#thinking. perhaps even thoughting. thunking.

[michiganmerchant]

god they make me so sick

#ok what if i wrote the 90k jamietrevor ice dance rule 63 fic WHAT then #what if i wrote the second most toxic codependent sport relationshionship in the history of the universe #it has to be girl trevor because what was the point of everyone comparing jamie's edges to a figure skater if he's NOT scott #mostly ive been thinking about codependency and watching two people curl into each other tighter and tighter around each other #i want that for jamietrevor i want jamie to be obnoxiously overprotective of trevor and i want trevor to REVILE in it #i want trevor to be extremely territorial of jamie i want him to like it so much #i want the both of them to be obsessed with each other #i want the borh of them to fuck in the small janitors closet while practicing roxanne because its bleeding a little too close for reality #i want them to have gold medal sex about it too. like. hold on do you see my vision #i want everyone to be horrified and slightly jealous of their relationship #literally 'you're perfect for each other just never involve anyone else in your relationship' #thinking. perhaps even thoughting. thunking.

[heartpascal]

weight too heavy to hold alone

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader

▹— summary: joel’s life in jackson is much more complicated than he thought it would be

▹— a/n: HEY. im not back just yet but thought i’d drop in to give yall this idk!! just something ive been working on between revision yk. hope you enjoy!

▹— warnings: angst, references to death of a child, references to past trauma (very brief, very vague reference, barely there), comparisons to dead daughter (but IS written as gender neutral i think, just behaviour wise), feeling unwanted and unloved

▹— tags: @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915 @erensloveinterest @dazedshoon @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @sleepygraves @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @ilybbg @rvjaa @oliest19xx @pedropepsi  @sunflowersdrop @truthfuleeyours 

MASTERLIST

howl’s song recs

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It was meant to be a temporary thing, that was what Tommy had told Joel. It was the whole reason he had agreed, the whole reason he had relented to having you in his new home, sharing a room with Ellie just down the hall from his own. 

Joel should’ve known, really. His and his brother’s versions of temporary were incredibly different, much like night and day, water and oil, hot and cold. Where Joel’s idea of temporary was a few days, at most, Tommy’s was, apparently, a couple of months. But what could he do? You were already here, already settled in on your side of Ellie’s room, with a mattress upon the floor and the bag filled with your things set beside it. 

The first few days, Joel had been so on edge he couldn’t sleep, waiting for the moment Ellie made a peep, made the slightest inclination of being uncomfortable in your presence. He was half waiting for you to full-blown attack the two of them, after all, it wouldn’t have been the first time such things had happened to him and Ellie. 

But you never did. 

Your presence eventually became so… quiet that it was unnoticeable. You would leave the house before Joel and Ellie even thought about waking up, and would only return when they were either busy eating dinner, or already fast asleep in bed. It seemed like you did your absolute best to avoid the two of them.

It was only when he jumped up from his dozing, hearing the faint murmur of Ellie’s voice down the hall, that he clocked on to your presence again. Perhaps it was wrong, morally, for Joel to have crept down the hallway, shiv clutched in an untrusting hand, but who could’ve blamed him? He had done everything in his power to protect Ellie for a long time, by then. And he’d agree that you were young, that he was too harsh, but he’d already lost a daughter once. He wasn’t keen to go through that again.

The shared laughter was what stopped his hand from reaching towards the doorknob. It was quiet, and suddenly Joel was back in his thirties, listening to Sarah and her friends snicker and whisper in her bedroom, the door slightly ajar just to appease him. It had been nearing midnight, back then, Sarah’s birthday coming to a close, and it had also been the first time he had allowed her to have girls and boys over. 

He blinked, and came back to the reality of where he was, of what he was holding, of who was on the other side of the door. Joel had only listened for a moment longer, another shared giggle making the tension slide from his shoulders, and it wasn’t long before he was back in his own room, door ajar, shoving the shiv underneath flannels in a shoddy chest of drawers. 

Joel could remember that it wasn’t too long after that night that you had joined him and Ellie for dinner, for the very first time. It had been an awkward affair, and it reminded him of the first few times he and Ellie had shared a proper meal together in their new home. You were vaguely uncomfortable the entire time, shooting Ellie looks that you didn’t know he had noticed. Her only response was a snicker, though Joel would’ve guessed from the thunk underneath the table that you had placed a well-aimed kick against her shin. 

Still, after dinner, you spoke to him for one of the first times. There had been the introduction when Tommy had brought you over, of course, but this was willing on your end. “Thank you,” You had told him, though didn’t make eye contact. “For dinner, and well, yeah.” 

He had nodded at you, a tense smile on his lips, but it was a friendly gesture. Or, as friendly of a gesture as Joel could muster. He remembers the way you had scurried up the stairs almost immediately after, having stuck around only to help clean up and give your thanks. 

You started joining them for dinner more after that, though Joel had the suspicion that the first half a dozen times were at Ellie’s command. But with time, and some patience, you warmed up to him just as you had to Ellie. You spoke more, asked more questions, even cracked a few jokes that he was sure you had gotten from one of Ellie’s books. It surprised him how… relieved he was to see the break in your awkwardness. 

It had been the first time Joel had seen you with Tommy outside of when he had dropped you at his and Ellie’s that he realised you had a lot more warming up to do than he had thought. There you were, walking at Tommy’s side, chatting animatedly, hands flying around in gestures, face lit up like Joel had never seen before, and all the while Tommy only shook his head, fond smile on his face. There was a certain warmth on Tommy’s face that Joel had only seen when his little brother had been looking at his newborn child, and he couldn’t help but wonder why he had dropped you off at Joel’s if he felt that way? If he saw you as his own?

He tried to ask him those very questions more than once, but each time he found himself somewhat afraid of the answer he’d receive. Joel knew his little brother had always looked up to him, after all, that tends to happen when you practically raise the kid, but after everything… Joel found that he didn’t think he could live up to Tommy’s expectations of him any longer. Maybe, even if Joel would never admit it out loud, he didn’t want to see Tommy realise he couldn’t live up to the idealised version of himself his little brother saw him as. 

It was already hard enough with having Ellie — the weight of everything he had lied to her about was tangible, an iron fence putting distance between the two of them. He tried to ignore it. Ellie did, too, but the truth was that she had lost some amount of trust in him. He saw it in the crease of her brows when they spoke, the slant of her lips when he left for patrol, hell — even in the way her gaze changed when she looked at him. It was like she saw somebody she didn’t quite recognise.

Joel felt like he was fighting a losing battle. He’d steel himself before dinners, he’d harden his features before coming home from patrols, he’d even lock himself in his little studio. And yet each time he saw you, there was an unmistakeable softness brought to his features, reminiscent of how it felt to look at Ellie. Each time you would come to him for help, he’d remind himself that he couldn’t be the person that everybody needed him to be. He’d remind himself that he would never — could never — be the person you so clearly wanted him to be. 

Because it was more than obvious. Joel wasn’t blind, even if his sight wasn’t what it used to be. He could see it in the way you looked to him for help, in the way you’d heed his advice like you never doubted he could be wrong about something. It was clear in the way you looked at him, like he had the ability to carve the world into whatever he desired, like he possessed a strength you didn’t. You looked at him as if he could save you, and the truth was that Joel couldn’t even save himself. 

He was an old man, a foolish man. Joel drowned in guilt he had brought upon himself, liquid a kind of heaviness that settled into his aged lungs. When he looked at you, he saw Sarah. He saw the resemblance in the way the both of you looked out for him — where Sarah had often cooked breakfast, you scraped together some form of dinner when he was on a late patrol, where Sarah had forced vitamin-rich drinks into his hand, you placed painkillers — that must’ve cost a fortune to trade for — on the kitchen counter when he hurt his knee on a patrol. He saw it in the way you looked up to him, the way you believed in him, and it’s like a mirror image of the night his life went to ruin. A reflection of his daughter dying in his arms each time you looked to him for safety. 

What could he provide? What could Joel provide that Tommy couldn’t? Hell — that anybody couldn’t? Perhaps, he wondered, the guarantee of disappointment. 

“So,” Tommy started one night, sat by his side at the small bar in town, eyebrows raised as he held a glass of twenty-two year old bourbon. “How’s life with the kid? Handlin’ two kids?”

Joel vividly remembers his response, despite his lowered tolerance for alcohol and the multitude of glasses he’d had that night. “You ever gonna get that kid a new place? Not my responsibility to look after your goddamn strays, y’know.” His voice had been gruff, harsh. He thinks, looking back on it, that it digs the pit of regret in his stomach deeper.

“They givin’ you trouble, or something?” Tommy had asked, all furrowed eyebrows then, an expression of something close to disbelief on his face. “Been a good kid, as long as I’ve known ‘em.” 

“They’re a good kid, alright, just not my kid.” Joel had replied, scornfully. It was a low blow, he knew now, but he could remember the pounding in his chest, blood rushing through his ears, when he heard you yell out one night. It had been a bad dream, not that you’d admit to it, but Joel was familiar. He could’ve sworn his heart was going to stop that night, the way adrenaline rushed through him, the way he had leaped from his bed as if expecting to have to defend you and Ellie from an onslaught of attackers. 

Tommy scoffed in response, and he had averted his eyes, looking away from his older brother as he took a sip of the alcohol that was warming his veins. “Y’know what? I’ll get ‘em a new place, and when it breaks their goddamn heart, I’ll let ‘em know the reason why you wanted them out. Not my kid.” Tommy had shaken his head, and had bid him goodnight soon after. Joel remembers drowning the sting the conversation left him with using decades-old booze. 

Now, Joel can pretty confidently say that Tommy hadn’t been looking to get you a new place until that conversation. It wasn’t more than a few weeks after that that you came home with a frown marred across your face, returning much later from canteen-duty than usual. He had been walking to the hall to grab his boots when you had gotten in. 

Your expression had only deepened further as you practically stomped into the house, kicking your unlaced boots off in the hallway. “You alright, kiddo?” Joel had asked, brows creased, and he remembers the way the movement reminded him of his younger brother. 

“’M fine.” You had muttered out, all stormy expression and blunt words. Joel only tilted his head at you. “Tommy stopped by, said they’re gettin’ me a new place across town. Nearby the school.” You had told him, and your expression was almost hopeful as you waited for his response. 

“Oh,” Joel had uttered, expression blank for a moment as he nodded his head, almost mindlessly. “Well, that’s good, right?” He responded, eyes studying you almost cautiously. If he hadn’t been looking, he probably would’ve missed the way your face dropped at his response, as if you had been hoping for him to say something else. Instead, you had let out a quiet scoff, before stomping away with a ‘sure’ said lamely back to him. Joel had looked after you, face plastered with confusion, but his mind had known, even back then, the reason for your disdain. Instead of going after you, of saying anything more on the matter, Joel had foolishly just wiped a hand across his face, and had murmured, “Teenagers.” 

For the days after that, you seemed withdrawn but hopeful, as if Joel would finally voice what you had been waiting to hear. He didn’t see much of Ellie, who had made more friends her own age, including some girls named Dina and Cat. Apparently, you weren’t in on that friendship. Which had left you at the house with him, the crease between your brows getting deeper each time things remained silent. 

Still, Joel was firm. This was what was meant to happen all along. You were never meant to be a permanent fixture of their lives. 

So when the day was finally upon them, Joel accompanied you and his younger brother to your new place, carrying your backpack over one of his shoulders. He had tried to ignore the itchy, uncomfortable feeling in his chest. 

“It’s a nice place.” Joel had commented, when the silence stretched for far too long, looking around the studio-like bungalow. It was a converted garage, much like what Ellie was going to have in his back yard, whenever the team could help Joel finish converting it. He was almost surprised when Tommy brought them here, however. For whatever reason, Joel hadn’t thought about the fact that you’d be living alone. 

“Yeah, it’s great.” You responded flatly, picking at the cover on what was meant to be your new bed almost absently. Joel dropped your backpack beside the door, nodding his head as he took it all in. You tried not to scoff. “You know Joel, I think it’d be better for me to settle in. Alone.” You said, voice just a step away from miserable, expression blank as you looked at him, at the way he nodded his head, seemingly resigned to this conclusion. 

“Sure thing, kid.” Joel sighed out, looking back in when he was stood in the doorway. He tapped his knuckles against the doorframe, opening his mouth to say something, but stopping before anything came out. Instead, he had just nodded, leaving with his hands in his pockets. 

He returned to a quiet house, Ellie once again somewhere in town with Dina and Cat, having missed your moving day. Joel quickly found that the silence, the emptiness in the house, was uncomfortable. He hadn’t truly realised just how used to your presence he had gotten. Still, this was for the best. Joel didn’t need another kid on his hands. He’d failed more than once, and that was telling enough. He still couldn’t figure out why Tommy had brought you to him in the first place!

Joel didn’t see you for two days afterwards, though he had asked about you, cornering Tommy and demanding to know how you were settling in. It was unsettling when Tommy had only shrugged, expression harsh and unforgiving. 

When he finally did see you again, it was at the Tipsy Bison, where he was sipping at amber liquid, waiting for his younger brother to finish talking to someone down the other end of the bar. “Joel!” You called out, immediately drawing his attention. He stood from the stool he had been sat on, brows creased in concern, drink abandoned on the wooden bar top. 

“Everythin’ alright?” He asked, confused and concerned all at once. 

“No!” You yelled immediately, seemingly outraged by his question, your features practically collapsing in on themselves. You pointed an accusatory finger at him, and he didn’t miss the way your hands trembled. “You asked them to move me!” You accused, and Joel quickly realised that this was the first time he had seen you outwardly upset. Every other time, your expression had been made of stone, voice cautiously flat. Now, here, your features were like clay, looking as if you had reshaped them over and over, trying to resist the slant of sadness that took over them. There was a distinctive gloss across your eyes, shining and trembling as you tried to force the tears away. “Admit it, Joel! You wanted me gone and you didn’t have the guts to tell me.”

Joel sighed, rubbing his fingers across his brows, pinching at the bridge of his nose. He glared across the bar at where Tommy was observing, false innocence on his face. He was quick to notice that Tommy wasn’t the only one watching, eyes on the two of you as you waited for his response expectantly. “Kid, it was always a temporary thing. You knew that.” He said, hands on his hips as he shifted his stance. 

Clearly, that wasn’t the response you wanted to hear, your features falling further, crumpling downwards, and Joel frowned. “It’s not fair.” You said, voice breaking off halfway through, and you swiped your sleeve across your nose, rubbing tears away from your eyes with your fingertips. 

“Life ain’t fair, kid, that’s the truth of it.” Joel responded, looking at your face as if your expression held answers to a question he hadn’t asked. “I’m sorry. But you got your own life now, your own place, you can live however you want. Doesn’t sound like a bad deal to me.” 

“I don’t want any of it.” You told him, brows furrowed, the crease between them so deep that Joel was sure it was going to become a permanent fixture of your face. His own frown deepened when you blinked and tears marred your cheeks. “It’s not fair,” You repeated, hand outstretched as if you were reaching for him. “Why do I have to be alone?” You asked, and Joel’s face fell, clearly not expecting that question. 

Tommy chose that moment to intervene, stepping in between you and Joel, glancing back at his older brother before focusing his full attention on you. He murmured words that Joel could only presume were reassurance. Joel noticed Tommy’s guiding hand on your shoulder as he led you out of the bar, neither of you glancing back. He ignored the stares on him as he turned back to the bar, finished his drink, and left, going home. 

He encountered the two of you just down the street, sharing quiet words that seemed harsh even from a distance. Joel thought about turning back, but found himself approaching cautiously. 

“Everythin’ alright?” Joel repeated his earlier question, hands outstretched when the two of you turned to him, the setting sun throwing a shade of orange across both of your faces. You openly glared at him, eyes squinted in a show of unrelenting anger, or maybe, more accurately, hurt. 

“Go back inside, Joel.” Tommy told him, sounding nothing short of exasperated between dealing with you and dealing with Joel. He sounded tired, too. “Better yet, go home!” 

“Listen,” Joel sighed, trying to reach some form of a truce. You cut him off when he opened his mouth to continue. 

“No, Joel, Tommy’s right. Go home. I’ve heard enough.” You said, almost scoldingly, and Joel felt as if he was talking to Sarah again, as if it was her telling him off for something. He tried not to think of that last night, of the cake he’d forgotten, of the watch she’d gifted him, but a glance down it said watch reminded him of his failures. “I’m not your kid, remember?” You reminded him, throwing the words he’d said to his brother back in his face. At least this time, Tommy had the idea to look somewhat guilty for telling you that tidbit of information. 

Joel frowned at you, cursing himself for his past words. He didn’t want to hurt you. Hell, that was the whole reason he wanted you gone! Joel was trying to protect you from him, from his inevitable failure. He had never really considered that perhaps this was his failure, that perhaps isolating you to a garage apartment on the other side of town was him failing you. 

You stared at him, feeling that bricked up wall around your heart reforming, a promise in the back of your mind forming, a promise that said you wouldn’t let yourself be hurt again. “Go home.” You repeated, the words bitter on your tongue, a thought so sharp in your mind appearing that you physically flinched. Why couldn’t Joel understand? He was the only semblance of home you’d ever had, and he had taken that way from you. You thought that for once, you had found somewhere that you belonged, that you had found people who wanted you around, but you were wrong. Nobody wanted you around. At least that much was clear, at least you could be sure about that one thing. 

When you had gone to Tommy all those months ago, your chest empty, tears staining your face, you hadn’t trusted his promise that Joel and Ellie would be good for you. You had been so determined to prove him wrong that you had avoided them, had fled the house more than once just to stay away from the two of them. It was horrible, at the start, it was suffocating. Living in a home that wasn’t yours, intruding on a father who wasn’t your own, a daughter who could never be your sister. To begin with, it had been the most isolated you had ever felt. 

Up until that night that it all changed, where you and Ellie had laughed until you cried, sharing jokes and stories just to make one another laugh. It had taken a deeper turn from there, to sharing your experiences in the world that strived to end you. You told Ellie things that you had never told anyone, not even Tommy, certainly not Joel, and she had trusted you with things from her journey with Joel in return. Her voice was coloured with warmth when she spoke of him, though it got more despondent when she got to more recent events. Still, it was that very warmth that eventually caused you to relent to her dinner requests. 

And then, finally, you had taken to joining them for dinner without being prompted. 

You can remember speaking to Tommy about the two of them, about how things had started looking up, about how he may have been right about Joel and Ellie being good for you. Hell, you can remember seeing Joel from the corner of your eye as you told Tommy about becoming closer to Ellie, about a story she had told you. 

Now, you wish Tommy would’ve just left you in the state you were pre-Joel and Ellie, because it would have been better than this. It was an all-encompassing ache that surpassed being purely physical. It bled poison deep into your soul, like acid crumbling the pieces of happiness that had begun to sew back together. It hurt. At least before, you knew that the pain wasn’t your fault, that it couldn’t have been. This pain, however, came from your very roots. You had been unequivocally you whilst with Joel and Ellie, and it had come back to bite you. You can’t help but wonder if, just maybe, you had kept to yourself, if you hadn’t immersed yourself in a life that didn’t belong to you, you would’ve avoided this pain. Because the reason Joel kicked you out was because it was you. That was the only explanation. After all, he kept Ellie around, and she wasn’t his kid in the same way you weren’t.

“Kid…”

“I’m not your kid, Joel. Go home and leave me alone. I don’t wanna say it again.” You responded, firm, voice bordering on trembling. Joel watched, with some amount of confusion, as you turned to Tommy, bearing your teeth at him like it would push him away. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you.” 

Tommy flinched as if the words were a physical blow, and you missed the betrayed look he gave Joel as you stormed away, walking with purpose towards your garage apartment, where you lived alone. Always alone. From this experience, you could safely say you were ready for it to stay that way.

#heartpascal writes #joel miller imagines #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x gn!reader #joel miller father figure #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller x you #joel is dad #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #tlou fanfiction #the last of us one shot #the last of us imagine #tlou one shot #tlou imagine #tlou angst #tlou fluff #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x platonic!reader #tommy miller one shot #tommy miller imagine #tommy miller angst #i can’t remember how to tag omg

[bleedingichorhearts]

𝖁𝖎𝖙𝖆 𝕸𝖊𝖆

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Trying different POV's.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉/𝕴𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, Barn Anon, @egrets-not-regrets.

𝕬𝖈𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖊𝖉𝖌𝖊: Be 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 for/of yourself. Even it’s just a tiny cut. I also don’t ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ these 𝙰𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜.

TW // Slight SMUT/NSFW? Yandere Themes, Two Google Translation.

Amadeus was not one to have an interest in having a human like his brethren, but that didn’t mean he didn’t crave for such a bond. Sometimes he loathed it because it hurt… To see that he’ll just be isolated for the rest of his aging, immortal life. Something he could have related to the Alpha Legion for as he also feels remorse for them.

He knows they cannot bond, and that's something he also takes into consideration. Is that he could possibly bond while they, unfortunately could not. Yet, never once, while he lived, did a bond manifest from his years of wandering. Not a single bond.

He huffed out at that word, “bond.” Silencing the annoying crickets of the night. Oh, he was tired of hearing it. Tired of just seeing everyone else around him cooing at their own bonded. If he could, his own eyes would burn out of his skull like acid had been injected in them just to avoid seeing their merriment. Why couldn’t he have a bond too? What made his brethren more acceptable to one? Was he not exceptional for one?

He was much older than his brethren, and they teased him about it, and it irritated him to no end. Saying things along the lines of “Sugar Daddy.” Earring a thunk to their chestplate. Amadeus wasn’t that old to not understand the underlying tone of the tease, but he was just a little uncultured to what it exactly meant. Something he’s been meaning to research on.

Though, perhaps that was the issue? That, the older you are the least likely you are to bond? It was never mentioned before, but it didn’t mean it won’t happen or never will, and that thought soured his mood.

He knows he might not be… beneficial in age, but it also didn’t mean he didn’t know how to tear someone's skull from their spine, or put a youngling in their rightful place. Even going out to hunt, and guard. He is an experienced veteran after all, an immortal at that. What else is he to do besides fight battle’s?

Oh, by the throne, he was longing for a bond wasn’t he? He was already thinking of ways to provide for his future bonded, and it honestly wasn’t his first time thinking about it. He wanted a bond, and it ate him alive that he didn’t get to have one. It ate him alive that he was to continue his battles, and not get anything out of it, but he knew that he wanted more than just a bond.

The thought of doing something more to his bonded made him shiver.

Sure, he was an older Astares that had experience in the acts of intercourse, but it never felt pleasing to him. It felt inappropriate, blasphemous even to do such acts without his true bonded. So impure that he would feed off his recent bed partner to their death. It was a reason why most did not choose a Blood Angel as a companion.

Amadeus didn't, however, bed with another after his third time. To… aggravated with the thought that it wasn’t his bonded that he wasn’t giving his seed to. It was wasteful, and sinful to him. Why waste his seed on someone whose just there to satisfy? To someone that doesn't care about him either. Not only that, but he also wanted to prove to his future bonded of how well he could be. How well his perseverance is. How strong his will is to evade such temptations, just for them.

Oh, how he would imagine their little form withering beneath him. Mewling up at him because it was all too much for them. Their hands desperately trying to find something to grip on. Their walls clenching around him, gripping at him, pulling him right back in to give them what they cried out for. The moaning of his name, and only his name falling from their lips. Begging him to fill them up.

Throne, their scent too. He could just imagine stuffing his head into their neck. Inhaling their comforting scent. Nipping at their soft flesh there. Claiming, and drawing their sweet blood onto his lips for him to savor again, and again on until they were just weak enough to depend on his safety.

Then, Amadeus stopped walking. His body realizing something his dreaming mind couldn't until it hit him like a dreadnought. He could smell them. He can hear them. They were here.

He didn't hesitate to dash forward through the night. He's been waiting too long for this moment. Too long without a bonded. Too long fantasizing the little blurred events in his head. He was not about to lose his opportunity now.

He stopped just before a tree-line. Spotting a group of human's up ahead. His instincts going crazy in order to figure out who was his bonded within the group. Using every single of his senses to pinpoint them out. His eyes settling on the female in the center and he knew that was his bonded.

He observed the group for a second more. Trying to decide if he should go in there and scare them away, or be at ease with them. His urge ever growing where he stood until he watched one of the group members pull at her making his blood boil as she turned quickly to face her offender. This wasn’t a friend group.

Coming forth from the tree-line he made sure to go light in his armor. He wanted to surprise the group. He wanted them to scatter. He wanted to watch them squirm in his beneath his gauntlet while he crushed their windpipe, and watch those eyes become dim, and lifeless. He wanted to stain, and drench the parking lot with their blood, and watch it trail down into a drain. He wanted to prove just how much he could provide right then and there to her.

Oh, but that would scare his little bonded, his viaţă wouldn’t it? He has heard, and seen that human’s were fickle little things. Some liked it, others did not. He didn’t want to get reported by her of all things.

So, he pushed his way through the circle. Almost stepping on somebody if they didn’t move away quickly enough. His gauntlet settling lightly on her shoulder.

He stared down into her eyes that looked up to him with such confusion, and wonder. Her pulse quickening underneath his sudden touch. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to look away, nor pull his gauntlet away. She was finally in front of him. By his side.

He didn’t even bother to listen to the group as they took their hesitant leave. He was basking in her presence. In her long awaited appearance, and it made him giddy for his age. Does she know he has waited a millennia for her?

He internally scoffed at his obliviousness. Of course she doesn’t. She looked to be a young adult by human years. She wasn’t even born when he was around. Which is probably something he was thankful of. Not that he couldn’t provide for her then.

He felt her slowly pull away from him. Unsure if he would do anything to her as a soft ‘thank you’ left her lips while she went off into a direction that would no doubt be her home. His visor trailing after her before he realized he was just standing there like an youngling.

Oh, vita mea. For I have finally found you.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #yandere space marine #yandere #x reader #fanfiction #oc: amadeus #blood angel #inspired

[nathabat]

"I swear on it."

word count: 3k+

✰ content: ## SFW, GN!reader (you/your pronouns), brief angst (?) but tons of fluff and comfort. This was a commission for a friend, but I got permission to post it :) enjoy! apologies if formatting is weird

As the days grew colder they also became even shorter, one of the many things Kuai Liang had grown up hating about winter.

Shorter days meant less time spent outside, less time spent with his brothers running around the yard and battling each other with wooden swords.

Bi-Han always flourished in the cold, beating Tomas down faster with swift hits. The wood thunking against the younger brother’s shins and chest until he crumpled against the snowy ground— which always lead to Kuai Liang having to argue with Bi-Han as he dragged Tomas back inside to tend to the blossoming bruises. Blue against his tanned skin, and soon enough shifting to angry shades of red and purples. He hated how the days ended like that but…

Those days felt so distant now. Decades ago, by now. Even thinking that made him feel old. Just the thought made his chest pang with a sense of nostalgia he had become far too familiar with this past week.

The bed felt cold. Or Perhaps it was just the chill in his body, rattling against his ribs with each pump of his heart as Kuai Liang stared up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, sheets and blankets clinging to his form until he kicked them off in favor of the breeze that seeped through the cracks in the window sill. Was it the thoughts of the past that kept him up with the exact moon greeting him, or was it the lack of warmth beside him?

His bleary eyes narrowed until they focused on the empty spot beside him. The faint imprint and smell of his beloved still laced against the bedding, and the hallway light dragged itself under the doorway.

You had gotten up at some point. Perhaps recently, because your pillow was still warm and smelled like your hair. The fragrance soothed the throbbing of nerves that danced along his brow the moment Kuai Liang buried his face into the plush cushion, tensed muscles in his shoulders easing just by a fraction. A fraction enough to allow him a moment of reprieve from the past that haunted him and the ache that settled not just in his chest but over the right side of his face. The wound across his features still burned, even when nestled away from the harsh winds under thick bandages and slathered in a medical salve he could barely even describe the smell of.

His first reaction to the medicine— the crinkling of his nose— had earned a light laugh from you. Blossoming in your lungs to spill from your lips, and suddenly in that moment Kuai Liang had hurt just a little less.

Like he did now, heart thrumming less from anxiety and more from anticipation as the bedroom door creaked open. Oh so carefully, but Kuai wouldn't have cared if you had woken him in the first place.

Your footsteps managed to barely rouse the creaks in the floorboards as you stepped towards the bed, shutting the door behind you with a gentle nudge of your foot before you emptied the contents that filled your hands onto your bedside table.

Only when you glanced up, eager to see your boyfriend still asleep, did you realize not only had he been awake as you snuck back into your shared quarters, but he had stolen your pillow in your absence. With a strong arm looped around it, securing it under his heavy head.

You could only imagine how weary he was.

Such thoughts bubbled to a silence in favor of the imagery in your head of how cat-like he appeared, enough that you almost swore if he had a tail it would be flicking in impatience as he watched the gears in your mind work.

“You're awake?”

You whispered through the darkness. The inquiry earned a rumbling chuckle from Kuai Liang, who stretched and finally released your pillow from his deathly grasp and rolled back over to his side of the bed.

“For a little while, yes.” The heel of his palm rubbed into his uninjured eye, ridding himself of some of the sleepiness that clung to his lashes before his gaze snapped back to you, hand back at his side on the mattress.

“You didn't wake me,” he added before you could question further. Through the blanket of night that settled over your shared space, he still could see the way the corner of your lips twitched into a grateful smile at his assurance even when you hadn't asked for it.

“And you?”

Kuai sat up, leaning his back against his pillow as he felt the mattress dip under your weight. You took a seat on the edge, shifting through whatever items you had brought in with you. He attempted to look around you, but he couldn't make out most of them even with the moonlight’s help.

“I was… Up and down for a while.”

You admitted. In return you could feel his watchful gaze on your back, grazing up and down the expanse of your body. Curiously, you noted. Not leering.

Well, until you felt the warmth of his lips against your nape. A firm hand rested against the small of your back before his fingers danced to trail to your hip, wrapping around the space there as he hummed against your flesh.

“What bothers you, my love?”

He murmured. He could feel the response your body has to his touch, the way you shuddered, mostly in surprise before you relaxed and reclined into his touch like you sought the physical support his hand and kisses offered.

“Nothing,” you exhaled. It wasn't a lie, yet you could still feel his doubt as he huffed out a breath against you and kissed down to your shoulder. Which was thankfully hidden under your pajamas, saving you from the attack of his affection at least for tonight.

“Do I need to swear to you for you to believe me?”

Kuai Liang smirked against you. Even if you couldn't see it, you could almost sense it as his nose nuzzled against the dip of your neck.

“Perhaps. I can't guarantee that will stave off my doubt entirely.”

He remarked back, voice dripping with amusement.

Despite all he had gone through, it seemed you were at the forefront of his mind the most.

Bi-Han would have called you a distraction. Or perhaps even an addiction, something bad for his brother that only served to distract.

Did Father teach you nothing of discipline, Brother?

Words paired with a finger jabbed into Kuai Liang’s chest, yet he wouldn't flinch. He was as steadfast as ever, refusing to back down when it was your name that was laced with such venom. Could no one trust that he knew what was bad or good for him? Did they believe him to have such a clouded mind that they couldn't trust when he fell in love?

He would uphold their Father's traditions until his last breath, he would fight against Bi-Han to uphold those ideals, but he would turn his back the moment it would mean leaving you behind him.

His love for you was pure and burning, whether anyone liked it or not. And you could feel it as he kissed up your jaw to nestle and place a sly one behind your ear, brushing strands of hair out of his way to make his access easier. He felt the way you hummed, like a soft laugh, at his words.

“I swear, nothing is wrong.”

Your words spoke like a soft song that he leaned into, just as he did as you faced him and stroked the bandaged half of his face.

Though he softly flinched under the careful caress of your thumb just the same, eyebrow twitching at the soft throb of the wound underneath. He didn't have to look you in the eyes to see the way your mouth formed a small frown as you retracted your touch— he knew you well enough to guess that you felt a knot of guilt tighten in your throat before you quickly swallowed it down.

“We should change them. The bandages.”

Kuai met your gaze finally at your suggestion and his nostrils flared as he exhaled. This was his least favorite part of the day, or of the healing process in general.

“If we must.”

He responded, reclining back into the pillows. Whatever you had gathered and brought into the room earlier came into view as you placed some on the bed.

Medicines and Bandages. He knew it wasn't all you had brought with you, but he prayed the process needed no more than what lay in front of you now.

“Don't hold your breath this time.”

You offered a light joke. One Kuai Liang almost rolled his eye(s) at.

You had cared for him so meticulously, almost since the mere moment he had gotten this injury. He swore he could feel the blade passing through his skin sometimes, like the day never had ended in the first place, but the medicine… It was far worse.

Or so he had claimed. The smell was so strong it burned his eyes and he almost could taste it in his mouth each time it sunk into his skin, no matter how little you applied or how gently you dabbed it around his injury.

“No promises.”

His jaw briefly flexed as you reached over to him, preparing himself for what he knew came next.

Your fingers were ginger enough when you loosened the bandages from his face, one layer at a time falling free.

The cool air hit the right side of his face, brushing away any warmth that had gathered under the soiled bandages as you discarded them quickly.

It didn't sting, only chilled him partially. He still visibly tensed as he adjusted to the change, his fingers twitching by his side in an urge to press his warm palm against that side of his face and warm it himself.

It wasn't his favorite moment. You caught onto that very easily.

“Scoot closer.”

Just a suggestion. It'd make it easier for you. Maybe that's why he was quick to listen, situating himself closer to your side of the bed. Or maybe it was the way he yearned for your closeness that made him so eager to listen.

Eager. That wasn't a word most would use to describe Kuai Liang. Not even a word that crossed your mind now as you focused on the wound that marred his beautiful face. Stretching from his eyebrow over the lid of his eye and downwards, curving over his cheekbone.

“Is this better?”

He tilted his head towards you a bit more, down closer to your shorter level.

“Very.”

You hummed. A small quirk of his lips suggested he found your response funny in some way or another but he didn't voice it, simply setting his chin into your offered hand.

His lip curled the moment you raised the damp cloth out of the basin, an expression that deepened as you gently dragged it across his skin. It was wet of course. Warm, yet the wetness it left behind over the gash was enough to make the breaths you exhaled feel like a cold gust of wind. You paused your ministrations, a pause that lasted just a second to allow Kuai Liang to shut his eyes and let you continue without his gaze jumping around the room. Perhaps it would go faster if he wasn't so distracted by the way your features accepted the light of the moon through the window like a second skin. That made sense, yeah?

“Does it hurt?”

You asked. Somehow your light motions became even more gentle as you dabbed at the edges of the wound, cleaning dried blood and dirt alike from the scab. You felt the response rumble in his throat as you cradled his jaw to keep him still, each syllable bumping against the tips of your fingers as he spoke them.

“No.”

“You sure?”

Out of your peripheral you saw his left eye crack open to peer at you through his heavy lashes. Laughter that would have bubbled in his gut instead gleamed in his chocolate brown gaze.

Your worries were endearing to him. A quality he enjoyed even as he wished he could disperse it all from your mind at times.

He rested a heavy hand on your knee, letting you feel the warmth of his palms through your pants as he responded so simply.

“I'm positive, my flame.”

He felt your hold on him go slack by a smidge. He made no moves to take it as a chance to escape though, content to let you work. Your attention shifted from the injury to the way he half-gazed at you (lol) before his eye shut once more.

He bared himself to you in moments like these. Allowing you to see him at a point further than naked.

A vulnerability that wasn't exactly rare perhaps, but valued. And he could feel it in the way you cradled him and cared for him, nursed him like you were made to tend to him. The same way you knew he'd fawn over you at a moment's notice.

It was still easy to get carried away with the luxury of peace you were given with a man so easy to love. Even when your finger was bare of a ring, you knew he'd take care of you until the end of days.

Kuai Liang remained still and obedient in your hold, letting his mind okay images behind his eyelids. Of his day, of what lay ahead in the morning, all the work he had to worry for—

Only drawn out of such a trance by the soft motions of your thumb against his cheek. Both eyes pried open this time to face your thoughtful and affectionate eyes, a sight that made his heart flutter just a bit faster.

“Distracted?”

He managed to muse. You barely broke from your own daze to meet his eyes briefly before you offered a roll of your shoulders.

“Just thinking.”

“Me as well.”

He admitted. Kuai Liang chased your gaze this time, cocking his head to the side and pressing his cheek against your palm like a needy cat. It inevitably drew your eyes together again, gazes meeting as he smiled at you.

“Of?”

You were first to ask. His hand on your knee gently squeezed.

“Tomorrow. How I wish I could lay with you later into the day.”

He tilted his head down to kiss your palm. Kuai Liang had to keep himself from laughing as he felt a rush of warmth pump through your veins in reaction. It radiated off you, he couldn't help but feel it in such a close proximity.

“And you?”

“It's.. Less poetic.”

Your dry laugh earned a quick of his unmarked brow.

“No need to be eloquent. I'll listen nonetheless.”

Assurance met with a relaxation crossing your features, knit together brows easing.

“I’m thinking about how much I hate seeing you hurt.”

Maybe now would be a time to draw you into his arms and squeeze the anxieties out of your frame, and to remain wrapped up with you in the sheets until Tomas fetched you both for chores. Kuai itched to do just that, to kiss over your face until you laughed and pried him off of you, or until you curled up against his chest to hide your face from his flurry of attacks.

Instead, he simply watched. He watched the emotions play over your face as you continued.

“There's so much I wish I could do or could've done, I-”

“I wouldn't have wanted you to stop this.”

Kuai Liang interrupted. You visibly paused, hand drawing back from his jaw as you blinked at him.

“If my suffering means I've earned a place in your arms, I would take it over again in a heartbeat.”

The firmness of his words contrasted sharply with the way his eyes melted into pools of devotion, staring deep into your own as he pushed on.

“No matter what happens to me, I will persevere. Because it means I can crawl back to you and feel the warmth of your hands again.”

His touch drew away from you, a loss that made his chest squeeze before he found your wrists.

His gentleness was so familiar every other time and yet still managed to make it feel brand new the way he brought your hands up to his lips and pressed his lips against your knuckles one by one. Sweet and tender, like you'd always know him to be.

“I don't like when you hurt.”

You reiterated, biting into your cheek to keep from saying more as he kissed the pads of your fingertips.

“Hm.”

Kuai Liang hummed in response.

“Then I suppose I'll have to come home unharmed every day for the rest of our lives, won't I?”

He purred. With a gentle nudge he uncurled your fingers and kissed down your palm to the underside of your wrist, squeezing your other hand in his larger one.

“I'm serious.”

“As am I, my love.”

The urge to argue was strong, but any time you'd open your mouth all your words would die ok your tongue. Like your mind urged you to take the love over the anxiety just this once. It was always a battle, but tonight the decision was easy. And quick.

“The rest of our lives, huh?”

“I won't have anyone else.”

“Never?”

Kuai raised his head, withdrawing his kisses from your now warmed skin.

“Never.”

He allowed one of your hands to slip out of his hold but still cupped the other. His calloused fingers pressed against the back of yours, gently pressing them into position until it was only your pinky standing straight up.

Kuai Liang linked his pinky finger with yours. He was careful even as he squeezed, wrapping his finger tighter around yours like a hug between the digits. Your lungs seemed incapable of producing any air for you to breathe this time as he brought your joined fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss over them one final time as if to seal the sacredness of the gesture in your mind.

And when he raised his lips away from your skin again, he smiled at you.

“I swear on it.”

☄. *. ⋆

#🫧. sfw #🫧. angst tag #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat #kuai liang #kuai liang x reader #mk x reader #scorpion mk #scorpion x reader #kuai liang mk1 #mk1 scorpion #lin kuei #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat x reader #kuai liang x you #mk x you

[rshmra]

PRETTY BOY!

plot: niki swears he met the girl of his dreams at the convenience store late one night- however, his discovery proves to be misguided. the "girl" he likes is actually just a really pretty boy, and he's the main vocalist of the new and wildly popular boy group of four, X_CAPE.

<- prev. masterlist. next ->

written: 0.5k words

chapter one: you had one job

yn was in a frenzy trying to find something to cover his face when he took notice of someone's gaze on him.

he'd been too preoccupied with responding to a text after escaping from the dorm window to remember to put on a face mask, only realizing with a jolt at his destination much later. if by some unfortunate circumstance dispatch managed to spot him, management (and ivory) would be furious.

now, he assumes he looks very much an idiot as he hides in a corner of the convenience store, emptying his tote bag frantically in an attempt to find anything that might better obscure his identity. complaining about his shit luck is a habit at this point, but did he really have to be proven right again? christ on a cracker, it's so difficult to always be correct.

and to make things even worse, a guy just walked into the aisle while yn was dropping random shit- oh fuck, he's staring.

i'm so screwed.

yn rushes to regain his composure, gathering his belongings hurriedly and feeling brave enough to steal a glimpse at the other teen from his crouched position. (embarrassing, but how could he resist checking him out?) the boy's ogling him with wide eyes, soft hair curling out slightly from beneath his hood. he's tall and slim, and due to the mask he's wearing yn can't gauge his expression, but if he had to guess? he'd definitely say the dude's mouth is hanging open.

well, jesus. do i look that odd?

...wait, he's cute.

not allowing his thoughts to wander for too long, yn glances back down at the ground (still half-kneeling, mind you). either the cute boy had already recognized him, or was just intensely weirded out... so, two main options for the scenario at hand. one: risk it even more, ask for a spare mask and hope for the best, or two: don't, and hope for the best.

psh, yolo.

yn bounds to his feet in an instant, boldly striding up to the bewildered boy and silently praying he made the right choice. "hey, um. do you have another mask i could use?" jesus, this man is a fucking skyscraper.

he blinks once. twice. thrice? yn shifts, rubbing the back of his neck. "it's fine if you don't-"

"no, i think i uh- i- i might have, um..." he trails off quietly, patting down his pockets and leaving yn reeling inwardly. HIS VOICE BRO?!:((#!*&!1_! "i actually do." the teen lends the shorter a mask, and yn finds himself unable to contain his relief.

"oh my god, you're a lifesaver- thank you so, so much!" perhaps it's a little dramatic to clasp the stranger's hands in his, yet it barely occurs to the vocalist as he rushes away, leaving the lanky boy standing there flustered.

neither can tell why the other looks somewhat familiar, but for now there are tweets to be tweeted and thoughts to be thunk.

notes: begging u to ignore timestamps numbers and emojis I DONT HAVE AN IPHONE. esp pretend the times in the texts arent there cus its all fucked up. the writing is mediocre but i promise u itll get better... SAME FOR THE TEXTS. i had fun w it but i think i took it too long 😭😭 lmk what yall think... next update sundayy

taglist: @silkentides @nikikids @luveuly @totoroblop @winter-world

#x reader #enhypen #enhypen smau #enhypen x reader #nishimura riki #niki x reader #enha niki #enha x male reader #enha x reader #male reader

[thatfreshi]

"When I Feel Used" (Uni AU P. 3)

I am sorry for the angst in advance, my finger slipped

tw - references to alcohol and sex, lots of yelling, hints at abuse

@justporo

The two of you are silent, and you can sense some kind of negative energy on him. You're not sure if it's anger or shame, or maybe both. All you know is he had sex with you, but didn't really want to. It makes you feel a little gross, trying to figure out what even happened. Astarion hides it well though, shifting through many different personas constantly.

"All that and you didn't even get any champagne."

He makes the joke, hoping it will evoke some kind of laugh from you. You say nothing. Instead, you get out at the next stoplight. He doesn't stop you. It doesn't take too long to get back to campus. Once outside your dorm, you are met yet again with intense arguing.

"Damnit Karlach, you can't skate out here! How many times do I have to tell you?!"

A man with short braids is shouting at a muscle-heavy woman, who is currently shredding on the stair railing.

"Why? Because your silly admin mom told you I can't? Just relax already, learn to have some fun."

The woman then sticks her tongue out at him.

"Why, I should tell Coach!"

"You wouldn't. You're too busy being the uptight SGA president to visit the gym."

"Karlach, please just go skate somewhere else."

"Wyll it's almost 11 pm. Where else would you like me to go?"

"Anywhere! Quite literally anywhere else!"

The woman, who you notice has shaved sides in her hair, finally sees you.

"Hey! You wanna come skate?"

She shouts across the little clearing in front of the dorm.

"Okay, no, do not encourage her please."

At this point, you try desperately to ignore them. It's been such a strange night already, and you just want to sleep. As long as Lae'zel and Shadowheart haven't burnt down the room yet. You pass by the man, who places a kind hand on your shoulder.

"It's Wyll by the way, your SGA president. Let me know if you need anything."

He gives a soft smile, and then turns to yell at Karlach again, but she's already gone.

"Ugh, damn you Karlach!"

When you finally get back to the room, it's oddly silent. Instead of trying to decide whether they're asleep or murdered each other, you simply go to your room, and head to bed almost immediately. You sit there for a while though, thoughts about the night buzzing in your head. Perhaps you'd tell Shadowheart about it tomorrow, see what she makes of the whole thing.

While you would've loved to wake up to the peaceful sun through your window, or perhaps maybe even your alarm clock, you're awoken to Lae'zel and Shadowheart screaming at 5 am.

"You know my leg is fucked, you can't just trip me like that!"

"Oh, seems I didn't notice. Whoopsies."

You can practically hear the smile on Shadowheart's face, until you instead hear the two start to get physical. Dreadfully picking up your legs and getting out of bed, you open the door and stomp down the hall.

"God damn it, can we not right now!"

They pause and stare at you. Lae'zel has Shadowheart in a chokehold with her elbow, and Shadowheart had just kicked her in the leg.

"I already had basically the worst night ever, and I would've liked to sleep in and not think about it, but no! Here you two are, screaming at each other! Does no one in this school know how to act?!"

With that, you head towards the front door, about to leave in your pajamas to simply get out of the dorm. When you slam the door open, it makes a loud thunk against someone who apparently just tried to knock on the door.

"Ugh, and why are you here!"

The pale 'red-eyed' man from last night was at your door for some reason.

"Because I'm trying to sleep, and these bitches are being too loud!"

Astarion yells over your shoulder at them.

"I forgot you were in this room. Sorry you have to deal with them."

You try to keep yourself from exploding from all the overwhelming stress.

"Respectfully, you cannot invite me out, introduce me to some fucking freak, admit you were trying to get me to work for said freak, and then fuck me, and then be a fucking weirdo about it!"

So much for not exploding.

"Wait, you two fucked?"

"Shadowheart, read the room!"

Lae'zel hisses.

"Yeah Shadowheart."

Astarion swipes a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

"You were the one that started dragging us outside..."

He nonchalantly looks at his acrylics.

"Yes! Because yeah you're hot, and it was a weird stressful situation, and I haven't gotten any in a while, okay!"

He sort of just, stares at you wide-eyed.

"And then you thought 'oh, I'll just act like I'm completely uninterested afterwards, because that's normal people behavior,' like what's up with that? Didn't even want to at least say 'you know Tav, that was pretty good sex.' I mean I'm sure you've had better, I'm a little rusty, but damn! So yeah, maybe it was hot, but it kind of pisses me off when I feel used."

Astarion is entirely silent. The two women behind you are now no longer fighting, but instead staring at you while you rant at him.

"Oh, and another thing! I know you think you have all this pretty boy privilege, but you think you can just bribe a cop with sexual favors? Because what the fuck was that? But nooooo, you'll never get in trouble for anything because you're the city's favorite femboy. I can't even go an entire hour without having some article come across my feed with you and your six 'brothers and sisters,' which is also fucking weird by the way. So yeah, forgive me if I'm mad at you and all your arrogance."

You weren't looking at anything in particular while you were yelling these things, not really thinking about how you were airing his business out in front of your roommates. When you look at his face again he's... tearing up?

"I... I have to go."

And he's down the hall before you can say anything, wiping at his tears with the sleeves of his sweater.

"Holy shit."

Shadowheart laughs. You're in shock, unsure of why you just said all that. You were kind of mad at him, but you didn't think you'd make him cry or anything.

"Looks like someone finally told him like it is."

You turn around to two girls smiling, finally agreeing on something for once.

"I- is he gonna be okay?"

"Oh, he'll be fine. Probably just a bruised ego. He'll pay to have it fixed like everything else."

Lae'zel laughs at Shadowheart's comment.

"I'm happy we agree on one thing. That man, is a bitch."

You feel... guilty. Something still isn't right. Memories of the night before come into frame, Szarr's hand on his shoulder, Aurelia's comment about 'private business.' No, something is entirely wrong here. But then again, you know these types of things can be far too complex for someone of your level of fame, which is none. So, you simply listen to Shadow and Lae's quips, and the three of you bond in the common room for the morning.

~~~

His phone rings in his pocket when he gets back to his room, out of breath from the sudden emotion he wasn't expecting to feel. How had you seen through him so easily? How had he been so sloppy? Astarion takes the phone out of his pocket.

Cazador

The contact calling him made his skin crawl. He sniffled, trying to clear his nose, and picked up the phone.

"Mhm."

Yes, of course.

Yes, I'll be there.

No.

Why would I lie- yes. No. Yes, I already did.

Alright."

His hands tremble as Cazador hangs up. His memories float to the scathing read you just gave him, and then back to the night before. Without much thought, he tosses his phone, and it lands in the sink of his kitchenette, hitting each side of the aluminum from the strength of his throw. The need to scream, the need to get out, the need to run. And yet he's silent, still, and stagnant. Instead, he lies against an empty wall, making his way to the floor, crumbling into the pain. The never-ending pain.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #angst #freshiau

[ceilingfan5]

15 "Denim jacket with bleach-painted bone motif" & 11 "If they don’t smile at me today I’m going to eat an entire drum set" and taakitz 👀

“If he doesn’t smile at me today, I’m going to eat an entire drum set,” Taako rants, throwing his apron on the counter. He didn’t intend to get on this topic, and now the words won’t stop coming out of his mouth like a busted gumball machine shooting gumballs and quarters all over the floor. Watch out for some Looney Toons ass shenanigans, word listeners, because here comes a mess. “Like what the fuck? He’s too pretty to be allowed to live. He makes me want to hop in a peanut grinder and become Taako butter and live a better life between two slices of discount sliced bread, you know?”

“With jelly, or like-?” Ren grins at him, wiping down the counters, far too thorough. Taako’s got places to be. 

“Obviously with jelly, Ren, what the fuck do you take me for?” Taako grumps.

“Could be honey,” she shrugs pointedly, still looking very pleased with herself. “Maybe you two can become a sandwich together and ride off into a toaster sunset. Maybe you just need to say, hey, honey-”

“And just declare my intentions so boldly?” Taako puts a dramatic hand to his chest, scandalized as loudly as possible. “You can’t do this to me in the workplace, I’m calling HR.”

“Noooo, not again!” she giggles. “Seriously, though, Taako. If he’s cool enough to play in your band, and wear that sick jacket-”

“It’s got bleach-painted bones,” Taako moans, sliding down the counter and onto the floor. She daintly steps over him, and he briefly considers tugging on her apron strings. “And he plays the drums. And the bass guitar. And I think the cello?” Taako mimes playing a flute. “You know the one.”

“Yup,” Ren says, looking down at him as seriously as she can manage. “That one.” 

“And the guys–I can’t tell them. I shouldn’t even be telling you. No offense. I’m mysterious and private and I’m, I’m going to die alone, and,” he tips his head back, misjudges the distance, and hits the cabinet doors with a too-solid thunk that makes him yearn for the good old days, before stupid fucking phylum Chordata got any wise bone ideas. 

Now, wise bone ideas, he possesses a few. He snickers at his own head joke, and Ren gives him a generous half-smile. He sighs. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” he slides further onto the floor. She keeps cleaning, bless her. “I worry I’m not- I mean, obviously I am cool enough, natch,”

“Natch,” she repeats, not looking at him. He wipes an imaginary tear from his cheek while she can’t see. He’s trained her so well. 

“But what if we’re different flavors of cool and he isn’t into Taako butter? What if he’s, I dunno, fuckin- sriracha, or, or, or,” Taako gestures emptily. “Cubed cheese you have to get at an art exhibition.”

“You’re as cool as cubed cheese, Taako.” Ren sighs, giving up and half-laying on the counter. 

“I know that,” Taako snaps, warmed in the soul or something stupid like that. 

“And he’s a nerd who plays in a band and wants you to like his sick jacket. Just go, hey, sick jacket, and he’ll be like oh my god thank you for noticing, everybody thought I was too cool to come say hey sick jacket and I’ve been vibrating myself to pieces wanting to tell everybody the fine details of the bleach painting process, did you know that human bones are whack-ass shapes? Ulnas don’t look right. Ever.”

“Yeah, what is up with those guys, anyway?” Taako has to rotate his arm this way and that a couple of times, chewing her advice in his head. “I’m gonna fuck my drummer,” he decides, in perhaps not the same breath but certainly a consecutive one.

“Good, I’m glad. Can we close already? I hate to tell you this, but I do have a life outside my hero worship of you. I’m like, my own whole interesting guy.” Ren smiles, straightens up, and offers him a hand. 

“That can’t be right,” Taako muses, and he lets her pull him up. “You don’t even have a last name.”

“Do you?” She cocks an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“That’s debatable,” Taako says airily, and blows her a kiss. “You’re driving dessert tomorrow, bring your A-game. Your A+ game! No, your- uh-”

“I’ll bring my super diamond special reserve game!” she shouts, bouncing excitedly. “Thanks Taako! I hope your drummer wants you!” And before he can even counter that one, she’s off to lock the doors and flip the sign.

Taako’s going home and changing before band practice. Yep.  

#fan5fics #taakitz #adjacently lol #taz #tazb #the adventure zone #the adventure zone balance #taz balance #didja miss me.

[my-castles-crumbling]

You Asked For It

Thanks, @apoetsworld for the idea! I kinda ran away with it, lol.

The package arrived on a Thursday.

Sirius and James were eating a very late breakfast, shoving bread down their throats at such a rapid pace that Lily Evans was throwing them a look of true revulsion as she left the table. Sirius didn’t particularly care.

The owl, huge and annoyed-looking, flew into the Great Hall with a parcel the size of the desk Sirius and James shared in Transfiguration, though it looked much lighter. The package fell on the boys’ plates with a thunk, dispersing juice and water and eggs and bacon, creating a mess that Remus would have complained about had he been as late as they were.

Sirius and James exchanged looks. “Th’ hell’s tha’?” James asked thickly around a mouthful of bread, looking curious.

Sirius narrowed his eyebrows. “S’not like I usually get packages from home!”

But the small tag was addressed to him. Briefly, he wondered if his parents had sent some wizard version of an explosive, and some irrational part of him wanted to dive under the table.

It seemed James was thinking the same thing, because he prodded the package with his wand.

They both flinched and leaned back, but it only crinkled slightly.

Sirius used the tip of his own wand to flip over the tag and leaned forward to read, Happy Birthday! If anyone asks, you didn’t get these from me. Love, Andy.

They exchanged looks.

Sirius’s sixteenth birthday was a week away, still, but it seemed his cousin, Andromeda, was sending a gift a bit early. As she was the only family member he particularly liked, he looked forward to her gifts each year.

He grinned at James and ripped the paper off of the package, the Transfiguration class they had in five minutes long forgotten.

When the gift was revealed, his excitement turned to confusion.

Nerf, the brightly-colored packaging read in yellow lettering. It was four strange objects, identical in shape, but different in color. Included in the packaging were many small, orange cylinders made of foam.

“What the fuck…?” Sirius muttered.

But then James pointed to the picture on the packaging. It depicted a boy of probably thirteen or fourteen holding one of the objects while one of the cylinders flew out of it.

“It’s what Muggles use instead of a wand, I think,” James muttered.

“To…to hurt each other?” Sirius asked incredulously.

But that didn’t make any sense. Andromeda was not a fan of violence, to be sure. Plus, why would Muggles sell such things to children? Sirius ran his finger over the foam cylinders. They were soft, and he didn’t think they could do much damage at all, even when moving at top speed.

Then, he thought about the toys some wizarding children received when they were small- wands that only made funny noises and lit up. Maybe…

“D’you think it’s a toy version? Of the real thing?” He asked.

James grinned. “Well, let’s find out.”

It is to be noted that they were stupid teenagers and did not make the best choices.

The Great Hall was deserted now, so they had no problem taking the four packages and bringing them back up to their dorm room. Once there, they unwrapped two of them, only struggling and swearing for about fifteen minutes, working on the little wires and pieces of plastic with frustrated expressions, before remembering they were wizards and could use their wands.

Sirius placed a cylinder inside one, and then waved it about, feeling a bit foolish.

Nothing happened.

“Perhaps there’s a button?” James suggested, looking perplexed.

They looked at the picture again, and noticed that the bloke in the picture had his finger on a small piece of plastic.

Sirius held the device the same way and pulled his finger.

Click!

Both boys jumped, and let out small high-pitched screams that would have been embarrassing had they been in anyone else’s company.

But they ignored their momentary lapse of manliness and Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Nothing happened,” he whispered, still a bit fearful.

James screwed up his face in concentration and looked at the picture again. “Look, Padfoot, the bloke has his hand on this piece, too.” He gestured to a colorful piece of plastic that covered the top of the toy, and looked like it could slide back and forth.

Sirius nodded, and pulled the piece back, making the device click softly.

They looked nervously at each other.

Sirius pulled at the small piece of plastic again.

Click! Thud!

The cylinder shot out as if by magic, flying across the dormitory and smacking into the window hard.

Sirius and James stared, mouths open in wonder. Then, they grinned at each other, identical evil looks on their faces.

James was quickest to the draw, having already put a cylinder in his toy, and he whipped it around to point it at Sirius. With a Click!, Sirius screamed in horror.

“Prongs!” He wailed, as if hit with a Cruciatus Curse, “You hit my bloody nipple!”

James fell into fits of laughter, melting onto his bed as he cackled with glee.

But he did not see Sirius quickly retaliate, until he felt a sting in his left shoulder.

“Bloody fuck!” He yelled in surprise, whipping his body around instinctually.

“Revenge!” Sirius cackled, and threw himself behind Remus’s bed before James could properly sit up.

But then, James spotted the other two packages. “Pads! Padfoot!” He said loudly, trying to get Sirius’s attention.

Sirius poked his eyes out from behind Remus’s bed, looking a bit deranged, “What?”

“There’s four. One of each of us.”

There was, and by the time Remus and Peter returned from Transfiguration, they were ready. The Common Room had been completely torn apart- furniture displaced and moved about into two makeshift forts, books on the floor, pillows strewn about and used as roofing material.

When Remus and Peter entered, looking for the other two boys, they both yelled from their respective protective fortresses. Remus was snatched up by Sirius while Peter was grabbed by James, both brought unwillingly into the safety of the strongholds.

“Sirius, what the fuck?” Remus asked as he tripped over a pillow and almost landed in Sirius’s lap.

And Sirius grinned back at him, tie wrapped around his head like a headband, Marlene McKinnon’s eyeliner swiped under his eyes like war paint. “Moony. Welcome. To combat.”

Remus stared incredulously.

Sirius handed him one of the plastic objects and Remus’s eyes widened. “Sirius, where did you two get Nerf guns?”

“Is that what they’re called?” Sirius asked distractedly as he fixed a wayward pillow. “Andy gave them to me. Now listen, here’s the plan…”

And with that, he explained to Remus his fourteen-point plan for defeating James and Peter, complete with dungbombs, a five-string quartet as a distraction, and a brief detour into the Forbidden Forest for reinforcements.

“Sirius, what–” Remus began to ask, but he was cut off by James’s maniacal scream as the fort caved in from above, and suddenly, they were completely smothered.

The next fifteen minutes were complete and utter chaos. While Sirius and James had originally agreed on teams, it seemed that that agreement went out the window rather quickly, as after Sirius and Remus extracted themselves from their collapsed fort, it was every man for himself.

Foam pieces flew, and soon the Common Room was in complete disarray- broken bits of glass and paper on the floor, disgruntled paintings yelling, Gryffindors running for their lives, orange cylinders everywhere.

Each of the four boys were bruised and battered, screaming obscenities at each other, accusations of cheating flying, as they shot the little orange darts back and forth. After some time, James and Peter both seemed to completely give up, throwing pillows and light objects from their spots behind couches. Remus, it appeared, had the best aim, and hit Sirius and James each in the chests several times while Peter laughed hysterically.

“Alright, you asked for it,” Sirius yelled, leveling his gun at Remus. Then, miraculously, Sirius landed a lucky shot, right on Remus’s cheekbone, and he turned to the shorter boy, giving him a look. The air shifted, and the rest of the boys froze.

“Erm…Sorry, Moony,” Sirius whispered breathlessly, cheeks pink from exertion.

But Remus smirked just slightly. “Gonna kiss it better, Padfoot?”

Sirius inhaled sharply as James and Peter exchanged a grin.

And just as Sirius made to move– maybe to take Remus up on the offer? Maybe to run? He wasn’t sure– Minerva McGonagall walked into the room.

“What on Earth are you four doing?” she asked, trembling with rage.

They were silent.

Until–

Click!

Sirius wasn’t sure where it came from, only that it wasn’t him. But suddenly, one of the small, orange cylinders whacked into McGonagall’s hat, knocking it clear off of her head.

And then James yelled, “Run!”

That was enough direction for Sirius, who bounded out of the portrait hole, followed by Remus, and found himself in a broom closet nearby, Remus closing the door behind them.

“D’you reckon she followed us?” he asked breathlessly, looking up at the taller boy, laughing a bit.

“No, but I don’t think we’ll avoid detention forever,” Remus answered wryly. “Probably shouldn’t have done that.”

“I– it was you?” Sirius asked, shocked. Remus was the last one he would have thought would do such a thing.

Remus chuckled. “It was just…the hat. It was such an easy target.”

Sirius stared, and at the same time, they both burst out laughing, gripping each others’ shoulders to stay upright, tears streaming with mirth.

When they finally quieted, Sirius met Remus’s eyes, and his stomach swooped a bit. He felt a twinge of courage, and he stood on his toes to kiss Remus’s cheek.

The taller boy’s eyes widened. “What–?”

Sirius smirked. “You asked for it, Moony.” And with that, he exited the closet, heart pounding, grinning at the sound that Remus was making as he walked away.

Please leave kudos on AO3!

#marauders #marauders era #harry potter #fanfic #sirius black kinnie #wolfstar #ao3 #james & peter & remus & sirius #marauders fanfiction #harry potter marauders #marauders fic #the marauders #marauders fandom

[shares-a-vest]

He's Gonna Save Me, Call Me 'Baby'

wc: 1.1k | Rated: T for alcohol consumption (not excessive) | cw: post-breakup, angst with a hopeful ending

Tags: Future Fic (mid-90s), Post Stancy Breakup, Steve Harrington Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Platonic Stobin, Jeff (Stranger Things), Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin, Implied Future Steddie (only bc the end is a little vague)

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild Hozier Project. I chose the song, 'Jackie and Wilson'. Thank you soooo much to @subbaculture for setting up this event and making the banner!

(Read on ao3)

“Look alive, Dingus.”

Robin turns around to Steve and pats him square in the chest. He perks up, even though his best friend turns straight back to the entryway of The Hideout to wave at Jeff. He thinks it would be easier if Robin’s head were on a literal swivel with the way she has been whipping back and forth for the past hour.

Steve grumbles into his beer, pushing through the burn in his throat that still lingers years later as he laments the lack of Eddie following behind his bandmate.

He knows they had arrived too early for Corroded Coffin’s show, but Robin’s summer break from teaching came just in time – sue him for needing to spend every possible moment with his best friend.

Though he’d decided as soon as Robin announced her return to Hawkins that he wouldn’t mention the flowers he ripped up in haste in the back garden last week.

He’d done so straight after arriving home from the real estate agent, head hung in shame as he fully accepted yet another hard thunk on the head courtesy of Nancy Wheeler.

Well, it wasn’t so much a thunk this time as it was what Steve might consider, ‘divine intervention’.

He was in the backyard, tending to his small and still very much intact flower garden when a piece of guttering fell clean from the house, smashing through the window of the spare bedroom Nancy was using as her office – a room they’d falsely promised each other would be used for an entirely different reason.

But, much like his childhood home (which endured a mighty crack right through that cursed goddamn pool during Spring Break of ‘86), Steve found himself existing in a not-so-perfect house. One that grew increasingly cold as years of Upside Down dust and fog and smoke cooled Hawkins’s atmosphere.

A house that, with a broken and rusted gutter pipe, decided to remind them that shouldn’t – couldn’t – be playing house.

That’s all it really was: a pretend white picket fence dream that isn’t what Steve had meant by his vision of vacationing with a brood of Harringtons, Nancy by his side.

A dream that Nancy never wanted and got dragged into until her office window smashed in.

A dream that Steve thought was dead and buried the day Nancy rightfully picked through shards of glass for her things and left.

Buried until Eddie called him, saying that he had been talking to Robin (because of course, they kept tabs on him). He said the band would be back in town and that Steve and Robin should meet them.

And so, with a few beers warming his belly, burning his throat and sending a prickling sensation up his scar-covered sides, Steve found that nagging hope bubble up again.

He shakes his head, scoffing at his hopeless self as the sound of rhythm and blues music over the bar’s jukebox almost drowns out Jeff’s and Robin’s chattering.

Maybe he should be talking himself out of it. Finally acknowledging that years-old fleeting something between him and Eddie.

But he wants it.

And Lord knows he acts on a mere fleeting feeling.

Maybe history won’t repeat itself this time. Maybe the rusted gutter was one last divine thunk.

Maybe it won’t just be a first date. Or meaningless sex. Or bullshit.

He should have known that love with Nancy – a love long sucked down his old pool drain along with Barb Holland’s life – couldn’t prosper in the aftermath of an almost apocalypse.

They thought they were supposed to try, is the thing.

Staying in Hawkins. Keeping things at bay. Watching. Perhaps waiting for it all to come back.

But then it didn’t.

It all just lingered.

And they were left to pick up the pieces.

Right mistakes.

Move on.

They just didn’t need to do it together.

Steve pivots on his barstool, leaning an elbow on the bar top to get a better (hopefully seemingly more casual) view of the entryway.

He has seen Eddie over the years. Every Christmas at the Hendersons, sporadic visits home, a phone call here and there. The band hadn’t exactly made it big – at all, really. But they made enough to move around. Tour. Always returning to The Hideout for a one-off Tuesday Night gig as if nothing changed.

Steve looks around, thinking there might be three more drunks than the last show –

And there he is.

Eddie enters the bar with Gareth and George in tow and Steve swears a summer breeze flows in with him.

He looks good. Leather-clad as always. Pants impossibly tight. Jacket chains jangling. His hair still a river of wild curls.

But Steve sinks back on his seat as the trio makes a beeline for the stage, Eddie’s bright eyes turning into a dark frown as he orders the boys about, barely carrying a thing himself.

He probably had some theatrical excuse about his outfit, punctuated by manic hand gestures and a pout or two.

Steve watches as they dump their equipment by the one-step platform, each maneuver creating cacophonous thuds that reverberate through the bar. Jeff grimaces at the sight before shooting an apologetic glance at the manager and barkeep. The boys always did saddle him with sweet-talking the staff.

“Someone’s eager,” Robin teases, catching Steve’s smirk.

Jeff quirks a brow and stifles a smile.

“Shut up,” Steve chuckles into his glass before he downs the last of his beer.

“Eddie is really excited to see you, man,” Jeff nods, offering a nonchalant shrug just as Eddie begins making his way towards them.

Steve’s heart quickens.

There’s that something.

A something that is reflected in the glint in Eddie’s eyes as he smiles wide and waves.

Steve wiggles his fingers in greeting, shaking his head at himself almost instantly causing a lock of his hair to flop out of place.

George not-at-all subtly drags Gareth in Jeff’s direction.

“Over here, Gare,” Robin commands loudly through gritted teeth.

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie says, his voice low as he steps forward to stand just close enough that yeah, Steve decides to roll with that hope again.

He reaches up to comb a hand through his hair but Eddie gets there first.

“Sucks about Wheeler, babydoll,” Eddie continues, allowing his fingers to scrape his scalp, carefully looking him over as he does so.

Eddie always is too much.

Everything.

A lot. All at once.

Seeing him.

Steve hums and Eddie soon stops, an embarrassed set of dimples dotting his cheeks as he likely thinks better of it given their current location.

“It was... all a mistake,” Steve admits, taking Eddie’s retreating hand.

He intertwines ring-adorned fingers with his own, refusing to let go of the hope tethering them, ready to start again.

#okay so this one is really different for me and... idk how i feel about it tbh 😅 #steve harrington #steve harrington angst #stancy #steddie #stranger things #lily writes a fic #stwg #steve harrington fanfic #stwghozierproject #tw alcohol

[michiganmerchant]

#as always i am thinking but tonight i am really thinking about luke hughes #my favourite hughes re: the Narrative #i love quinn's eldest sister vibes and whatever jack's got in between being the middle child and being 1OA #and honestly we could go A Lot into the forward/dmen and . looking like your dad vs your mom #i just think its CRAZYYY how ellen was a dmen and is (source missing?) responsible for the way quinn and luke play allegedly #i know there's a quote where ellen mentions that quinn plays exactly like her #ANYWAYS. i love exploring luke under the weight of a legacy and the burden of expectations both internal and external #he's such a feral little house cat to me. i think a lot about quinn using him as an attack dog #all the hughes have that intagible x that manifests very differently #quinn has perseverance jack has confidence and luke? luke has tenacity #thinking. perhaps even thoughting. thunking. #he's my funky little guy and i love him so much because he's funky

[shamedumpster]

Flashback dream (or anything about the INtSA universe 🥺) for the tag game

🥺🥺🥺 of course!! Okay, so. This one is titled "mini-fic", but I titled that when I still thought it'd be, like, a one-shot under 5k. Right now it's sitting at 25k and 3 chapters instead, so as you can see it kind of got away from me.

In summary, Enjolras wakes up in his high school bedroom, somehow transported back a decade. He doesn't understand why or how this is happening, and has to work out how to wake himself up from this weird, hyper-realistic dream he's stuck in, all the while living through the last few days before Grantaire left the ABC.

An excerpt is below!

Unfortunately, when he gets to the hall outside Ms. Houcheloup’s classroom, the only person there is Combeferre. Enjolras remembers a moment too late that his own bus is one of the earliest to get to school. Since Grantaire drives, he supposes he’d been hoping he’d get here early, if he’d found himself in the same situation as Enjolras had this morning. 

He must not do a good job of hiding how he deflates to only find Combeferre, because Combeferre, who’d looked up to wave at him, stops mid gesture and frowns.

“Good morning,” he says, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose with the knuckle of his index finger, “Am I not who you wanted to see?”

Enjolras feels his stomach sink just a little more at the fact that Combeferre is acting how he should. That’s one person not currently not experiencing reality the way he is. Fantastic. 

“I—Sorry,” Enjolras apologizes, moving to lean against the same wall as Combeferre, hands absently playing with the strap of his bag, “I need to talk to Grantaire. I was hoping he’d be here.”

“...Why?” Combeferre asks, dubious, but clearly trying to hide the extent of his confusion. 

“Why what?” Enjolras asks. 

“Why do you want to talk to Grantaire, and why did you think he would be here?” Combeferre clarifies, raising his eyebrows.

He doesn’t really have a good answer to either of those questions. Not if Combeferre doesn’t remember the last decade. Enjolras mentally kicks himself, and looks down the hall as a distraction, as if Grantaire will just materialize there if he wills it. 

“Did he do something?” Combeferre asks, suddenly sounding concerned and a little resigned, like a parent who knows he’s going to have to pull over to stop his kids from fighting. 

“No,” Enjolras replies, perhaps a little too quickly, half defensive, for Grantaire’s sake, and half panicked. He swallows, reminding himself to act as normally as possible, “He didn’t do anything. I just need to ask him something.”

Combeferre’s eyebrows just go higher at that. 

“Well…I doubt he’ll even get here before the bell,” he says, slowly, “He’s been late all week. You might just have to wait until the meeting this afternoon.”

Enjolras sighs, and lets his head thunk back against the wall behind him, frustrated. 

If Combeferre finds it strange, he doesn’t press him, and Enjolras appreciates it, taking a moment to just think, and then gather himself. 

If this dream were normal, this is where he’d probably zoom ahead to the action, but apparently he’s not that lucky. He feels every minute of the morning wait, chatting idly with Combeferre and figuring out his class schedule as subtly as he can as their other friends slowly filter in, and the hall gets more crowded before the first bell. 

It’s weird seeing all the people outside of the ABC that he didn’t keep in contact with after high school. He recognizes the faces, but doesn’t remember the names, aside from a few exceptions. There’s just, ‘that boy I had to do a group project with’, ‘that nice girl that gave me candy for Valentines day, once’, ‘the homophobe’, faces with memories but no names.

When he’s not quietly people-watching, or chatting with friends as they roll up, tired but talkative, he’s checking his phone’s clock and looking down the hallway in the direction he knows Grantaire will come, if his memory is to be trusted. “What’s up with him?” he hears Courfeyrac murmur to Combeferre after Enjolras looks up, then sighs, seeing it’s only Marius turning the corner and heading towards them. 

“He’s waiting for Grantaire,” Combeferre says, keeping his voice low. 

“...Why? What'd he do this time?” Courfeyrac asks, and Enjolras turns to them, his face pinched in frustration. 

“I’m right here, Courf, you could just ask me,” he says, trying not to snap. Courf just smiles, holding up his hands in surrender. 

“Sorry, sorry, you just seemed out of it,” he replies, “Weird morning?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Enjolras mutters, rubbing a hand over his face, then pinching the bridge of his nose. Combeferre and Courfeyrac just glance at each other, eyebrows raised, but apparently decide to drop it a moment later, when Courf perks up again, looking down the hallway. 

“Hey, R!” he calls, waving, and glancing at Enjolras, whose head immediately shoots up again, intent on the end of the hall.  

The hallway is bustling now; they’re only maybe a minute away from the bell ringing, so it’s packed with students getting where they’re going, and chatting with friends, or pulling things from some lockers on the other side of the hall. 

It takes Enjolras a few seconds to find Grantaire in the sea of people, not just because it’s packed, but because he’d looked out expecting to find R as he knows him, not R as he used to be. 

When his eyes finally find him, he has to do a double take. It’s not that he doesn’t remember how Grantaire used to look. It’s just startling to see so clearly how much of a change there’s been over the last decade. 

The Grantaire he knows still dresses down most of the time, but his clothes fit him decently enough, and he holds himself with a reserved kind of confidence. 

It’s jarring to see him like this again: tired, and slouchy, in clothes that don’t fit right. There’s a hunched-in quality to the way he stands, accentuated by the fact that his worn green jacket is at least two sizes too big. Grantaire’s unkempt hair springs out from the edge of a grey beanie, and heavy bags stick purple under his eyes. 

He looks exhausted. A bone-deep kind of tired from days or weeks of insomnia, as Enjolras now knows.

Grantaire looks up when Courfeyrac calls out, sticking on a lazy smile and waving back. 

He starts to walk to where Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta are huddled, sitting in a pile against the wall, either not noticing or ignoring on purpose the way Enjolras is staring. 

#longer excerpt this time because context is hard LMAO #asks #tag game #exr #fanfiction #les mis #this one is like 10% away from being done it's just that that last 10% is also the hardest #because I left the hard stuff for last as one does #thank u pumpkin for beta-ing it though you're lovely 🥺🥺🥺 #INtSA

[hopelesshawks]

Safe Haven

Hawks x Reader

The coffee shop au that I thought would be quick and then got so out of hand so fast omg. But hopefully it's in a good way

While this fic is sfw, the blog posting it is 18+ only, minors dni

Content Warnings: hurt/comfort, egregious use of italics, unreliable narrator (almost entirely on Hawks' end), Keigo being touch starved and desperate for affection bc he deserves more of it

General Masterlist Kofi

You flip the sign at the front door of your shop from open to closed. It’s late and you’ve cut off the main lights to discourage anyone from trying to come in. The only thing lighting up the interior of the dining area is the neon sign of your logo and the spillover from the fluorescent light of the stock room in back. It’s a friday night which means it’s time to go back over your inventory in detail and make note of what needs to be restocked. Your apartment is right upstairs so you don’t mind staying even later. There’s something peaceful about the area when the moon is high in the sky and every other business has closed for the night. There’s not much foot traffic at 1am, understandably so, which makes you feel like your shop is its own little lofi haven. 

You’ve got a special playlist just for wrapping up for the night and it plays softly over the speakers as you wipe tables and counters and put away chairs. It’s easy to get lost in the familiar routine and the fall of rain outside only contributes to the easy atmosphere. As you finish up cleaning you know the stock room is waiting for you but you decide to take a second to just enjoy the moment. You lean against the front counter and let your eyes flutter shut, focusing instead on your other senses. 

The smell of roasted coffee lingers in the air, cut by the smell of the disinfectant you’ve just used to wipe everything down. Life Goes On by Agust D plays over the speakers and it pairs perfectly with the heavy patter of the rain on the windows as the storm grows a bit stronger. It hasn’t started thundering but you wonder if it isn’t far behind. If it continues into the morning the foot traffic on the road will be less which means a slower day for the shop. You can comfortably afford to have some slow days so you’re not too worried by that, if anything it may be nice to have a peaceful day considering the approaching summer will likely mean workers, students, and tourists alike flooding in to escape the heat with fresh pastries and iced drinks. 

You may have stayed wrapped up in your musings for a while yet if not for a sudden thud at the front door that interrupts your thoughts. You jump slightly as your eyes fly open. You’re not 100% sure what you expected to find. You don’t usually get entitled customers demanding entrance after closing considering you’re open until midnight and crime is rare in the area considering how frequently Hawks stops by. 

Speak of the devil…

Hawks’ silhouette is impossible to mistake. His prosthetic wings aren’t quite as grand as his original ones were but they are just as recognizable. Especially considering it’s his back that’s pressed against your door, his head thunking against it with a quieter thud than the initial one that had caught your attention. As you slowly approach the door you can already tell he must be exhausted. You can hardly believe he’s flown in this weather considering how much it’s coming down and on closer inspection he looks absolutely drenched. He’s a regular at your store, likely because it’s the only coffee shop that stays open late in the area, but that still doesn’t explain why he’s here now. Alarm bells are going off in your head that something may be wrong, which is perhaps why you find yourself unlocking the doors and pushing open the one he’s not leaning against. 

“Hawks?” you ask hesitantly as you lean out to look down on the weary pro hero. 

He blinks up at you, his eyes slightly widened in surprise. It’s clear he didn’t think anyone was still in, which only makes you all the more curious why he’d come in the first place. 

“You’re still here,” he notes and it’s not really a question but you find yourself nodding all the same. 

“Sorry didn’t mean to bother you,” he mumbles and he seems millions of miles away. It’s a bit off putting considering the version of him you’re used to seeing. Sure he’s been a bit more subdued ever since the great war against All For One and the League of Villains, but he’s still made most of his public appearances with a reassuring if not cocky grin and a quick witted tongue. None of that seems present in the man at your feet now. 

He stands again and it’s concerning how much effort it seems to take as he moves to leave so you’re quick to intercept him. You quickly surge forward to help support his weight, wrapping a hand around his arm as the other goes to his back to help support him. 

“Why don’t you come in?” you find yourself offering.

“But you’re closed,” he protests, eyebrows furrowing as he starts to shrug out of your grasp.

You tighten your grip to prevent him from going anywhere. He’s plenty strong enough that he could easily have still escaped if he wanted to but the movement still gives him pause as he brings his gaze to meet yours, confusion and something else that looks suspiciously like smothered hope marring his golden irises. 

“Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t stay out in this weather anyway you’re soaked,” you insist. 

That seems to be enough to convince him to follow you as you bring him into the warm safety of the cafe, closing the door behind you both and locking it again. When you look back to Hawks he’s frowning down at his feet where a puddle is slowly forming as rainwater dips off every inch of him and onto the floor. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll clean it up in a moment,” you assure him as you pull him with you behind the counter.

The store room light reminds you of what you still need to get done but you ignore it for now. You’ll get Hawks set up and then come back for it. You’re not entirely sure what he needs but you have a guess of what could at least start to help him feel better, so you guide him deeper back into the store where no other customer has ventured before. He’s tracking water with each step but you don’t really care as you guide him up a tight stairwell and into your apartment. It’s small and cozy, the lighting soft to make the transition to bed easier after the brightness of the stock room lights. You pull him past all your various succulents, stuffed bookshelves, and worn leather couch, into your bedroom and then the en suite bathroom attached to it. 

“Get out of those wet clothes and take a warm shower. I’ll leave some clothes for you to change into on the bed and then you can come down and find me in the stock room if you’d like,” you explain gently.

You wait until he’s given you a nod of understanding, clearly still trying to process the generosity you’re showing him, and only then do you give him a soft smile and leave to give him privacy. You raid your drawers to find a hoodie and drawstring sweats that are oversized on you to leave for him. You leave them on the bed as promised and then head back downstairs. 

The first order of business is to clean the floor back up but it doesn’t take long. You can’t help but think of the look on Hawks’ face when he’d realized he was making a puddle. It was far from a catastrophic mess and it took you almost no time at all to clean, yet he’d looked as if he’d committed some criminal offense; as if his presence was nuisance enough and dripping water on the floor was only adding insult to injury. Part of you wonders what could possibly make such a beloved pro hero, someone who must be used to being met with praise and adoration wherever he goes, look like that. 

Then you remember the broadcast years prior that had revealed who his father is and you wince. With a father like that… Well it’s not your place to speculate, especially considering the basis for your speculation is information Hawks hadn’t willingly given. 

To distract you from wandering thoughts and the memory of weary golden eyes you begin taking inventory as you’d originally intended before Hawks showed up at your door. It’s an easy enough process, comforting in its monotony, and you almost forget entirely about Hawks’ sudden appearance at your doorstep until the man himself makes his reappearance. You’re about halfway done with inventory at this point but you pause to briefly appraise your guest. He looks more present than when you first found him outside and soft in the borrowed clothes. He’s left his prosthetics upstairs, probably to dry off with the rest of his things, so you can fully take in the much smaller remnants of his natural wings. You can tell he feels a little wrong footed so you decide to offer him a lifeline. 

“Want to help me with taking inventory?” you offer, figuring it will ease some of his discomfort if he feels like he’s helping instead of burdening you. Your instinct seems to be correct because he straightens a little at the offer and gives a somewhat eager nod. He doesn’t respond at all verbally, which throws you a little considering you’ve never seen him so quiet. Still you decide it’s best not to point this out, instead carefully explaining your process and handing him a notepad to take note of what you tell him to. 

The process moves a little faster with you able to just call out what you will need to Hawks instead of pausing to take notes yourself. Your music is still playing and it fills the silence between each note you tell him to write down. It should feel odd considering this has always been a solo process for you. You’ve got a few employees who help out but you always take the closing shift yourself since it’s never too packed for one person to handle and that way no one has to make their way home so late at night. It feels natural working with Hawks though and he seems to appreciate having a task to do. 

“That’s the last of it, how about you head up and put the kettle on while I finish closing stuff up down here?” you offer once you’ve finished. It’s ticking past 2am by now but you still can’t imagine sending Hawks home yet. Especially considering the rain is still coming down pretty hard. Again having a task to do seems to help him relax into the space and he gives you a short nod before disappearing back upstairs to do as told. You finally turn off your music and the neon sign in front, leaving the stock room light for last before going back into your apartment. 

You’re not sure how much losing so many of his feathers has dulled his heightened senses so you make sure to make a decent amount of noise as you enter your apartment, intentionally stepping on the creakier floorboards so he has plenty of warning that you’re coming. You notice that he cleaned up the puddles he made earlier and when you enter the kitchen he’s already gotten two mugs out and set them by the stove. Your gaze lingers on them as you realize he’s inadvertently grabbed down one of your favorites. He seems to misinterpret why you’re looking at them because he suddenly gets a bit sheepish. A slightly self-deprecating grin that looks closer to the Hawks you’ve seen on tv spreads across his face as he reaches one hand up to scratch at the base of his neck where he still wears his hair shorter than he once did. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to rifle through your cabinets too much but I figured I should at least get mugs for us,” he offers with a chuckle that may have been convincing if you hadn’t seen the state he was in when he first arrived. You wave off his concern with a flippant gesture of your hand, moving to the drawer where you keep all of your tea. 

“No apology necessary, thanks for getting them for us,” you reassure as you select out a chamomile tea for yourself and an even more soothing blend of lavender and butterfly pea for Hawks. The latter is one you crafted yourself, still a bit of a prototype before you’ll roll it out into the shop. It’s worked for you on especially stressful days, so you hope it can similarly help him shake off whatever it is that sent him to your doorstep. 

When the kettle goes off you quickly move to fill both mugs, pressing your favorite into Hawks’ hands even if there’s no way for him to know the significance of the gesture. Tea now in hand, you guide him over to your couch, allowing you both to settle in comfortably with your hands wrapped around your mugs and your backs pressed against opposite arms of the couch. Your knees are pulled towards your chest, he’s got one knee bent and resting on the cushion so that foot hangs off the edge and the other foot is firmly planted on the floor. He looks torn between settling in more comfortably and bolting, but a deep inhale of the steam wafting off his cup seems to help ground him. 

For a moment silence dominates as you’re unsure whether to pry or not and Hawks seems to have no intentions on being the first to say anything. It’s not a particularly comfortable silence but it’s not quite awkward either, just laden with tension at all of the things being left unsaid. It’s not like the two of you have ever done this before, although the ease of the whole process to get to where you are now may suggest otherwise. This is uncharted territory and as curious as you are to explore it, you don’t want him to spook him either. 

Just as you’ve resigned yourself to the silence, Hawks finally clears his throat to catch your attention. His gaze doesn’t leave his tea and he still looks vaguely uncomfortable, but after another moment you watch a mask slip into place as he finally forces himself to address the elephant in the room and meet your eyes. 

“So I’m guessing you’re wondering why I just showed up like this,” he chuckles and it’s more convincing this time. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you shrug and for a moment his mouth twitches into a more authentic smile before he carefully schools his expression once more. It’s almost a jarring contradiction to see such a curated look on his face while he’s wrapped up in your comfiest clothes. 

“I owe you an explanation,” he starts but you quickly correct him. 

“You don’t owe me anything.”

The words seem to catch him off guard in how absolute they are. From someone else it would probably sound like a platitude but you say it with such conviction that he can’t help but believe you. A part of him that sounds suspiciously like his HPSC handler warns him against opening up, but your insistence that he need not explain himself has ironically made him want to explain himself to you even more. Whatever pretty excuse had been on his tongue melts away and instead he finds himself formulating something more sincere. 

“Thank you for that. Thank you for all of the hospitality actually. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here when I showed up,” he replies and the only word he can use to describe the way you tilt your head in apparent confusion is adorable. 

“But you came anyway?” you ask. 

“But I came anyway.”

“Do you mind if I ask why?”

He feels his smile go a bit sad. He doesn’t mind the question, actually he was sort of hoping you’d ask it. As deep down as he buries him, Keigo’s never quite managed to completely cut out that inner child that craves love and understanding while only getting contempt or indifference. 

“I was just… exhausted. This was on the way and I just needed a safe place to catch my breath. It’s–”

Keigo’s eyes shut as he leans more heavily into the arm of the couch and blows out a breath. 

“It’s been a long day. Too long. I needed to land and wait things out for a bit before I could make it the rest of the way home.” 

When he opens his eyes again he expects to find something akin to pity on your face but instead only finds understanding. It makes his stomach do an odd flip and he quickly takes a sip of his still too hot tea to hide any reaction that may have shown on his face. He burns his tongue in the process but at least it gives him a physical sensation to focus on and ground himself in before he does something stupid like pour his whole heart out to you. His heart’s beating just a little too fast for comfort and he needs to slow it down if he wants to avoid embarrassing himself.

“I’m really glad this is a safe space for you. If you ever need a place to crash land, I’ll always welcome you here,” you reply so innocently, so genuinely, and just like that his heart is racing all over again. Do you know what your words are doing to him? Do you realize how rare and precious a gift you’re offering up so casually?

“What if you’re not here or I show up even later next time?” he asks because part of him needs to find the catch. Every salvation he’s ever received has had a catch, why should this one be any different?

“I’ll let the employees know you’re allowed in back if you come during opening hours and I’m not here. I’ll also give you my number in case you come after hours. Just call me and I’ll come let you in, even if I’m still half asleep when I do it,” you shrug. You shrug. As if you aren’t offering him the world. He could almost cry with it so instead he just nods and drowns himself in his tea, now a safely drinkable temperature. 

Silence dominates the room again as you both drink your tea but it’s definitely comfortable this time. It’s almost unnerving how much he feels his guard lowering and the lower it goes the more he longs to reach out to you. You’re right there. If he stretched out his legs they’d likely brush yours where you’re curled up at the opposite end. It could be so easy to just close the distance, just a little bit, just enough to soothe the growing itchiness beneath his skin that creeps in when he’s at his most vulnerable. But years of abuse and strict HPSC approved training aren’t so easily overcome. 

He doesn’t move, doesn’t reach out to touch the way he so desperately wants to, doesn’t do anything even though his inner child screams and begs for it in a way young Keigo was never actually allowed to. He just sits there, drinking the tea you picked out for him and hating himself and his parents and the HPSC for turning him into someone so incredibly starved for affection and yet absolutely terrified to receive it. 

He mourns when he finishes the last of his tea. A quick look out the window reveals that the rain has stopped, which means he’s all out of excuses to stay in the warmth of your apartment. He’s got his own little safe space hidden away in his apartment that he’ll likely sleep in tonight but it feels so far away and lonely right now. Maybe you’ll hug him goodbye. You seem friendly enough to be the type to hug people goodbye and even the HPSC couldn’t begrudge him accepting it since not doing so would be rude. It would be all too brief but it would be something at least. Maybe just that much will be enough to soothe the ache inside him for a while, calm the longing until the next time he cracks and brings himself to your doorstep. It could be enough. He wants more, so much more he feels it viscerally, but it could be enough. 

“Come here,” you suddenly say, setting your now empty mug on the floor next to the couch since the coffee table is just out of reach before stretching your legs out across the couch and reaching your arms out to him. 

He blinks at you confused for a moment. Do you have a mind reading quirk or is he just that obvious? Do you really mean what you’re offering or do you just feel bad for him? Thousands of doubts fill his head and threaten to pull him into a downward spiral but when you just continue to extend the offer with a soft and genuine smile on your face, they suddenly don’t seem so loud. He still moves hesitantly, like one false or too quick move may break the trance of the room and cause you to withdraw from him. Hawks is famous for his speed, but right now Keigo’s pace is almost glacial as he sets down his own mug just as you had and then shifts forward in your space. He expects you to meet him in the middle and give him a quick hug but instead you take hold of his wrist and tug him into you with surprising strength. Before he knows it you’ve settled his head against your chest, your heartbeat right beneath his ear, like it’s nothing. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like this is a normal thing the two of you do together even though prior to tonight the most the two of you have done is talk and banter while you prepare his coffee. 

At first he’s stiff in your arms and it must make you worried you’ve overstepped some boundary because your arms around him start to loosen but he won’t have that. Can’t have that. Not now that what he’s craved for so long is finally right here. So he hurries to reciprocate the embrace, bringing his arms up to wrap around your torso and squeezing, perhaps a bit too tightly. 

“Don’t,” he pleads, and the word comes out so soft, so sad, so pathetic that he can hardly stand it. But you don’t judge him. Of course you don’t. You just lean down to press a kiss to the top of his head before bringing a hand up to card through his hair. 

“I won’t. You’re safe here Keigo. You’re safe,” you assure him. 

It should feel like a violation when you say his real name. It’s certainly felt that way any time someone else has said it since it became public knowledge. But somehow he just knows you’re only doing so because this moment feels too intimate for his hero name. If he told you not to use it he has total faith that you’d listen and maybe that’s naive of him. Everything from his training and upbringing tells him that it’s beyond foolish to put so much trust in anyone, let alone someone he knows as little as he knows you. 

But you’ve also been a constant in his life ever since he first wandered into your coffee shop maybe a year or so ago. At first he was just coming in because you make a mean cup of coffee and the shop is conveniently located, but at some point he knows he started coming in just for the sake of speaking with you however briefly. After all, now that he thinks about it there were definitely times he stopped by only to see one of your employees at the counter instead of you and make some flimsy excuse for why his daily caffeine fix could wait. Maybe everything has been building to this without him even realizing. Somehow you’d carved a space inside him without his notice and it should terrify him but it’s hard to see it as a bad thing when he’s here now, your heartbeat steady beneath his head and your fingers gentle against his scalp. 

“Why’re you doing this?” he asks, his voice rasping softly. 

“Because heroes deserve to be taken care of,” you say but he can tell there’s more to the sentence you’re not saying. 

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, searching your face for some sign of discomfort or regret, but he’s only met with the same hesitance he had already picked up on from your tone of voice as your hand stills in his hair. 

“But?” he prompts but you shake your head and resume running your fingers through the blonde strands. 

“Not ‘but’, ‘and’,” you clarify as you gently bring his head back to your chest. He goes easily enough and braces himself for whatever else you’re about to say. 

“And since you’ve been coming in, I don’t know. It feels presumptuous to say but I feel like the more I see you the more I can see just how much is on your shoulders all the time. I can’t even imagine how difficult that must be. How lonely. I just… I want to give you some place to lay all of it down for a little while. It’s not like I can go out and do what you do but–” 

“Thank you,” he interrupts, cutting off any attempt you might make to diminish what you’ve done for him tonight. He feels more than he hears the start of your protests, so by the time you’ve actually started to say them he’s already had enough time to sit up and force your eyes to meet his. 

“Don’t. You have… you have no idea how much this means. So don’t say ‘it’s nothing’ or ‘anyone would have done it’ or something really stupid like an apology. Just accept my appreciation. Thank you,” he insists.

He watches you nod your head with wide, stunned eyes, clearly not expecting him to be so insistent with his gratitude. It would be so easy to lean down and press his lips to yours. He can feel it in the air, that subtle tension that makes the space between the two of you feel electric. But he’s been selfish enough for one night and he doesn’t want you to think he’s only doing it because you’re here and he’s feeling vulnerable. So he uses the grip he still has on your torso to shift you both until you’re laying on your sides, legs slotting together as if your bodies were made for each other as he settles you both comfortably into place. 

“Let’s just stay like this a little longer, then I promise I’ll get out of your hair,” he whispers, his heart pounding in his chest. 

“Stay the night. Only if you want to, obviously, but… I’d like it if you stayed,” you confess, smiling so warm and sweet.

“Okay, then I’ll stay.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

The two of you end up falling asleep there on the couch, and wrapped up in you and the smell of old leather and roasted coffee, Keigo thinks it’s the first time he’s known what a home could feel like.

A/N: This was so shamelessly self indulgent and self-inserty oops. Low key worried Keigo’s dialogue came out ooc but I’ve literally been working on this all day and it’s 1:30am now so we’re sending it lmao hopefully y’all have enjoyed

Taglist: @ahtsuwu @karamfilmare @larkspyrr @hutaoscoffinn @black-rose-29 @touyasdollmain @izukiss @moonstormmyuna @kingdomkeigo @dnarez @mandalorian-baby-bird @reinersbrat @simpsfortodoroki @unlogical-ella @crowned-peony

#hawks hurt/comfort #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #hopeless.oneshot

[giggly-squiggily]

Hey Matt I request a muitan tickle fic have a great day ☺️

Hey friend! (Matt? I'm Squiggily :D) I gotcha covered! This kinda turned more into Lee!Tanjiro, Ler!Muichiro but I hope you like it anyway! :3 Have an amazing day!

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@myreygn @thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @wolfyeatstacos @gladdygirl18 @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13 @backy-san @t-wordiiish @sarahmaystock5578 @rachi-roo @mystwrites @mochigiggle @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @giggly-toybox

Staaaaaaaaaaaare~

Ever since the battle at the Swordsmith Village, Muichiro had been working on and improving his social skills. He greeted people properly now, spoke up during meetings and whatnot, and even smiled- something that, according to Lady Kocho: “Shocked everyone at the Hashria meeting so much they all nearly dropped dead.”

Tanjiro had a hard time imagining it, but the thought of Giyu falling over like a shocked statue did make him giggle.

Their relationship going forward was also a surprise. Tanjiro didn’t think anything would come from that battle, but here he was, sitting with Muichiro at the Butterfly estate having tea. In the past few months, a slow but steady friendship had begun to form.

Staaaaaaaaaaaaaaare~

Even if it had a few…hiccups to overcome.

“Umm….Muichiro? Is there something wrong?” Tanjiro couldn’t help but ask after another long moment of eye contact coming from the Hashira. That was a thing Muichiro did a lot; he just kinda….stared at people. At first, Tanjiro chalked it up to zoning out; it was a regular thing Muichiro did before- perhaps old habits carried over?

But this- this was different. His eyes weren’t glossed over, and he didn’t seem shaken up when Tanjiro spoke. He looked focused- like he was trying to tell something to him through his eyes.

“Tanjiro.” That was another thing; this oddly meaningful way Muichiro said people’s names. It was as if he was trying to remind himself what they were.

“Yes?” Tanjiro asked again, more curious than anything.

“.....Can I tickle you?” That shocked him. Tanjiro blinked, taking in the odd request as he felt his face flush. He wasn’t used to people asking so…directly.

“Erm…why?” Better to get more info!

“Mr. Tengen and Mr. Rengoku-” There was a soft hitch to his voice. Muichiro looked sad at the mention of the later. “They used to do that all the time to me. I never…” He waved his hands, shaking his head free from his sudden thunk. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a tickle fight with anyone. Would you…have one with me?”

Tanjiro watched him curiously, the beginnings of an easy smile pulling on his mouth. Something about the whole thing reminded him of his younger siblings. “Well…okay. I suppose it’s only fair given how often they tickled you.” Muichiro perked up, earning a laugh from the other. “But you only get so long before I get to tickle you back!”

“Thanks, Tanjiro.” Muichiro smiled- a breathtaking sight. Tanjro smiled back as he laid down, tucking his arms behind his head. “So erm…where do I begin?”

“I’m not telling you that! The fun part of a tickle fight is to find someone’s tickle spots.” Tanjiro winked at him, closing his eyes. “You’ll know when you find a good spot.”

Muichiro nodded, a look of determination on his face. He loomed over Tanjiro, considering where to go. He rested his hands against his sides the way he’d seen the other Hashira do. “Like…this?”

Tanjiro hummed, waiting. Muichiro pressed in.

“AH!” The brunette yelped, wincing. Muichiro’s fingers felt like metal pressing into him. “Too much, too much!” He cried, gently catching the other’s hands. “Gentler, Mui- like you’re petting a cat.”

“Oh?” Muichiro tried again, his finger far lighter. Perhaps too light. It felt like a bug was crawling on his skin. “Is that better?”

“Hm…maybe a bit more pre-ehehehehehehhesure!” There it was! Muichiro perked up at the sound, encouraged. “Thehehehhere you gohoohhoho! Juhuhuhust like thahahahhhat!”

“Oh wow…so this is tickling someone.” Muichiro mused, something proud in his voice. “Interesting.”

Turns out- Muichiro was a fast learner. Where Tanjiro figured he’d have a few moments to prepare before the worst came, he soon found himself laughing like a child as the other’s fast fingers danced across his skin, pressing and pinching and scratching- unlocking new techniques in the span of five seconds. “Muhuhuuhuhuhuhichihihihihihihihiro! Ahehahahahhahaha yohohohohou’re dohohohoohohohing grehahahhahhahat!”

“I know.” The other puffed with pride. “Say- where are you really ticklish?”

“I’m nohohohohot theheheellin-EHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!” The brunette all but squealed when his belly was pressed into, making him curl up like a bug.

“Found it.”

“MUHUHUUHUHUICHIHIHIHIRO PLEAHHAHAHHASE!” Tanjiro cried, cheeks rosy and eyes misty. “STAHHAHHAHAP!”

At the cry, the Mist Hashira did so. Pulling his hands back, he sat back and watched as Tanjiro curled onto his side, gasping for air. “Did I go too far?”

“Nohohooho, noohohoho…yoohohou’re okay.” He reassured, waving a tired hand. “Juhuhuhust need a mihihihinute.” In time, the tightness in his chest loosened, and he found himself buzzing with warmth as he turned back to the younger man. “You did pretty good- that was some serious tickling!”

“Hard to say, really. You’re just super ticklish.” Muichiro poked him in the belly, earning a squeak. “I won’t know for sure until I tickle someone less sensitive.”

“True, true. But for now- it’s time for payback!” Tanjiro smiled deviously as he tackled the other, pinning him to the floor. “Let me ask YOU, Muichiro. Where are you most ticklish?”

“.....I don’t remember.” Frustration touched teal eyes. Tanjiro smiled patiently at him, squeezing his shoulder.

“No worries- like I said; that’s the fun of tickle fights! We’re just gonna have to find them all!” He raised wiggling fingers, eyes dancing with glee at the giddy anticipation playing on Muichiro’s face. “Get ready, cause here I come!”

Thanks for reading!

#demon slayer #tickle #tickle fic #muichiro tokito #tanjiro kamado #kept this vague so can be read however you prefer! #I miss writing lee!Tanjiro he is BABY #I love them your honor

[aonungyoufuck]

My love of a thousands [Part 3]

DNI/BYF

Part One And Two

Synopsis: Its better to talk. And its better to forgive.

Hurt. That's all you felt. That's the festering feeling deep in your core. The Deep rooted hatred for something you could never quiet put your thoughts too. 

Was it for you? Was it for Rotxo? Perhaps for Ao’nung?

You were hating something and it couldn’t have a name. 

Ao’nung had unfortunately confided in you that Rotxo had also hurt his feelings. And Really you felt bad for him too. But there wasn’t much you could do. What was there to do? So reluctantly you let your life continue. 

It was like that for a week. Peace and yet utter hatred. You had distanced yourself from Ao’nung and by default Tsireya. You had isolated yourself and that was fine for a while. You did miss hanging out all together. But you just couldn’t bring yourself To be around anyone right now. 

And then you saw how Rotxo suddenly had begun to hang out with Ao’nung again. Safe to say there was a bit of tension yes. But they acted as if nothing has happened. And you watched with envy. 

Rotxo hadn’t hurt Ao’nung like you. And when they turned to look at you. You closed your arms around you. Face turning up in hatred as you turned your head as you heard Rotxo try to chase after you. 

“Y/n!” He called and yet it fell on ears that didn’t want to hear. 

Suddenly you had begun to run. Run fast and far where he could never find you. Up high. You heard him hot on your trail and yet you knew he could never catch up to you. No matter how much you longed to hear what words he may say. To see those eyes. You knew you were utterly weak for him. 

He kept calling to you. Feeling branches hit him, rocks that stabbed his feet and yet he didn’t seem to care he just needed you to hear. And as you swung in the trees. Suddenly he had lost sight of you. But he didn’t hear anything move. Chirps and cries of animals but he couldn’t hear your thumping of feet or how your hands made a ‘thunk’ when they hit the trunks of trees. 

He tried to catch his breath, Looking at the trees and he still couldn’t see you.But you could see him. You had hid. Eyes tearing a bit as all you could think was what he told you. You two were far from the reef and you knew that and it made you kinda happy to know he had followed you this far.

 Heaving he let out a cough. 

“Y/n! Y/n? Please. I wish i could.. If there was a way.” He said through tears as he kept looking up to the trees. For any sign that you were there. And maybe this is why you had darker skin cause he couldn’t find you. “ I’m sorry” 

He sat down under a tree. Yelling for that is all he could hope for. Hope that you had heard him

“Im sorry for ever even saying anything than what i truly feel. I'm sorry I'm such a coward to not tell you face to face. How my feelings shouldn’t have clouded my judgment. Because i think of you as something extraordinary” He calls out to the sky again. 

When nothing happens he lets it go. Arms resting at his sides. His hands were messing with his necklace as he just sat there and began to think. How utterly stupid. 

You watched from the trees. Watched and heard all that Rotxo said. And you were happy that he had said sorry. But you weren’t about to forgive him. So you waited. You decided to wait for him to leave. And yet he didn’t 

He just sat there. Occasionally looking back to the trees. So you waited and waited and it came to you that he would not leave. Not unless he would see you. And you knew that. And yet you were stubborn too. You would keep him waiting. For you were hurt. Pissed. Anything and everything all at once 

So you decided to just sit there. Decided to pass time and cool off for a bit before you could even head home. To even face him. 

For now you just carved little things out of the branches of the wood. And that's how time went by so fast. You Only noticed when the light of the sun had faded and it took you a bit to see what you had carved. 

Without much thought you headed down. And came face to face with a sleeping Rotxo. 

‘Shit. Was he here this whole time?’ 

It had been hours. The entire day had gone by and he was here. 

You sighed. You couldn’t let him sleep here. Not in good conscience. Hesitantly you woke him up. “Rotxo. Hey. Wake up you gotta head home” 

“Y/n?” 

“Hey cmon. I cant leave you out here you know. Even if you aren’t forgiven” 

You watched him. As he stretched and then stood up. Face frowning as he followed behind you. Your words linger in his mind as he just continues to follow you. Hatred. 

He didn’t know why but he hated himself so much in this moment. And he wanted to cry. To beg to grovel anything to make you see how utterly sorry he was. And yet the little love he had for himself in this moment knew enough to keep his mouth shut. 

He adored you. He wanted you to be happy. 

He watched as your tail stood still. No longer moving or wagging around him. How utterly stupid he was. How could he have been so stupid to not see how you adored him as much as he adored you. 

How your ears didn’t twitch or how the light in your eyes seemed to flicker. Teetering on the edge of something he could never know. 

“I..” 

It was silent. And thats when you realized how far you had ran. God you didn’t want to have this conversation. It was far too perfect and yet it hurt so much. 

“Im sorry” 

“I know” 

“I really care about you” 

“I know” 

Rotxo bit his lip. He didn’t know how to get more out of you. So he held onto your wrist. You two are so close to the clan. And he knew his family probably was worried sick. Such as yours but he needed to. 

“I am so terribly sorry for telling. No. Saying that you would so much as throw yourself at anyone. For implying so much and im so terribly sorry for hurting you the way i have” 

You waited. You watched continuously. As his eyes began to tear. And god you hated how the night, how the light of the darkness made him ever more so breathtaking. Eywa would make you forgive him. Or your hatred will leave you cold in your grave. 

“Rotxo its alright” 

“No its not!” 

“No. It isn’t, But i cannot hate you. I want to. I do. I want to wipe the floor with you for, ever even implying of slutting myself out. I want to hate you and i want to forgive you. But i cant. I cant right now. I cannot right now.” 

Rotxo’s ears lowered. His hands are big compared to yours. And he couldn’t help but rub his thumb over the back of your hand. 

“I can’t Not right now but i love you. I want to be with you. And if You ever are so kind to show me that, that isn’t what you think of me. That what you said isn’t what you harbor in your heart. Than i am willing to be there for you to show me” 

Rotxo couldn’t believe it. You were willing to give it another try. 

And he couldn’t help but kiss your hands and promise you that he would do just that. But letting you go 

He didn’t really have words for his parents. His happy smile was enough to know what you  were the reason. 

And they were glad. They were so glad about it too.

====================

Taglist: @fanboyluvr / @hopelesslydevotedloser /@elegantkidfansoul

#atwow #avatar the way of water #rotxo x reader #atwow rotxo #rotxo x y/n #avatar rotxo

[thedo0zyslider]

Distraction

Scarian fic. 2k words. Summary - Grian is getting quite.....well, distracted by Scar after he turns yellow, and the latter decides to confront him about it. A03 Link

Going AFK during a death game wasn’t something anyone expected to experience, at least not frequently. It was the first, and hopefully only time, Grian would experience it. He didn’t mind being AFK normally, but a death game was different, especially considering he’d woken up with time and a color missing. More changes also happened to his fellow players during the week or so he was out of commission, their timers ticking down and a few people getting some new outfits to go with. 

Scar was one of the people who’d gained an appearance change, and Grian saw his first, as their respective groups liked to mess with each quite a bit. It was quite a nice outfit, very flashy, and very Scar. His former ally now wore a blue shirt, yellow vertical stripes lined it. In typical Scar fashion he’d left the top part slightly unbuttoned, showing off his chest a tad. The sleeves had also been rolled up, Scar stating it looked better and was more practical for when he was building The Rock. He had a clock resting at his side, attached to the navy blue jeans he now wore. 

A few other people had gotten updated appearances while Grian was gone, but Scar’s seemed to stick with him the most, and for a very particular reason.

Grian had found his gaze…wandering a bit whenever he was around Scar. To the other man's chest area specifically. He tried to stop it, but most of the time he didn’t even realize he was doing it. They’d be having a normal conversation and he’d just be staring at Scar’s slightly exposed chest, his mind wandering. He wondered about what if his shirt was unbuttoned further, and was remembering a time when Scar hadn’t worn a shirt at all. It was kind of embarrassing, and Grian had to keep his face from burning in shame every time he realized he was doing it again.

He didn’t think anyone had noticed much, thankfully. He thought Cleo had at one point, but if she did she chose to keep her mouth shut, the zombie probably wanting to see how this played out. Scar himself, on the other hand, for sure noticed how distracted he was making Grian. The brunette's gaze burning holes into him was usually what caused Grian to realize he was staring in the first place. 

Scar had decided he was going to do something about the…situation, apparently. For one day he beckoned his old ally over, promising nothing but a friendly interaction, perhaps a trade for some cows, or some iron. And Grian, despite knowing Scar’s scammer tendanices, of witnessing and aiding them first hand countless times before, followed him anyways. Part of him, for whatever reason, still trusted Scar, and allowed the man to lead him behind The Clockers newly constructed base, creatively named The Rock. 

For whatever reason the avian hadn’t noticed, or chosen to ignore, the particular gleam in Scar’s eyes as they walked together. He didn’t notice until the other man in front of him, using their height difference to lean over the smaller. Grian’s breath hitched, seeing the playful, flirtatious gleam in the taller’s gaze. The avian could tell where this might be going, and he wasn’t exactly opposed, per say. He took a few steps back, and Scar matched him, step for step until Grian’s back hit something with a low thunk. 

Grian glanced behind him, seeing that his back had now hit the gray outer wall of The Rock. His eyes darted forward again, only to be faced with Scar leaning towards him. He slowly pinned Grian against the wall, one hand slamming against the stone beside his head, while Scar’s other arm still rested at his side. It was an escape route, and Grian wasn’t sure he was willing to take it. 

His eyes moved down to Scar’s chest area again for a second, before quickly going back up to the others face. He flushed in embarrassment, noticing how Scar’s gaze tracked his own The brunette was smirking down at him, clearly enjoying how easy the avian was to fluster. Grian felt his face flush a deeper shade of red, and Scar’s gaze glittered with amusement. 

“Have I been distracting you lately?” Scar asked, grin becoming wider. 

“You could say that..” Grian’s breath hitched as he spoke, barely being able to meet Scar’s piercing gaze. His skin crawled and prickled, it felt like he was burning under those pretty yellow eyes. Not knowing what else to do or where else to look Grian tore his gaze away, dragging his eyes back to Scar’s chest for what seemed like the millionth time. 

A warm, familiar calloused hand came under his chin, gently grabbing it moving his face upwards. “Eyes up here, songbird.” Scar muttered softly, leaning in closer. Grian felt a shiver run through him at the old nickname. He hadn’t heard that since…well the cactus ring, when Scar told him that everything was okay, even as Grian killed him. 

“Hi..” He managed to whisper, taking in all of Scar’s features. Fuck , that man was handsome, quite possibly the prettiest man Grian had ever laid eyes on. And he’d seen plenty of pretty guys in his time. Scar’s eyes were now a light yellow, sadly having lost the pretty shade of dark green when Grian had been gone. His other facial features were still as pleasing to look at, skin now a fair tone instead of the cool gray part of Grian’s brain was still expecting to see. His jawline was still sharp and well defined, framed by round cheeks. Sure, his ears were a little pointer and his hair was styled different, but it was still Scar. His brown locks still looked as soft as they had been before. 

Their faces were now close enough for Grian to see a light blush dusting the other’s cheeks as well, and a small part of him took satisfaction in that. He hadn’t even done anything and Scar was still blushing over him.  

“Well hello there!” Scar quietly purred his signature greeting, having taken a moment to respond. They both seemed to have been staring at each other’s faces. Scar moved his hand to cup the smaller’s cheek instead of letting it continue to rest at his side. Grian’s skin lit alight at the touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. Scar smirked, a bit softer than the last one, as the avian leaned into him. “Aren’t you cute?” He said, bringing Grian’s face closer until the noses were practically touching, gaze turning half lidded. 

Grian’s own hands, which had been laying useless at his side, moved to rest on Scar’s hips at the motion. Scar pressed him against the wall more, the avian’s leather jacket becoming ruffled and caught on the stone. Grian’s heart pounded in his ears, their breaths mingling together for a second longer before Scar decided to do something about it, leaning down to meet Grian in the middle.  

Scar lightly pressed their lips together, moving his head further down to meet the avian as he did. Grian felt himself melt at contact. One hand remained on the taller’s hip, the other going to rest on top of the one currently holding Grian’s face. The kiss wasn’t very deep, and lasted for barely a second. Scar gave him a few more soft kisses, kisses neither of them wanted. It was agonizing, Grian’s brain screaming at him to kiss Scar stupid. Scar pressed one more final chaste kiss to his lips, and before either of them had time to think Grian’s arms were around Scar’s neck, pulling him down once more. 

The kiss was hesitant at first. They hadn’t been this close in…a while, despite being Soulmates once before. Their lips were pressed together for a second too long, and Grian began to tug at Scar’s hair to show that he wanted more . He wanted more than hesitant touches and avoidance. He wanted Scar . Scar himself seemed to long for the same thing, as after a minute of Grian tugging at his hair he began to slowly bite down onto the other’s bottom lip. Grian damn near moaned, restraining himself so only a small noise rumbled in his throat instead. 

Things got slightly more heated, an old, almost long forgotten passion returning as Scar tried to slip his tongue into Grian’s mouth. The avian let him, parting his lips and allowing Scar to kiss him fully. His knees wobbled a bit, Scar roughly tilting his head to the side for better access to Grian’s mouth, the latter’s teeth catching on his tongue. The kiss became calmingly familiar, and the avian was glad to be experiencing it again. Scar’s hand moved off the wall, going to grip Grian’s waist, other hand still roughly grabbing his cheek. He hoped it wouldn’t bruise, because it felt like it would. 

Grian was making small noises as Scar kissed him breathless, kissed him absolutely stupid for the first time in what felt like an eternity. The brunette was making his own sounds, clearly holding himself back a bit. He made louder whines when Grian’s hands moved from the back of his neck to roam under his shirt, fingers ghosting over and feeling familiar abs and scars. Some of those scars Grian had caused himself, but that was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment, his fingers running along the others waistband. Scar started groaning into Grian’s mouth, apparently deciding to indulge himself a little, and the avian smirked as he was kissed into the wall of The Rock further, one of Scar’s knees moving in between his thighs, spreading his legs ever so slightly. He gasped into the kiss, desperate whines becoming louder, more full of want and need at the motion. The smaller’s hands began to move up towards Scar’s face, ready to break the kiss and guide Scar’s lips down to his neck. He desperately wanted to feel teeth angst his skin, biting it raw and bruising-

A voice suddenly came from the area next to them, the person clearing their throat before speaking. “Scar, what did I say about having boys over?” Grian felt his blood run cold as Cleo’s voice filled his ears, eyes snapping open. Their tone was very awkward, yet slightly teasing. Leave it to Cleo, of all people, to tease them right now. The zombie was most definitely going to hold this over his head later, over both of their heads most likely. 

They pulled away from each other abruptly, heads whipping around to face Cleo. Part of Grian wanted to whine at the loss of contact, but he pushed away that urge. Scar’s face was properly red now, but not as red as Grian’s. He could practically feel the heat radiating from his own cheeks. Both of them were panting quite heavily, which wasn’t helping in the slightest. Grian also felt slightly lightheaded from the passionate make out, having to blink a few as his vision started to go double. He moved away from Scar a bit, trying to get more space to breathe, but that man didn’t let him go. 

“I know, but Mom.” Scar began, Cleo slightly cringing at the “mom” part. “He was practically begging for it!“ A hand guided Grian’s face back to Scar’s, and he was once again forced to meet piercing yellow eyes. “Isn’t that right, G?” 

“Y-Yeah” He stammered, maybe a bit too loudly. He was just glad Bdubs hadn’t caught them, he would’ve announced it to the whole server probably, with how loud he’d probably scream at the sight. The two of them also had given up on being quiet, and Grian also hoped their…less than subtle nosies hadn’t drawn Cleo to them. They probably had, realistically, and it made being caught all the more embarrassing. 

“Well, I’d leave you to it.” Cleo said, glaring daggers at Grian. “If he wasn’t our enemy, Scar.” Their voice had an edge to it, but Scar didn’t move away. The brunette still held the avian in place, knee still in quite the scandalous place. Scar met his ally’s glare with his own, steady gaze, and Grian just wished he’d let go of his face for a second. It wasn’t helping how flustered he was. 

Cleo sighed. “Just don’t get all down and dirty in the open? Okay? Be safe about it?” Scar’s eyes widened slightly at her words, and probably the fact he’d won their silent argument. Grian just turned even redder, making a startled chirp in the back of his throat. 

Scar got over his shock quickly, far faster than Grian did. “Of course, of course!” He purred, a familiar smoothness returning to his voice. He leaned down, voice low but still loud enough that Cleo could hear. “We’ll be safe about it, won’t we G-man?” His voice dipped lower, now taking on a more frisky tone.  

“Yeah, I gu- mngh !” Grian’s response was cut off by a noise of pleasure, wings fluttering against the wall behind him. Scar had leaned down a bit more, titling the avian’s head up so he could access his neck. Teeth that were slightly sharper than they used to be teased over his skin for a quickest of seconds, before the brunette bit down in a certain spot he knew Grian liked. Past experience was working against Grian a lot today.

“ Scar! ” He moaned breathily, the man above him continuing to work that area of his neck, fingers tugging at soft dark brown hair. 

Cleo’s cheeks turned a bit red, the zombie quickly averting her gaze. “Keep quiet! And I’m holding this against you!” She called as she turned away, vanishing around the side of the building just as fast as she appeared. Scar smirked against Grian’s neck, before continuing his work. 

They stayed like that for only five more minutes, Grian leaning his head back further, allowing Scar to press god knows how many open mouthed kisses against his skin. The avian was suddenly glad for his stupid leather jacket, knowing the collar would successfully hide most of the day's activities. He eventually removed Scar from his neck, taking an opportunity to dominate a kiss of his own, cramming his tongue into the other's mouth. Scar kissed him back readily, making nice sounds of his own when Grian began to bite his neck, giving them matching bruises. The avian quite enjoyed it, Scar molding into his touch like clay. It served as a reminder to both of them how weak for the other they could be. 

Eventually Grian was pulled away, a calloused hand once again tilting his head upwards to meet Scar’s gaze. 

“They were right ya know,” The brunette gaze was no longer playfully, his tone serious. “We are enemies, we shouldn’t really be….”

Grian blinked. “Oh…yeah.” He said, moving his hands off of Scar, not even sure where they’d ended up. Scar’s hands stayed on him. 

“I was just gonna give you one small kiss…not all of that..” He muttered, hand trailing over the various bruises now lining Grian’s neck. “Guess we got a bit carried away?” The avian joked, a lopsided smile forming on his face. 

Scar chuckled, though his gaze was still somber. “Yeah, a bit.” 

Before he pulled away Scar leaned in once again, Grian’s hands gently cupped in his cheeks. He gave his former partner one last soft kiss, Grian leaning into it like his life depended on it. It reminded him of their first kiss, back in the desert. That one had been just as gentle, just as soft as this one. It made this feel like their last, though the two never seemed to reach that point. 

Scar slowly moved away, seeming reluctant. He slowly moved a hand off Grian’s face, caressing it gently. The avian watched him, propping himself up from where he was still pressed against the wall, just as reluctant as his old partner was. “Goodbye now, Songbird.” He said gentle, voice having lost any flirtatious undertone. Grian chirped a goodbye, his throat felt too full of emotion to speak. It was a strong mix of emotions, emotions about Scar, ones that were suffocating on the best of days, and ones that drowned him at the worst.

He waited until Scar had vanished completely, before quickly returning to his own base, hoping no one else was home. 

When Scar eventually turned red, and his white undershirt was practically torn to shreds, Grian didn’t stop himself from staring. He didn’t stop Scar from pushing him against a wall again either, their status as allies, enemies, whatever, forgotten by a need, a deep seeded longing for the other. 

That day, Grian stared into achingly familiar red eyes, even sharper teeth pressing against his skin, and felt like he was drowning. 

#all of my motivation is geared towards writing rn so srry for lack of art #on the bright side im actually finishing my fic wips!! #limited life smp #limited life #traffic series #life series #trafficblr #desert duo #scarian #limited life scar #limited life grian #zombiecleo #shes here as well <33 #trafficshipping #ron.fic #ron.writing

[sisterspooky1013]

What Desire Will Make Foolish People Do, 2/3

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

He parks in the space right in front of her door and waits for her to storm off. She doesn’t get out of the car right away, just sits there with her hands folded in her lap.

“He’s gone, if you were wondering,” she says quietly, and the pain in her voice makes him wish she’d get angry again.

“I wasn’t,” he lies.

She pulls in a deep breath and sighs, and his brain scrambles for the right thing to say.

“Scully, I don’t think—”

“You made it perfectly clear what you think, Mulder,” she says without affect. “I’m sure you regret saying it, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true. I’ll be ready by 8:45 tomorrow. Goodnight.”

She gets out of the car and enters her room without looking back, and the pit that’s been sitting in his belly all evening twists painfully. He sits there for upwards of twenty minutes, waiting for her to come back or turn out the lights in her room. Waiting for her to open the door and shoot him. Anything but silence. Anything but losing her entirely. Finally, he goes into his own room.

He’s seen Scully flirt before, both the pandering kind of flirting that can help grease the wheels with uncooperative law enforcement and the genuine kind he bore witness to with Sheriff Hartwell. He’s even known Scully to flirt with him now and then, but always just for fun. Even on occasions when her friendly flirtations elicited a response in him, he long ago trained himself to ignore it. There are some lines you just don’t cross, and Scully is and always has been one of them.

Now, as he slumps onto his shitty motel mattress, he has to ask himself if he missed the point at which friendly flirtation became something else. Even wracking his brain, he just can’t see it. He does remember her coming to his room in Florida with wine and cheese, cracking a joke about agents consorting in the same motel room. To his recollection, he made a fart joke in response. And much later, when he facetiously suggested that they get into a sleeping bag naked together to warm up, she made a joke back about him getting lucky. She said she threw herself at him. Is she exceptionally subtle, or is he exceptionally dense? Perhaps it’s a fatal combination of both.

For him to read anything Scully says or does as flirtatious or indicating sexual interest, he would first have to believe that there is a snowball’s chance in hell that she would ever see him as a potential romantic partner. While he does believe she cares for him, and maybe even finds him attractive, she’s too smart to stoop that low. At least he thought so.

The revelation that she’s interested in him should be a happy one, but it came on the tails of him essentially calling her a slut. He said things to her that no man should ever say to a woman, even if they were true—which they aren’t. She may have hurt him by accident, but he hurt her on purpose. He knew as soon as the words left his mouth that he’d fucked up, but with each passing moment the weight of his mistake sinks in further, and he can hardly breathe.

He knocks on her door for the second time tonight, but this time it’s a gentle rap with his knuckles instead of an insistent pounding. He can see that the lights are on, and he has the keys to the rental—which is still parked a few feet away—so she can’t have gone anywhere, but when she still hasn’t answered after three rounds of knocking he goes back to his room.

He picks up the phone on the bedside table and dials her room number. He hears her phone ringing through the wall, and when the line clicks open his heart leaps.

“Scully—”

He hears her slam it back down on the receiver, both from the other side of the wall and loudly against his ear. At least he knows she’s in there. He walks to an undecorated expanse of wall, the same place he’d stood earlier with his ear pressed against the peeling wallpaper so he could eavesdrop on her, and thunks his forehead against it in frustration. He’s not frustrated with her; he knows this is his fault from inception to disastrous conclusion. He holds his lips close to the wall and raises his voice.

“I know you can hear me, Scully,” he says. She offers no response. “You have every right to be mad, and if you never forgive me I’ll understand.” More silence. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean any of it, I was just…I was jealous, and hurt, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” He waits, and waits, and waits. Nothing. “Scully…” He lays his palm flat against the wall by his head, hoping that he can somehow transmit his sincerity through it. “I realize I’ve probably blown any chance I had at it being something more, but I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t at least have you as a friend. Please, talk to me.”

There’s some shuffling on the other side of the wall. The scuff of shoes on carpet, the tink of metal on metal. Her door opens and closes, and he wheels around to face his own, so much hope in his heart it makes him nauseous. Her knock is clipped, somehow impersonal, and when he flings the door open her eyes are already pinned to the floor at his feet. She’s still wearing the same clothes from earlier, and while she’s diligently avoiding looking at him, he can see that her eyes are red-rimmed and peppered with flaked mascara.

“May I have the car keys, please?” she asks, emotionless.

“Where are you going?” he asks after a beat.

She sighs.

“I need a drink, Mulder,” she says curtly. “I’m sure you can appreciate why.”

“I’ll go with you,” he says, and she snaps her head up to give level him with an incredulous glare.

“No thank you,” she says, her voice dripping with derision.

Mulder’s shoulders slump and he huffs in frustration like a petulant teen.

“Come on, Scully, you have to talk to me eventually—”

She holds up her hand to silence him.

“Eventually, yes,” she says sternly. “Not now. Maybe not even tomorrow. Please, give me the car keys.”

He walks away from the door and grabs the keys off one of the bedside tables, holding them tightly in his balled fist. When he returns, Scully already has her hand held out ready to receive them.

“Scully, I’m sorry—”

“The keys, Mulder.”

“Jesus, can you at least let me finish apologizing?” he asks, too angrily.

Scully purses her lips and takes a breath. She’s actively trying to contain her anger—something he could stand to do more often. She retracts her outstretched hand and crosses both arms over her chest, then waits. Given the opportunity to speak without interruption, his mind goes completely blank.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and she stares at him with a disturbingly vacant expression. “I didn’t mean what I said. I don’t think those things about you. And I know you don’t owe me anything.”

She waits a beat.

“Are you finished?” she asks blankly.

He gives her a half-shrug, half-nod, and she holds her hand out. After a moment of hesitation, he drops the keys into her open palm, then watches her get into the rental and drive away. He sinks down into a nearby chair, devastated and so angry with himself he could cry.

He feels fairly confident that he’ll see her in the morning; even at her angriest, Scully is a consummate professional and wouldn’t walk out in the middle of a case. That doesn’t mean, however, that she’ll speak to him beyond what is absolutely necessary to complete their investigation.

He tries to imagine a dynamic in which the friendship that underlies their partnership no longer exists. Where he’s no longer listed as her emergency contact, and she won’t engage in frivolous conversations about the worst dates they’ve ever been on or rank her top ten favorite breakfast cereals to pass the time on long drives. Will she no longer feel comfortable telling him when her cramps are beyond the point of manageable and she needs to go back to the motel, or ask for his help carrying in her Christmas tree? The more he thinks about it, the more depressed he becomes. He knows he should give her time, but he’s never been a particularly patient man.

It’s at the fourth bar the cabbie takes him to that he finally spots the rental in the parking lot. He stuffs a twenty through the slot in the plexiglass barrier and hurries inside. The place is a total dive, hazy with cigarette smoke and stinking like piss. It’s only when he sees her sitting alone at the rail that he realizes he half expected to find her with her tongue down some guy’s throat, and a deep feeling of shame washes over him. Did he come here to talk to her, or to make sure she wasn’t talking to someone else?

He finds a table tucked away in the corner, partially obscured by a pinball machine but with a direct line of sight to Scully’s seat, and orders a beer. He just watches her, the defeated curve of her shoulders and her downturned mouth as she takes frequent sips from a cocktail glass. He watches her finish it and order another, and when she briefly leaves her seat to use the restroom he keeps his eyes trained on her glass to be sure no one slips anything into it. He’s about to order a third beer when he sees her flag down the bartender and hand him her credit card, at which point he quickly settles his own bill. Scully slowly slips off her barstool, teetering ever so slightly, and his heart starts to pound.

He trails half a dozen paces behind her, but she seems completely oblivious to her surroundings. She’s clearly intoxicated, and he’s having a hard time believing his own eyes because it looks like she intends to drive back to the motel. Halfway across the gravel parking lot she starts patting her pockets, and then abruptly turns around. Mulder freezes, watching as a flash of fear crosses her face, and then recognition, quickly followed by anger.

“Oh my god,” she spits at him. “Seriously, Mulder?!”

He swallows, but says nothing. Scully glowers at him, and then stalks back toward the bar, clipping his arm with her shoulder as she passes by. The force of it knocks him off-kilter and he takes a few awkward steps to avoid losing his balance. She returns less than a minute later, forgotten keys in hand, and wordlessly marches past him en route to the rental.

“Scully, let me drive,” he says, quickly passing her in a few long strides and beating her to the driver’s side door.

“Go away,” she grumbles, clumsily fitting the key into the lock.

“You’re drunk,” he tells her, leaning his full weight against the door to prevent her from opening it.

“Jesus Christ,” Scully whispers harshly under her breath, resting one hand over her forehead. She turns to face him, her chin lifted defiantly. “Am I drunk, Mulder? Or am I just exhausted? You tell me, you seem to know best.”

“I don’t think you should drive,” he says gently, trying not to make it sound like a directive.

Scully nods, her mouth twisted up into a tight little knot, and he can see her chest heaving.

“I shouldn’t drive. And definitely not convertibles, right? Shouldn’t get back to work so soon after my cancer. Shouldn’t adopt my own damn child.” Her eyes are welling with tears and her voice is tight, but there is no doubt that anger is the dominant emotion. Mulder doesn’t move from his spot against the car door, and he doesn’t speak. “Definitely shouldn’t date, and god forbid I have sex, right, Mulder? Unless it’s with you?”

She punctuates her final word with a firm jab of her index finger into his solar plexus, and he grimaces.

“I said I was sorry,” he tells her, doing his best not to match her anger, which is his default response. “You can date and sleep with whomever you want, obviously.”

“You’re sorry I’m mad at you, Mulder,” she keens, and a fat tear slides down her cheek. “You’re sorry that I might not want to listen to you go on and on about…mothmen and mutants.” She gestures wildly with her hands to highlight the absurdity of these things. “You’re sorry for yourself, not for me.”

Mulder drops his head. He doesn’t think any of that is true, but he can see why she’d think it is. And he has no one to blame for that but himself.

“Are you okay, miss? Is this man bothering you?”

He looks up to see a heavy set man in a ten-gallon hat watching them, his hand resting on the pistol that’s hanging from his belt. Mulder looks at Scully, begging her with his eyes not to fight him on this any further. Her chin pebbles and her shoulders slump, and she looks away.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she says, offering the man a thin smile before she walks around the car and waits by the passenger side door until Mulder unlocks it.

On the drive back to the motel Scully looks out the window, intermittently sniffing and wiping at her eyes. Mulder keeps his hands on the wheel at ten and two, gripping it so fiercely his knuckles blanch.

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files #xfiles