#it’s been YEARS what do you mean there’s no fics on ao3 of that idiot with a manbun??

[yourbustedkneecaps]

guys where tf are my soft shiro fics where my boi has long hair like cmon i expected better from this fandom

[laligraves]

three a.m.

priest!joel miller x fem!reader

[18+] | wc: ~2.4k summary: You seek guidance from Father Miller after you find your fiancé cheating. masterlist | AO3

warnings: HBO Joel, TLOU AU, NSFW, joel can speak spanish, pre/no outbreak, some proofreading, reader can sit on Joel's lap (he's a big, strong man), no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance, fingering, oral (f! receiving), squirting, unprotected sex, creampie, slight power imbalance (joel is a priest), all consensual

a/n: my first joel miller fic 🤠🫣

The incessant knocking wakes him up from his sleep. Joel swipes at his eyes, turning his head to peer at the digital clock on his nightstand. 

“Three in the mornin’?” he groans. “¿Quién será?” [who could it be?]

He throws off the blanket and stands from the bed, walking through the hallway towards the side door. The rain hits the windows hard, echoing throughout the empty church.

Joel takes a look through the peephole and swallows hard once he sees who stands on the other side. He watches as you lift your hand and knock on the door again. You’re shivering, only wearing a short dress that's soaked in rain water. 

“Sweetheart, what’re you doin’ out here at this time of night?” he asks in shock once he swings open the door. 

Joel catches you before you can fall as you stumble inside, wrapping his arms around you at the sound of your cries. 

“Father Miller, I just–I didn’t know where to go or what to do,” you stammer, “Nicolas cheated again! He said–he said I was failing him as a woman.” 

Joel can barely understand the last sentence. Your voice cracks, fat tears rolling down your face and mixing with the rain drops. Joel gently shushes you and brings you to his bedroom. 

He knows he shouldn’t. It crosses a boundary that can get him excommunicated from the church if anyone were to find out. But it’s the only room with a functioning heater and towels to get you warm. 

His heart hammers against his chest and his hands shake slightly as he sits you down on the couch. He’s angry, feeling a surge of violence that he hasn’t felt in years. 

That idiot fiance of yours has been more trouble than he’s worth. Having you move across the country, away from all your friends and family, and keeping you isolated in this tiny town. 

You’ve tried to build a community here. Every Sunday you sit in the second pew towards the far left and attend every bible session to bake sale the church has to offer.

Nicolas is more interested in sleeping with half the town while his beautiful fiance tries to build a home and a future. 

It’s not Joel’s place to tell you to leave him. If anything, he should be offering his services to make you a better, more understanding future wife. At least that’s what the church would want. The very idea makes his stomach churn. 

He gave an oath to the priesthood. This would be his life until his last breath. But the moment he laid eyes on you, Joel wondered if God had sent him a test. 

“What am I supposed to do?” your small voice breaks through his thoughts. “I left everything for him. I’m making this place my home–our home. And he’s more interested in chasing girls than building a life with me.” 

Joel sits next to you, bringing up a towel to wipe at your wet face. The scent of fresh rain and your perfume makes him dizzy. 

“Do you remember the first time you told me about the problems you two were havin’?” 

You give a jerky nod. “Five months ago, Father.” 

“Five months ago,” Joel repeats. “Your wedding is 3 months away, mi niña. Do you think he has any plans on changing?” [my girl]

Tears well up in your eyes. It hurts Joel to hurt you like this. Fuck this place, fuck this oath, he thinks. Joel will not allow this man to ruin your life. Even if it means you return back home and he loses your presence in this church forever. 

“N–no, I don’t think he’s going to change,” you whisper. 

“I think it's time for you to take a good look at what the future might bring. Do you want to raise a family with this man? Do you want this man as the father of your children?” 

Joel wraps his arms around your trembling frame as you begin to cry again. Your body shakes from the sobs and your tears wet his sleep shirt. His hands glide up and down your shoulders, warming your body. 

He’s not sure how much time passes, but eventually your tears cease. You pull back slightly and look up at him. He takes a quick glance at your glassy eyes and down to your puffy lips. 

“I haven’t been completely honest,” you whisper. “There–there’s another reason why Nicolas is angry all the time.” 

“What’s that, sweetheart?” 

“He thinks… he thinks I spend too much time with you–with the church,” you stammer. “He’s got this idea that I–that I have some sort of… infatuation with you.” 

“It’s normal for men to feel jealousy. That’s why we must work to–” 

“He’s not wrong.” 

You interrupt Joel, taking the opportunity to glance at his lips. Joel realizes just how close you two are on the couch. You’re at his side, his arms still wrapped around you and your faces only inches away from one another. 

“Mi…” Joel whispers, “mi niña, you’re confused. You’re hurt. You don’t know what you’re saying–” 

You're quick to stand from the couch and throw off the towel. Joel thinks you’re going to agree, that you’re going to grab your things and walk out from his bedroom before he decides to do something stupid. 

But you simply kick off your shoes and straddle his lap. Your tiny dress rides up the moment you sit down. His body jolts from the shock but you’re quick at grabbing his hands to place them on your thighs. 

“I made up my mind, Father,” you murmur, “I’m breaking up with Nicolas. And I’m moving back home.” 

His heart pinches at your words. You’re leaving. 

“I think that’s a good idea–” 

You slide your hips forward, placing your pussy right over his cock. Joel chokes on the rest of his words, suddenly aware of the clothes he’s wearing. Only his pajama pants and your panties stand in the way. 

Joel tries to say your name in a stern tone, but you bring your face closer to his and he forgets why he wanted to push you away in the first place. Your lips touch his in a soft kiss. 

He’s gentle at first, cradling your head to keep you in place while he presses his lips on yours. Joel licks at your bottom lip with the tip of his tongue then plunges it inside your mouth the moment you gasp. 

He licks at you, grasping your chin as he tastes you, bites your bottom lip, gives you his tongue to suck on. Your cunt grinds down on his cock in desperate circles and your fingers tug at his hair. 

His cock swells in his pants but he does his best to control himself. Joel can’t remember the last time he came, probably right before he joined the priesthood many years ago. 

Joel yanks down the straps of your dress and latches onto your nipple the moment your tits are bare. Your chest is still slightly cold from the rain but he uses his mouth to warm you up. 

You throw your head back and whimper as he bites and sucks at your tits. He’s ravenous, wishing he could eat you alive from how soft and plump you are in his mouth. 

Joel keeps one hand on your hips to keep you steady in his lap but uses the other to slide into your panties. He’s not sure who moans first. You, at the feel of his fingers swiping through the heat of your cunt, or him at how slick you are. 

“Oh God,” you whimper. 

He lands a quick slap to your ass with his other hand. 

“No blasfemes, niña,” he growls. [Don’t blaspheme, girl]

“I’m so–sorry,” you whimper, grinding down on his hand that continues to tease your slit.

“Stand up,” he orders. 

You quickly follow his command, shivering slightly from the excitement. 

“I want you,” he whispers, “since the first– fuck, I–I won’t do anything more unless you say you want this.” 

“I do, Father–” 

“Joel, just Joel,” he corrects you, wanting to hear you say his name.

“I want this, Joel,” you whisper. “Whatever you give me.” 

He tries not to show any reaction to how you whisper his name, choosing instead to watch as you strip. He drinks in the sight of your naked body. You're beautiful, way too perfect for any man. 

“Hermosa,” he murmurs, gliding his hand from over your breasts to your tummy. “Get on the bed, I want a taste of that pretty pussy.” 

You follow his orders and wait, ass up face down on the bed. He yanks off his pajamas and before he can get on his knees to worship your cunt, Joel glances at the bible on his nightstand. 

Perdóname, Señor. I can’t–I won’t stop this, he prays silently. Have I not given my entire life to this church? Do I not deserve this? [Forgive me, Lord] 

Your cunt glistens in the dim light. Your slick trails down your thighs, making a sticky mess. Joel’s mouth waters at the sight and before he knows it, he’s licking through your folds. 

“Aren’t you a pretty thing,” Joel murmurs as he runs a finger up your thigh. “Wet little cunt just f’me, ain’t it?” 

“Just for you, Joel,” you whimper, voice muffled by the blanket. 

He buries his mouth into your pussy. Joel drinks, licks and consumes the essence that drips from you. It’s everything he imagined and more. 

In his years of devotion, he’s never come close to breaking. There’s been countless women–single, married, widowed–who throw themselves at him.

But he’s never been interested. He’s been loyal to the cause and to his word. You’re someone he wasn’t expecting. A temptation wrapped in silk dresses and pretty smiles. 

Joel doesn’t know what this means, what will happen now that he’s broken his oath. He can’t find it in him to care that much. Not when you're screaming his name as he sucks your clit and pushes his finger into your tight cunt. 

Your slick covers his face, practically drowning him from how much he devours you. Joel brings a hand down to squeeze at his erection, trying his best to calm the blood coursing hot through his body. 

“Joel, please,” you cry into the blankets, “I’m so close!” 

He writes his name with the tip of his tongue on your clit, over and over again. He slips a second finger in your cunt and slowly fucks them inside of you. 

You stiffen, then scream out his name as you cum. A rush of sweet wetness gushes from your pussy and covers his face. Joel attacks, drinking and tasting every drop that he can get. 

Your hips grind in small circles on his face until you drop down in a tired heap. Joel doesn’t let you go, following your cunt with his mouth and licking up the slick from between your thighs. It's not until you give him a slight nudge to his head that he stops. 

“Joel," you whimper, almost out of breath, "fuck me, please?” 

How can he say no when you ask so nicely? He stands on shaky legs and tugs at his cock as you flip over onto your back. 

“Need me to fuck you, niña? Need me to fill up that tiny hole?” 

“Please, please, please,” you chant. 

Joel brings your knee up to your chest and positions that angry, red tip of his cock at your entrance. He swipes it through your folds a few times, gathering up the slick and teasing your hole. 

Just when he knows you’re about to pout for more, he plunges in. You gasp, your hands immediately gripping the blankets and your mouth dropping open. Joel stays still, consumed by the tight heat that grips him. 

This is probably the closest thing there is to heaven on earth, he thinks. 

“F–fuck, Joel,” you whine, “you’re–you're stretching me.” 

He leans over, pressing soft kisses on your nose and cheeks while you adjust to his size. With enough strength back in his body, Joel slowly pulls out. When he’s halfway, he thrusts right back in. 

“So perfect,” Joel groans as he picks up the pace, “such a sweet little cunt.” 

He reaches somewhere deep inside of you that has you shaking and whimpering in his hold. You can barely form a sentence, only chanting more and please. He fucks you into the mattress, using you thigh as leverage while he pistons in and out of your cunt. 

You grind down, matching his thrusts and using your inner muscles to grip him tight. Your cockdrunk face and the mess between your thighs makes it difficult for him to focus. 

“¿Te gusta, mi niña?” Joel groans, “Should I finish inside of you? Make you mine?” [you like that, my girl?]

“Yes, yes–oh God, please,” you cry, “please cum inside of me!” 

Joel moves faster, clumsy and harsh in how he fucks you. He folds you practically in half as he meets your mouth in a rough kiss. You're cumming again, tugging at his hair until it stings while your pussy squeezes his length in a bruising grip.

His orgasm catches him by surprise. White heat licks at his spine until it spreads like wildfire through each cell in his body. Joel drops his head into the crook of your neck and repeats your name over and over again. 

He spills deep inside of you, marking every inch of your cunt in his seed. Years of celibacy make this moment so intense that he has no choice but to fill you up with every drop.  

He drops in a sweaty heap right next to you. No words are spoken for the next few moments, only the sound of your breathing and the pitter patter of rain on the glass windows echoes through the room. 

“I guess I should get going–” 

“No,” he interrupts in a rush, “stay. For the night. I’ll take you home in the morning.” 

“What if someone sees?” 

“They won’t,” Joel says, knowing full well there’s a church meeting in just a few hours. “I’ll make sure they don’t.” 

“Okay. I'll stay,” you whisper, already falling asleep. 

He's careful in how he cleans you, not wanting to move you around too much and wake you. He throws the washcloth in the hamper and stretches out next to you. Joel doesn't fall asleep, more content in watching you in his bed.

[ghoulfriends-and-tin-cans]

Howdy Partner - Part 1

I...yep. This fic finally broke out of the cage in my brain and found its way into the world. Careful. It bites.

If you'd like to be added to my taglist, please let me know!

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Pre-War!Cooper Howard (Fallout Show) x fem!Reader

[A/N: This is just fluff with some suggestive language, because as sinfully hot as he is as a Ghoul, he looks like an absolute cinnamon roll as an actor.]

Warnings: Fluff, mild angst, mutual pining, idiots in love, they both think their feelings are unrequited, Cooper is already divorced, flirty friends to lovers, they both wanna kiss so bad, drinking but not heavy, mentions of alcohol, they're not tipsy but they have had a couple of glasses of champagne.

~*~

"Cut! That's a wrap for this week," the director called, and everyone on set began to disperse. Beginning to corral the various props so they could be stored until Monday, I breathed a sigh of relief that the week was over. Halfway through winding up one of the ropes, someone cleared their throat behind me.

"Pardon me, ma'am. Any chance an ole cowboy could int'rest you in a celebratory drink?" The faux western accent drew a smile across my lips before I could school my expression. When I turned, Cooper Howard stood in full costume with his cowboy hat held respectfully over his chest. Always such a gentleman.

"Surely there's some gorgeous starlet who you'd rather be drinking with, Mr. Howard," I teased as I laid the looped rope onto its hook. Clasping my hands behind my back, I blinked innocently up at the man who'd been my friend for years and had quickly carved a spot for himself in my heart.

"Now, why would I want to take another woman out on the town when the most gorgeous one in all of Hollywood is standin' right in front of me?" He murmured, and despite the pang it sent through my heart, I gave a sly smile as I grasped his arm.

"One of these days, Coop, you'll regret being so flirty with me," I said as he plunked his hat on top of my head instead of his own. I couldn't imagine it looked as good on me as it did on him.

"Oh? And why's that?"

"Because, one of these days, the woman destined to be your next wife might overhear you, think you're taken, and give up before she's even met you." We walked toward his trailer, dodging busy workers as we talked. "Or worse...I might actually think you mean those sweet little things you say to me."

Keeping my head forward as we walked, I caught him looking at me out of the corner of my eye, his expression inscrutable.

"Wouldn't that just be a shame," he muttered, but his tone contradicted his statement entirely. A large grin stretched Cooper's lips as we stepped inside his trailer. I knew the drill by now. We left the door open, and I took a seat as he ducked behind a privacy screen at the other end. His accent fell away as he changed out of his costume. "That hat's yours now, by the way."

For a moment, all I could hear was the gentle sound of cloth as I tried to force my tongue to work.

"What?"

"They had about ten of those hats for this movie, and I snagged a couple. One for me, and one for you. That one's yours," he called, and butterflies swarmed in my stomach. "Assuming you want an old actor's hand-me-down, of course. You could always just leave it in my trailer today when we go for drinks and the costume people will find it. I just remember you saying you liked the way the one from this particular movie looked, so I figured..."

He trailed off as he walked out from behind the privacy screen in a white button-down shirt and some dark brown slacks. My breath hitched in my throat, but I shook my head quietly.

"No, I do love it. I'm not leaving it here," I said as I got to my feet. "Thank you, Cooper."

Pink dusted his cheeks, and I couldn't help but wonder how I got this lucky. He didn't feel the same as I did, but it was enough that he considered me one of his close friends. Or, at least, that's what I told myself on those lonely evenings when I wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in his arms.

I'd been lost in thought for a moment, snapping back to reality when he waved a hand in front of my eyes.

"You in there?" He asked, a mix of amusement and concern coloring his features as I blinked up at him. "You looked like you were a thousand miles away."

"Only about fifteen," I muttered, and before he could ask what I meant, I plastered what I hoped was an enthusiastic smile on my lips. "Well, what are we waiting for? You wanted a celebratory drink, so let's go get it, shall we?"

Cooper had known me for too long to be fooled by that. Like always, I could see his jaw clench for a second as he tucked the information away in the back of his mind for later, then smiled back at me.

"Lead on, ma'am." His faux western accent was back, and he gave me a little wink as I slipped past him out of his trailer.

--

I'd expected to find myself in a bar with him, but Coop had different plans. He'd driven me to his place - a much smaller house than the one he'd previously shared with his daughter and his ex-wife. He'd downsized after the divorce, choosing a more rustic place that was closer to nature than his cushy almost-mansion had been. Modern conveniences were still present, but he was no longer surrounded by the stifling side of city life.

Kicking our shoes off and wandering out onto the upstairs balcony, we raised our champagne flutes and toasted the success of the new movie. I tried not to watch the bob of his Adam's apple too closely as he swallowed.

Looking out at the dark expanse of the night and the bright lights of the city several hours later, we'd barely finished more than a couple of glasses each. It was so incredibly easy with him. We'd talked the whole evening away, focusing on everything and nothing, paying no mind to the fact that the world kept spinning without us.

Eventually, a cold breeze whirled through the air, and we retreated inside. Cooper grabbed an oversized blanket and we cuddled up together in his living room in front of the fireplace. Setting the hat he'd given me on the coffee table, he wrapped his arms around me and let me rest my head on his chest.

This wasn't the first time we'd curled up like this, but it felt more weighted this time. His chin touched the top of my head just as I noted how fast his heart was beating.

Adrenaline. That's all it was. We'd both been startled by how quickly the temperature had dropped. There was no way it could be anything else.

"It looks better on you," he murmured against the top of my head, and my own heart thudded faster in my chest. "The hat, I mean."

A huff of laughter escaped me.

"Somehow, I think your fans might disagree, Mr. Howard. Hell, even I disagree," I admitted as I toyed with one of the buttons on his shirt.

"That's too bad. All of you are wrong. You look so damn good in it," Cooper said as one of his hands skimmed up my back. He sounded more serious than any of his other silly little flirtatious statements ever had - a feat I hadn't thought possible. I could never tell if he was joking when we were alone like this.

"Careful, now. I might end up thinking you're serious–"

"I am," he blurted as his grip around me tightened by a fraction. "I'm serious."

When I lifted my head to look up at him, Cooper was already looking at me; his gaze was soft and vulnerable as he lifted a hand. The backs of his knuckles brushed down the side of my face so gently that the breath was stolen from my lungs.

"Cooper..." I tried to tell him what I was feeling - tried to force all of the words I'd been holding back to the tip of my tongue - but they got stuck somewhere in my throat.

"It's okay," he breathed, his voice was low and rough as he spoke. "You don't have to say anything. I know this probably isn't... I'm divorced, older, and I have a kid. I'm not under any delusions about how undesirable my situation is, but I just wanted to say it once...before I lost my nerve."

I must've fallen asleep. I was dreaming, I had to be.

"I don't expect you to feel the same. You're so beautiful, so kind...you must have men beating down your door for a chance to be with you, and you're stuck here drinking with a washed up old man," he murmured, guilt winding around every word. "When I drive you home in the morning...if it would make you more comfortable, we can forget I ever said anything...blame it on the champagne."

Alarm rocketed through me. I didn't want that. I didn't want to forget. I didn't want to blame it on the alcohol.

Dream or not, I just wanted Cooper.

Leaning upward, I took a chance and pressed my lips against his. They'd always looked soft. I never thought I'd get the chance to find out what they felt like on anything but the back of my hand.

When he kissed me back, I'd never been so glad to be wrong.

Giving in to my desires, I braced one hand on his chest and buried the other in his soft, dark hair. He grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me closer as we drowned in each other.

When we finally broke apart, Cooper nuzzled my nose drawing a breathless, joyful giggle from some dazed part of my mind.

"Stay with me tonight," he whispered, and I nodded my head.

"I did assume I would be when you stated that you'd be driving me home in the morning," I teased, and he gave me a gorgeous smile, his eyes twinkling in the low light.

"Beautiful smart-ass. I meant...stay in my room with me. Not the guest room," he murmured even as his gaze dropped to my lips again. "I promise I'll be good - keep my hands to myself."

"You don't have to." The words whispered against his lips prompted a hungry hum from his throat, but he shook his head.

"I want to wine and dine you first. You deserve that...deserve to be treated like a princess," he said, "that way, when the time comes, and I finally have you all to myself, you'll know how much you mean to me."

A desperate whimper escaped me, and he smirked like the cat that got the canary.

"Now, can you be a good, patient girl for me tonight, sweetheart?"

I agreed, muttering under my breath that he was a damn tease, but my protests were silenced by the look Cooper gave me as he led me to his bedroom. Longing looked good on him.

~*~

Taglist:

@live-logs-and-proper

[rogueddie]

Disabled Steve / Eddie Fics

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 🦻

give me a sign

findmeinthewychelm

It was sweet torture the way Steve was pining over him. Robin was sick of listening to him talk about Eddie, but she also hadn’t stopped him yet.

Words : 4,235 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

what would you trade the pain for (i'm not sure)

Library_of_Gage

Steve doesn't bother anyone with his chronic pain; it's something he'd rather keep to himself. And then it spikes in the Upside Down, in front of Eddie Munson, and Steve slowly starts to learn that, sometimes, sharing what hurts does help.

Words : 8,230 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

Our Love is Shown in the Letting Go

Xxbottlecapxx

Steve’s mother comes home and has to deal with the fact that she has no idea who her son is, and maybe never will.

Words : 10,189 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Not Rated

AO3 : x

Who Am I to Say What Any of This Means?

IndigoFudge

Eddie’s eyebrows are raised. He’s speaking deliberately. “My first grade teacher set up a meeting with Wayne and told him she thought I had autism. So Wayne took me to the doctors and it turned out she was right.”

He is still looking at Steve. Oh. Steve’s been staring at him like an idiot for forty seconds instead of acknowledging this important, incredibly personal detail that he has just shared. Steve remembers eye contact––one, two, three––then answers. “That’s cool.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, carefully. “Have you ever been tested? Because I’ve been noticing… When I look at you, I kinda see some signs.”

Words : 7,371 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

she'll know me crazy, soothe me daily (better yet, she wouldn't care)

jewishrat420

Eddie doesn’t really cry about this anymore. He’s long since shed his own personal tears of pity, spent enough time mourning a different life. He’s accepted it, for the most part, doesn’t really give a shit about being normal or whatever. No one’s normal.

But this…Eddie’s not used to this. He’s never had someone hold his face in their hands, look him dead in the eyes and say, “Eddie Munson. For better or for worse, and fuck, I know this is worse, I want to know you.”

Words : 3,988 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

the beginning of a bad joke

alligator_writes

At the beginning of his rant, lecture, whatever, Hottie stares right at him. He has a really intense stare. Pretty brown eyes set in a prettier face with even prettier hair on top of his head. Eddie gets distracted by all that pretty and by trying to make his point.

And he doesn’t notice until halfway through that Hottie isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s looking at his friend.

Eddie looks at her, too. Looks at her confused and focused expression. Looks at her hands moving rapidly.

Oh. G-d.

Hottie’s deaf, isn’t he?

Words : 7,083 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen and Up Audiences

AO3 : x

I Took The Good Times, I’ll Take The Bad Times (I Take You Just The Way You Are)

steddieeddie

In 1984, Eddie Munson told Steve he was going to marry him one day laying in the quiet confines of Steve’s room.

In 1985, they broke up. It wasn’t because they wanted to, but because Steve thought they had to. They spent almost an entire year apart, hurting, wondering about what could have been.

In 1986, Steve Harrington was almost fatally injured in the final attack against The Upside Down, against Vecna. He spent seventy six days comatose, and then almost an entire year in the hospital learning how to be a person again. He learns how to open and close his hands, hold things, and how to feed himself again. Steve learns how to stand, how to walk, going from walker to cane by the time he is allowed to go home.

In 1987, he did just that. He goes home.

It was a slow process. Way slower than Steve wanted it to be, but it was worth it.

Sure, his hands were never going to work the same, there was constant pain in his arms and left leg, and he would never walk without a cane, but at least he’s alive.

He made it.

That was what mattered.

Words : 30,101 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

[amhrosina]

It's Always Been You

Summary: You and Miguel are forced to confront your feelings for one another after a dangerous mission goes awry.

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

masterlist // join my taglist // follow me on instagram & ao3

a/n: i cannot stop thinking about this man ohmygod anyways im overwhelmed by the love being shown for my other miguel fic and cant wait to add more to this community!!! thank you!!! (should i do a part two with smut? like friends to lovers first time?? lemme know <;3)

warnings: friends to lovers, arguing, some angst, love confessions!!!!!, reader calls miguel a name, idiots in love tbh, references to a dangerous situation (but no details i kept it super vague lol), starts to get a little suggestive at the end but is like 99% fluff

Miguel was ignoring you. Not in the usual, self-brooding, grumpy way he sometimes did when he was having a bad day, but in the way that told you he was furious with you. Anger had been radiating off of him in waves since your chaotic return to Nueva York a few hours earlier, and you, along with every other Spider-person at headquarters, was avoiding his workspace like the plague. It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried to console him, but you knew, probably better than anyone, that when Miguel wanted to brood, he would. You would try again later, and eventually you’d make him laugh, and the world would right itself again. It always did.

Spider-Woman huffed, plopping into the seat next to yours in the cafeteria, slamming her tray down hard enough to knock your tablet on its side. Clearly, she was upset about something. 

“Is everyone pissed off today?” You asked indignantly.

She glared at you, shoving a bite of sandwich in her mouth before answering.

“Miguel’s being pissy.” She glared at you. “And it’s your fault.”

“I can’t imagine why. We got the guy, didn’t we?” 

“We both know what you did was reckless.” Her glare intensified, and your annoyance shifted to guilt. It was a reckless move, but it worked. 

“He was being torn to shreds. I did what any of us would’ve done. If he has a problem, he can come talk to me about it instead of hiding from all of us like a teenager.”

Her gaze softened. “He has a lot on his plate.”

“So?” You combatted, annoyed all over again.

“So, I think maybe what happened today scared him, and he doesn’t know how to process his feelings about it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrugged, refusing to meet her gaze.

“You’re his best friend, and he almost lost you today. Go talk to him.” She suggested, patting your shoulder. “I think it’ll do everyone some good. And I do mean everyone. He’s scary when he’s mad.”

You shrugged her off, finishing your dinner in silence. If Miguel was so pissed, why couldn’t he come talk to you about it? Why, after years of knowing each other, were you still the one approaching him with an apology? Why couldn’t he just say what he meant for once?

But of course, after you finished your dinner and realized, hopelessly, that the only person you wanted to see was, in fact, Miguel, you huffed and began the trek to his office, where you knew he’d still be brooding.

The tension in the building had lessened after many of the spider-people had returned to their own universes, glad to get away from the uncomfortable elephant in the room, but that didn’t stop your stomach from clenching when you rounded the corner into Miguel’s dim, untidy workspace.

He was hunched over his desk, scribbling something down on a piece of paper. From your position, you had a clear view of the damage that had been done to his back earlier that day. You winced, thinking back to the few seconds of absolute terror you’d experienced when you’d seen the anomaly tearing into Miguel’s skin. The claw marks had already healed a little, now just raw, nasty looking scratches down the curve of his spine. 

He turned at the sound of your footsteps, though he had likely heard you coming since you stepped foot out of the cafeteria. Anger flickered in his cold gaze, but he was still here, decidedly not hiding from you, which was a good sign. You stepped into the workspace, setting the extra food you’d bought for him down before fully turning to face him.

“Hey.” You murmured. “Brought you some dinner.”

His gaze flicked from your awkward stance to the box of food on the table. “Thanks.”

Short. Blunt. To the point. You sighed.

“You’re still mad, then?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“Are you saying I shouldn’t be mad at the stunt you pulled today?” He glared, standing to his full height and towering over you.

“I’m saying you shouldn’t be mad at me for saving your life, asshole.” You looked up at him, refusing to back down.

“I had it under control. It was my anomaly to handle.” His nostrils flared with anger. 

You threw your hands up indignantly. “It was our anomaly to handle, and I handled it just fine! In case you don’t remember, I was good enough at handling myself to be recruited by you for this stupid team!”

“What you did was incredibly stupid. The anomaly could have killed you. Don’t you get that?”

“The anomaly was killing you. I did what I thought was best-”

“Exactly. You did what you thought was best and didn’t think once about the team. You risked an entire universe to show off!” He cut you off, slamming his hands on the desk on either side of you, effectively cornering you.

Your voices had risen considerably since your initial arrival, and you were now inches apart, screaming at each other.

“To show off?” You pushed at his enormous chest, vision blurred with a mixture of tears and anger. “I risked an entire universe to protect you, you asshole! Everything I do is to protect you.”

He grabbed your wrists, easily stopping your arms from pushing him again. 

“You could have died.” He grunted, squeezing your wrists.

“Why do you even care, Miguel? The anomaly was taken care of, just like it always is. We’ll go take care of another one tomorrow, just like we always do.”

“Because I love you, obviously!” He yelled, releasing his grip on you and taking a full step backwards. Stunned into silence, neither of you said anything for a full ten seconds. He began pacing in front of you, hands on his hips, breathing heavily as the magnitude of what he’d just revealed fully hit him. He paused when he heard you sniffle, and began speaking.

“I love you. Can’t you see that?” He asked, stepping close to you. Tears welled in your eyes, and you couldn’t bear to look up at him for fear that it might be a dream, or worse, a cruel trick of his. “I care because I love you, and I almost lost you. I-” he swallowed thickly, “I almost lost it when I realized what you were doing. And when we couldn’t find you after? That was the worst thirty seconds of my life.” He shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind. “I can’t lose you. Do you understand that? You’re mine. I can’t lose you, baby.”

You finally lifted your chin, meeting his gaze. He tentatively cradled your cheeks, wiping away the stray tears that had snuck down your face during his speech. 

“I love you, too.” You murmured, nuzzling into his palm. “But you can’t expect me to just watch while you’re being torn to shreds. I had to do something.”

He nodded, though it clearly pained him to agree with you about it. “I know. And I know you can handle yourself. I’m sorry for getting so angry, but you have to understand that your safety is the most important thing to me when we go chasing after anomalies. And I know that it should be saving the universes that we’re in, but it’s not. It’s you, and it’s always been you. Don’t ask me to change that. It will always be you.”

You blinked up at him in stunned silence, nodding. You couldn’t remember when your feelings for Miguel had shifted to something beyond friendly, but you’d never before allowed yourself the fantasy of him loving you in return. It was something you’d come to terms with months ago, accepting that you’d never get to hold him the way he deserved to be held. But now he was standing with you, holding you, begging you to understand that all of his anger has been out of pure, unselfish love for you. 

“I won’t ask you to change that.” You conceded, a small grin forming on your face, “As long as you promise to at least try to stay out of harm’s way.”

“I promise, but you know harm seems to seek me out no matter what.” His grin mirrored the one on your face. He shifted his head down, stopping only centimeters away from your lips. “If I asked you to kiss me right now, would you?”

“That depends.” You breathed, heart thundering in your chest. “Are you going to be this dramatic every time I save your ass, O’Hara?”

He chuckled, cradling your head in his massive hands. “Maybe. Yes. Definitely.”

You shrugged, nodding. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He asked, eyes flicking between your gaze and your lips.

“Okay.” You bobbed your head once and then leaned in.

He captured your lips in an earth-shattering kiss, exploring every inch of what you offered to him eagerly. His hands roamed the length of your body, pulling you fully against his heated skin. You melted into him, pliable to his every whim and desire, going exactly where he wanted you to go, doing exactly what he wanted you to do. Heat coiled in your entire body, poised to erupt at the slightest touch he offered. You reached forward, tugging at the material around his waist. If he wasn’t inside of you soon, you thought you might explode. His hands wandered below your waistband, too, eager to please.

A loud clunking sound from around the corner had you springing apart, panting, overheated, and completely high off one another’s touch. It wasn’t that you were embarrassed to be seen kissing Miguel. In fact, you were planning on kissing him at every moment possible, if he’d let you. It was the fact that you’d very nearly allowed him to strip you naked and have his way with you in his very public office. He seemed to be thinking the same thing, coming to his senses and adjusting the uncomfortable looking bulge in his pants as the sound of footsteps grew nearer.

“Miguel, you’re going to be in an even worse mood if you don’t just go talk to her. I mean, really, you’re both acting like idiots and clearly love each oth- oh!”

Spider-Woman came into view, waving her hands frantically and then doing her very best to hide the smile growing on her face. You shifted your feet awkwardly, trying your best to look like you hadn’t had Miguel’s tongue shoved down your throat ten seconds earlier. Miguel, as stoic and unperturbed as ever, had simply bent down and returned to scribbling on the paper from earlier, which made you involuntarily scowl. He always looked so cool. It was annoying.

“Am I…interrupting something?” Spider-Woman asked, smirking. Clearly, you weren’t doing a great job hiding anything from her. 

“What was that you were saying when you came in? Something about my mood?” Miguel asked, lifting his gaze to hers.

“Oh, nothing!” She grinned, turning on her heels and leaving the room as fast as she had entered it.

Miguel looked at you, suddenly shy now that you were alone together again. “Wanna bet how long it’ll be before she spills the beans to someone about us?”

You barked a laugh. “I’ll give you my entire paycheck if she hasn’t announced it to someone already.” 

Tag List:

@foxglove-grove @lavnderluv @khaleesihavilliard @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @deliciousfestsalad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop @kpopgirlbtssvt @aynsleywalker @queenofthenoobs @ostricx @horrorflix @anthonymackiehasmyheart

[otomiyaa]

Terms & Conditions

Alhaitham x Kaveh

A/N: First fic I'm uploading on the new blog (yolo) and gift for @xsezzie sama pos because, well. Because. The pose in this fic was inspired by this art by @ppystkposts :)

Summary: Alhaitham proposes to discuss the new terms and conditions for living together with Kaveh. (Also on AO3)

Word Count: 1.8K

Letters, a lot of them. Kaveh squinted his eyes and looked up at Alhaitham who had just presented him with a document that would take years of his life, just to read.

"What's this?" he asked. Alhaitham tapped the document as if Kaveh was an idiot.

"A new agreement. I figured, it's been a little over a year since you moved in with me. We can extend the contract, if you like."

Kaveh glared at him, then scanned the huge agreement. It was a long piece of paper with so many letters. What was Alhaitham plotting all of a sudden?

"....Have there been any problems?" Kaveh wondered.

Alhaitham shook his head. "So far, no. But there might be. Sign this and we'll give it another go for the next year."

Kaveh read the beginning of the contract and hummed. How cold. It was a fact that his relationship with Alhaitham had kind of moved on to the more... intimate kind. They kissed, they shared a bed, wasn't that the definition of dating? But yeah, it was also a fact that Kaveh was living here, in Alhaitham's house. It wasn't like they were married or something...

Still, to be treated like a mere tenant, it kind of stung. Was it maybe related to the fact that he lowered Kaveh's rent earlier due to Kaveh really struggling financially? Wasn't it an act out of empathy from Alhaitham, and he had stopped trusting him ever since now that he lived here for a cheap price?

Kaveh sighed, skipped all of the nonsense which was obviously just Alhaitham being boring about guarantees for losing his key, rent payment, Kaveh's list of domestic duties, standard rules about not damaging his belongings and such, so he took the pen Alhaitham handed to him and signed.

"There. Happy? I signed," Kaveh said, and he crossed his arms. Alhaitham nodded.

"Thank you. Well then, that settles it. This agreement is effective starting today. Now as for point 7.2," Alhaitham said, and Kaveh frowned.

"I would like to make use of it immediately. So please," he gestured to the couch. "Come with me."

Kaveh quickly jumped in front of him and stopped him with a hand on Alhaitham's chest.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. Alhaitham grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

"The thing you agreed to. The condition for living with me. We are doing it now."

Huh! Kaveh struggled when Alhaitham dragged him towards the couch and managed to pull himself free.

"What do you even meanー" He rushed back to the table and checked the contract again. There were a total of 12 segments, so 7.2 was obviously overlooked like most things he only scanned briefly. It was hidden under the category 'domestic duties' and...

Kaveh's eyes widened and he blushed.

"...Will subject to complimentary tickle session for once a w-w-week? What the...?" Kaveh said in a pitchy voice. His mouth opened wide at the realization that this must be because...

Last night... He blushed even more at the memory.

He kind of tickled Alhaitham brutally, teasing him about his sensitivity and laughter. And then managed to fight him off effectively when Alhaitham tried to return the favor, with Kaveh childishly threatening him to spread the word all around Sumeru about their most ticklish scholar, if he wouldn't let him go. Sumeru already knew how ticklish Kaveh was, so there was no way to return the threat for Alhaitham and he let it rest. Only to retaliate with a comeback like this?!

"I can't believe you included a rule like that. You tricked me. I didn't agree to that."

"Yet you did. You signed your name, I saw it with my own eyes. It's not my fault you didn't read all the terms and conditions. So," Alhaitham sat on the couch and patted his lap.

"Come here. I'll be gentle."

Kaveh took a step back and shuddered. "No way man! You can't make me."

"Well, I won't force you. But I will, how should I put it. I would be very disappointed if you break our contract right after signing it." To make things worse, Alhaitham gave him the worst puppy look he had ever seen on his usually expressionless face.

Kaveh gasped. Alhaitham was such a trickster! And still...! He clenched his fist and stomped towards him.

"Fine. But seriously, once a week?" he asked, moving over to where Alhaitham was sitting.

"Could have been once a day, but I thought that would overdo it. Besides, it's my fingers that will do all the work."

"Or once a month, once a year, or never at all," Kaveh grumbled, shyly sitting on Alhaitham's lap and deciding to ignore that comment about Alhaitham's damn fingers doing 'all the work'.

"Like this?" he asked, leaning back.

"More like this..." Alhaitham said, and before Kaveh could protest, he had flexibly positioned Kaveh's arms under his legs, pinning them down with ease.

"Will keep you from moving around," Alhaitham explained. Well duh, Mr. Obvious. Kaveh squirmed nervously and looked up at him, now suddenly realizing what he had gotten himself into. Willingly...

"H-h-how long?" he asked, gazing at Alhaitham's fingers that were flexing above his tummy. To make things worse, Alhaitham even took his shirt and moved it up, revealing his bare skin.

"Hmm, for as long as you can go," Alhaitham said, wiggling his fingers above Kaveh's bare stomach and making him twitch already.

"A-and who decides that?" Kaveh asked. Alhaitham then smirked.

"I do."

As soon as his fingers made contact with his ticklish tummy, Kaveh instantly made a noise.

"HYAhh! Ahahalhaitham hohohold on!"

"No, we're starting."

"Buhhuhut - ahahaha!" Kaveh wasn't even sure what he was trying to say. After accidentally signing an agreement that included this exact tickle treatment, and then voluntarily letting Alhaitham do his thing, you'd expect he knew what he was getting himself into. But only now that he was really feeling the tickling, it started to sink in, and oh shit he had never been in such a helpless and vulnerable position before.

"I quite like this position," Alhaitham said, pressing Kaveh's arms even tighter against the couch while his fingers danced mercilessly all over his bare stomach, scribbling around and over his belly button and pinching and squeezing his sides every now and then.

"Nohoho! You ahahare the wohohorst!" Kaveh roared.

"I know," Alhaitham agreed. Kaveh thought it was going to be just tummy tickles, again he was such a naive little fool. As soon as Alhaitham's fingers moved further up, pushing his shirt further up and climbing up his ticklish ribs, he jumped and let out a loud hysterical shriek.

"NAHAh nonono not thehehere!" he protested.

"Where?" Alhaitham dug in carefully between his lower ribs and slowly wiggled them upwards where he stayed at his upper ribs, his fingers doing devil's work there. Kaveh was losing his mind.

"PLEhehe-plehehease! Hehehehe! Tihihime out!"

"Already?" Alhaitham asked.

"Soohoon plehehease whahaha!" Kaveh laughed breathlessly. How embarrassing. So humiliating that he couldn't take more than that. But this position in which he really couldn't move, it was like no other tickle attack he had ever experienced. Alhaitham sighed and finally stopped, resting his hands against Kaveh's heaving chest.

"I will let you catch your breath," Alhaitham said, and his eyes shifted for a little. Kaveh's eyes widened, he knew where he was looking.

"N-n-not my ahaharmpits," he laughed nervously.

"I'm sure you can take just a little bit of that. I've been quite gentle so far," Alhaitham said. Gentle! W-well that was true, actually. He hadn't been as rough, as ahem, other times. But yeah, those were entirely different. It was funny they would sometimes roughhouse and have some crazy silly tickle fights, but this 'tickle session' just couldn't compare to it all.

"Ready?" Alhaitham asked.

"No," Kaveh replied cockily, and he stuck out his tongue. So naturally, Alhaitham's fingers reached his armpits and started to tickle. Kaveh threw his head back and howled.

"Daaaahahaahaamn ahahahah!" Alhaitham was relentless. He tickled both armpits for as long Kaveh could endure, but when one hand moved back and picked up the tummy tickle torture, things weren't much better for Kaveh who could hardly breathe through his hysterical laughing fit. His legs kicked helplessly and he shook his head from side to side.

"AHahahalhaithahaham! Nahahah- ahahaha plehehease!"

Alhaitham smirked at him, looking so unbelievably satisfied with himself and his result from his stupid prank.

"AHahaha-ALHAITHAHAM!" Kaveh shrieked.

"Yes?" He finally got a reply.

"AHAhaha! No mohohore! Waahaahha!" Kaveh had no idea how long it had been. But at last, Alhaitham seemed to decide that Kaveh had reached his limit.

Kaveh's arms were released, but he was too tired to move away and just tiredly rested in Alhaitham's lap, breathing heavily and gasping for air.

"That - was - insane," he panted, but he couldn't stop smiling. His voice also sounded like it had changed pitch permanently. Geez. It felt like an entire workout.

For a moment they stayed in silence, and nothing could be heard except Kaveh's loud breaths.

Surprisingly, Alhaitham was the first to speak then. "You didn't read the rest, did you?"

"What rest?" Kaveh asked, annoyed again about that lame agreement trick. He was never going to sign anything ever again without reading every single letter.

"Well," Alhaitham said, and he paused.

"...At 7.2.1. for example, it says that I am only allowed to tickle you that one time a week. So, you'll probably like that. Unless you give me permission to do it more often, of course," Alhaitham explained, caressing Kaveh's hair.

Huh? Alhaitham was so talkative now, Kaveh had to let those words sink in. Hmm, so he could only tickle Kaveh that one time a week, unless Kaveh literally gave him permission to tickle him more?

Even after enduring all this, the sudden thought of limiting Alhaitham's tickle attacks to just once a week... All of a sudden it didn't sound like a lot, he thought as he remembered some of the times when Alhaitham playfully retaliated during tickle fights, and those triumphant moments when Kaveh would win. Not to mention the playful and affectionate tickles when they were in bed... He blushed and mumbled something.

"What did you say?" Alhaitham asked.

"Of all the nonsense on that stinking contract, can you at least revoke that one particular rule? It sucks."

"...7.2.1? The one that forbids me from tickling you ever outside our once-a-week session?" Al-Bastard-Haitham asked.

"...Yes."

Kaveh could die from embarrassment, but luckily the only response from Alhaitham was: "Alright. I think I could do that."

Then in that exact same position, Kaveh fell asleep, resting comfortably on Alhaitham and trapping him on the couch.

Not that Alhaitham complained. He had his book nearby, as always, so he grabbed it and started to read, while his free hand fondly stroked Kaveh's hair. Now that felt actually really good.

Note: This fic was loosely inspired by the movie Wonka.

[phoebe-delia]

can you do a jeddy or drarry tis the damn season fic... i loveeee your fics btw!!

Wireless Fic Claim: 'tis the damn season

I got this ask at least 2 years ago, and I've been meaning to write a fic for this song for even longer. So when I saw the lovely @sky-is-torn prompted it for @hd-wireless, I knew it was time.

Thank you to the mods for running a great fest as always. I've also got to thank my friend @greattemptation for the pep talks and brainstorming. And, last but never ever least, @basicallyahedgehog because none of my fics would make it out of my drafts if not for Rowan.

Sky, and anon, this is for you. Anon, I hope you see this (not that I in any way expect you to remember asking it) and Sky, it was a joy to get to write for you.

Please enjoy Drarry being idiots in love!

Potter turns up outside his hotel room on December 23rd wearing tight jeans, a green jumper, and a crooked smile. “Hey,” is all he has to say for himself, and Draco is momentarily enraged.

But he doesn’t say a word. He grabs Potter by the front of his sweater, pulls him easily into the room, and pushes him against the wall for a searing kiss.

Their little Christmas tradition started in Eighth Year, with both of them spending the winter holidays hiding out at Hogwarts; Potter, from the Weasley family after breaking up with Ginevra, and Draco from, well, everyone.

Potter had sat next to Draco in the Great Hall with a shrug.“Might as well not be alone. Even if it’s you.” And dinner turned into dessert, which turned into the two of them passing a bottle of firewhiskey back and forth. “Swiped it from my father’s personal collection at the Manor. It’s not like he’ll be needing it in Azkaban. I hope he rots.”

To this day, Draco isn’t sure why that, of all things, is what made Potter snap. He doesn’t know how Potter took that as his cue to close the distance between them and touch his mouth with soft lips instead of a closed fist.

He doesn’t know why the universe seems to keep placing him in Potter’s proximity every time he returns to London. He doesn’t know how they keep falling into bed, every year, like clockwork.

To this day, Draco has tried not to question it.

Read the rest on AO3

[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

This post is just some of my current favourites because I don’t think I have the energy to make a master list right now. Personally, I like to read aus so if you're looking for canon stuff this isn't the post for you.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries on ao3.

in pursuit of the study of magic by @thequibblah

An immortal magician au or, "we had a really bad breakup three hundred years ago, but neither of us realised the other is immortal until we met today"

I recommend you listen to About You while reading this

Growing (in love) by casablancas21 (on ao3)

Uni au where "James Potter has a lot going on for him. His uni years have been the best he's ever had and his friendliness, popularity and charm go a long way to place him as the go-to bloke if one's looking for a good time. Nevertheless, his final year of school finds him struggling to keep up with the social energy that once enthralled him. He's having a hard time figuring out how to set his own boundaries and what to do about his future. He's also having a really hard time figuring out Lily Evans."

I must admit that Lily's comebacks are so good I've used some during class debates in sociology this year. Truly, the dialogue and dynamics between characters in this fic are so good. Pretty sure this is the one with the kebab

Golden Waltz by evanspotter (on ao3)

Lily Evans wants to be the best ice dancer in the world, which means she needs to find a dance partner ASAP. After two failed partnerships, her coach gives her one last option: James Potter.

This fic is the reason I neglected revising for midterms. It also caused me to go into a deep dive into watching tapes of Olympic ice dance programs specifically Virtue and Moir.

on the way home by keep_driving (on ao3)

Lily was living abroad and pinning from afar. After an abundance of "phone calls, mixtapes, and long waits," Lily is finally coming home. I believe this fic is inspired by the song You Are In Love.

When I say jily is friends first, and lovers second this is what I mean

Dancing With Our Hands Tied by @athenasparrow

But despite his best efforts, he couldn’t take his eyes off her figure as she moved effortlessly in rhythm with whatever song she had playing. He learned she was wearing more than a t-shirt when she slid across the kitchen on her socks, throwing her head back to sing words James wished he could hear.

OR: In a world where social distancing reigns supreme, two strangers find themselves confined to their apartments with love only a window away.

The way I binged this fic at school between classes. love love love

The Season by @missgryffin

This is a regency (Brighton) au where "James Potter, Duke of Peverell, has returned to London just in time for the season, where Miss Lily Evans is about to make her debut. Only, he’s not looking for a wife, and she’s not particularly interested in a husband."

I love the dialogue between Lily & James as well as Sirius & Lily's relationship (for those who know Brigerton, it reminds me of Ben and El's relationship).

A Misstep Of Fate by hogwartslivy (on ao3)

A muggle historical au where "he waited for her on the edge of ballrooms and in the shadows of parties. He waited to dance with her, to spin her in his arms, to be the one she laughed and smiled with. He thought he was doing the right thing, allowing time to pass them until they were ready, so he had waited. But it seems, he made a misstep. He's waited too long now she's slipping through his fingers."

My boy is stupid and in love but it's okay because she is too. Their idiots, but they’re my idiots

Let Me Love You by @thejilyship

A Princess Diaries au in which "with only a month until she's set to take the throne of Gryffindor, Lily is informed that she'll have to get married or choose to give up her throne. She never thought she'd have to even entertain the idea of an arranged marriage. Enter, James Potter."

chaos ensues and Emma deserves long service leave (the place would fall apart)

foreigner's god by clarewithnoi (on ao3)

answer to a Tumblr prompt: "we were lovers in a past life" but the current incarnations are enemies-to-lovers, and they don't remember anything from their past selves.

The back and forth between them is so good. low-key I teared up a bit but it has a HEA

An October of Unconventional Courtships by @ghostofbambifanfiction

Two phones. Thirty-one days. Eighteen tuxedos. A Jilytober texting fic.

A classic that everyone should read

Shelf Awareness also by @/ghostofbambifanfiction

Modern bookstore au where "It's too far out of her way and she's wasting so much money, but Lily can't help but return to the bookstore every weekend, where her passion for good literature has, perhaps, been unexpectedly reignited by the messy-haired, pun-making, rather handsome bloke who works there."

One of the first ever jily fics that I read and I fell in love with their dynamic straight away

Careless Texter also by @/ghostofbambifanfiction

Answer to the prompt, “I left my phone number on the bathroom stall wall and you text me about your day and your frustrations for a month & it’s really nice and cute but I still don’t know who you are,” with some twists and differences.

Trackside by @hogwartslivy

James Potter is Formula One’s most impressive young talent, making up one half of the championship winning team at Gryffindor Racing. He’s got a reputation for playing dirty on, and seemingly off, the track but when an article quoting a particularly vulgar comment made by him at last years final Grand Prix is released, it seems he may have pushed it too far. Potter faces two options; fix his public image or give up his seat.

When my two obsessions meet

it's (always) you by @kay-elle-cee

A multiverse of 31 meet-cutes for Jilytober 2023.

Honorable mentions to chapter 3 for high!Lily and chapter 7 for fulling my love for jily regency aus

Key Limes by cgner (on ao3)

Fame au "in which Academy Award winner Lily Evans discovers the periphery of internet fandom and the mysteries of Prince James’s gold star system."

Because James is actually just a giant build a bear and lily is an icon as always.

See You At the Next Stop by kayrma (on ao3)

Lily Evans meets a posh-looking bloke with messy hair on the way back to London, and for once in her life she actually enjoys a train ride. Maybe having a spontaneous seat partner isn't that bad after all.

Shoutout to the notes on this fic because whoever wrote it is a mood

Nom De Plume by @annabtg

James Potter, renowned potioneer, has a secret side career as an erotica writer under the pen name of Scarlett Goldwing. When his latest book starts to take off, and Scarlett is asked to promote it at a public event, he has no other option but to recruit his colleague Lily Evans to pretend to be Scarlett. The only problem is, Lily Evans hates his guts… or does she?

(Rated E for later chapters)

Like did you read that summery because personally I was waiting for the author to complete the story so I could binge it

victorem (requires an ao3 account ) by gryffindormischief (on ao3)

(Olympic) Ice dancing au. "When God closes a door, sometimes you have to jump out a window."

Lily and James (and Sirius) aka the dynamic duo

Phone Service by @confuded-gryffindor

Moddern muggel au "in which James and Lily meet twice, both through their phones."

some with arrows, some with traps by @isahorcrux

Fame au. "Then: James Potter was a beloved child star and the lead of a popular YA franchise. Lily Evans was just getting her big break as his romantic lead in the third installment. While their chemistry got rave reviews, if the rumors are to be believed the two actors can barely stand to be in the same room together.

Now: Lily’s paid her dues and ten years later she’s the most in-demand actress in Hollywood. And James...after back-to-back flops at the box office, he’s just looking for a break and a chance to prove he is the amazing actor everyone thought he was going to be."

Much Ado About Nothing, but make it Jily

The group chat is the level of chaos me and my friends extrude every free line we spend together

Charred Pineaple Margarita's and a Bagel by @chiechie97

The guy at the coffee shop was hot. Hot and he knew her order. But that didn’t mean ANYTHING. Especially when he seemed to know everyone’s order. And besides, Lily is far too busy to be thinking about the hot guy that always has her breakfast waiting for her. Right?

Lily and Remus are me

and i know you too well to say you're perfect by @ofmermaidsandmarauders

“Yeah, you were a pretty big moron.” “Hey, I said idiot!”

Lily's not really sure when James Potter, soccer extraordinaire, took over her life with Harry.

What the summery said

The next few fics are all by @wearingaberetinparis or ritaskeetered (on ao3) who is the reason I joined the jily fandom. Single handedly enabled my obsession and I've never been more thankfull.

The Very Regency (Un)Ladylike Guide To Fortune-Hunting

Regency au. "Without thinking highly either of men or matrimony, marriage had always been her object; it was the only honourable provision for well-educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want." (Jane Austen)

Lily Evans finds herself wanting, or: so her sister seems to believe. While out on the hunt for a fortune - again: that would be Mrs Dursley mostly - the affection of a number of suitors is most welcome. Especially when a young Viscount's heart is set aflame.

Screaming, crying, punch me in the face (Lily's version)

Jump (For My Love)

Royalty au "When you are the Prince of England, the last thing one might expect is to be jumped from behind by the most beautiful woman one has ever seen, who - in turn - seems to have no clue at all and mistakes one for someone else. Surely, Prince James has the right to be disproportionately upset about this. The question is; does he need to?"

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Olympic au. James, being half Greek, had always dreamed of one day going to the Olympics. Now, at his second Winter Olympics – having won a surprising bronze medal at his first one – James has been dubbed Team GB’s hero before the games have even started.

Lily, being the daughter of a waste collector, had always dreamed of one day making her parents proud by exceeding their expectations. Now, she finds herself on a plane to China together with her boss, Minerva McGonagall, and a crowd of winter athletes representing Team GB at the Winter Olympics of 2022.

The paths of James Potter – overenthusiastic snowboarding hero – and Lily Evans – passionate overachiever – cross at the 2022 Winter Olympics when James Potter is asked to be Team GB’s flagbearer at the Opening Ceremony (and quite a few times after that as well).

The repetition of "James, being half Greek..." worked so well for the flow. I don't know how to describe it

A Game Of Thrones

Modern royalty au. Lily Evans had never imagined she would meet Prince James, but when she does at St Andrews' annual Christmas Pub Crawl, her whole world is turned upside down. For who thought that a girl like her - with a sister that reads "Hello" magazine like it's the Bible - would end up with a prince like him?

Euphemia Potter you will always be famous

flowers

A musician au that hilights sexisim in the music industry. "Singer-songwriter Lily Evans has played gig after gig, has been the opening act to many a headliner, but her big break seems a million miles away. When one night – after playing in her friend Marlene McKinnon’s bar – she receives messily scrawled lyrics on a napkin by a certain Monty Python, her life and career are turned upside down, leading her all the way to the Grammy's."

Lily my love, you deserve everything you've worked for

If You Knew Who Was Talking

hopelessly_devoted and genuinely-conflicted form each other’s support system online, cheering one another on as they battle their way through an unrequited (and most definitely unwanted) crush on the person their parents are trying to set them up with.

In the real world, James Potter and Lily Evans find themselves hopelessly devoted and genuinely conflicted when battling their persistent infatuation with the last person they would have ever liked to fall for, stubbornly fighting their family’s and friends’ convictions that they were born to be together.

If only they knew who was talking.

FOOLS the both of them.

glitter in the sky, i’m spinning out waiting for ya

For her thirtieth birthday, Marlene McKinnon and Mary McDonald gift Lily Evans the thrill of a lifetime: a tandem skydive. What no one expected? For Lily to end up in the hospital as a result with her ankle covered in soul marks.

everybody is a sexy baby, and i'm a monster on a hill

Ficwriter au. "James Potter and Lily Evans are fandom famous. Both are prolific and popular writers within the Marauders fandom, but they have completely ignored the other's existence for two years after a Tumblr misunderstanding. Now, they are paired up for the Valentine's Marauders Challenge and - forced to interact - they find out that they may be more compatible than they ever could have imagined."

Is this not the dream?

fastening myself to you with a stitch

Fame au. "Anyone who has never heard the names Lily Evans and James Potter before must be a boomer. The two actors have dominated the box office with their films in the past nine years, more often than not starring opposite one another. Whether tasked to portray mutual pining, passionate hatred or fiery love, Potter and Evans make the screen positively buzz with the taste of opportunity."

it's all happening without me

Normal People (Sally Roony) au. "At school, James and Lily pretend not to know each other. James is wealthy, popular and the star of his school’s football team, while Lily wears second-hand school uniforms, is the school pariah and resented for her smarts. At James’ house, however – meeting there due to Lily’s mother’s housekeeping job – they form an intense connection they desperately try to conceal to the outside world.

A year later, James and Lily both attend Hogwarts University where James has found his feet and made friends he had longed for his entire life, while Lily remains uncertain and haunted by her problematic past.

Throughout their years at university, James and Lily circle each other, trying to resist the magnetic pull between them, whilst coming to the realisation that the both of them may be more religious than they ever thought they were."

Mother knows best. Mary, never question your writing skills because this fic proved that you are a phenomenal writer. The emotions you evoked coverered the entire range of human emotions

It's Coming Down, It's Coming Down Series -

Weird, But Fuckin' Beautiful

When Lily Evans is invited to spend Christmas with the Potters, she finds that she can simply not refuse. It’s an offer she cannot resist for several reasons, the most important one being that she would much rather spend the holidays with Fleamont and Euphemia than she would with Vernon and Petunia.

So what if she had conveniently forgotten (or has she?) about the fact that the Potters have a son - a Formula 1 driver at that - who she can’t seem to get off her mind? (Mightily annoying that, seeing as he has made clear exactly how he feels about her and it’s not exactly giving her any hope.) It’s not as if she can’t control herself.

Or so she very dearly hopes…

Tonight Feels Impossible

But after a night spent together in a hotel's honeymoon suite, she doubts she ever will and fears it might be her downfall.

To All The Kudos I've Left Before

Ficwriter au set in university. "Fanfiction is the guiltiest of pleasures that Lily - twenty years old and studying at Hogwarts University - freely and happily indulges in. She reads fanfiction whenever she has a moment to herself and goes crazy whenever her favourite author - Artemis - updates or uploads another one of his works to Archive Of Our Own. Leaving them comments and the ensuing banter between them back and forth - however fleeting - makes her heart race and preoccupies a fair amount of her thoughts, which - in turn - angers her best friend.

James Potter has never had to suffer from an inferiority complex. His parents and friends are supportive of his every endeavour and this includes his habit to write fanfiction and put his written work out there in the void for his readers to enjoy. His readers are highly supportive too - Lilium being his absolute favourite - that is, until he starts to receive the vilest of comments from a number of guest accounts and starts to question his entire online existence.

What Artemis and Lilium don’t know? That they might know each other a little better than either of them ever bargained for."

The title says it all ❤ ❤❤

[hexedwinchester]

Hii! Can I request a fluffy Sam Winchester x reader where reader and Sam are bored while Dean is out to get the three of them food so reader is messing around with his hair, putting random braids in it and stuff? Thank you!

(Kinda inspo):

hi @ghostlyaccurate

Of course you can! Thanks for sending this request and the inspo reference! It was fun to work on..

You can read it below or follow the link to fic on AO3. Let me know if you like it 😊

Happy Reading :)

Summary:

"What-what is that?" He sits straight, back flushed against the headboard, trying to get a peek into that basket. "Like you haven't seen a brush before?" You wave the little brush as you enter the room. "Oh right, I forgot. You just run your fingers through your perfect hair and you are good to go!" Sam chuckles. "Now scoot over, Rapunzel." You gently shove him to make room on the bed for you and your tools. "Whatever you say, Mother Gothel."

"Okay, kiddos. Behave while I'm gone." Dean barks orders standing outside Sam's room. You and Sam look up from your laptops to see him teasingly eyeing the lack of space between the two of you. "No jumping each other's bones."

"Eww!" You fake looking appalled.

"Dude!" Sam blushes. 

Wait, is that what he was thinking about or is he just embarrassed?

"Hey, I mean it." Then glaring at Sam, he warns again, "Not with a bruised hip." 

Sam's green eyes are avoiding rendezvous with anyone else's. 

Dean winks at you before heading in the direction of the main room, spinning the keys of his beloved Impala on his index finger.

"He's an idiot." Sam mumbles apologetically. 

Having been around the boys for a year now, you know Dean is an idiot but a sweet idiot, nonetheless. You don't mind him pulling your leg because you roast him just as much.

"But, my hip is healing quite well..." He hooks a finger under your chin, drawing your face to his. Shutting his laptop and taking yours away, he rolls over you, kissing your neck. 

The smell of his mint soap hits your senses along with a whiff of something rugged that is purely his. Your legs wrap around his slim waist pulling his long, lean body closer to yours when suddenly he grunts in pain.

Instantly, your legs drop and you gently roll him to his side of the bed. Dean's warning flashes into your brain. You sigh. He was right about the bruised hip. Dying by the hands of Dean Winchester because his baby brother couldn't keep it in his pants is not how you want to go.

"Well, Dean's not gonna be home for a few hours. Do you want to watch a movie?" He asks smiling, bringing those deep dimples to the surface.

Any other day, a movie sounded good -especially when it wasn't the tenth re-run of 'Die Hard' that Dean loved- since both you and Sam have similar taste. But after staring at the screen for the last two hours, you could use a break.

"Actually," you start, "I was thinking of something else." Leaving Sam looking like a lost puppy, you grab both your laptops and leave the room.

Sam is sprawled on the bed when you return ten minutes later. Legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, hands resting on his chest. Sensing your presence, his eyes open and a ghost of a smile touches his lips as his gaze shift from your goofy expression to the basket of hair tools and accessories tucked under your arm.

"What-what is that?" He sits straight, back flushed against the headboard, trying to get a peek into that basket.

"Like you haven't seen a brush before?" You wave the little brush as you enter the room. "Oh right, I forgot. You just run your fingers through your perfect hair and you are good to go!"

Sam chuckles.

"Now scoot over, Rapunzel." You gently shove him to make room on the bed for you and your tools.

"Whatever you say, Mother Gothel."

You gasp! "I knew it! I knew you saw that movie!" 

He neither confirms nor denies that accusation. "So, you wanna tell me what's going on?"

"A little TLC."

"TLC?" He repeats. "With butterfly clips and colourful beads?"

"Yes!" There is no way you can contain your excitement. Kneeling behind him, you slip your fingers into his hair, fluffing it up. 

Sam Winchester's hair is like pure silk between your fingers. They pass through easily without a knot to catch on to. There are no expensive products or fancy shampoos in the washroom. Hell, there isn't even a bottle of conditioner but somehow Sam's hair is softer than minx fur coat. A quiet moan passes through his lips as you gently massage his scalp. 

Mother Gothel's obsession with Rapunzel's locks is starting to make sense as you begin brushing Sam's hair. It is therapeutic, combing through those silken strands from the roots to the tips. The rhythmic strokes of the brush seem to relax him even more.

"You know, you could be a hair model." You tease him.

Sam laughs, a deep, resonant sound that makes your heart skip a beat. "Hunting doesn't allow for part-time stints, but thanks."

Grabbing a handful of colourful clips, you place them randomly on his head. A butterfly clip here, a rainbow clip there, few beads snapped on a single lock of hair. It's silly but Sam looks adorable, the bright colours standing out against the dark chestnut tone.

Stealing a hand-mirror from your basket, he takes a quick look at his reflection and bursts out laughing. "Why does it look like a unicorn threw up on my head?"

You smack his shoulder. "No, it does not! Don't you laugh at my artwork."

He cranes his neck to meet your eyes. "Can we try something a lot less 'Hello Kitty' and a bit more, I don't know, me?"

At least he didn't ask you to stop, there is comfort in that. That's something, right? You carefully pluck the clips out and brush the hair smoothing out the crimps left behind.

If there's one thing you know for sure, it's that Sam really seemed to like the massage and the brushing. You make a mental note of it for the future.

The hair is malleable unlike your wild, untamed curls. You gather it at his crown and wrap a simple hair tie a couple of times into a ponytail. At the last turn, you pull the hair only halfway through the tie and twist it around the bun. You brush out the remaining hair to base of his neck.

"Is that what they call a man-bun?" Sam asks trying to catch a glimpse of the bun.

"Yes", you respond sheepishly. "Like it?"

"Ummm... Not really, no. I don't think I can pull it off." Sam is anything but honest and that's what you love about him.

You take a moment to think about what Sam would like and then it comes to you. With a cautious tenderness, you take off the hair tie, careful not to pull or snag any wayward strands. Running the brush through a particularly stubborn tangle, you smooth out the hair.

Your fingers move fast and skillfully as you part a section of his hair on the left of his crown. You weave it into a braid, securing the ends to back of his head with a bobby pin. You repeat the same on the right side but this time you weave a black ribbon into the braid and pin it to the meet the first braid.

"How's it going?" He asks stealing a glance again but this time you are quicker to snatch the mirror away.

"No peeking this time!" You stow the mirror behind your back and out of reach of his ridiculously long arms.

You bunch up the hair from the crown of his head, including the two braids and pull it into a ponytail. The metal barrette clip with a Celtic knot ties the look together as you add it to the ponytail.

Last, you pick out some white and silver beads and add them in pairs to strands of hair behind his ears. Parting the back hair into six sections, you wind each lock of the hair around a wooden stick from another barrette clip, hold it for a minute and then release it to form soft waves.

"Can I see now?" Sam is growing impatient but you dismiss him. He cannot look until you are done.

Twenty minutes later, the back of hair looks like it went one round with a curler. The strands holding the soft, bouncy waves you created quite nicely.

Holding a bigger mirror behind his head, you pass him the hand-mirror. "You can look now."

The hand-mirror is twisting in his large hand, trying to see the full picture, his eyes widening slightly as he takes in the neat braids, the metal clip, the beads and finally the wavy curls.

"Well?" You are anxious, unsure of how to treat his silence.

"Wow, that's... something," he says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Good something or bad something?"

Putting the mirror down, he twists his torso to look at you with those honest, soulful eyes. "Definitely good something. I like it. It's very..." A thoughtful pause. "Nordic."

"I knew you would like it, lore boy!" You plant a soft kiss on his lips which he gladly deepens.

"Ahem." Someone clears their throat. Sam breaks the kiss.

"Smile, Lara Croft." Dean pulls out his camera and snaps a few shots of Sam in his new hairstyle. "This will get a laugh or two in the Hunters' group."

"Dean, c'mon." Sam is embarrassed, if that mild blush on the planes of his cheek is anything but an evidence of that. He tries to reach back and pull off the hair but you stop him.

"You can laugh all you want, but the truth is you can never pull off this look like he does." You get a little defensive around Sam.

"What makes you think I want to?" Dean's smile is smug and you want to wipe it off his face. Then turning to Sam, he presses, "how come I'm not allowed to give you a haircut but she is allowed to go Zohan on you?"

"Who?" Sam asks clearly not having seen that movie to catch the reference.

"Whatever, chuckles! I should probably print this out and stick it on the bunker walls."

"Sure", you jump in startling both the brothers. "It will look real nice next to your picture from that time with Rhonda Hurley." 

Now it's Dean's time to gasp and turn a shade darker than Sam. "How did you-? You are bluffing."

"Wanna bet?" Your bat your eyelashes at him in mischief. "I can remember some specific details like pink and satiny and-"

"Okay, okay, alright. I'll delete Sam's pictures." Dean leaves looking sour.

"Rhonda Hurley?" Sam raises his eyebrow asking for more information.

"Rhonda Hurley..." you muse about how you will keep using this trump card next time Dean gets cocky.

[delumineight]

romione fic list

because it’s hard to find good ones

disclaimer, these are mostly all on ao3. this will be updated every now and then and open for suggestions !!! if you have any suggestions please reblog with them. this is an ongoing list that i will be adding to whenever i find something that i like enough to rec.

list below the cut, just so people who aren’t on my account or in the tags for this don’t have to see it.

rec list

the reasons by incalculablepower

— RATED T: background harry/ginny, past lavender/ron, a tad of inappropriate humor at the end, takes place at the end of sixth year or half-blood prince

SUMMARY: “As the school year comes to an end, it's time to reflect on the one that's passed and prepare for the next year. And with their two best friends otherwise occupied (that is, snogging all over the castle), that means a lot of quality time spent together...”

resistance of the mind by tuesday_piracy

— RATED G: background harry/ginny, current lavender/ron, pining hermione, black hermione, black lavender, takes place during christmastime sixth year or half-blood prince

SUMMARY: “Hogwarts is hosting a Winter Solstice Ball for their older students, and naturally, Ron and Lavender plan on attending together. However, as the night of the Ball arises, Ron is racked with familiar concerns over his attire, his looks, and his hair. So, naturally, he turns to Hermione, and she can't help but aid him. — Or: Hermione gives Ron a haircut. Absolutely nothing (something) happens.

anywhere with you by kieunlocked

— RATED G: takes place during deathly hallows during the horcrux hunt before ron leaves, discussing where they would rather be then in a damp tent in the middle of nowhere

“One-Shot of Ron and Hermione talking about places they’d rather be than the cold, miserable tent during the Horcrux Hunt. / “Though, to be honest I might rather be in the Potions dungeon right now than in this bloody cold tent any longer,” Hermione groaned, wrapping her arms around herself. / “Not the Potions dungeon, Hermione!” Ron said with mock disgust, slinging an arm around her easily, effortlessly. As if he’d done it a million times. And when Hermione thought about it, he really had been doing it quite a bit lately.”

don’t talk (put your head on my shoulder) by sarahxxxlovey

— RATED T: shell cottage, pre relationship, aftermath of torture, missing scene, takes place during deathly hallows

““I don’t know what I would’ve done if—” Ron said in an uncharacteristically tender voice, pulling away slightly to cover her cheeks with large hands, tears dripping down his nose. “I couldn’t— I thought I was going to lose my mind.” / “Me too,” she said, swallowing and nodding, looking up at him. “I didn’t think I could take it… I—” / Words failed her. She broke down into sobs again. / “Hermione,” he said, his voice cracking, kissing her wet cheek quickly before hugging her even tighter. “I’m just so glad you're okay.””

let the golden age begin by incalculablepower

— RATED T: missing scene, during lavender/ron, during apparation testing, maybe a tad and i mean tad bit of emotional cheating, as in people mistake them for boyfriend and girlfriend and neither of them make corrections, half-blood prince, sixth year

“A couple of awkward moments in a still-healing friendship. Half-Blood Prince missing moment.”

funny little frog in my throat by anonymous

RATED T — pining, specifically pining ron, fluff and humor, idiots in love, my personal all time favorite, they’re still magical but no war au

“Ron loves Hermione. It's an ugly business, he's very upset about it, but he loves her and that seems to be the axis on which his world turns.”

self recs

meet me in the woods

— RATED T: secret dating au, starts at the end of sixth year and runs until the shell cottage scene in deathly hallows, written for romione week 2023, oblivious harry, 9k words… oops

““We could just… not tell him.” / “Just keeping it a secret? Okay.” / Whatever Joanne wrote for Deathly Hallows was NOT real. This is (trust me).”

that damned cat

— RATED G: post-war, hermione’s eighth year, crookshanks fic, cuts to around 2009/2010 i think, cat dad ron, and just general dad ron, wine uncles drarry

“Ron hates that cat—but he loves Hermione more.”

[dodger-chan]

Some untitled platonic stobin angst for you all, set in July of '85. Apologies and thanks to @sharpbutsoft; I'll write something happier next time.

(also on ao3, for those of you who prefer interacting with fics there)

“Not bad for a guy who didn’t realize gay people existed two weeks ago.”

Steve would have been annoyed that Robin thought he was that dumb, but really, he was too relieved she was able to joke about it. The day he’d gotten out of the hospital she’d been skittish. Like she’d thought he’d start hating her once the world went back to normal.

As if he could ever hate Robin.

“I knew gay people existed.” He still couldn’t roll his eyes without thinking he was going to puke, but he could use scorn. “I just didn’t think you could be gay.”

“Really?” She sounded surprised. “I mean, I know I’m not, you know, obvious, because I’ve never had ‘dyke’ painted on my locker or had other girls not want me in the locker room. But, I kind of feel like I should be? Or, not like people would know I’m gay immediately, but that it shouldn’t surprise them when they find out? Like, I’ve never dated a boy, and I don’t like to wear make-up, and my taste in clothes- Though I guess you only saw me in my Scoops uniform. Or only remembered me that way. But I’d literally just told you that I’d had a crush on a girl. Which, even without everything else, is kind of a dead giveaway.”

“True, no normal girl would like Tammy Thompson.” He was never going to let her live that crush down.

“First, the word is ‘straight.’ Don’t say ‘normal’ like that. It makes it sound like there’s something wrong with me.” Steve nodded. There was nothing wrong with Robin. Except her lack of self-confidence. And maybe her taste in women. But he could help her with those things. “Second, I had a crush on Tammy for like three months almost two years ago. I have pined hopelessly over plenty of other, much cooler girls since.”

“Anyone at the moment?” he asked. Robin glanced away from him, so yes, there was. “Okay, who is she?”

“Thirdly,” Robin ignored his question. “What did you mean I couldn’t be gay?”

Steve did not want to answer that.

“Whoever she is, she can’t be as lame as Tammy.” Steve really hoped Robin would let him change the subject. “Still not cool enough to date you, but-”

“Steve.” She wasn’t going to. “You think I’m not going to like your answer. It’s bad, is that it?”

“Yep.”

Robin took a breath.

“Okay. Well, whatever awful shit you thought in the past, you obviously don’t believe it anymore, right? So, bad or not, it doesn’t change where we are now.” Steve was pretty sure it could, or Robin wouldn’t be asking him. “Though, it’s not that you thought I was too pretty to be gay, right? Because that stereotype has always bothered me.”

“No! Not that you’re not pretty. Gorgeous, even. If I were your type, I’d still be totally into you.” Steve still was into her, but it was getting a bit less romantic every day. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, Dingus.”

“No, that’s why. Why I thought you had to be, you know,” normal, “straight.”

Robin frowned at him.

“You thought you couldn’t fall for a girl who couldn’t like you back?” she asked.

“Not exactly.”

“What then?”

“It’s hard to explain.” It barely made sense inside his own head. Putting it in words, making it all make sense to someone else might be impossible.

“Scoops burned down with the mall, Steve. I’ve got nowhere else to be until we get a new job.”

“Okay, well, you know how people say that gay couples don’t really love each other the way, um, straight ones do?”

“Yeah, and it’s complete and utter bullshit.”

Sure, Steve knew that now. But before Robin how was he supposed to learn any different?

“Right. But I’m an idiot, remember? So what I thought was that gay people were somehow unlovable. Not just romantically,” he explained. “Friends wouldn’t be able to love them either. Or their families. Everyone who was supposed to love them just couldn’t. Even if they tried. It wouldn’t be their fault, really, but-

“But I fell for you. It wasn’t just that you were beautiful. Or funny. Or smart. Or that you were there and didn’t hate me as much as you pretended to. I loved you enough to stop being all hung up over Nancy. And since I loved you-”

“I had to be straight.” Robin finished for him. “The logic’s sound-ish, but your premise is absurd. People aren’t unlovable, for one. Besides, wouldn’t that lead to people identifying gay kids early on? If a parent didn’t love their toddler, wouldn’t they want to know why?”

“Maybe. But it’s not like it’s something they’d talk about. What parent is going to admit they don’t love their kid before it’s obvious to everyone else who the problem is?” Robin scowled at him. It was a scowl that said she didn't like his answer, not that she thought he was wrong. He liked that he could tell the difference.

“You’re such a weirdo, Dingus.” Robin leaned her head against his shoulder. Gently, careful not to jostle him. “How did anyone ever think you were normal? Did we just know you were good at basketball and never listen to anything you said?”

“I’m better at swimming.” He also hadn’t said much at school. Talked a lot, sure. Or, at least, as much as everyone else.

“Yeah, yeah. And you can talk to girls without stuttering and chug beer while doing a headstand. All hail King Steve and his perfect hair. We payed so much attention to you that we didn’t pay any at all.” He’d never thought of it that way. “And we overlooked how weirdly your brain works.”

“If it works at all,” he said, with a soft laugh.

“It works fine,” Robin disagreed. “Just, kind of backwards? Or sideways, maybe? I mean, you thought gay people were unlovable when pretty much everyone else thinks we don’t love at all.”

“Don’t love? But that’s clearly stupid.” Steve didn’t think he’d ever heard a dumber idea and he’d spent most of his life hanging out with Tommy H. and Carol. “Loving someone is easy. It’s like a layup.”

“Some people are bad at basketball, Steve.” That was fair. Dustin would probably have trouble with a layup. He might even have trouble dribbling. “Is it really easier to think people are unlovable than to think some people might be bad at loving?”

There was a pulsing sound in Steve’s ears. He wasn’t sure if it was from his headache or his heartbeat.

“I never had trouble loving people.” It was almost an admission. He didn’t think he could get any closer.

“Oh, Steve.” Robin was smart. She could hear what he hadn’t said.

[scary-grace]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 3) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Chapter 3

You don’t look for Tenko. You want to, but you don’t. You were so happy to see him, at least at first, but there was no point when he was happy to see you, and you’re not an idiot. You want to look for him. You don’t want to die. You don’t want to never see him again. You want to know what happened. You don’t want to know what happened even a little bit. The contradictions make your head spin, and you’ve got no one you can tell about it. Your friends made it clear what they think of the fact that you’re still wondering about the boy you were best friends with as a kid. Well. Almost all your friends.

You don’t have to tell Kazuo. Your behavior gets a little too weird and he uses his quirk on you without asking, which leads to him finding out about the – attack is his word for it. You’re pretty sure Tenko saw it as some kind of self-defense. You’ve started to see it as a logical consequence. He ran from you, and you chased him, which means that what happened afterwards wouldn’t have happened except for you.

“That’s absurd,” Kazuo says flatly, when you voice the thought in front of him. “He had a variety of options in that situation, none of which required crushing your windpipe and melting two layers of skin off your wrist.”

You concede that one. You don’t want to think of Tenko as someone who could do something like that to you, or to anyone. But Tenko’s different. He looks different. He has a quirk, and he didn’t have one before. “He’s not like he was. I know people change, but if he was like that from the beginning, I’d have known. And he wasn’t.”

Kazuo says nothing, just looks at you. You know it’s an interrogation tactic, one he picked up at his internship during his first year at UA, but you let yourself fall into it. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Your options include moving on with your life entirely, investigating the situation alone with no intention of finding him, investigating the situation with the intention of finding him, or involving law enforcement,” Kazuo says bluntly. “None of those options are likely to achieve your desired outcome.”

Sometimes Kazuo makes you feel stupid. You know it’s not purposeful, but it bothers you anyway. “What do you think my desired outcome is?”

“You want your best friend back.” Kazuo says it like it’s not the stupidest thing he’s ever heard, but you know he thinks it is anyway. “Your emotional investment in him has been damaging since he disappeared. The procedure your parents used to wipe your memory was unsuccessful, and banned six months after you were subjected to it. When you ran into him again, he put you in the hospital, and at no point did he indicate interest in reconnecting with you.”

You know all of that. You don’t need Kazuo to say it again. “Wanting your best friend is understandable,” Kazuo continues. “Pursuing anything related to this situation is not.”

“So I should just let him go.” You look at Kazuo, who inclines his head in agreement. “When everything happened with you, I didn’t let you go.”

Kazuo inclines his head again, then hits you with an argument-ender you can’t come back from. “I never tried to kill you.”

He’s right. You hate that he’s right, but you know he is, and ultimately, you don’t want to die chasing Tenko. You don’t want to chase someone who wants nothing to do with you, either. So you do the hard thing, the smart thing – two or three counseling sessions to cope with the stranger-tried-to-kill-me trauma, spending more time with your actual friends, staying grounded at work, and doing everything in your power to push Tenko out of your mind for good.

It works for the most part. You write him off effectively, however you have to. Tenko’s gone. Not dead, but gone. Not gone, but hates you. Doesn’t hate you, but is dangerous. He’s dangerous to you and everyone he comes into contact with, and chasing after him will shorten your lifespan significantly. All of that is enough to keep you from looking for him, but not quite enough to keep you from thinking about him. Thinking about when you asked him if he was okay, and all the reasons why he might have lied to you.

A month slips past. Then two. Then four. You double up on classes to keep yourself busy, and wind up clearing your credit requirements to move from medical assistant to nurse way before you’re done collecting your practice hours. That means you can pick up more shifts, and make more money, and actually be lying to your parents when you tell them you don’t have enough money to send any home. You sit for the nursing exam on April 4th, the same day as Tenko’s birthday. He’s twenty now.

You’ve given up not thinking about him. You let yourself remember the slice of cake he brought for you when you were kids. You hope somebody gave him cake this year, too.

When you pass your nursing exam, you take off work to celebrate, and your friends take off to celebrate with you. The group of you are goofing around in a bar, having way too good of a time for the fact that it’s a weekday afternoon, when a TV screen that was previously running a scroll of ancient music videos switches abruptly to breaking news.

Villain attacks rarely count as breaking news. Villain attacks where All Might’s involved always do, but that doesn’t mean it’s exciting enough for your sort-of-drunk friends. “All Might fights giant villain,” Sho reads off, and makes a derisive sound. “They interrupted the Spice Girls for this?”

“Lame,” Hirono agrees. “Isn’t All Might, like, eighty or something? When’s he going to retire?”

“He’s fifty-seven,” Kazuo says without looking away from the screen.

“Like I said. Old. He needs to step aside.”

You’re not a rabid All Might fan, but you like him better than you like the reason Hirono thinks he should retire. “I’m not surprised you think that, Hiro. After all, it’s the only way Endeavor will ever be Number One.”

“Don’t speak ill of my man,” Hirono says, with a degree of outrage you’re hoping is faked. “He’ll be Number One.”

“Yeah. When All Might steps down,” Yoshimi adds. “Why do you like him, anyway? He’s old, too. And that fire beard is a hazard. Imagine making out with that. You’d burn your face.”

“If he went down on you you’d burn worse than your face,” Mitsuko says. That one gets you. You crack up. “I’m all for older men, but I don’t believe in purifying my vagina by fire.”

You agree with Mitsuko on principle, but you wouldn’t be a decent nurse if you let incorrect anatomical terms stand. “That part’s called a vulva.”

“Shut up,” Hirono says to you. Then, to everybody else: “He can turn the beard off.”

Yoshimi disagrees, and an argument kicks up around the question, one you’re perfectly happy to be on the outskirts of. You glance idly back up at the TV and get a surprise. All Might fights giant villain is a common headline. All Might fights giant villain at UA High training facility, fellow teachers severely injured isn’t. Kazuo went to UA. He’s been watching the whole time. “Are you okay?” you ask. He shrugs. “They said it was a training facility. Do you know –”

“Dozens of them. It appears to be a coordinated attack.” Kazuo touches his index finger to his temple. You recognize the signs of his quirk activating and keep quiet against your instincts. If he’s successful, you’ll get information the police won’t release until later. “The group claiming responsibility for the attack is the League of Villains. Two villains, believed to be the ringleaders, escaped successfully. Or semi-successfully. One of them was injured.”

You nod, but you’re watching the screen, which is scrolling through a possible timeline for the attack. “The ringleaders were unknown before this point,” Kazuo continues. “That’s concerning, given the planning and sophistication an attack like this would require.”

On the TV, the newscaster is reporting that while no photographs or video was taken of the perpetrators due to communication disruptions within the facility, police sketches of the escaped villains will be available momentarily. Kazuo’s dialed back in, too. “They jammed the video,” he remarks. “They’re good.”

The first image that comes up is a sketch of what looks like a big purple cloud with enormous yellow eyes. You’ve never seen a police sketch done in color before. It’s labeled ‘Kurogiri – Warp Villain’, and before you can even ask, Kazuo has the answer. “His quirk is called Warp Gate. It allows him to open portals to a variety of locations, regardless of his physical position in relation to said locations. It’s –”

He frowns, his brow furrowed. “It’s not a natural quirk.”

What does that mean? Before you can ask, the sketch of the warp villain vanishes from the screen, and another sketch appears. This one’s in black and white, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t need color to know exactly who it is. It’s a good thing you’re sitting down already. The muscles in your legs have gone weak with horror.

There are more hands. So many hands. In the sketch, Tenko’s got not just the one over his face, but one at the back of his head, and full sets grasping his throat and his arms and his chest. One eye is visible through the fingers of the hand Tenko called Father, and the sketch artist has captured a wild, maniacal look in it, one you’ve never seen on Tenko, not even when he pinned you down in the street. The sketch of him is labeled, too. Shigaraki Tomura – Villain.

Kazuo turns to you – emotionless though he is, he can’t miss the fact that you’re in the early stages of a panic attack – and all at once you realize that you can’t be here a second longer. You slide down from your seat, nearly stagger, and toss a few bills on the bar to pay for your share of the drinks. Mitsuru objects lazily that they’re supposed to be treating you, and Yoshimi asks where you’re headed, but you ignore them both, just like you sidestep Kazuo when he reaches out. “I need to walk it off,” you say, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “It’s fine.”

“I’ll call you later,” Kazuo says. “Pick up.”

He wants to make sure you don’t do anything stupid, but you’ve got no idea what he thinks you’ll be able to do. You don’t even know where to find Tenko – not Tenko, Shigaraki Tomura – but he told you to call him Tenko – but that’s not who he is anymore. He only let you call him Tenko because you knew him before. You remember wondering before what, and now you know. Before he was a villain.

You stumble out onto the street with no idea of where you’re headed. Back to your apartment, maybe – it’s as good a place as any for a breakdown – but you can feel yourself starting to get dizzy, and you’re not sure you’ll make it. The sidewalk is busy, and it seems like everyone you pass is talking about the attack on UA, about the villains who dared to go after students, who dared to go after All Might. One of the villains was hurt. Too bad, a passerby says, her words standing out from the din only because of the venom with which she says them. Too bad they weren’t killed.

You nearly collide with a woman pushing a stroller and she snaps at you. You apologize much more shakily than you should and decide it’s time to get off the street. There’s an alley up ahead, short but out of the way, and you know it’s discreet – at least three of your friends have thrown up in it on the way from various bars to your house. You duck into it and stand still, struggling to unclench your fists from your sides, struggling to take a deep breath.

You’re being insane. They’re villains. They attacked a high school facility with students inside it, planning to kill them and the Symbol of Peace. So what if one of those villains used to be your best friend? So what if something awful must have happened to him to make him like this? It doesn’t matter. He's a villain. End of story.

That’s the end of the story in one Japan, the one whose residents have the luxury of thinking in black and white. In the Japan you live in, the grey areas are what matter. You’ve treated villains at the clinic. You know how little it takes for someone to earn the label of villain, and what happens to them as a result. You know that it’s almost never someone’s first choice. In the other world it doesn’t matter why someone becomes a villain. In your world it does.

You’re lost in thought, so focused on wrapping your head around things that you fail to notice when the alleyway begins to darken. Once you do, the first thing you think of is a storm, and how perfect it would be for you to get rained on in addition to everything else. But then you feel cold mist crawling across your skin, focus your eyes to find yourself surrounded by a deep-purple cloud, so opaque that you can’t see the street. Something about this is familiar. There’s something about this you should understand. You open your mouth, maybe to ask a question, maybe to scream for help. But before you can do either, the ground falls out from beneath your feet, and you plummet into a gauzy black void without a sound leaving your mouth.

The fall lasts for a split second. You’re looking down, trying to see where you’re going, and you see the wood floor coming up beneath you just in time to bend your knees. You manage to stay on your feet. You’re facing a brick wall with an All Might poster on it. The All Might poster hangs in tatters, the paper brown and crumbling at the edges. You’re certain that if you touched it, it would turn to ash. When you breathe in, there’s a coppery taste in the air.

There are voices emanating from behind you. The first that speaks is deep and smooth.  “Sit up, Shigaraki Tomura. I have brought–”

“He lied to me!” The second voice is raspy, strained, and painfully familiar. “He set me up to fail! I asked him about combat training – you heard me do it, don’t lie – and he said I didn’t need it. What was I supposed to do, go out and get it myself? I’m not supposed to leave, either! We got crushed because Sensei said –”

“Shigaraki Tomura –”

“And I believed him, like an idiot,” Tenko snarls. He sounds close to tears. “Look at this. What am I supposed to do?”

“Shigaraki Tomura,” the smooth, deep voice interrupts for the third time. “As you requested, I have brought the girl.”

Tenko coughs, sniffles, and you heard that pair of sounds so many times as a kid that you can’t help but turn to see if he’s okay. He’s not okay. He’s lying on his stomach on the floor in a pool of blood. You can’t even see where the injuries are, but the amount of blood is significant, and growing more so with every passing second. His face is pale behind the hand. But when he turns his head to look at you, you see an expression you remember. You could call it relief, or happiness, maybe. Whatever it is, he’s glad you’re here.

The thought draws you a few steps closer, brings a question to your lips. “What happened?”

Tenko doesn’t answer, but the other person in the room – the warp villain, Kurogiri – answers for him. “Shigaraki Tomura was shot in his hand, his arm, and both legs. He requires medical attention.”

Now you get it. Tenko knows exactly one medical professional: You. When he needed help, you’re the person he called for, and as much as you want to help, you’re the wrong person for this job. “I’m not a doctor,” you say. “You need the emergency room. This is way above what I’m allowed to do.”

“It’s not above what you can do.” Tenko is looking at you. “I know what they let you do now. You passed your stupid test.”

He’s been watching you. Why? You set the question aside for later – a lot later – and come a few steps closer. “Are the bullets still inside the wounds?”

“They passed through,” Kurogiri rumbles.

“You have to help people,” Tenko says. His eyes are fluttering, his speech slightly slurred. “So help me.”

You’re not legally obligated to help anybody when you’re not at work, and you could lose the license you just got for working outside your scope of practice – but what does it actually take to treat a through-and-through gunshot wound to an extremity? It’s not necessarily a surgery situation. “Do you have medical equipment?”

Tenko doesn’t answer. Kurogiri does. “Yes.”

“I need it,” you say. “And I need somewhere flat for him to lay down that isn’t the floor.”

Tenko disappears from the floor, leaving only that too-large pool of blood behind, and reappears on a flat surface that you realize is a bar. Why did Kurogiri take Tenko to a bar when they escaped? A truly impressive collection of medical supplies appears further down the bar by Tenko’s feet, and you break into it, starting with a pair of gloves. Next up is a pair of shears, to cut through Tenko’s clothes and expose the injuries.

He stirs when you start slicing through his pantleg. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t fix something that I can’t see.” You keep cutting, peeling back the fabric until you can get a clear visual. Once you have it, you wince – and your jaw clenches with a frustration that’s not entirely comfortable. “You ran into Snipe.”

Tenko props himself on his elbow to stare at you, then falls back with a curse. “How did you know?”

“I’ve treated – people – he’s shot before.”

“Say it. Villains.”

The word you were going to use was “victims”. You don’t see any reason why a hero needs to use a gun that fires large-caliber bullets, especially when most of the villains they’re shooting at aren’t committing violent crimes. You don’t correct yourself, or rise to the bait, focusing instead on stopping the bleeding from the wound in Tenko’s right leg. Kurogiri hovers nearby, which bothers you until you realize you can use him. “Take the shears and start cutting the other leg of his pants. I’ll be there in a second.”

“Are you going to cut my shirt, too?” Tenko swears when you respond in the affirmative. “I don’t have another one. Or other pants.”

That strikes you as weird. You’ve never met any adult who wasn’t homeless or recently incarcerated who only has one set of clothes. On the bar, Tenko makes a strange sound. “I don’t feel –”

He falls silent, and his body jerks strangely. He’s passing out. “Find something to elevate his legs,” you order Kurogiri, and the villain props Tenko’s legs on a pair of crates he produced out of absolutely nowhere. “Tenko? Hey. I need you to stay awake, okay? Keep talking to me.”

He doesn’t answer, but his eyelids are fluttering, which means he’s at least partially conscious. You’ve managed to contain the bleeding on his right leg, and you hurry around the bar to deal with the left, shooing Kurogiri out of the way. “Cut his sleeve next.”

The bullet went through Tenko’s left leg at a shallower angle than his right, so he’s not bleeding as badly. You apply the same type of bandage to the wound that you used before and try to think through your next moves. The bullets went straight through, but they pierced his clothes before his skin, which means there could be cloth fragments inside the wounds. Cloth fragments equal infection risk. You’re going to have to investigate the wounds one at a time, and clean them out painstakingly if you want to avoid infection. And you want to avoid infection. If anything goes wrong, they’ll make you come back here, and you don’t want to come back.

That thought feels right at first. But as you move on to covering the wound in Tenko’s left arm, you find yourself questioning it. Tenko wants you here, needs you here. He was happy to see you. He hasn’t hurt you or even threatened to hurt you if you make a mistake. Your best friend wants you here. When he needed help, you were who he thought of. You don’t know that you want to let that go.

With every wound but the one on his right hand at least temporarily covered, you can focus on cleaning them out. It’s probably better if Tenko’s unconscious for that part, but because your luck is shit, he’s wide awake. You’re this close to lowering his legs and letting gravity do the rest when he makes an argument you haven’t thought of. “My quirk,” he says. “I can’t control what I touch if I’m out.”

“Okay,” you say. You search through the medical supplies and find an antibiotic cream with an anesthetic component, which you smear around the edges of the wound in his hand. Tenko hisses. “Sorry. Sorry. I’ve only been a nurse for a day.”

Tenko snorts at that. If he wants to be awake, you need to keep him talking, and there’s a topic you’re more than a little interested in. “How did you know I passed my test? Were you following me?”

“I wasn’t following you,” Tenko says. “Kurogiri was.”

You feel like you would have noticed a huge cloud of mist with yellow eyes trailing you, but maybe you’re just not very observant. “Why?”

Tenko doesn’t answer. He’s grimacing as you irrigate the wound, checking for any fragments of bullet or bone. “I assume you are aware of what happened today,” Kurogiri rumbles from back in the corner where he’s doing fuck all to help. “You guessed the origin of Shigaraki Tomura’s injuries quickly enough.”

“I saw it on the news,” you say. “I don’t want to know any more than that.”

You really don’t. If you get caught and questioned, you want to keep the amount of lying you have to do to a minimum. There’s nothing in the wound on Tenko’s hand, so you press a sterile pad down over it and start trying to figure out a way to wrap it. “It doesn’t matter,” Tenko says through clenched teeth. “There was never any point to it. Sensei lied to me.”

“That is untrue, Shigaraki Tomura. The information he gave was sound. All Might was indeed weakened –”

“Not like he said!” Tenko sits up and reaches for Kurogiri, only for his arm to give out. “Fuck!”

“Tenko, I need you to hold still,” you say. “I want to help you, but I can’t if you keep moving around. I’m almost done with this one.”

“And then there are three more.”

“Yeah.”  You glance again at the pool of blood on the floor and feel that same frustration as before. This time it comes out of your mouth. “It’s always overkill with him.”

“The hero fired a total of ten shots,” Kurogiri says. “I deflected the rest.”

If Snipe had hit Tenko ten times, Tenko would have bled to death. You wonder how many heroes get into the game because it lets them hurt people without getting in trouble for it. “I’m going to wrap your hand up, and then I’m going to check the other wounds for cloth fragments,” you say. You glance into the pile of medical supplies, hoping for local anesthetic, but there isn’t any. “Let me know if you need to stop.”

“I won’t need to stop.”

Sure he won’t. You make a bet that it’ll take less than thirty seconds from the time you start manipulating his fingers to bandage the wound in his hand, and you win. Kurogiri tsks. “Shigaraki Tomura. Don’t act like such an infant. Your pain tolerance is much higher than this.”

Given that Tenko wasn’t thrashing in agony when you got here, you think that’s probably true – but at the same time, you’re thinking of what happens when kids whose parents tell them to toughen up through procedures leave the room. You’ve found yourself comforting crying children more than a few times, children who knew it wasn’t safe to show pain or fear in front of their parents. You wonder if it’s just that this is a different kind of pain than the pain from a bullet wound, or if Tenko feels more comfortable showing pain in front of you than Kurogiri.

What is Kurogiri, anyway? Who is he to Tenko? You ask, using the question as cover to wrap Tenko’s wound tightly, and Kurogiri answers. “I am the one who protects Shigaraki Tomura.”

Tenko swears. “Some job you did.”

You’d have to agree. You still have three wounds to clean. “Next one,” you say. “Do you want me to get your other arm or one of your legs?”

Tenko shifts one leg. You figure that’s all the answer you’ll get and move your operation downstream. You use the same procedure as before, right down to the fruitless search through the supplies for an injectable anesthetic. Their medical supplies are extensive, but they’re missing a few key items. “Next time you’re lifting suture kits, you need to grab local anesthetic and syringes as well. It’s stable at room temperature, so you won’t need to refrigerate it, and it’ll make something like this a lot easier.”

“Or I could not get shot next time.”

“If you had stayed closer to me, it could have been avoided,” Kurogiri says, and Tenko swears at him. Kurogiri’s malevolent gaze turns on you. “You will provide a list of items we will need to form a more complete medical kit. I will procure them from the doctor.”

There’s a doctor involved? If there’s a doctor involved, why are you here? “He won’t help,” Tenko snaps. “He wouldn’t help with this. We can get it from her clinic.”

“No,” you say immediately. Both Tenko and Kurogiri aim incredulous looks your way. “There are plenty of private clinics that do ambulatory surgery. Steal from them. My patients don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Tenko and Kurogiri trade a glance. “Okay,” Kurogiri says. “We’ll find somewhere fancy to steal from.”

That’s a shift in syntax. You blink, startled. Tenko doesn’t seem to find it weird, though, so maybe it happens a lot. Regardless of whether it’s weird or not, you don’t have time to focus on it when you’ve got a wound to clean. You don’t know how long these have been open already, so you try to move fast, but Tenko’s a lot shiftier while you treat this wound, and you don’t know why. It’s on his thigh, just above his knee, and you’re beginning to realize that part of the reason it’s shallower than the others is because the bullet glanced off his femur. Without an x-ray, there’s no way to tell if it’s been truly fractured, and when you run your hands over his leg, it’s clear that it hasn’t been displaced. That’s a relief.

But there are bone fragments in the wound, and there’s nothing you can do but try to be careful as you extract them, a process made exponentially more difficult by all the squirming Tenko’s doing. Kurogiri heaves a dramatic sigh and speaks in his usual syntax. “Shigaraki Tomura. Pull yourself together.”

Tenko’s face is red behind the hand. “Shut up.”

You don’t know what they’re talking about, and you decide it doesn’t really concern you. You do your best to work around whatever Tenko’s doing, but eventually it gets too difficult. “Tenko, I really need you to hold still for this. It’ll be over faster if you try not to move.”

“What are you even doing? Just bandage it.”

“The bullet hit your femur and there are bone fragments. They need to come out.”

You see Tenko grimace, wince away from you, and you set your hand down on his leg well clear of the injury, rubbing back and forth with your thumb in what you hope is a comforting motion. It’s not something you’d do with another patient, but it’s not another patient – it’s Tenko, your best friend, and you’re hurting him. The fact that he hurt you months ago doesn’t make it okay. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m going as fast as I can. We can stop as often as you need to if it helps you hold still.”

Tenko’s face is an even brighter red than before. Most patients go pale before they faint, but you’ve seen a few turn red. “Tenko?”

He averts his eyes. “Fine,” he says. He clears his throat, shakes his head. “It’s fine. Just do it.”

You leave your hand on his leg a moment longer, then lift it away and get back to work. Kurogiri hovers over your shoulder, closer than you’d like but not close enough for you to justify telling him to buzz off. If he’s the one who looks after Tenko, he’ll need to see how to bandage the wounds, in case Tenko has questions about how to change them. But when Kurogiri asks you a question, it’s not about Tenko’s injuries. “Why do you refer to Shigaraki Tomura as Tenko? I have repeated his name more than enough times for you to grasp it.”

You thought it was just some affectation of Kurogiri’s, but it’s actually just that he thinks you’re stupid. You’re about to answer that you’ve known Tenko longer than Kurogiri has and you’ll call him what you want when Tenko taps the back of your hand with one finger. You glance towards him and see him shake his head.

He doesn’t want you to tell Kurogiri. Fine. You can lie. “It’s the name he used when he came to my clinic. I didn’t know it was fake.”

“Ah.”

You glance back at Tenko and see him nodding weakly. He looks exhausted. You pick up your pace, extracting a trio of fragments and dropping them onto the pile of bloody fabric scraps before you bandage the wound. His left leg is clear, too. Bandaging it goes quickly, and then it’s just his arm left. You’re praying it’s uncomplicated. You don’t know how long you’ve been here, and you still don’t know how long the wound’s been open. Your gloves are slick with blood, so you switch them out before you begin.

Tenko got lucky with the last wound, which means you got lucky – there’s only one cloth fragment, easily extracted. Then you dress the wound, making sure Tenko and Kurogiri are both watching you do it. “You’ll need to change this regularly,” you say. “The best time is usually when you shower. Take it off before you get in and put it back on when you get out. They should begin to close on their own.”

“What if they don’t?” Kurogiri asks. The syntax shift is more subtle this time, but you still notice it. “Could they get infected?”

“They could.” You list the signs of infection for them. “If you start to see any of those, get help.”

“Yes. I will retrieve you at once.”

That’s not what you meant. “Um –”

Apparently it’s not what Tenko meant, either, because although he’s been semiconscious on the bar counter, he stirs and sits partway up. “No. You’re not leaving,” he says. You feel a surge of panic. “You can’t. You know where we are.”

“She does not,” Kurogiri says. “I warped her directly here. I can return her whence I found here, and she will be none the wiser.”

“She knows us. If she runs to the cops –”

“I didn’t before,” you say. You wish Tenko would take the hand off his face. You wish you could see him, really see him. You wish he could see you. “This isn’t the first time I’ve treated someone the police are looking for. I won’t say a word.”

“It is safe to release her,” Kurogiri agrees. He lowers his voice. “You cannot keep her here, Shigaraki Tomura. You know that.”

Tenko is scowling behind the hand. It doesn’t make sense. The last time you saw each other, he couldn’t wait to get away from you. You tell yourself that he’s concerned about the risk of letting you go free, and he probably is, but there’s not much of a risk – and he was happy to see you this time. He needed you this time. You wonder how much of his reluctance to let you go is the risk that you’ll rat him out, and how much is that he doesn’t want you to go. You can’t promise that you’ll come back. You wouldn’t even know where to go, and if his master didn’t want him wandering the streets before, he’s definitely banned from it now. You won’t see him again after this. You know that. You just don’t know how to say goodbye.

You can’t risk it. Not when Tenko doesn’t want Kurogiri to know how the two of you know each other. But his left hand is lying on the bar, in the same spot it landed when you lowered his arm to his side, and you reach for it, linking your little finger with his like you did when you were children. Your hold is loose, his nonexistent. But then his grip tightens, his finger hooking around your so tightly that your joint pops and his knuckles go white.

Your heart leaps. It shouldn’t, but it does, and the fact that he hangs on a moment longer when you start to pull away only makes it worse. “I will return you whence I found you,” Kurogiri says, and you feel the cold black mist beginning to wrap around you before you see it. “Thank you for your assistance.”

You don’t have time to say anything else before the mist encloses you completely, and when the falling sensation stops, you find yourself standing in the same alley Kurogiri took you from. The only differences between then and now are the unsteady pounding of your heart, the totally inappropriate flush in your cheeks, and the fact that you’ve got Tenko’s blood all over your shirt.

People stare at you as you walk the rest of the way home, but you tell them it’s from a nosebleed, and they believe you. You’ve learned from your patients that most people who ask if they’re okay don’t really want to help – they just want a yes, so they can move on with their day, feeling like a good person because they stopped to ask a question. It helps you fly under the radar until you’re home.

You’re trying to get the bloodstains out of your shirt and refusing to think of anything at all when your phone rings. It’s Kazuo, calling just like he said he would, and when you answer, he doesn’t bother saying hello. “Are you planning to do anything illogical?”

“No,” you say. What you did was the only logical move in the situation – do as the villains ask, so they won’t hurt you. “I’m just at home.”

“You were distraught when you left. Are you all right now?”

You remember the pressure of Tenko’s finger linked with your own and feel your heart lift, skipping a beat in the bargain. You got to see your best friend again, and he wanted you to help him, and he didn’t want you to go. It’s twisted beyond belief, but you think you might actually be happy.

You can’t tell Kazuo that. You don’t want him asking questions. He has enough information about you and Tenko already to get close to asking the right ones. “I think I’m fine,” you say instead. “I really do.”

[jayenator565]

My Tanthamore Comfort Fics

We were talking about comfort fics in the Tanthamore discord and I realized I have too many for a normal sized reply, so here's a tumblr post instead. In no particular order i've reread these fics...maybe too many times.

I'm just gonna list em by author cause that's easier. Keep in mind we may have different definitions of the word comfort.

@commanderbuffy

650 ft2 - Ok so like envision these girls have been best friends for forever and they've been secretly pining for ages, no sense of personal space, they can read eachother like books AND they were roommates!

The Tanthamore Affair - This fic has everything, one bed, fake dating, celeb au, the fic that changed the meaning of a certain emoji and all the tropes you could want really

@badlance

We've got to find other ways to make it together - this one line says all you need to know

"It is the greatest irony of Jade Claymore’s life to be a certified genius who is nevertheless in love with an idiot."

@spybrarian

More Than Just Survival - as far as 5+1 fics go this one has me in a CHOKEHOLD

I scream at your chest for as long as I must

one night at the start of the end of the world

@ilovemyships (i think you need an AO3 account to read these gems)

you won't believe it (they think we're lovers)

don't wanna pressure (but friends don't kiss friends)

@acre-of-wheat - Acre's way with words should be studied

Network Connectivity Issues - I have never related to a character more than I relate to this Jade

The Dark

The Bite

@jlmichigan

Out of the Cuirass - one of the first tanthamore fics I ever read actually and I still come back to it every so often

@stbot

lay down your armor (come lie bare with me) - saintbot has a catalogue lemme tell ya but this one for tanthamore is just so heartwarming

@overkill-max

Escaping Fate - the Kit runs away fic that everyone needs

Dil3mma (idk their tumblr right now sorry)

A Sword And A Shield (And Everything In Between)

Deja-Brew - the loveliest coffee shop one shot

Jad3dEt3rnal (idk if they have a tumblr either)

This Daydream is Dangerous - cuddly vampire Jade, need I say more?

ana_chronistic (idk if they have a tumblr either x3)

Oops. I proposed. - fake dating x 100, fake proposal it's like fake dating to the next level and I love the growth of communication and pacing in this.

@barmaid-anon

do what you feel now

you want a good girl that does bad things (to you)

fulfill (an obligation) or keep (an arrangement)

we simply don't have time to unpack why these are comfort fics, we're just going to accept it and keep going.

@thecsquirrel

Sword and Shield - I love this look at what post S1 life could have been like for the gang, revisiting Nockmaar, seeing Galladoorn, getting into the evil Elora storyline with Graydon, spending more time with the Nelwyn and in the Wildwood it's just everything

@wigster07

What a pleasant surprise - a fic of one of my other comfort fics, I know it's like fic-ception in the best way possible. If you liked Tanthamore Affair I have an inkling this will be right up your alley

@isabrella @jade-claymore @allthefakepeople @resurrecho

those rumors they have big teeth - BAND AU need I say more? I don't need to but i'm going to, this fic has everything Kit and Jade in a band, Kit's leather pants, gay-ifying songs, MAMA MIA, totally gay best friends who have basically been dating for years but won't admit to it, Jade gets to be a bit problematic as a treat, inner band fighting, what more can you want?

@swashbucklery

meet you where the spirit meets the bones (tanthamore 90s werewolf au) - its a SERIES of these repressed gay DORKS and they're werewolves, there's such a charming way to how this author writes them I legit can't even with these two gays

@onlyshestandsthere

these walls come tumbling down - look, we don't have time to unpack why there's so many were-related supernatural esque fics on my comfort list and I know this is only 2 chapters in but I can already feel the comfort in all the hurt ok I dont even have to wait I already know i'm gonna be rereading this like monthly

I'm gonna have to stop there even though I know i'm still missing some! If someone asked me what my favorites are we'd be here all day XD

[sequinsmile-x]

Dust Off Your Highest Hopes

It was too good to be true. He was too good to be true, and she’d never been able to hang on to good things for long.

My 350th Hotchniss fic.

-x-

Hi besties!

I cannot believe this is my 350th fic for these two idiots. That is...insane in a lot of different ways and I wouldn't have got this far without all you and your endless support. So thank you for always commenting and leaving kudos and reblogging and just...everything really.

To mark this milestone I've written a Vic classic - feels mixed into family fluff and a Taylor Swift lyric as the title.

As always, let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: pregnancy, labour

Words: 3.4k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

It was too good to be true. 

It’s the first thing she thinks as Aaron walks her to her apartment after their first date, their linked hands swinging ever so slightly between them, her leftovers wrapped in foil in his spare hand. Every worry she’d had about their relationship moving from friendship to more unfounded, the line they’d walked like a tightrope for years finally crossed. 

She smiles as she turns to look at him when they make it to her apartment door, nerves simmering in her belly that make her feel nothing short of a schoolgirl, and she sinks her teeth into her lower lip as their eyes meet, “Can you stay?” 

He tightens his grip on her hand and lifts it, pressing a kiss against her knuckles, “Jack is with Jess tonight,” he says, his smile nervous, an edge to it that makes him look much younger than he is. It makes her feel better to know he’s just as affected by her as she is by him, that this was something they both wanted. He clears his throat, avoiding eye contact, “I don’t have to stay all night if you don’t want me to. I can stay for a drink and go.” 

She smiles and bites the inside of her cheek in an attempt to contain her smile. The thought that the man standing in front of her, the man she’d heard discuss the very worst of things a person could do to another without flinching, was talking around the subject of sex with her nothing short of adorable. 

“Oh, I want you to stay,” she says, cupping his cheek when he looks back at her. She leans in to kiss him and her hand slips around the back of his neck, her smile getting wider when she feels his hands on her hips, the foil swan containing her leftovers bumping against her waist. When she pulls back she rests her forehead against his, “Otherwise I’d have to call my other boyfriend to come over and make me breakfast in the morning.” 

It’s only after she’s said it she realises it’s the first time she’s referred to him that way, and her mouth goes dry, “I mean-”

“Well, we can’t have that,” he says, cutting her off with another kiss, “I’ll have to make sure I’m here so he knows you’re my girlfriend now.” 

She feels ridiculous for how much she’s smiling, and she wonders where he came from. How this man had been standing in front of her for years without her noticing, perfect for her in ways she never could have guessed that afternoon when they first met in his office. A familiar feeling sinks in, a swooping in her gut she’d started to treat as a warning sign years ago. 

It was too good to be true. 

He was too good to be true, and she’d never been able to hang on to good things for long. Everything good and decent had always crumbled around her. Seemingly poisoned by her very presence, anything worth having turned bitter and snatched from her hands just as she was getting used to it. She’d almost forgotten about it when she found the team, when she found a family in the most unlikely of places, and then Ian escaped from prison, bringing the death knell that always seemed to follow her everywhere with him. She told herself when she came back that she wouldn’t let it happen again, that she wouldn’t get so comfortable it posed a risk to those around her, but then Aaron happened. Kind, sweet, handsome Aaron who had been there all along. 

She wonders if it’s selfish to pull him down with her, to allow herself to have him for however long she could before the universe, or a god she stopped believing in half a lifetime ago, tore it all away from her

“Are you okay sweetheart?”

His kind words and gentle touch pull her out of the spiral she’d fallen into, his eyebrows knitting together with concern when she looks up at him. She immediately feels a little calmer, the thing that she can only call love shining in his eyes as he cups her cheek, and she nods, stamping her lips against his before she finally moves to dig her keys out of her purse. 

“I’m fine,” she says, kissing him again as she unlocks the door, “Now let's get inside before we give my neighbours a show.” 

He laughs, the full-bodied one that never fails to make her smile, and he nods, pressing his face against her neck and his chest against her back as he crowds her against the door, and she shivers. “Cold?” 

She narrows her eyes at his smugness as she looks at him over her shoulder, her nose nudging against his because of his proximity, and she struggles to suppress a smile. 

“Something like that.” 

It might be too good to be true, but she’d hold onto it, onto him, for as long as she could. 

___

It’s a thought that chases her throughout their relationship, a phantom hiding in the shadows, only ever one step behind her, its hand reached out to pull her under as they move from boyfriend and girlfriend to fiancees, to husband and wife. It’s easy. Far easier than she ever thought it would be and it terrifies her, the simplicity of it all something she struggles to relax into.

When they buy their house that seems absurdly easy too, both of them falling in love with the first one they are shown around in an instant, Aaron’s hand wrapped around hers as the realtor says the room next to the master bedroom would be a perfect nursery. A thought that made her giddy and terrified in equal measure.

No matter how much time passes, no matter how happy she feels, the thought always lingers in the back of her mind, a twisted mantra she can’t escape. 

It was too good to be true.

___

The relief is palpable as she feels her baby slip from her body into the waiting hands of the nurse between her legs. Emily collapses back against Aaron, barely feeling the way he squeezes her hands or kisses the side of her head, his whispered words of love against her sweaty skin drowned out by the piercing first cry of her son. 

And then she is handed him, her shaky hands unlinking from her husband’s as she holds her son against her chest, entirely unsure when someone had pulled her gown down so she could do the immediate skin-to-skin she’d been insistent on in her birth plan. Phrases she’d never heard before like ‘the Golden Hour’ suddenly more important to her than she thought they’d ever be. 

“Hi baby,” she says, her voice sounding nothing like her own as she holds him close, her eyes skating over features she’d only seen in grainy scans. She kisses his forehead before she rests her cheek against the top of his head, “Look at you,” she looks up at Aaron, “Look at him.” 

“He’s beautiful,” he replies, his hand tangled in her sweaty hair as he kisses her temple and then their little boy’s head, “Just like you.” 

For a moment it’s just the three of them, no outside influence, the nurses and the doctor disappearing from her awareness as her son’s cries quieten down, his screwed-up face finally relaxing as he stops protesting being born. 

“You’re okay, sweet boy,” she says, unable to stop staring at him, her gaze shifting from his nose to his lips to his head full of dark hair, quickly cataloguing everything about him as if it would be snatched away, “Mommy’s got you.” 

Everything and everyone else in the room comes back into sharp focus as she feels a hand on her leg, the nurse's eyes kind as she looks up, “Would Dad like to cut the chord?” 

Aaron nods, and it takes a little manoeuvring from him to get out from behind her, her grip on the baby briefly tighter as she sits up just enough to let her husband slip out from the bed. She watches as he listens carefully as he’s told what to do, his brow furrowed as if he is staring at paperwork in his office as he cuts the chord between the two clamps she hadn’t even noticed were put in place. She smiles at him as he does it, a look of wonder in his eyes as he looks up at her, a flash of innocence that reminds her of Jack that she hopes she’ll see in her newborn’s eyes as he grows. 

“Do we have a name for Baby Boy Hotchner?” Another nurse asks, standing at a counter in the corner, matching wristbands laid out in front of her, that Emily knows she’ll cut free from her and her son the moment they get home and keep forever, a rare show of sentimentalism she’ll allow herself this once, “Or are we sticking with Baby Boy for now?” 

Emily looks at Aaron, a silent question passing between the two of them, and his only answer is a nod, a quiet agreement that the name they’d chosen was perfect. 

“He’s called Samuel. Samuel Aaron Hotchner.” 

Eventually, once her hour is up, her placenta already delivered and gone, the seeming army of medical staff that had been in her room whittled down to just one nurse who was weighing and measuring Samuel, Aaron convinces her to shower. She hesitates, her gaze fixed on her little boy in the corner of the room, her teeth clenched as she watches a stranger coo over him, but Aaron insists. He repeats the nurse's assurance that she’d feel better for it and that he’d keep an eye on their infant son. 

She hates that she does feel better for it, her sore body somewhat soothed by the warm water and the gentle soap Aaron had bought and packed for her. She has to sit down to get dressed, wincing as she bends over to pull up a pair of disposable panties that resemble a diaper more than anything else. She blows out a steady breath as she looks at herself in the mirror, wiping away the steam that had collected on it to get a better look at herself. She turns sideways to look at her profile, her hands pressing against her slightly deflated belly, the squishiness strange after so many months of being able to feel her son shifting beneath her skin. 

A familiar feeling climbs up her throat, greeting her like an old friend as she feels the overwhelming urge to see her little boy, the fear that she could no longer protect him now he didn’t live inside of her overwhelming. She bursts out of the bathroom, the panic dying the second she sees Aaron sitting in the plush chair next to her bed, a soft smile on his face as he looks up from Samuel who was now in one of the tiny onesies they’d brought in. She’d cried when she’d packed it in their hospital bag, completely at the mercy of her hormones as she tried to imagine how it would be possible for her son to be so small he could fit inside of it. She tries to ignore that it’s clearly a little big on him, sure if she went down that rabbit hole of emotions she’d never climb back out. 

“How was the shower?” 

She only realises Aaron’s asked her a question when she looks up at him, his smile expectant as she clears her throat and nods, shuffling slowly over to the bed, “The water pressure was crap,” she complains, smiling gratefully when he stands and offers her a hand to help her onto the bed, Samuel safe and secure against his chest with the other, “But I think it might be the best shower I’ve ever had.” 

He chuckles, and she doesn’t think she’s ever loved him more than when he passes Samuel over without her asking too, “Even better than the one where we conceived-”

“If you ever want to have sex again, don’t finish that sentence,” she grumbles, unable to stop herself from smiling when she thinks of the night he’s talking about, the night they’d calculated must have been when she’d fallen pregnant. 

Aaron nods and clears his throat, “I texted JJ and she’s going to tell everyone else,” he says, smiling when she raises an eyebrow at him for the abrupt change in subject, “I thought that was the best way to make sure we’re largely left alone.” 

“Thank you,” she says, patting Samuel’s back when he fusses in his sleep, “And my mom?” 

“Called her and told her you’d speak to her tomorrow.” 

She hums and kisses the top of her baby’s head, “Daddy is the best, Sammy” she whispers, breathing in the smell of her little boy, “He loves us so much,” she rests her cheek against the top of his head, “Jack?” 

“He was already asleep when I called Jess,” Aaron explains, his smile soft as he sits on the edge of the bed, his hand heavy on Emily’s thigh, “She’ll bring him in the morning to meet him.” 

“Good,” she replies, trying to relax into the feeling of Samuel against her chest, “I’m excited for them to meet.” 

“You must be tired,” Aaron says, and she tenses, holding her baby even closer, “If you need to sleep-”

“I don’t need sleep,” she cuts him off, a mix of anger she knows he doesn’t deserve and overwhelming sadness swirling in her gut. She feels no warning that she’s about to cry, the first sign the weight of her tears hitting her cheek, spilling over and catching in Samuel’s dark hair, “I’m fine.” 

“Em,” he says, endlessly patient in a way that somehow makes her feel worse, “What’s wrong?” 

She blows out a slow breath, unsure how to put it into words, her chest concaving inwards as all of her fears pile on top of her at once, “I…” she shakes her head at herself, “I don’t know how to explain it.” 

He stands up and for a second she misses his warmth, but then he’s next to her, half hanging off the bed, one of his feet on the ground to steady himself, and he wraps his arm around her and gently pulls her against him. “You can tell me anything, you know that.” 

She nods and turns her head to kiss his shoulder, “I…I worry I have too much.” 

He furrows his brow and shifts so he can see her face a little better, “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

She sighs not even surprised when more tears fall past her lashline, her last remaining defences that had stayed standing during her pregnancy destroyed by a long labour and the almost oppressive love she felt for Samuel. Her chest so full of it she could barely breathe, the fear that she’d never been able to outrun still ticking over in her mind, background noise she could ignore right up until she couldn’t. 

It was too good to be true. 

“Before you, I never got to keep anything good for long,” she explains, leaning into his palm when he wipes a tear from her cheek, “I was never happy for long. Even when I joined the team, that didn’t last because of Ian. So I keep just…waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to happen. Because I don’t understand how after everything…” she chokes on a sob, her chin trembling with such force she worries her jaw may shatter, “I just don’t understand why I get it have it all now. You. Jack. The house,” she sobs again, her attention focusing back on Samuel, “Him. I mean look at him, Aaron,” she runs her knuckles over her son’s soft cheek, “He’s perfect. How could something so perfect come from me?” 

He sighs, “Em-”

“And I love our life so much,” she says, cutting over him, unable to stop now she’s started, “And I am so worried that it’s all going to go away.” 

She presses her face into his shoulder and he places his hand on the back of her head, holding her close his thumb tracing back and forth over her damp hair, “Sweetheart, you deserve the world,” he says, kissing her forehead, “You’re allowed to allow yourself to be happy.” 

“It’s not that I’m not happy, honey,” she says, sniffing as she pulls back, “I’m so happy I just…”

“Don’t trust it,” he finishes for her and she nods. He wipes more tears from her cheeks, “I understand that.”

She frowns as she looks up at him, moving so quickly she briefly worries she’s woken up Samuel, but he’s still sleeping contentedly against her, “You do?” 

He nods, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “I do. Sometimes if I try to call you and you don’t answer I panic, it takes me right back to when I was on the phone with Haley when she was with Foyet. When I couldn’t protect her,” he admits, and she sighs sadly, her chest shuddering with it as she opens her mouth to respond, but he shakes his head, his smile soft, “You have nothing to apologise for. I’m telling you I understand, okay? But you, Jack,” he smiles as he looks at the baby asleep on her chest and he places his hand on his back, “Sammy. You’re what makes me happy. And it helps drown out the rest of it.” 

She’s strangely grateful he doesn’t offer her platitudes, that there are no empty promises hanging between them. They knew more than most people that nothing was guaranteed, and it was more comforting than she expected it to be that he knew how she felt too. 

“It also probably doesn’t help you haven’t slept in over 24 hours,” he says softly, and she chokes on a laugh, nodding as he wipes more tears away from her cheeks. 

“No, it probably doesn’t,” she admits, “But I really don’t think I’d sleep. I can’t explain it,” she says, tucking Samuel up against her cheek, “I feel almost wired.”

He chuckles and kisses the top of her head, “Yet Sammy is fast asleep.” 

She hums, “It’s hard work being born, clearly.” 

“Anything I can do to help?” He asks, and she nods stamping a kiss against his lips. 

“Can you do something with my hair for me?” She asks, feeling oddly embarrassed by the request, grimacing at the damp waves against her neck, “It’s overstimulating me but I don’t want to put him down to do anything about it.” 

He nods, his expression serious as he stands up and heads for the bag they’d packed, a determination in his step that made her fall impossibly more in love with him. “I can braid it if you want,” he says, turning to look at her with her hairbrush in one hand and a pack of hair ties in the other, “It will let me practise if our next one is a girl.”

She laughs loudly, disturbing the sleeping baby in her arms. She shushes him, whispers of Mommy loves you Sammy, against his head for a few seconds before he settles back down, and she raises an eyebrow at her husband. 

“Our next one?” She asks incredulously, the thought of another kid with him warming her from the inside out, “At least let me get out of the diaper from having this one first,” she says, narrowing her eyes playfully, “Animal.” She smiles as he settles back on the bed next to her and she leans in to kiss him, “I love you.” 

He smiles into the kiss, his forehead resting against hers before he pulls away, “I love you too.” 

She sighs contentedly as he gently brushes her hair for her and she closes her eyes, allows herself to settle into the feeling of her son on her chest and her husband behind her and the comfort that came with them. 

Her life was good. 

[lambourngb]

good fences make good neighbors

Commiseration Tuesday

With AO3 temporarily down, lots of us are sad at not being able to read when we wanted to! With that in mind, I’m taking the opportunity to invite you guys to share a little something from a WIP to keep us going through the downtime! Preferably something we haven’t shared before, but whatever works for you! Tagged by @ravens-words​ - thank you! I am working on an exchange fic, so I can’t share that, but I can share a WIP that I had before then...

ICEMAV - Set just after 1986 - based on a prompt where Mav and Ice are roommates and they have noisy neighbors. mentions of period-typical homophobia, and some misunderstandings ....

4400 words currently, but unfinished.

***

It was the third time that week.

Maverick stared sightless up at the plain white ceiling, tracing the cracks in the plaster while he listened to his next-door neighbors, Wolf and Hollywood, do their best to medal in the sex noise Olympics. It would be one thing if they decided to do this during the early evening hours when Mav could raise the volume on the ball game enough to drown out the moans and rhythmic thumping, but apparently, no one had any excess energy *right* after a work day. Instead, the second wind came at 2 am.

Again, the third time in the week, and it was only Tuesday. Christ.

Mav swung his legs out of bed, abandoning his attempts at sleep. Tomorrow's seminar on flight instructor certification was going to be rough, but judging from his recent experience, and god did he hate that he had this knowledge, the next-door noise had only just gotten started. It would be at least an hour before things quieted down again.

He met his own roommate in the dimly lit kitchen. Ice's face was flat with annoyance.

"Woke you up too?" Mav asked stupidly because, of course, it did. Ice was completely by the book and subscribed to the minimum of eight hours of sleep during the week; only the noise of Hollywood and Wolf would have had him in the kitchen nursing a warm bottle of Budweiser.

"I bet if I reported them to the brass, it would stop," Ice muttered darkly before pushing a chair open for Mav with his foot and nodding toward the open six-pack on the table.

"Well, just means they would be annoying their fellow prison cellmates with this instead of us." Mav traded a tired smile with Ice, both of them secure in the knowledge that reporting Hollywood and Wolf was completely out of the question. A few sleepless nights was a small price to pay for them, a momentary annoyance; a complaint about the two pilots breaking the UCMJ with each other would have them both dishonorably discharged and likely imprisoned. In fact, because it *was* Mav and Ice sharing a wall in their base housing duplex was probably the only reason the couple felt safe enough to make any noise in the first place.

Still. It was one thing that their friends had a feeling of safety knowing they would never be turned in, it was becoming clear there was also ... a level of shamelessness going on next door.

Mav knuckled the gritty feeling of fatigue out of his eyes, "What I don't understand is ... how do they even have the energy? We're logging four hours in the cockpit and six in the classroom during this new certification session, and I think Jester has become even more sadistic in his teaching since we graduated from Top Gun. I can barely make it through the evening news at the end of the day, let alone want to do..."

He paused, and then they both heard the enthusiastic beat of a bed frame from next door, and the loud tempo of 'Oh god, oh fuck' soundtrack. "That."

"Are you admitting to a lack of stamina, Mitchell?" Ice smirked, his usual cool expression curving into an even more familiar expression of mocking Mav. At least now, there was only humor in Ice's blue eyes instead of the dislike from when they first met.

"What?! No, there's nothing wrong with my stamina; I have zero complaints about that. I'm just saying... those idiots have been together for years, how are they still... like that?"

This time Ice looked away, taking a long slow draw from his beer. The oven light and microwave clock hid most of the details, but Mav knew him pretty well now, he could sense the discomfort in the question. "I wouldn't know. My longest relationship lasted through the holiday break during the Academy."

"Are we talking two days of Christmas or the eight nights of Hanukkah?"

"The former...and believe me, my mother despairs of me."

Mav laughed and held out his beer to clink against Ice's in solidarity over their sad love lives. "Well, you beat me. My streak is six weeks, give or take." 

He wasn't even sure if he could count the time between Hop 31 and getting cleared to fly again as time spent with Charlie, most of that was a blank in his memory of grief and intense accident investigation prep work. Top Gun was an 8-week combat school session, in between finally scoring a date with Charlie and getting dumped for the Washington job two weeks after the Layton rescue, six weeks was probably generous. Maybe he should count Penny instead, add up his assorted weekends with her after meeting her in flight school when her father was overseeing Pensacola. Four years, six weekends.

"I always beat you," Ice reminded him, annoying as always in his precision, with the memory of last year between them. 

Mav had no idea where the Top Gun trophy was, only that he was a little surprised that it wasn’t displayed prominently in their quarters, especially after Ice had found out who his roommate was at the beginning of the session. 

Actually a lot of Mav’s presumptions about Ice and what he would be like to live with had not come true. Neatness was a rule, but there were no white glove inspections of Mav’s room and only the drollest reminder to throw out the carryout containers after a few days, and they both agreed to keep the women at the O-Club. After all, the curriculum to qualify as a Top Gun instructor was difficult enough, without complicating it with a clingy boat chaser or pilot groupie that stalked the bars around Miramar. As it turned out, as straight-laced as Ice was in his job, he was surprisingly relaxed about the apartment. Mav had even expected some sort of judgment from Ice about his sparse civilian wardrobe or his cheap generic toiletries from the exchange, but there was nothing. 

Other than the old joke about who was the better pilot, Ice was a generous and easy-going roommate. Most of the time he put up a token protest about Ice’s winning streak (1 out 1 in competitions) but he was too tired to argue tonight. 

Instead, he flashed a smile at Ice, letting his shit-eating grin say everything for him. Ice rolled his eyes in turn, but maybe he was tired too, allowing the subject to drop without a further jibe.

The thumps and sounds were slowly winding down, and Maverick picked up their empty bottles to take to the trash. He yawned, and gestured to the side where Wolf and Hollywood were staying, “I do appreciate that they feel safe here, what I don’t appreciate is the timing of it. I almost yawned in Viper’s face during the flight log review today because of them.”

Ice’s eyes crinkled at the admission, but he was kind enough not to laugh at least. He put the rest of the six pack back in the fridge and then wiped the table down with a papertowel, leaving the kitchen pristine again. “I agree. Their timing could be better, or at least quieter, and I guess I’m only a little jealous of them.”

“Why, because they’re getting laid?”

“No,” Ice drawled, without an eyeroll this time, “because they found each other. I might not have had a long-term relationship before, but I’m not opposed to the idea. Wood and Wolf, while I know they have to hide their relationship, at least they can talk about their jobs without boring the other person, or worse, spending the evening explaining acronyms. That kinda sounds nice to me.”

Then it had to be a trick of shadow, or the thin draperies by the window, but Mav suddenly had the impression that Ice was *blushing* after that confession. His mind spun over the possibilities, was that something that his wingman was interested in, and with whom, only a few people could possibly check that narrow set of boxes. Certainly not any of the women at the O-Club, unless Ice had his eye on someone Mav didn’t know. Pensacola had been graduating women for at least ten years, though not many in fixed-wing operations. He shook his head, deciding that he must have imagined that. Iceman was way too controlled to blush. 

He realized he was staring just then, and was standing too close to Ice in the dimly lit kitchen. Rushing to cover for his shameful preoccupation, Mav rubbed the back of his head and scoffed. “Yeah, sure it sounds nice, but I can’t really imagine it being realistic. At least not for me.” 

Ice said nothing in response, not even to make fun of Mav, he just brushed past him to leave the kitchen. The quiet in their apartment had been restored, it was time to attempt sleep again. 

As Mav waited to fall back asleep he realized that another presumption that he had about Ice had fallen completely flat. Ice might have been robotic in his flying at time, but the man was also a secret romantic. 

*

Two nights later it happened again. The thin walls transcribe nearly every movement and every breathless gasp from Wolfman and Hollywood.

Mav sat up in bed with a loud groan of annoyance as the ‘Oh oh, yes!’ chorus started up again. His textbook that he had fallen asleep reading slipped off his lap onto the floor with a loud thump, and then he crashed into his nightstand after overbalancing in his attempt to reach it. The nightstand hit the wall, and Mav yelped loudly in pain.

There was a pause and a giggle from the shared wall and then a loud shushing noise.

He rubbed his elbow, retrieving the textbook from the floor. Thank god blessed silence, Mav thought as the quiet extended past a few minutes, before pushing up from the floor to crawl back in bed.

Except the respite was brief, and the rocking movements of the headboard.

Mav groaned again, even more annoyed by them now. 

There was another spell of quiet, and suddenly, he realized what was going on. Wolf and Wood were listening to him. “Oh you fucking pervs,” Mav whispered to himself, and then shrugged. Maybe it was time for them to get a taste of their own medicine. He got on his knees and grabbed the plain headboard with one hand, then started to rock his hips in motion until the mattress squeaked in time with his efforts.

Boom, boom, boom, he knocked the headboard into the wall, while the mattress made obliging sounds with it. Mav pinched his thumb between the wall and the bed, pulling a loud cry of pain from his lips. Despite the circumstances that gave him an idea, it was the sound that was missing from his production. He moaned and cried loudly, until his muscles started to burn with the exertion.

Had it been long enough? How long did he have to do this? He didn’t want to be teased for being an early finisher if he quit too early-

Out of caution, Mav gave a few more minutes of his best performance without laughing, then he let out a satisfied whimper for his audience. 

It was silent next door. Maybe they were both voyeurs and got off to the noise and idea of someone else getting laid. Whatever the reason, Mav laid flat on his bed and fell asleep quickly in the renewed quiet. His last thought was smug, he had silenced the neighbors in half of the time and all it cost him was a bruised thumb.

* 

The next day was strange. It was Friday, and Mav woke up with a smile on his face. The class had an early morning test before they were all dismissed for the weekend, practically a three day holiday. He had studied the night before thoroughly and felt prepared, his sleep had only been disturbed briefly thanks to his ingenuity, and the weather was beautiful, perfect for an afternoon at the beach. Everything was coming up aces for him.

Except for one thing. Well, one person. Ice.

Never a chatty person in the morning without caffeine, Ice was downright monosyllabic on Friday. He nodded to Mav in the kitchen, taking his coffee back to his room with a brief return of Mav’s greeting of ‘Good morning’ and then he left for class before Mav was dressed from his shower, instead of sharing the walk to the hanger with him. 

Hollywood and Wolf on the other hand were all smiles and jokes that morning, elbowing each other and laughing whenever Mav came near them. He had chocked their behavior up to being a pair of immature pervs, even if they were madly in love with each other, and he had dismissed it completely. 

Ice’s behavior was a little harder to puzzle out.

His uniform was perfectly pressed, and his gold pen was still in his hand while they waited for the test to be passed out to the class. No sign of the lazy, hypnotic twirl that Ice was prone to do. It was as if every inch of him was locked down and under complete control. A complete 1-180 from how they first encountered each other. It was then that Mav realized that the pen-flipping and gum chewing were all signs of Ice being comfortable and at ease with his environment, and why wouldn’t he had been during TOPGUN, his skills had him in first place on day one, and everyone else had to play catch up, Mav included. Not today. A statue had more warmth and movement than Ice did. Mav tried to catch his eye from across the room, but Ice seemed to be deeply interested in front of the classroom and never acknowledged Mav.

That was also new.

“This might be a short day, gentlemen, but this test will determine whether you have the proficiency to teach the theories of aerial combat to incoming Top Gun classes. I hope you all studied hard,” Jester said from the podium with the tests in hand.

Hollywood smothered a laugh after Wolfman kicked the back of his chair.

“Something to add, Lt. Neven?” 

“No sir, we all studied hard. Some of us went at it a little harder than others last night,” Hollywood answered, almost respectfully. Mav noticed that Ice’s shoulders seemed to tighten and a red flush was spreading over Ice’s ear as he stared straight ahead completely stone-faced. The rest of the room was used to Hollywood running his mouth, nearly everyone rolled their eyes at the innuendo.

Mav had the strange feeling that he was missing something. Ice’s knuckles were white where he clutched his pen when just the other day that type of remark would have had him trading long-suffering looks with Mav. They knew better than anyone what Hollywood was referring to as the unlucky neighbors. However his musings were cut off by the appearance of the test. There would be time to figure out his wingman later, Mav reasoned, first he needed to make sure he didn’t wash out of the training program because of a stupid written exam.

The previous hard work the night before in studying was at least well rewarded. He confidently wrote in the answers to the open-ended questions and circled the appropriate bubbles during the multiple choice sections, hardly needing to pause to remember the correct information. Mav had to hide a smile as he reached the end of the exam, and noticed that Viper had updated the scenario with the MiG and inverted tanks. Finishing the test with a flourish, Mav stood at almost the same time as Ice did, both of them were the first to turn in their exams. 

He rushed to the front of the classroom, mostly with grace and slapped down his test in front of Jester with a smug celebration for being the first. Jester raised his eyebrows at the display, and placed the completed test to the side with an exaggerated gesture of patience. Mav turned his head to see if Ice was bothered by finishing second, only to watch him walk slowly and unhurriedly to the front, seemingly without a care. 

Like Mav was the only one who was competing. Like Mav wasn’t even worth competing with.

He was definitely missing *something* when it came to Ice. Well, as a pilot, Mav was well-trained in the dogged-pursuit of a bogie; putting his wingman in his sights was easy. Target acquired time to move in for the easy kill.

Or at least it should have been easy. Mav waited just outside of the classroom doors for Ice. 

Ice took one step out of the hanger, then caught sight of him, he then made a text-book perfect dress-right move away from him in an obvious attempt at avoidance. Ice must have been in charge of drill formations for his brigade at the academy, Mav mused to himself before jogging to catch up to match Ice’s long strides down toward the housing block. Something was definitely up with him.

Deciding to start with the obvious, Mav fell breathlessly in step with him, “Hey, so how do you think you did on the test? Not as bad as we thought, right?”

“Fine,” Ice gritted out without looking over at him.

“Just fine? I think I aced it,” Mav continued, undeterred by the short response. “Did you see the question about the inverted tanks? I feel like perhaps my name should have been cited as a resource there, since it was my intel from the Enterprise-”  he paused to see if Ice reacted to that, and was met with a clenched jaw but nothing else. “I guess we will find out on Monday if they wash any of us out for being too stupid to teach here. It’s not like the ASVAB where you get thirty points for spelling your name right, although yours was probably a challenge, Kazansky.”

“Right.”

There was no way that Ice was worried about failing out of the program, Mav thought, but maybe he was wrong about that. It was barely ten am, and there was almost three days before the results would be ready, maybe what Ice needed was a distraction. 

“Listen, it’s early enough, why don’t we hit the beach, scout out the best location before the rest of our class finishes up. Maybe it’s time for another rematch in volleyball,-”

“No, thank you,” Ice replied firmly.

The response was polite on the surface, but completely cold. Mav blinked, and realized that they were back at their shared quarters. Instead of moving toward his bedroom to remove his uniform for the long weekend, Ice was packing a slim carrying case with his textbooks and notes. His movements were smooth and unhurried under Mav’s stare, as if Mav wasn’t even there in the room with him.

He had tried subtle, but that had rarely worked for him, so Mav got straight to the point. “Is something wrong?” 

Ice didn’t pause after zipping the case up, even though his hands flexed on the supple leather. “No, nothing is wrong.”

“Are you sure? Because if I pissed you off, it wasn’t deliberate-”

Ice straightened, holding the case in his right hand. He was still the consummate officer, his left hand was free to salute, as he flicked his gaze over to Maverick for the first time all day. Up and down, without a hint of his thoughts on his face as Mav shifted anxiously under it. Whatever he saw on Mav, it must not have been interesting as he executed another precise pivot away from Mav. “You didn’t, I just don't have time for you right now, Mitchell.”

Dismissed. 

Mav thought about what Goose had said during that first night at the O-Club about Ice, “he wears you down, you get bored, frustrated, do something stupid and he's got ya-” somehow without Mav becoming aware of it, Ice had gotten lock on him and had fired, echoing the words of disinterested foster parents and bored peers who hadn’t cared to hear his teenage-mouth runoff about planes and the Navy in that dead end town.

Ice had his back to him thankfully for Mav’s ego, he was too intent on leaving the small duplex and missed the devastation left in his wake, calling out a belated, “Later, Mitchell,” over his shoulder. 

Still precise and polite, even after leaving a knife inside Mav. 

*

Time played games with Mav after that, slipping away in hours before lingering painfully over the last few minutes with Ice. He was somewhat aware of movement outside the door, a knock and call from Wolfman, some offer about the beach, but it felt unimportant to Mav. One thing was clear, he had not imagined the tension in Ice that morning and then the sudden dismissal after the test solidified that into fact. 

He had done something wrong, something that had killed the blossoming friendship between them after the Layton rescue. He had no idea what it could be, but he was a little too familiar with this type of confusion after having experienced it before as a kid. He remembered how it went back then, foster parents that were excited to welcome a son into their family, with wide smiles and effusive hugs always seemed to slip into cold, disapproving strangers because of something Mav had done.

There was even a particular look they would get after making the decision to return him to foster care, but before the social worker could find the next placement. With the brief return of the wide empty smiles, everyone would act nice, but behind it was the peace of knowing it would be just temporary and he would soon be someone else’s problem. 

Ice had found his limit with him; apparently, he was now cooly polite to Mav and obviously avoiding him. Maybe he had reached his own decision about Mav, there was no social worker for Ice to call to pick Mav up, but there were transfer orders and reassignments instead. 

He’s waiting to finish the teaching certification and then he’ll be headed back to sea, away from Miramar, Mav realized dully. They would finish the program qualified to be instructors, but not together. Somewhere along the line after Ice had signed up for the class with him, he had pictured sharing an office with him at Top Gun, taking up new pilots and bickering over paperwork, turning that bond they had from the Indian Ocean into something… more. 

Mav had never felt more stupid in his life, he suddenly understood why his stomach had clenched when Ice had confessed being a little jealous of Hollywood and Wolfman having found each other. “I might not have had a long-term relationship before, but I’m not opposed to the idea.” He was jealous, because he now realized that he wanted that too, with Ice. 

He swallowed the sour taste in his mouth and stood up from their couch, suddenly aware that hours had passed and he had done nothing to fix whatever he had done to piss Ice off. The key to convincing someone to keep him around had always revolved around being useful to them. He had learned early on that certain home placements had lasted longer when he accepted the bulk of household chores, then later on, he had ensnared Nick Bradshaw’s lifelong friendship when he had volunteered for newborn diaper duty with baby Bradley. Hell, even Charlie had hung around for his knowledge of the MiG, which was all very useful to her career prospects in Washington. 

Now how could he be useful to Ice, and make up for whatever he did to alienate the other man?

The quarters they shared were still neat, as per Ice’s original request but maybe he also meant he wanted them to be clean? That he could do.

*

It was almost eleven when Mav heard the key scrape in the lock that signaled Ice’s return. 

He kept his attention on the baseball game, long since placed on mute after the sound of the announcers had started to scrape over his anxiety. Ice flipped on the lights, causing him to blink owlishly at the brightness, his eyes having long since grown used to the dim light of the television.

“Sorry,” Ice apologized, still polite and courteous. “I didn’t think you’d be back.”

Mav glanced over at him before returning his attention to the game, even though he had no idea how his team was up by four. That confirmed another suspicion, Ice had stayed away until now because he wanted to avoid him. He hated it when his suspicions were proven correct. “Never left.”

He could see out of his periphery that his admission seemed to halt Ice in his tracks to the kitchen. It was just temporary, he recovered and continued to the small alcove to retrieve a beer from the fridge after placing his leather case on the small card table that masqueraded as a kitchen table. The sounds were familiar to Mav, the hiss of the refrigerator door, the snap of the bottle cap, the careful clink of Ice throwing the cap away in the trash, instead of tossing it carelessly like the rest of their class.

It all sounded normal, except for the bounds of tension that were looped around his chest. 

A ball was hit to the outfield, and Mav watched as it arched higher and higher over the desperate reach of a desperate center fielder. He blinked, realizing belatedly that his team had allowed the opponent to tie up the game. It was the bottom of the ninth, if his team held it they would have another shot at winning, but if they slipped it was all over. That, at least, felt familiar to Mav. 

“You cleaned,” Ice said, stating the obvious with a small wrinkle of confusion on his face as he took a seat next to Mav on the couch. His blue eyes scanned the room, noting each small change, like the rug was freshly beaten, the wood floors swept, the scent of lemon oil in the air. 

Mav pulled his attention away from the game and tried to read his expression, looking for some sign of approval or disapproval. Damnit, he was twenty-five years old, and somehow he had found a time portal back to 1973, eleven years old and wondering if he had cleaned the house well enough to avoid being sent back. For the first time since Ice had brushed him off, he felt the lick of anger at himself for being this weak. 

“I did.”

[cringefuckass]

Here’s the first draft of the first chapter of that lute and adam focused fic. i have like two weeks before i can make an ao3 account, the invitation queue is LONG. so here’s this for now, i’ll probably revamp it a bit and maybe work on further chapters between now and getting a new account

Hell is not something you ever expect. When you don’t believe in an afterlife you don’t tend to see it coming when you end up there, and when you do believe in an afterlife you only see yourself going up. Never down, never to the fire and brimstone. When you only arrive once a year to exterminate the population of hell you also don’t normally predict to see yourself ending up there permanently as a resident, yet Adam and Lute have found themselves in this exact predicament. Perhaps rebelling against the Princess of Hell and her newfound proven system of redemption sounds like a sure-fire way to get there on paper, but hindsight is 20/20.

“This fuckin’ blows, man,” said Adam, kicking rocks as Lute walked behind him at a respectable distance. “How was I supposed to know Sera was bein’ that serious? One demon glowing white and going up doesn’t seem like a good enough fuckin’ reason to change everything!” He threw his arms up in an exasperated manner, barely aware of his surroundings.

“I agree, sir.” Lute replied, though she was aware he wasn’t looking for a reply. A small statement to fill the silence in between his own words was all he needed as he ranted and raved at the injustice he had been served.

“I mean, seriously, I’m not just some guy they pulled off the streets, I’m fuckin’ Adam, the original! Throwing me down here like I’m NOTHING. Can you fuckin’ believe the balls that must have took?” Lute nodded along as they walked to nowhere. They were aimless down here, walking for walkings sake, and Lute didn’t have the energy to question it. She might not be talking nearly as much as the original man, but she agreed with his statements. He was a leader, a man of virtue, and she was his right hand Exorcist. She thought it was some kind of abhorrent mistake that either of them should be here in this hole in the ground, let alone both of them. Theirs was a presence that demanded respect and honour but here they were, amongst the sinners. Speaking of which, there was a considerable lack of sinners out with them. Was it night? Was Hell always dark or was this their equivalent of nightfall? Lute wasn’t sure. Maybe, she smiled to herself, they were scared. Their wings, her mask and weapon gone, and it was still enough to send the demons away, shaking in their wakes. This was almost certainly not the case, but a bit of fantasy didn’t hurt to cope with the… unfortunate situation she found herself in.

“And you know what, hot stuff, don’t think I don’t blame you for your part in this bullshit,” Adam interrupted Lutes thought process. It took her a moment to realise his implication.

“Excuse me?” She stopped keeping his pace and came to a halt.

“You heard me! You’re supposed to be the one who keeps me under check, it’s apart of why you’re kept around! That and the badass kill count you rack up.” Adam paused his own walking when he realised she wasn’t at his side, though that quickly changed as she appeared in front of his face in less than a second, her hand gripping the collar of his white robe pulling him down to her eye level.

“My job is to do as you say, not babysit you.” Her voice was low and steady. “If I thought my loyalty was misplaced I’d have left you to it. Do not,” she spat, “blame me for your own idiotic ideas. All I did was support my superior.” With a flick of her wrist she let go of his collar, making him stumble before regaining his stance. For a five foot-nothing bitch she sure could throw him around like he was nothing. He wasn’t to going to think about that too much.

“okay, okay, calm your tits.” Adam crossed his arms over his chest in an attempt to seem nonchalant after having his ass handed to him in less than five sentences. It had been his idea. He was the one who convinced Lute to join him in going against Sera’s acceptance of the princesses plans. Granted, she hadn’t needed much convincing at all, he was more than aware of her own distaste to the sudden change. Looking down at her he felt compelled to ask why she was still here at all. He fucked up, and now he had gotten them both cast down to the blazing abyss. “So like, why are you tailing my dick down here still?”

Lute allowed herself a moment before replying. “I have my loyalties. Just because we no longer look over an army doesn’t mean you’re not still my commanding officer.” A pause. “And just because you fucked up doesn’t mean I’d abandon my post.” He could almost say he was thankful that despite everything she was still here instead of leaving him to wallow like he definitely would have if not for her eyes on him forcing him to keep himself up. If there was ever a time to attempt to open up and try to show his appreciation for her sticking around it would be now. It was the perfect opportunity to express a level of gratitude he has never and probably will never show to a woman again.

“Wow… forget big dick energy, I must have humongous dick energy to still have someone this loyal in Hell! Ha!”