. Rewinds to just watch his. Rewinds and watches the whole scene again. Wraps his arms around his middle and squeezes. Pauses on the kiss. He rubs his fingers agains his mouth. Giddy excitement bubbles in his belly. He hums high and happy again. He loves this movie. 

The weird girl gets a makeover, the jock really likes it. He feels like the weird girl sometimes, maybe Eddie can be his jock. Maybe he should get a makeover. Maybe keep growing out his hair. Maybe Eddie would like that. 

The credits roll. Bender’s fist in the air. Steve drifts on the couch, eyes closed. He breaths deep, his stomach growls. 

He pads through to Eddie. Squinting. Too bright. “D’you mind?” He motions to the lights, his eyes too adjusted to the dark and he doesn’t even wanna try and adjust them back. 

‘‘Cause. What we making?” 

Steve hums, goes into the pantry to see what’s easy. Eddie slips in behind him, hand on his waist. “Pasta?” Steve asks but Eddie doesn’t reply, just turns him gently. Nudging him to step back into the corner. 

Eddie looks at him, dips forward to place a slow kiss on his neck. “Why’d you do tha..’ Steve’s words dry up in his throat. 

“Because I knew you wouldn’t” and Eddie’s eyes are sparking with glee.

Eddie heard him.

He listened.

Steve’s feels himself flush hot, embarrassed and ashamed. “Ah, I, uh.” He can’t explain it, why he had to watch it so many times, why it makes him so exited. He crosses his arms over his chest. Turns back to the shelves of food and picks a can at random. Shoving out of the room. 

“Steve?”

Eddie said he wouldn’t. He listened in on him. He said he wouldn’t. He’s making fun of him. Steve knew he should’ve told Eddie to go home. 

“Stevie? What’s wrong?” But Steve doesn’t want to talk to him. He’s so angry, So ashamed, of himself. What if Eddie heard him clap too, heard him make that high noise, like a fucking baby, like some freak. 

He puts the can on the counter with way too much force, corn, not what he fucking wanted. His hands are shaking. He stares at them, wills his tears to stay behind his lash line. He got too comfortable, he can’t do that. Why is it so hard to pretend now, when it used to be so easy. 

“Steve, tell me what I did, please.” 

“‘M fine” Steve’s insides feel too big, pushing against his skin, itchy all over. He squeezes himself around his middle again, digging his fingers in hard. 

“Don’t do that, you know I hate when you bullshit like that.” Half lovely, half scathing.

The word stinks, a stab to the gut. But Steve gets it, he does, they talked about it. He bites his lip, hard. 

Its old habits or whatever. Because Steve, he loved fine. Liked sinking his teeth into it; toxic waste green coating his mouth and lungs. Thick and delicious. Because fine gets you out of it. Fine gives you translucency. Controlled balance. Everything appearing a none issue, the perfect in-between. Steve was perfect at coming off as something to not worry about, someone to be ignored. It used to work in all situations; can’t get told off if you’re fine, cant do anything wrong, teachers didn’t look twice, his parents wouldn't shout. By staying half alive, never letting anyone too close, never filling your lungs up all the way. That was the fine Steve adored. 

“You were literally just watching a movie. I dunno what the big deal is.” and there’s frustration, confusion, in Eddie, Steve thinks. He feels himself tense up, glance over.

Eddie must see something on his face. See that scared little animal prowling around within him. Because Eddie softens, his voice gentle. “Steve.. it’s nothing I hadn’t heard before.’ And Steve’s teeth clamp together with a click. He’s done that, his clap and his high hum, in front of Eddie before? Steve tries to swallow, he can’t, a lump too big and sticky in his throat.

He can’t look him in the face, angry tears still threatening to spill “You said you wouldn’t listen.” He’s mumbling. He sounds even more like a kid. Stupid. Grow up.

“I heard a little but I was just flipping the tape over, I wasn’t trying to snoop on you Stevie… You just, you sounded happy.” 

Steve huffs. Glances at Eddie. That soft underbelly of his whining, because with Eddie, Steve yearns. Yearns for close. Yearns to be seen, and understood.

“You didn’t mean to?” 

“No, it was just when I was turning the tape.” 

Steve forces a deep breath. 

“You think I’m weird. You hate me.” He whispers it like it’s true. A big part of him believes it, his tears welling up. Feels rejected. Knows that feeling too well. Hates it. 

“Always like you Steve. Always.”

Steve grunts, a tear slips out, rolls down his cheek.

“‘M embarrassed” comes out like an ugly sob. Steve scrubs his palms on his cheeks, feeling how red hot they are. Glaring at the countertop. “I’m embarrassed!” But it’s just Eddie. It was just Eddie.

Eddie comes over, slowly draping himself over Steve’s back. “Nothin' to be embarrassed about, love.” And Eddie leaves soft kisses on Steve’s neck, squeezes his waist. “You looked cute on the couch like that. Like it when you’re happy.” Steve tries taking another deep breath but it shudders. 

Embarrassed, angry, sad. Embarrassed, confused, angry. Frustrated, embarrassed. Tired. 

Emotions wash over him. He’s learning to try and just feel them, name them, pick them apart. Some bubble back up to the surface, some only needed to be seen once. 

Steve turns to bury his face in Eddie’s neck. He sighs, rubs his face into Eddie’s warm skin. shaking his head, likes how his lips feel moving against edie’s soft parts. 

Tired, hungry, embarrassed, hungry. 

“’M tired. I dunno what to eat.” He whispers, and then because he said it it’s like there’s space in his brain. “Want pasta.” 

“Pasta it is then. And then we can sleep, yeah?” Eddie rocks them gently side to side, kisses the side of his head and slips away. Goes to get the box from the pantry, puts the corn back. Steve gets a pot out of the cupboard. 

Staring into the water, the tips of his fingers prickle. Steve fizzes with energy and emotion. All pent up and annoying him. Needs it out. He clicks the flame on.  

He starts pacing around the kitchen island. In big striding, stomping steps. “Ugh! You think I’m weird. Some weird guy who acts weird and does weird shit.” Steve grumbles. Annoyed. He smacks his palm quick and hard against the counter top. Keeps stomping. 

Eddie comes back and starts following. Stomping and prancing like some court jester. “I like that you’re weird! You know, I have one episode of the Twilight Zone taped. It’s my third one. I watched the other two so much the tapes broke.’ Steve lets a little shout slip from him “Ha!” bubbly and forceful. Dislodging something within him. Like when a tooth finally falls out. 

Feels good. 

“I only like one brand of spaghetti hoops. Wayne once bought me a multipack for Christmas. Best fucking gift I ever got.” and Steve’s laughing now. Giggling and manic and still stomping around the island.

“I like how it feels to brush my teeth. I’ve never had a filling. I fucking love brushing my teeth, Eddie.” and that makes Eddie laugh now too. Two freaks stomping around the kitchen. A king and his jester, lit up by moonlight. 

Steve turns the corner and stops short, still giggling. Eddies bent at one knee, presenting the box of pasta to him. “My liege.” 

Steve claps, hums, high and keening. The waters boiling. 

-

“How’d you feel now?’ Eddie asks around a mouthful of cheesy pasta. 

Steve curls up tighter into the corner of couch, wraps both hands around the warm bowl. Glances at Eddie across from him. “Still kinda embarrassed.”

Eddie looks so soft, so kind, across from him. “I’m embarrassed too, to be honest. You love that movie, I thought you’d like me doing that. Kinda like when we, when we kissed upside-down, like I was Spider-man” Eddies sentence get quieter towards the end, mumbly, spoked into his bowl, cheeks dusted pink.

Steve strains to hear him. Smiles once he puts the words together. 

He shovels pasta in his mouth. Eyes closed. “You are so annoying Eddie Munson. Why’d you even come here tonight, you coulda gone anywhere.” Steve sinks further into the couch, it’s really good pasta.

“Missed you.” Eddie says it like it’s simple, easy, and warmth drips over Steve’s skin. 

Eddie clears his throat, Steve feels him fidget. “Wanna maybe.. You think we could live together one day? Want you to be able to do whatever you want with me around Steve. Breakfast Club on all the time at our place, kay?” And Steve’s throat constricts, that’s a big change, living with someone, moving out. But maybe with Eddie it could be okay, if they did it together, slow. 

“Yeah, kay. One day.” Softly, bit by bit. Little bits. Steve can get there. Let Eddie in, let Eddie see. “But no to Breakfast Club on all the time.” Because some times, some days, some things, are just for him. Steve needs it that way. And that’s okay. 

He stretches out further on the couch, feeling syrupy and nice, easy smile playing at his lips. “I like it when you kiss my neck though, you can do that again.” And that makes Eddie grin all pointy, put their bowls to the side and crawl over him. 

Steve’s toes curl and he hums, high and happy. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

tagging those who asked mwah! @2jug2head @lil-gremlin-things

but also people who i think might be interested (sorry if ur not lmk and i won't again) @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @steventhusiast @sugarcookiesteve @spectrum-spectre @irethsune

[moutainrusing]

sick fic

417 words, @wolfstarmicrofic

Many facts were stored in the folds of Remus’s brain. Stacks on stacks of facts. Remus prided himself on being factual. A fact right now was that he was not sick. In fact, it was a fact so factual that Remus was actually mind-blown from how much this fact suited the word fact. Facts.

(…Was fact even a real word?)

Anyway, the gospel truth was that Remus was not sick. It was a truth so truthfully truthful that Remus could feel his head spinning from the overwhelming sensation of it.

It could also be the headache he did not have, but that wouldn’t make sense, because his head wasn’t aching.

He lifted his head off his pillow, coughed, and felt wonderfully great. He squeezed his eyes shut just to savour the feeling of his clogged nose. This was normal.

Perfectly ordinary day. With lessons, work, revision. Those were the important things, his nose was just being dramatic. Pretending it didn’t know how to breathe anymore. As if. He grabbed a tissue, showing his nose just how extra it was acting. Needing a tissue to clear itself. Pathetic.

He lifted himself out of bed, closing his eyes because his eyelids were traitorously trying to pull him back to sleep. But in their face; closing his eyes was actually easing the pain of moving his body. He felt sore all over, and groaned under his breath as he tried to stretch his muscles. They seemed exceptionally uncooperative today. Maybe he needed to do more exercise.

That was a good idea. He should go for a run. He got to his feet, and promptly fell over. But he didn’t hit the ground. He landed in Sirius’s arms.

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Where are you going, exactly?”

Remus cleared his throat. Then burst into a fit of coughs. Finally, he croaked, “None o’ your biz…”

“My biz?” Sirius asked, bouncing Remus’s floppy body up and down.

“Stop…” Remus said weakly.

“Sorry,” Sirius grinned. “You just seem very hopeless today. My heart can’t take it, y’know.”

“My… throat can’t take it,” Remus wheezed.

Sirius frowned. “I think you should go back to bed.”

“No…” Remus argued miserably. It didn’t even sound like an argument.

“I’ll bring you your meals. Do you need the loo? You should really only be getting up for the bathroom. Other than that, you should be resting.”

“When did you… become my doctor?” Remus muttered.

“When you fell into my arms,” Sirius winked, heaving him back into bed.

[suhkusa]

The cool air is the first thing that greets you as you walk outside. Everyone decides to hangout outside before the 11PM curfew. 

There are so many familiar faces, but at this moment you still feel alone. Some of the other managers greet you as you make your way to a lawn chair that’s set by a tree. 

Your manager friends were already mid conversation with some volleyball players when you walked outside, so you felt uncomfortable just joining in. Atsumu is also surrounded by players you’ve never met before. Plus, it was you who decided to come on this trip. He’s not responsible for you. Everyone else you just don’t know that well.

You’re shocked out of your thoughts as you become self conscious of how really alone you were, how alone you looked. On instinct, you take out your phone and begin scrolling through each app, attempting to make yourself look busy.

Asu? No, honestly things have felt a bit tense, and you don’t want to keep bothering your online friend with your troubles. Your friends? Also no, for the same reason. 

Plus, the way you were feeling was stupid, was it not? You feel so alone, yet no one is stopping you from interacting with any of these people. You have only yourself to blame. 

“What’re you doing over here?” Yet, he seems to always be there when you needed it the most. Scarily enough. 

You look up from your phone, letting a smile make its way onto your face, “Nothing, I’m just tired. Didn’t want to get FOMO though,” 

Sakusa puts another lawn chair down beside you. “I suppose,”

“They snuck in some drinks if you wanted to take shots with them,” he adds.

You let out a breathy laugh, “I’m not an alcoholic, y’know? Thanks for letting me know, though,” you finally turn off your phone and slip it into your back pocket. “To be honest, I have a headache,”

A concern looks washed over his face, “Was it because of the energy drink?”

“Oh, so that was you?” your words catch him off guard, he hesitates to say something and you laugh again, “Don’t worry, I don’t think it was that. I think it helped me stay awake this long,”

Sakusa sighs with relief, “That’s good,”

“I don’t think you’ll miss out on much if you go sleep now,” he adds, “You should catch up on the rest you didn’t get last night,”

“Ah, maybe,” your hands are fidgeting, picking at the skins near your nail bed.

“Are you alright?”

You freeze, not sure what to say. But the words unexpectedly find you and you spill.

“To be honest, I'm just overwhelmed. My anxiety has been through the roof, but I stopped my meds a long time ago. There’s been so much on my mind,”

Sakusa says nothing but nods at your words. The silence freaks you out a bit, so you keep talking.

“I feel like I have to always be happy, it’s what everyone expects of me. And I am, but sometimes I get tired. And I don’t want people to see that I’m tired,” you know you’re oversharing, and it’s random, but you can’t stop yourself, “I hate when people worry about me so it’s always easier for me to push it all down. I don’t know why recently it’s gotten harder,”

“I suppose I relate in some sense. But either way, don’t be scared to reach out, you have a lot of friends don’t you? They all care for you– from what I see, at least,” he fumbles his words a bit before continuing, “I know we’re not friends, but I’m also here if you ever need to talk,”

A small smile teases the side of your mouth, “Whaat? We’re not friends? I thought I said we were though,” you tease.

“Oh, well I mean, yeah, then,” 

You didn’t expect him to play along, to be honest. His words fluster you, and you can feel your cheeks warm. 

The cold air clashes with the warmth of your skin, it feels nice. 

“Did talking to me help at all?” Sakusa asks, and you realize this is the first time you’ve met eyes with him this whole night. 

You offer a small smile before nodding.

“I’m glad,” and for a split second you can make out a small smile on his face in the dark night. 

“I’m going to head in now, want to come with?”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you quickly nod and join him in folding the chairs. The two of you make your way into the dimly lit hallway before bidding each other soft goodnight. 

It was safe to say that you would be getting a good night’s rest. 

SECRET ALLIANCE — SPOILER WARNING

PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

NOTES.

y/n laid in bed for another 30 minutes as the caffeine ran it's course

last day of camp next :3

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[piratesfromspace]

After the rain (141xReader)

Pairing: Reader x Soap (& implied Reader x 141)

Rated: Mature

Word count: 900

Summary: After being kidnapped and rescued, Rain needs to make sure Soap is still alive

Note: In the same universe as my "Rain or Shine" fic, it is the epilogue of the part 4. Some people requested this chapter, and I was happy to write a little something to offer some comfort to our poor Soap. Reader callsign is "Rain", she's bi and autistic (I am autistic myself).

Content: angst, hurt/comfort, aftermath of torture, medical setting, happy ending (kinda)

MASTERLIST // PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4

Rain has a hard time opening her eyes. She’s not quite sure where she is, she’s slow to wake up, her brain still foggy from the sleeping pills. But then she moves in the bed, and everything starts hurting. Her muscles are so sore, bruises are painfully blooming under her scratched skin. Her head is heavy, throbbing. She feels like she’s been run over by a humvee. With the pain, everything comes back to her in a second. She rises with a gasp, a shot of adrenaline wringing her guts to the point she thinks she’s gonna puke. 

The light of day is peaking through the half-opened curtains of her room. She’s back on base, and everything is so vividly painful she’s sure it can’t be a dream. The memory of the past few days invades her - their capture, Johnny’s sacrifice to protect her, her crawling on the floor to rest her cheek against his bloody leg when their captor finally stopped. The sudden thought that Soap might not have survived the torture is suffocating her, she can’t breathe, it’s breaking her mind and her heart. Last she saw him he was laying on the heli floor surrounded by medics. 

A flash of white in the corner of her eyes attracts her attention when she finally gathers enough strength to get out of her bed. There is a crisp white strip of paper on her night-stand. It only says “he’s OK” in black ink, and she instantly recognizes Simon’s angular writing. Soap has made it. Tears wet her cheeks without her realizing she’s crying. 

—-

She tucks her fists inside the pocket of her hoodie. A black one that belongs to one of the boys, she can’t really tell which one. She keeps her head down, doesn’t want to cross the panicked gaze of colleagues at her face. She’s sporting various scratches, a mean bruise on the side of her jaw, her skin has a sickly yellow-ish undertone - she looks like shit and she knows it. 

She crosses the base in a hurried bee-line for the medical bay. She probably should call up her captain for further instruction, report to debrief or go see a doctor. But the only thing on her mind is finding Soap. She had always liked him - it was hard not to, he was funny, kind, quite handsome, always laughing. But she knew that he was growing obsessed with her, and it had frightened her at first. Situations like those could easily delve into unpleasant territories for everyone involved. Except it was Soap, smart-ass Soap, kind-hearted Soap, and he made it work even when it was obvious he was sad Rain had chosen Simon instead of him. After Siberia, things didn't really change, they rather shifted. The group was tighter, Rain was not shy with her attraction to the other guys, with her attraction to him. She let Johnny more into her bubble, into her heart. 

And here she is, the wet tracks of tears drying on her cheeks as she leaps through long corridors in search of Soap, when she should get checked for her own injuries, when she should maybe not stay alone like this. Her brain is still drowning in diluted stress hormones and the end trail of painkillers, the mix giving her a distant headache that will probably force her down in a couple hours. For now, she persists. 

When she finally finds him, she’s simultaneously disappointed and relieved to find him alone. Ghost, Gaz and Price must be somewhere else, maybe they just went out for a quick break. She doesn’t know how much time she has on her own with Soap, before someone, a nurse, or one of the boys, comes back. He looks like he’s sleeping. Bandages are wrapped around all his visible limbs, snaking around fingers, his wrists, part of his right arm. Around his head also, his already short hair clearly shaved for access to wounds. One of his eyes is hidden by a plastic shell. His lips are swollen, split in a few places. Skilled hands have been at work here, in dressing his wounds, wiping out dried blood, setting up electrodes and drips. It’s easy to forget how simple it is to destroy, and how labor-intensive it is to heal. The regular bip of the heart monitor is the thing that prevents her from spiraling further down. Alive. Her sergeant is alive. No need to explore the devastating thought of him being gone. 

She climbs on the bed, finds a place against him. His warmth makes her want to cry again. Her own scratched fingers hover over his cheekbones - the skin there is purple - then over his neck, she needs to feel his pulse under her scorched skin. Alive. She tucks her face next to his shoulder, tries to find the familiar smell under the antiseptic. Rain holds him the best she can without risking hurting him more, and decides that’s all she wants to do for the time being. 

That’s how the boys find them when they arrive some time after that. They had been looking for her after Simon had discovered her empty bed. They weren’t really scared. They knew she would be here. Where else? They swore to take care of each other - and that’s what they will keep doing, no matter what.

MASTERLIST

[yandere-paramour]

Chapter 2

"Darling, please calm down. You are still disoriented from your medicine and I do not want you to get hurt."

You froze. Did you just hear that? No way you just heard that. Clearly, something had happened earlier. Maybe this was an incredibly real hallucination. You hoped it was a hallucination.

“Hello, love. It is good to see you awake. I was about to be very, very upset with my hired hand,” The voice spoke again.

It took a little longer than you’d ever admit, but soon you successfully turned your head to your right. Even though you knew something was wrong, knew you were somehow in peril, it made you feel better that that voice was female. She was big, though; you couldn’t quite tell because she was sitting with her legs crossed, but you were pretty sure she was tall. Her body was lean, and although it was covered with her expertly tailored blue-grey suit, you suspected she had considerable muscle. Hazel eyes stared back at you with fondness as she tapped a spoon on the edge of her teacup. Her hair was brown, with those effortless curls you always found yourself attracted to. Unintentionally, you blushed. Had you… slept with this goddess?

You opened your mouth to say something, an apology, a question, a request for help, but she held up a hand, gave you a gentle smile with perfectly straight teeth, and set down her empty cup, “I am so sorry, Darling. I know this must be really frightening for you, but I need you to stay calm. I am not going to hurt you. Now, I did this earlier, but I need to check you over. The medicine you had was strong, so I want to make sure you’re okay.”

She crosses the room and leans over you, still whispering soft words to mollify you. She checks your pulse on your limp wrist, timing it to her watch, then softly pushes your hair back to look into your eyes, “Are you feeling dizzy at all? Nauseous?”

“I-I have a headache. And I’m dizzy.” You manage to say. Your tongue feels like it’s made of lead. A million questions run through your head. Were you drugged? How did you get here? Were you at a bar? Did you sleep together? Why can’t you move?

She frowns, the cupid’s bow of her mouth forming a lovely little pout, “That’s not good. I promise, I will give you some pain relief right after we have a talk. I do not like to see you suffer. You’re going to be on this medicine for a few days so I want you to be comfortable.”

A bit of dread rises in you, “What medication am I on?”

“Just something to help you relax, and only for a few days until you get acclimated.”

“Did you… drug me?”

“I did not do it myself per se, but I did arrange for it to happen. Worry not, I consulted with my personal physician about your medical history to make sure you would not have any negative reactions. I would never make you take anything that would hurt you.”

“Who are you and where am I,” You want to sound forceful but the drug still has its claws in you like an angry tiger.

She gives you another adoring smile, “You are right, I should have introduced myself right when you woke. I am Atalanta Montclair.”

“Atalanta Montclair?” It takes a second for your brain to place the name but it hits you like a bolt of lightning, “You mean the heir to Montclair Industries?”

She looks pleased that you’ve heard of her, “Yes, that is I.”

Horror causes stupid words to flow out of your mouth, “I slept with my boss???”

“No, sweetheart. My hired hands gave you a little of your medicine in apple juice, then safely transported you to my penthouse. I changed your clothes myself; I did not want you to sleep in that uncomfortable uniform. I promise, there was nothing untoward in my actions.”

Despite her words, your alarm only grows, “You kidnapped me?”

“I had you safely transported to your new life with me, Darling. This is now our penthouse apartment, your new home. More precisely, this is the master bedroom, our bedroom together.”

“M-My new life with you? What does that mean?” Thoughts of the worst cloud your mind, “In your bedroom, as your… your sex slave?”

“No!” She says sharply, then catches herself and returns to her poised countenance, “You are my precious Darling, the only one I love and the only one I will ever love. I am devoted to you and you alone. You will be my companion, my partner, the most precious person in my life, and, when you’re ready, my lover.”

“Your lover?” You can’t even form words of your own at this point.

“Yes, my love,” She takes and kisses the back of your limp hand, kneeling at the bedside, “You have my word that nothing will harm you here. I will never touch you sexually until you ask for it.

“You fucking kidnapped me?” You jerk your hand away from her.

She looks shocked at your language, “You would not have agreed to come with me otherwise. I had you very safely transported. I spared no expense for your safety.”

You push yourself into sitting up by sheer force of will, “But you fucking kidnapped me? I don’t even know you.” “But I want to,” She tries to grab your hand again, “I want to learn everything about you, my Darling. Just give me the chance.”

“No!” You swing your legs over the side of the bed, narrowly missing kicking her.

You try to push yourself to your feet, but your legs are still wobbly, and you collapse under your own weight, plummeting to the ground. But Atalanta is in the way, and she catches you. You were right; she is tall. She is at least six feet, giving her seven inches over you. She holds you in her arms, not helping you back on the bed or letting you fall, just what feels like… cuddling you.

“Darling, your hair is so soft. I touched it when you were sleeping but now that you’re awake to give me your permission, it feels exponentially better,” She nuzzles her face into your hair.

“I do not give you permission!” you squeak, appalled at the sudden intimacy. You try to push her away from you, but she cuddles you a little longer, then sets your unsteady form on the bed.

“My apologies, Darling, you are just so irresistible. I will be more respecting of your consent in the future,” She at least has the decency to look chastised.

“The future? How long am I staying here?”

She gives you a confused smile, “Forever, sweet girl. I will never, ever let you go. Now, it is approaching dinner time. May I get something for you to eat?”

You look at her like she is insane (which she is). How the fuck are you supposed to sit at a table and eat your vegetables with the hot woman who kidnapped you?

“Atalanta, please let me go. I don’t have a lot of money, but I can give you whatever you want. I don’t want to be stuck in this room forever. Please, please let me go,” You babble, begging her to come to her senses and hear you out.

An anxiety attack starts to overwhelm you until you are trembling. Atalanta lightly shushes you, using one hand to stroke your hair, “Settle down, love. I’ve got you, and you are safe. Take a deep breath.”

This only makes you want to fight harder, trying to push her away with your shaky arms. She grabs your hands, pressing kisses to the backs of them while keeping them firmly in her hold.

“I promise, my princess, you will never want for anything again. I’ll take care of you. I have enough money for the both of us to live comfortably forever,” She gives a quick kiss to your forehead, “And I would never keep you locked away. A beautiful flower like you deserves a chance to grow.”

She kisses your head again and continues, “You can access the top two floors of the building, those I use for my living space, now our living space. No space is off limits to you, my love. For a little while, you will be restricted to the penthouse unless I am with you, but once you’re a little more settled, we can discuss short trips out by yourself. I have been dreaming of taking you to the theatre, and maybe in a year, we will be able to go.”

“A year?” You screech, floored.

To my credit, she does flinch back from my scream, “Careful, Darling girl, I will not discipline you while you are on your medicine, but that does not mean you will escape punishment later.”

This sufficiently scares you into lowering the volume, “Discipline me?”

She looks vaguely uncomfortable, but pats your head, “I have two punishments in mind, but let’s not get into those until necessary, okay? I want our first night together to be pleasant. Now, back to my earlier question, what may I order for you to eat? Anything you like, sweetheart, just ask. Or I can cook for you if you prefer. I am no chef but I can make simple things.”

[novamariestark]

NCIS, Gibbs and the reader are undercover, the only way to maintain their cover is to get married but it is not supposed to get filed. Yet one the guys files it to get even, and there is a law saying they have to stay married and live together for so long until they get a divorce (because Gibbs has been divorced 3 times) The reader is having a hard time since she truly loves and THINKS it is one-sided.

[A/N] ahhh I hate how I hate my writing sometimes

Why me? I mean, I’ve dreamt about this but… why me?

Standing opposite him, holding his hand as the clerk droned on about the vows you were supposed to exchange. Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. You have thought about this so many times. But never like this, not under the harsh bright lights of a courthouse. Never for a mission.

You and the team finally uncovered an upcoming “shipment” belonging to the human trafficking organization you’d been tracking for months. This was your chance to bring them down. But you hadn’t expected it to cause you this much of a headache.

Abby had created covers for both you and Gibbs, including fake criminal activities, fabricated records, transactions, and past aliases. Gibbs becomes "Jack Lawson," a seasoned and the cold and calculating, ruthless trafficker with a reputation for leaving no witnesses if things went south. You take on the role of "Elena Lawson," his equally cunning and business-savvy wife. You had to pretend to be Gibbs’ wife.

It should be easy. After all, you’d spent years working beside him, learning his every move, how to anticipate his orders, how to cover his back in the field, and how to decipher his gruff silences. But this was different. This wasn’t just another mission; this was playing house with the one man you’d secretly loved for years. And the worst part? You had to act like it was all just business.

But of course, to you, it was more than that.

You look at the ring on your finger and you can’t help but imagine what it would be like if it were real.

At the beginning of the undercover mission, everything felt so awkward. Like the two of you were strangers forced to stay in the same room for the night. All you spoke about was the mission and only the mission. It was almost as though Gibbs was afraid to cross a line and make you uncomfortable. But at the same time, you didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable.

But one night, that tense atmosphere changed. One night, you fall asleep on Gibbs’ shoulder while watching TV. When you wake up, you find that he hasn’t moved, his arm still around you. You look up as much as you can without moving your head to find that he is also asleep. You snuggle closer into his side and you are soon lulled to sleep by his warmth.

When you wake up, you are no longer on the couch, you are in the bed. The bed you two were supposed to be sharing, but Gibbs always sleeps on the couch. The sun is up, and the smell of coffee and bacon fills the air.

You slip out of bed and tiptoe to the kitchen. Gibbs is there, his back to you. The muscles ripple as he moves, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to appreciate the sight.

He turns around, breakfast ready on plates, “Morning Sweetheart,” he smiled, placing the plates on the dinner table. The pet name feels like a dagger in your heart, because no matter how hard you wish or how much you dream, you’d never really be his sweetheart.

You pulled out your chair and sat down with a sigh, “You don’t have to call me that when we’re alone,” you said, tucking yourself under the table ready to dig into the food, “Just like how we don’t have to share the bed,” you finished as you picked up the fork to dig into the breakfast that, even you had to admit, looked delicious.

But before you could, Gibbs sat opposite you, that look in his eyes he gives you as if he’s reading your thoughts. The way he stares at you as if he’s deciphering every dark corner of your mind. Which, if he could, he’d immediately regret it and you’d die of embarrassment.

You tried to ignore him and started to eat the bacon, and to your surprise. It was good. So good it made you laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing… it’s just, I didn’t know you knew how to cook,”

“What gave you that idea?”

“I’ve seen your fridge, Gibbs,”

Gibbs chuckled, a rare sound that echoed in the apartment, a sound that you wish you could hear on repeat.

But soon the conversation changes, back to reality. Later this evening you are expected to attend a party with some of your targets, or should you say “associates”. You are dreading it. Dreading having to be close to Gibbs, him hold you close to him, as close as he was last night. Maybe dance with him.

What if you mess up? What if you step on his feet?

---

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the strap of your dress for what felt like the thousandth time tonight. The dark red fabric clung to your figure in a way that made you feel both beautiful and vulnerable. The mission demanded perfection – and so did you.

Tonight was important to the mission. Tonight, you were going to interact with a group of people with connections to the human trafficking “business”, but you knew you could handle that. But could you handle Gibbs? Could you handle being close to him for that long? His arm around your waist, his warm breath on your neck.

The knock on the bedroom door startled you out of your thoughts. You looked at the clock on the dresser, exactly the time he said he would knock. You took a deep breath and smoothed the fabric of your dress one last time. You were a professional. You could do this.

Right?

When you opened the door, there he stood, looking impossibly handsome in a tailored suit. His blue eyes swept over you, his expression unreadable, as always.

“You look beautiful,” he said simply, his voice low and gravelly.

“Thanks,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, despite the dance the butterflies were having in your stomach right now, “You clean up pretty well yourself,”

His lips curled into a faint smile as he held out his arm. You hesitated just for a moment before slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow.

The car ride was quiet. Nothing but passing cars and the gentle hum of the engine. Any other time you’d be jumping at the chance to be alone in the car with Gibbs, but now? On this mission? It was fucking hell.

As you walked through the doors of the massive house the party was being held at, eyes were on you instantly. Assessing your every move. Gibbs places a hand on the small of your back, leading you towards the contact he had met before.

“Ah, you must be the beautiful, Elena,” he said as you stopped before him. He took his hand in yours and placed a kiss on your knuckles. You smile charmingly, hiding the fact that you would throw up if he touched you again, “You were not kidding. She is a beauty. If she were not your wife, she would get a pretty penny,”

Gibbs grip on your hip tightened, but he chuckled, maintaining his cover, “I bet,” he replied.

 You smiled, leaning into Gibbs just a little, placing a hand on his chest, “My husband has always had good taste,” you said, your voice dripping with affection that wasn’t entirely an act.

The man grinned, clearly satisfied with your response. He motioned for a waiter to bring drinks, and soon you found yourself with a glass of champagne in hand, toasting to nothing in particular, as the conversation droned on.

As the night wore on, the party buzzed with the chatter of dangerous men. You moved through the crowd, sticking close to Gibbs, the two of you making small talk with people you wished you could arrest on the spot. But with no concrete evidence, you had to play the long game.

“Well, if it isn’t the most talked-about couple of the evening,” he said with a smirk. “I hear you two are quite the pair. Must be nice to have a wife who’s both beautiful and useful in our…line of work.”

You hated every word that came out of his mouth, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you tilted your head, offering a coy smile. “We make a good team,” you replied smoothly. But despite that, Gibbs sensed you were uncomfortable.

Before he could reply, a slow song started to play and Gibbs turned to you, “Would you like to dance, Sweetheart?”

Everything in you screamed “NO!” but you had to. It was getting harder to block out your feelings, I mean you didn’t really want to. This here is what you wanted. To be near him, to hold him. To be loved by him. But you weren’t sure it was a risk you could afford to take.

Gibbs took your hand and led you to the dance floor and for a moment, it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the room. He placed one hand on your waist, the other holding your hand gently but firmly. You stepped closer, your bodies almost touching, and began to sway to the music.

As you moved together, the rest of the room seemed to blur, the noise of the party fading into the background. It was just you and Gibbs, moving together, as if you had done this a thousand times before.

You looked up at him, trying to read the expression in his eyes, but as always, he was unreadable. His face was calm, controlled.

“You’re quiet,” Gibbs murmured, his voice barely audible over the music. “Something on your mind?”

You forced a smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just trying to stay in character,” you replied, hoping he couldn’t hear the slight tremor in your voice.

As the song continued, you let yourself relax, just a little, allowing yourself to savor the moment. This was probably the closest you would ever get to having what you really wanted. So, you let yourself lean into him, just a fraction.

The song ended far too soon, and you reluctantly pulled back, feeling the cold rush in as the warmth of his body left yours. The room came back into focus, the noise and the lights and the people all returning to the foreground.

Thankfully the night ended and you two were both invited to the next “Shipment”. Which meant that maybe you could go home soon.

You and Gibbs walked out of the party, the cool night air hitting your face as you stepped outside. The silence between you was thick, almost like you could cut it with a knife. Gibbs opened the car door for you, and for a second, his hand brushed against yours. That tiny touch sent a shiver down your spine

The ride back to the safe house was just as quiet as the ride to the party. Your mind was spinning, thinking about everything that had happened tonight—the way he held you, the way his eyes looked at you when you danced. It was so confusing. You wanted to be close to him, but it scared you too.

As he parked the car outside your safehouse, for a moment, there was nothing but silence. You could feel him looking at you, like he was trying to figure out what you were thinking. But, as always, he didn’t say anything more. He just opened the door and got out of the car.

You followed him inside, walking up the stairs to the safehouse. Even though the room was small, it was neat and comfortable. The bed was made, and the couch where Gibbs insisted on sleeping was set up with a pillow and blanket.

As you stepped inside, you hesitated. Gibbs went straight to the couch, like he always did, already loosening his tie and taking off his jacket

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch, you know,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Gibbs paused, glancing at you with that unreadable expression. “It’s fine. I’m comfortable here.”

You bit your lip, unsure of what to say next. “Okay,” you finally whispered, feeling a little disappointed but trying not to show it.

You turned away and headed for the bedroom, slipping out of your dress and changing into something more comfortable. As you climbed under the covers, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at Gibbs. He was lying on the couch, his eyes closed, but you could tell he wasn’t asleep yet.

“Goodnight, Gibbs,” you called out softly, your voice carrying through the small space.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his voice just as soft.

--

The next few days were hell. You had gone out for a jog and as soon as you come back, you wanted a shower. What you didn’t expect was your boss stepping out of the shower as you walked into the bathroom. You immediately covering your eyes and turning around. You apologised and walked out, doing anything to erase that mental image of your boss’ wet naked body in front of you.

Dinner that night was awkward. For you. Gibbs seemed to have a smug smirk on his face, the same one that had been glued there for the whole day. He had been joking that you walked in on him on purpose. It annoyed you because it wasn’t helping you forget.

Did you want to forget? No. but you didn’t want the added torture of something you wanted but could never have.

You couldn’t wait to arrest the bad guys and get back into your own house but it turned out DiNozzo, the little shit, decided this was the perfect opportunity to get back at you for a prank you pulled on him.

As soon as the mission was over, you both returned home to find a letter. A confirmation of your marriage certificate being filed. You immediately left your house and drove over to Gibbs’

“What the hell is this?” you asked as you burst through the door that was never locked.

“I don’t know, I got the same one,” Gibbs sighed, sitting on the couch.

“Well, we’re getting a divorce, come on,”

“[Y/N] it’s 10pm besides… we can’t” he replied, placing his bourbon on the table.

“The hell do you mean ‘we can’t’” you asked, slightly agitated. All you wanted tonight was to sleep in your own bed, in your own damn house. But no. Something was against you doing that.

“That new law the government set a couple of months ago to deter serial marriages and divorces. I’ve been divorced 3 times [Y/N] they’re not going to let us,”

“It was for a fucking undercover mission, Gibbs, I am not your wife,” you snapped, quite shockingly, you had never raised your voice to anyone, let alone Gibbs, “I am your colleague,”

“We can try and explain our situation, but I doubt it,”

You shake your head, your hands clenched into fists at your sides, knuckles white against your skin, “I don’t fucking believe this,” you said, not to Gibbs particularly. Just throwing it out into the room. Because not only did that law require you to stay married for at least a year, you had to live together too.

You’d just spent two weeks with Gibbs. A year?! A fucking year?! How the fuck were you going to survive that?

“It’s not fair, Gibbs, I shouldn’t have to live my life like this for a mistake, I shouldn’t have to do this,” you whispered, as the anger drained from you, your hands fell limp, and your covered your face as the first tear slipped down your cheek, “It was torture,”

“Yeah, I’ve been told,”

You don’t know whether it was the situation or the fact that you were so exhausted, but you let your attraction to him slip.

“Torture because it’s not the way I wanted it to happen!” you cried, “A fucking ring on my finger, fucking one sided feelings, two fucking weeks was bad enough, but a year, a year of you pretending to be my husband, i-I can’t do it,”

Without a word, he closed the distance between you, his hands gently pulling yours away from your face, but before you could react, his lips were on yours. The kiss was firm but tender, a mix of all the emotions that he too, had kept buried for so long.

You froze, shock stealing your breath, but his lips were soft. Slowly, the tension in your body melted away, replaced by something you didn’t dare name.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as he spoke, “It wasn’t torture for me.” His thumb brushed away a lingering tear on your cheek.

Your voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with disbelief. “You… like me?”

Gibbs held your gaze, his eyes softening in a way you’d never seen before. He didn’t need to say anything—the way his thumb traced gentle circles on your cheek, the way he looked at you, it said it all. But he answered anyway, his voice steady and sure.

“I love you, [Y/N]”

--

Epilogue

Gibbs wanted to give you a proper wedding, so he did. He planned the whole thing without your knowledge, with the help of your best friend, Abby.

Tony walked you down the aisle, still sporting that black eye you had given him despite how well everything turned out.

Something else that was unexpected but not a bad thing was your pregnancy. Well I suppose it’s sort of a bad thing in a way because Jimmy, Tim and Tony keep telling you to name the baby after them if it’s a boy. You had already chosen a name for a boy, Jackson, after your new father-in-law. But you couldn’t lie that some of the reasons they gave you to use their name were very entertaining.

One of Tony’s being “If you name him Tim, he’s going to be a nerdy virgin until he’s 40,”

You rolled your eyes as Tony continued to give you reasons why his name would suit your son better.

You turned to him, your smile never leaving your face as you asked, “You want another black eye?”

That immediately shut him up. Mental note; remember that for next time. He’s bound to piss you off again during your pregnancy. As soon as Gibbs found out you were pregnant, he got even more protective, and you didn’t think that was possible. You were now assigned to desk duty, and he left no room for arguments.

When you reached Gibbs at the front, Tony leaned in and whispered, “You’re welcome,”

“Another black eye, DiNozzo,” you warned, making him step back out of range.

Gibbs took your hand and smiled at you. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening. It kind of already did but you never expected him to go out of his way to give you the wedding you dreamed of since you were a teen.

Seven months later, Little Jackson decided he was ready to join the world, a whole week earlier than expected. You weren’t quite prepared for it, but there wasn’t much time to think. Jackson, who had been staying with you, quickly helped you to the car and drove you straight to the hospital. As soon as you were settled, he called his son.

Gibbs and the team were in the middle of a tough case, but the second he heard you were in labor, he rushed to the hospital. Abby insisted on coming too—she couldn’t wait to meet her nephew before anyone else.

At the hospital, everything happened fast. Nurses were everywhere, and the room was filled with the beeping of machines and hushed voices. Jackson stayed right by your side up until Gibbs entered the room.

After nine long hours, Little Jackson made his grand entrance and he soon meets his grandfather and namesake. Jackson had no idea you were naming your son after him so it got a bit emotional, not just him, you too.

Gibbs took some time off to be with you and the family. You decided to head back to Sweetwater with Jackson, to spend some much-needed time together as a family. The calm, small-town setting felt like the perfect place to start this new chapter, surrounded by the people you loved and who loved you back. It was a chance to take a deep breath, to enjoy the little moments, and to settle into your new life with Little Jackson.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unmanageable 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Pete Brenner

Summary: your manager sets his eye on your (plus!reader)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You’re often the first one in office and unfortunately, the last one gone. That day is no different as you let yourself in through the back door of the bank and lock it behind you. You arrive at least an hour before opening to run diagnostics. Marska or her equivalent, Taylor, often cut it close to the starting time. You don’t mind so much as long as they’re not late.

The silence is soothing where to many it may be eerie. You leave your office door open as a scan runs on your screen. You blow over the open slot of your thermos and groan. You were up a bit too late playing Eldenring. The Godskin Duo gave you quite the headache.

The connection, despite being wired in, seems slower than usual. The last week or so, cell service has also been limited. In Hammer Ford, it isn’t entirely surprising. Sometimes it feels like the world forgets the backwoods village.

You yawn and take a cautious sip of hot coffee. You nearly choke as your eyes are drawn above the monitor by a blurred shape. You pull your mouth off the lid of the cup as Pete leans against the doorway, slightly bedraggled as his floppy hair droops down one side of his forehead and his eyes are ringed with sleep.

“Hey,” his voice is gritty and low, “you’re here early.”

“Same time every day.”

You note that he’s wearing the same jacket as the day before. You can’t see the rest of him past your computer but his tie is gone and his shirt is wrinkled and unbuttoned. You should be concerned but you’re just not. Whatever problems he has, you can’t imagine they’re not self-made.

“I smelled coffee,” he grumbles and scratches the side of his nose.

You put your thermos down softly, hiding it out of his view. You’re not sharing.

“Guess…” He leans back and looks into the bank, “I could make a pot… Marska usually puts one on… her coffee tastes better than mine.” He checks his watch, “how long till she gets in?”

You blink at him. Shouldn’t he know? He’s the manager. Your job is the computers, not scheduling. You look at him and shrug.

“Mm,” he turns back to you, “guess I’ll give it a try.”

His reluctance is clear as he sluggishly pushes away from the frame and drags his feet away from your office door. You have the urge to get up and shut your door but even you know that’s a bit much. His soles scuff as he barely lifts his feet and you listen to him grumble and sigh.

He clanks around loudly with the old machine. You’re always sure to bring your own. They only ever have the cheap brand in the office and when you brought your own, others drained the pot before you got any. This place is miserable. You wonder if they need a technician down at the library.

The shatter of glass breaks the morning lull completely. So much for a slow start. You hear Pete groaning from the next room. You don’t have to go out there, you don’t have to…

Damn it.

You get up and find him standing over the broken urn, only the plastic handle still intact. He hangs his head and grips his hips, pouting over the disaster. You cross your arms as you approach.

“I’m a mess,” he pushes his hair back as he shifts to look at you. “Sleeping in my office, wearing yesterday’s clothes,” he drops his hand emphatically and puffs out through his lips, “now this.”

“Did you cut yourself?” You ask, scanning his hands for blood.

He shakes his head, “no, I didn’t, just… I’m not doing well.”

“Right,” you stare at him flatly, “well, just broken glass. Nothing that can be cleaned up.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he says, “thank you.”

Then he walks away. Walks. Away. Leaving you in front of the scatter of glass shards. You watch him go incredulously. Does he really expect you to clean up his mess? As he enters his office, you’re assured that he very much does.

You close your eyes and take a breath. Technically, he is your boss. Well, truly, he is a man child.

You go to get the broom and pan and sweep up the glass. Not for him, for practicality. No one else should have to cut themselves for his clumsiness. You dump the glass in a box and put that in the bin. You’ll leave it to him to add the replacement to the supplies sheet.

Marska arrives as you put away the broom. Before she even slips her purse off her arm, she struts to the machine, not acknowledging you until she finds the burner empty. She tuts and faces you, blocking your path back to your office. Your safe haven.

“What happened?”

“Pot broke,” you answer bluntly.

“You broke it?”

“No,” you say.

She scoffs, “no? Well, what happened?”

You point to Pete’s office and shrug, shouldering past her without further argument. She sighs and clicks her heels towards the front desk. Her agitated mutters drone on as you enter your office and rub your forehead.

“Hey Mar,” Pete greets the teller buoyantly, “that’s a nice skirt.”

Absolutely no shame.

“Pete,” she purrs back, “what happened to the coffee maker, baby?”

They’re not as subtle or quiet as they think.

“Mm, yeah, accident,” he says, “you know what time that bakery opens? They do good coffee. You could run over, it’s never busy at open.”

“Pete, it’s always busy at open. That’s when all the old ones do their banking,” she rebuffs.

“Oh…” he sniffs, “I’m sorry, baby. Late night, I…” he pauses, “she knows.”

“What?” Marska’s voice cracks.

“I don’t know how she found out…” his voice trails off, “we should talk in my office.”

“Whatever, the other won’t care. I don’t even know if she understands me half the time,” Marska sneers, “you sure she knows what she’s doing? These fucking computers are slow as hell.”

“Mar,” Pete warns, “let’s go…”

“Well, I don’t have much time or any coffee, so make it quick,” she snaps and her heels tap across the floor.

You roll your eyes and close your own door. You don’t envy the mess they’ve made of their lives and you assume it won’t be long before Marska’s husband knows about it. What do you care? You don’t waste your time on all that. You’d rather get to the Erdtree.