#sometimes i want to punch my self in the face with a chair

[cemeteryspider]

The Shadow's Redemption

Platonic! X-Men x New X-Men! Reader

Eventual Nightcrawler! Kurt Wagner x Necromancer! Reader

Summary: When you arrive at the X-Mansion, you are forced to open up about past trauma to grow and become the person you were meant to be.

Trigger Warnings: Trauma, Abuse, Violence, Emotional Distress, and Loss

Word Count: 2570

When you arrived at the academy after years of fighting the X-Men, let's just say that not everyone was very welcoming. However, the Professor welcomed you with open arms after Mister Sinister's control over you was severed.

Cyclops, Scott Summers as you would come to know him as, was maybe the biggest obstacle of your transition from mind control survivor to X-Men in training.

"I refuse to work with them! They've tried to kill me and the team on multiple occasions. They are dangerous, and don't know how their powers work! That's only scratching the surface Professor!," You could hear Scott yelling behind the thick door to the Professor's office.

Your eyes were trained on the floor, and your knees instinctively curled up into your chest. You knew the abuse that Sinister put you through and you would never willingly go back, but in the back of your mind you could only think, 'At least he wanted me'.

Once the thought entered your mind, the yelling stopped and the door burst open. Scott stormed off past you giving you the dirtiest look as he passed.

"Come in, dear, we have much to discuss," The Professor welcomed you into his office with his voice, knowing how much you feared telepathic communication after Mister Sinister. "I have decided that you will have a team of mutants to mentor you, Storm, Wolverine, and Jubilee. They will each help you with different aspects of your powers, Storm will help you keep total control over your powers, Wolverine will assist with hand to hand combat, and Jubilee will assist you in self-defense and social integration at the academy"

You spoke quietly, "I don't need you to assign me friends".

He gave a hearty chuckle at your comment, "I'm not assigning you friends, it will be your job to make friends with the team, I'm just setting you up for success, my dear," He looked down at a stack of papers on his desk, "Wolverine will see you in the Danger Room now, have a good first day"

With that you looked up at him confused, "My apologies, I will show you to the room"

Easily you could've figured the layout of the building using your powers to take knowledge from the dead, but instead you silently followed the Professor's chair across the building.

~~~

Your fists hit the punching bag, barely making it sway from side to side.

"Come on, you've hit me harder than that, Bub," That comment made you give him a little glare.

"If I could use my powers, this punching bag would be ripped to shreds in seconds," The quiet but powerful statement made Wolverine grumble.

"Sometimes you can't count on your abilities to get you out of a situation," He grasped your wrist in his hand and showed you how to move your arm. You shook him off and tried again.

"Bit better," He circled you and the punching bag for what felt like an eternity, "Punch the bag like your angry at it"

Your eyebrows creased and you tried to feel your anger. As hard as you tried you remembered the telepathic calm Mister Sinister would inject into your mind whenever you started to revolt against him. Just like you did back then you fell to your knees, tears falling from your eyes.

~~~

“I’m going to take you down. I will escape, and you will pay,” You snarled from your place on the cold metal chair, twisting the rough rope tying your wrists to the arms of the chair.

“Oh you poor thing, I give you a new life, a fulfilling one, and you threaten me? Tsk tsk,” He grabbed your face in his hands, “Tell me what do you feel now?”

The artificial calm entered your mind. It infected your anger with a stillness, a complacency that made you regret yelling at Mister Sinister in the first place. You could feel the pit in your stomach grow, and your breathing quickened but the power suppressant collar he had on you kept you hyperventilating.

“See, you like it here, I care about you, and we make a great team,” You tried to shove the thoughts out of your mind, but nothing worked. So you cried, the tears reminded you of how you’ve lost something, something that may never return.

~~~

Wolverine's eyes widened and you heard him talking to someone, "Xavier, I think I made a mistake... uh huh, they're umm cryin'... why me?... fine"

You placed your head in your hands and continued to cry, you felt the ground shake a little as he sat next to you.

"You know, I was taken too," After a moment your shaking settled and you looked up at him your eyes filled with hurt, "I was turned into a weapon, experimented on, tortured, locked up, I don't wanna talk about that, but I escaped"

You wiped the tears from your eyes, and looked him over for once you noticed the scars marring his skin.

"I changed for the better. It took a while, well maybe still, but I'm finding myself. The academy is a good place to start lookin, Bub"

Your eyes locked onto Wolverine's, "Thank you for believing in me, Wolverine"

His eyes rolled, "Don't call me that, Logan's just fine," He quickly got up from the ground and extended his hand to you.

~~~

You stood outside with Storm, and the wind she controlled blew your hair around. You were mesmerized by Storm's control over the skies making clouds appear and disappear, small thunderstorms flying overhead, even tiny tornado's spinning in the palm of her hand.

"You too can use your powers with such precision, with practice," She assured you.

You started with mediating, controlled breathing, and even visualization to manage your emotions. Allow you to feel them and understand how to understand your powers.

"Think of your happiest memory, now" You scanned your memories looking for that moment. Everything beyond your captivity by Mister Sinister seemed to have vanished, your neutral face turned into a frown.

"I don't have any I can remember," You opened your eyes to see Storm staring back at you. You could've sworn you could see sympathy in the eyes staring back. Her neutral expression finally broke into one of realization.

"What do you feel then," You pondered her question for a moment. You thought of everything he had taken from you, your parents, your normal life, your home, your youth...

"I'm angry," You whispered.

"What was that?" You knew full well she heard you.

"I feel angry," You looked at her with a scared look in your eyes. She just smiled at you.

"Show me how that feels," She stood up alongside you as you walked a little further away from the mansion.

Your breathing quickened, you could feel your eyes glaze over black, and you screamed. You let yourself feel your anger. Your fists clenched, and you could feel the darkness escape from your enclosed palms. You could feel the angry spirits within you scream with you.

The X-Men basketball game stopped and looked towards you. Darkness emitting in tendrils from your body, and spirits appearing around you screaming in unison. They all looked shocked.

Once a wave of relief washed over you and the darkness was pulled back inside, and the spirits disappeared either satisfied for the moment or put to rest eternally. A smile crossed your face for the first time in a long time.

"I can work with that" Storm was smirking at you, looking at you not with fear but a sweet sort of admiration. It made you smile wider.

~~~

That night you didn't take dinner back to your room. Instead you sat with the team Charles Xavier so badly wanted you to be a part of. You weren't nervous around him or Jean after your training with Logan and Storm. You felt confident in your abilities to feel your own emotions, and possibly the influence of a telepath. The Professor assured that when you were ready he could help you with that aspect, and after seeing your powers while on the basketball court Jean offered as well.

People were still afraid of confronting you about your powers, knowing what it felt like to be on the receiving end of your army of undead spirits. However, someone did not have those same qualms.

Kurt unapologetically appeared across from you at the table as you were sat between Storm and Logan protectively, "Hello, schön, saw your display the other day, it was simply amazing"

Your eyes flicked up from your plate and to Logan who simply huffed at the fuzzy blue man across from you.

"Thanks," you tersely responded.

"Ah! So silly of me, I am Kurt Wagner," Quickly he disappeared and reappeared in front of your eyes holding a flower across the table to you, "the Nightcrawler"

You felt your cheeks heat up looking up at him from your meal. You couldn't remember the last time someone introduced themself to you of their own volition.

"I'm Styx," You slowly plucked the beautiful golden marigold from between his fingers, "Thank you, Kurt"

His smile was infectious, and a smile turned one side of your mouth upwards.

"Kurt, sit down we have much to discuss," Still as the Professor spoke to the group about upcoming missions, and successful past ones he would steal glances at you.

One time he made a funny face at you while Scott was busy speaking, which caused you to laugh out loud. Everyone turned to look at you, and Logan simply started laughing too. Storm had a smile on her face because she knew it was the first time you laughed at the mansion.

~~~

You were at the mall with Jubilee and Jean who were helping you pick out some new clothes to make you feel more comfortable. While meandering the racks at Hot Topic Jubilee snuck up next to you.

"You know Kurt totally has a crush on you, right?" The same heat rushed to your cheeks, as you speedily turned back to the clothes to bring out a lacy black top with bell sleeves.

"What about this?" You held it up to your chest and turned back to Jubilee.

"Cute," She snatched it from your hands and put it in the basket, "but you can't avoid this, do you think you like him?"

You opened your mouth to say no, but you closed it because you did find him frustratingly adorable.

"Ah! You didn't say no!" Jubilee put her hand out for you to take which you reluctantly did, "He has never gotten so smitten with a new person this quickly, you two would be so cute together! Golden retriever and black cat relationship type thing ya know!"

You kept walking down the aisle, "Come on! Get excited with me! You two would so be a match," her fingers snapped and a small bright firework lit up your face.

You chuckled but something held you back, "I'm not sure I'm ready. For years the only person who I talked to was Sinister. I'm not exactly sure I'm dating material"

Jubilee exaggeratedly rolled her eyes at you, "You are a total catch, I mean the chic funeral attire, creepy spirits you have at your whim, the cold tendril thingys, who wouldn't want to date you," You gave her a sharp glare and she put her hands up defensively,

"I'm just joking, obvi, seriously you're so cool and anyone would be lucky to have you. If you're not ready I won't pressure you, but I don't know if Kurt's giving up anytime soon"

~~~

You focused on raising a singular spirit from the dead. Placing your hands in the grass behind the mansion. A blue spirit emerged from the Earth and sat with her legs crossed next to you.

'Hello, what's your name?' She was just a child, and yet she felt peace in death, you could feel it.

"People call me Styx, how 'bout you?"

'It doesn't matter, why have you brought me here?'

"I'm trying to learn more about summoning, my power"

'I had powers too'

"Tell me about them"

A smile crossed the young child's face and her eyes lit up, 'I could see the future, but a bad man took me away. Injected me with something. My body couldn't heal it like the others,' Her smile vanished, 'I dreamed of being an X-Men'

"I'm sorry that happened to you, no one deserves that. I'm an X-Men in training, you know," That was the first time you said that out loud.

'Really?! So you know Jean Grey! and Storm! Do you know Charles Xavier?!,'

You smiled at the young girl, "Yes I know them. Storm is like my best friend you know"

A gasp escaped the young girl's lips, 'That's so cool! You know maybe if you took my power, it would be like I'm part of the X-Men too'

"If only I could do that, I only can take knowledge from others," You chuckled.

She giggled at you, 'You can, silly, I can see the future, so I would know. Just take my hands'

You turned to face the young girl, and you held her hands in yours.

'Just focus," And you did, 'Think about my clairvoyance, think about the future'

And you did. There was a tingling sensation in your palms, and in a moment she was gone just an echo of a sentence, 'Call me Claire.'

~~~

You had two new powers to train, and you closed yourself off in your room working on honing in on looking into the future. Sometimes you would see centuries in the future, and sometimes seconds. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to this, just guesses.

While focusing you heard a knock at the door.

"Come in!" You yelled, and in a moment Kurt appeared in your room.

"Hallo! How are you Liebe!" He joyfully appeared next to you on the bed.

"Oh, hey Kurt. I'm doing well, how are you?" You carefully placed your hands on your lap, not wanting to try to see the future with Kurt in the room.

"Good, now that I'm with you," He gently shifted on the bed to look at you better, "Liebe, I have a question, but I don't want to scare you off"

"Ask me," You looked into his eyes, and a dark blush crossed his face.

'Hold his hand, see the future,' Sometimes Claire would speak to you. Usually to help you understand how to use her powers, and so you took his hand in yours.

Surprise crossed his face, but he quickly cleared his throat and used his confidence while it lasted, "Will you, do me the honor, of going on a date with me"

You saw yourself saying yes. You dress up, Kurt taking you to a fancy restaurant, and a dance at the end of the night. You saw another date where you shared your first kiss with him.

You could've seen more but you blinked away the visions. It didn't take you more than a second to respond this time.

"Yes, I would like that very much"

"Gut, sehr gut, how is Saturday?," You smiled at him and nodded, "unglaublich, I will see you then!"

With that he poofed out of the room and outside you could hear him cheering and Wolverine giving him the most big brother chat you've ever heard.

[glossykissies]

Butcher's hatred for vought only worsening after meeting hybrid!puppy reader bc of what they did to her makes me so sad :( he's just an old angry man who gives off ultimate protective daddy vibes

ok trigger warning for this arc bc it goes into her abuse but

yes bc i feel like it takes a while for her to understand that the abuse she faced wasn’t okay / normal and it’s not just butcher that feels that way it’s everyone. like whenever she messes up infront of the boys she just puts her head down and braces, and when hughies like “wait, what are you doing?” pup is all

“oh, well, back at the lab if i messed up they’d punch me in the stomach real hard so i don’t do it again?” :(((((

and m.m has to take her aside and explain that she’s not gonna be physically assaulted for messing up, especially not over something so tiny? “no one is laying a hand on you in here, you hear me? if they do? they’ll have to answer to me.” he adds the last part with a playful smile, trying to keep the tone light — but upon turning to you, his face falls, seeing the tears on your cheeks.

“really?”

“what— yeah. we may be a bunch of ruthless motherfuckers but beating on someone as defenceless as you — no offence, well that’s where i draw the line. look, you’re safe here kid.” he turns his full body to you, large frame crouched a little subconsciously to seem less intimidating. “don’t mean you won’t get yelled at by butcher from time to time, but i’m tryna get a handle on that.” he pats your back with a smile, shuffling to get up but you throw your arms around him.

“thank you, m.m.”

his brow creases, knowing that sort of thing shouldn’t warrant a thank you.

“we’re takin’ this one step at a time.” he hums.

kimiko also serves as great comfort, knowing what it’s like to face abuse and be confused when faced with kindness. sometimes she finds you sitting alone, not your usual energetic self and she comes and sits with you — typing things out on her phone to communicate with you.

are you having a bad day?

“yeah. i don’t miss the lab, but sometimes i wish i didn’t have the responsibility of being a full… person. at least when people treated me like a dog i didn’t have to think too hard.” you sigh and she nods, taking a moment to type.

i understand. i don’t miss my past, but some days i kind of wish i could go back just so i could hang out with my brother one more time.

“yeah. i get that.”

after a pause, she types some more.

did you have any brothers or sisters?

“no. it was just me. i always wished i had a sister to play with though.”

kimiko smiles, happily typing something into her phone before proudly turning it around.

well guess what? we’re sisters now. you can be my little sister. i always wanted one of those.

you beam, tail thudding the side of the chair you’re curled on as it starts to wag and your mood is infectious, the girl throwing her arm around you into a side hug.

butchers hate does infact worsen and it causes him to act up, get more violent than before — violently destroying anyone with a finger dipped into the vought pie. you always assumed it was because of his own past, but one day you witnessed him beating on someone who had something to do with the hybrid operation. cowering in the doorway, you try to keep your frightened whimpers at bay at hear him berating the bloody man through grit teeth.

“what you did to ‘er? what your fuckin’ people did to that girl? she’ll never be the bloody same and that’s all because of you. you’re gonna rot in hell, cunt.” before delivering the final blow to his skull.

you’re shaking, and only when he’s pulled himself off the corpse he sees you— having watched the entire thing. he softens slightly, eyes flickering with shame as he presses his lips together but you slowly approach, wide eyed.

“dont be scared pup, i ain’t… i just couldn’t let ‘im get away with it. can’t let scum like that keep walkin’ this earth.” he thinks you might bolt, like he’s seen you do on other occasions— but this time you approach, wrapping your arms around him, nuzzling into him, ears twitching, tail wrapping around his thigh.

[oonajaeadira]

Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 3: Autumn

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T for now

Warnings: Angst. Canon-typical tragedy (not main characters). Childbirth. A few names that may twist a knife.

Summary: You give Joel a lot to think about.

A/N: Set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although I claim the right to steal ideas and bits of cannon from the second game if I want to for plot reasons later.

It takes a lot to gain Joel's trust, and even longer to tame him. Thanks for sticking it out this long. We're finally shifting into acceptance mode.

“No, they do not make you look old. They make you look like Joel Miller in glasses. Just like the last five pairs. These are distinguished.”

“Looks like something my old man would have worn.”

“Your dad must have been a stunner. Assume the position. Bottom line.”

Turning him by his shoulders, you square Joel up to the line on the floor across from the eye chart at the back of the Jackson commissary.

“P…E Z O L C…F…T D.”

You pass him a handwritten note. “Good. Now use the bottom half of the lenses to read this one. Do it without squinting.”

Taking the paper, he squints. You pull on his arm to distance it correctly and he stops. He stares at the paper for a while. You might be concerned at the pause if he wasn’t taking a comically elongated time, breathing out hard through his nose, his jaw ticking left to right, feigning decisions, trying not to laugh. “Gimme a pencil.”

Without taking your eyes off him, you reach over to the counter and snag a pencil out of a cup and hand it to him, watch his eyebrows lift, his head shake, and give another dramatic sigh as he marks the paper before handing both the note and the pencil back over to you.

Joel Miller, will you go to the harvest dance with me? [x] yes or [ ] no.

“I don’t think these are gonna work,” he points to the black frames on his face. “Can’t read a damn thing. Not one damn word–” He can’t even make it through the sentence without cracking a smile, and only fully laughs when you playfully punch him in the arm.

“I’ll have you know this is a binding contract whether you can see it or not,” you join him in the tease, fanning the note in his face. “Just how blind are you???”

“Well, maybe I was working up to asking you the same question so…I guess not as blind as you seem to think.”

This slowly melts your laughter down to a smile. “Working up to it? What’s there to work up to? You mean… Did you…not want to?”

When his own smile fades, you realize too late that maybe he didn’t.

While you and Joel have fallen into a close friendship over the past few months, sometimes that’s all it really seems to be. There are moments that come close to something more–an arm draped over the back of your chair–or perhaps across your shoulders–as you stand in the back yard watching the fireflies, always a ready hand to help you up from a chair or the ground. If the two of you are ever in the same room, he’s always near, keeping you on his left where he can hear you. It took a while, but both Joel and Ellie have just stopped knocking when they come by, treating your house as they do Maria and Tommy’s–like family.

There are times he smiles in that way where his eyes shimmer and you think he’s coming around to falling for you. But he never pushes for more and you are beginning to wonder if he even wants that. After all, you’d learned from Tommy what life in a QZ can do to a person….and that’s on top of all the years the brothers spent surviving in some of the most violent and criminal ways possible.

Sometimes when you all sit out on Maria’s porch after dinner and watch the sunset together, he might take your hand in one of his–big, warm, roughened but gentle. And it’s at those times you almost forget about how he’d used it in the past. Almost.

With his bare hands, Tommy had said. Just come up behind ‘em and squeeze.

It takes time to become someone else. You always knew you’d need patience.

You just never braced yourself for something….a little less than affection.

“Listen, Songbird,” he sighs, his jaw shifting hard to one side. “I don’t want you to think–”

“Oh yeah, lookin’ goooooood,” Ellie’s opinion precedes your notice of her entrance. “Hey there, professor. I was looking for a book on relativity. Any suggestions?”

Pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose, he ignores her sass and turns instead to the commissary register to mark down the inventory he’s taking. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Maria?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, picking up an earthenware mug from a shelf and admiring the owl painted on it. “Her water broke. Baby’s coming. Can I claim this mug?”

“What??” Your body jerks, ready to run, but just barely holding back, shifting all the dismay you were just collecting and using it to power a new anxiety.

Joel’s head whips around, the glasses staying mercifully in place. “What are you doin’ looking for us? Go get Dr. Johnson!”

“Unclench yourself, my good sir. I already did. Went to her–” she says to him and then winks to you,”-- and Willa, thank you very much. You two didn’t tell me where you were going, you think I’m dumb enough to spend time hunting you down first? I’d be looking up and down Main forever. Have been. Almost went out back to see if you were eating spaghetti in the alley with one long noodle between you. Baby’s probably already here by now, jeez.” She spins on her heel, tapping the mug with a finger. “I’m taking this, thanks.”

Joel exchanges a look with you, the former conversation shoved roughly aside for a new concern. “I’ll register it and grab a few other necessaries. You go.”

This is no time to pick up the dropped dialogue but… maybe…should you stay and help? Oh. It takes a second to click that you can leave it to him. You don’t have to tell the man what’s needed for a new baby…after all, he knows more than you. Even if it was a whole other life or two ago.

And with a nod, you shelve your feelings for one more day and jog out the door to catch up with Ellie.

_____

Willa’s just walking out the door by the time you get to Maria and Tommy’s.

“You’re going?”

“For now,” she nods, working her shoes back onto her feet. “She’s got a while to go. It looks like it will be a pretty straightforward labor.”

“Did Dr. Johnson have anything to say?”

Her exhale tests high for irritation. “She’s upstairs. Why not go ask her yourself.”

“Wait. Willa. Did she send you away? I didn’t want to call her, but Joel thought–”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m going to go take a nap so I can get through the night. But she’s using up all the air in the room and what Maria needs is to rest as much as she can and let it come. A good midwife would know that. Too bad the medical authority in this town is a gastroenterologist and not an obstetrician. It’s a baby and she’s treating it like an obstructed bowel.” Muttering something further about obstructions and matters of the bowel in regards to Dr. Johnson, Willa pats you on the shoulder before making her exit. “Maria can have water for a couple more hours, then sips only. Make sure she eats something.”

Upstairs you find your old friend in full concentration mode–laying on her bed, eyes closed, breathing hard, forehead smooth but glistening–as she awaits the next contraction. Tommy’s curled up next to her, holding one of her hands, his forehead to her temple, matching her breath for breath.

Her other hand is being held aloft as the good Doctor checks her pulse. “Family only,” she condescends as you enter the room.

“Good idea,” you say, plonking down at the end of the bed with enough of a bounce that Maria opens her eyes and glares from behind her belly. When you point to her swollen feet and let your eyebrows request consent, she nods, shuts her eyes, and focuses back on the process as you take a foot onto your lap and start to massage.

Maria groans in contentment and Dr. Johnson takes it for discomfort. Turning to you, her silvery hair pulled back into a tight braid, her frown causes her jowls to deepen. “I really must insist that you clear the room. The fewer distractions she has, the better things are going to go for her.”

You pull your stockinged feet up onto the bed. “Is that how it was when you had kids?”

“I never had children,” the doctor snaps.

“I see. Well, Maria said she was gonna freak out if I wasn’t here, so it seems now we’ve got ourselves a conundrum between what the doctor says and the patient wants. But, seeing as how this is her second child and she is very much my family, I think I’m going with her wishes on this. I never got to meet the first one; I’m sure as hell not gonna miss a minute of my new godchild.”

“Who said you were going to be the godmother?” Maria grumbles.

“I did. It’s your own fault. You left the position open and nature abhors a vacuum, so I’m gonna plug my old ass into that hole.”

“You are mixing so many metaphors there. Where’s–nnnnn,” her face becomes a wall of teeth as the contraction hits, her body a live wire as you and Tommy move to soothe. It takes a good minute for her breathing to slow enough to ask, “Where’s…Willa?”

“She says she’ll check back in tonight. You’ll probably be at this awhile.”

“Well, then, if you’ve got your magic healing woman then I’m not really needed here,” Dr. Johnson’s smile only travels halfway up her face. “Blood pressure’s doing well, no signs of abnormality. I’m sure you’ll be just fine. If you need me, you know where to find me. Just send the foul-mouthed girl again. Certainly with a set of lungs like that, she can easily wake me up in a matter of minutes.”

Nobody stops the good doctor on her way out and the train of her passive-aggressive, attention-seeking attitude trails behind her.

“She means well,” Tommy answers your scathing look.

“Your wife didn’t ask for her.”

“My wife’s never been through labor without drugs before. And she’s older now. I just…” his eyes soften on her with concern as he leans in and presses a kiss to Maria’s forehead, “I just want her to be okay.”

“She’s Maria. Of course she will be.”

The subject groans with a minor cramp. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here and go make me a taco. I’m starving.”

She’s less than thrilled with the berries you bring instead– “water and fiber now, carbs later” –but is placated with you reading her to sleep from one of her favorite Amy Tan novels. Every now and then she wakes up with a contraction, but a little soothe in your voice and she’s out again.

After a few hours, Tommy goes to nap in a spare room and Willa returns with a bag full of clean linens, ready to take over, sending you out to get your own nap in.

It’s quiet downstairs, the setting sun throwing long shadows through the western windows, mixing with a few faint rainbows still filtering through the leaded stained glass over the door.

Maria’s not far from you in age. If there were still doctors in hospitals, they’d call her pregnancy not just geriatric, but advanced geriatric. Even with all the medicine that used to be available, she and the baby would still be under the care of several wary eyes. If they both make it, they’ll have beaten the odds. If they don’t–

Slumping down on the couch and pouring yourself over it–just to put your feet up and your head down for a second…just a second–you push worry out of your orbit. This isn’t a world to worry in anymore. What comes comes. All you can do is what you can do. Maria is strong. Tommy loves her. Willa’s capable. The baby’s on time. Everything’s going to be fine.

It has to be.

It hurts too much to consider an alternative.

_____

When your eyes open again, the house is dark and quiet, the sun long since set.

Although, not so quiet when your stomach growls. Nor so dark either, as you notice a faint glow coming from the kitchen.

A simple investigation leads you to a tea candle burning in a jar on the countertop, next to a scrap of paper with your name scrawled on it and a plate covered in a linen dishcloth, under which you discover a flatbread sandwich.

One look at the handwriting and you can imagine Joel coming by to check up on things only to find you asleep on the couch. There was no gentle-but-possibly-disruptive blanket-covering, no “thought you could use something to eat” beside your name on the note. Nothing but reverent candlelight and one word to let anyone who found the plate know for whom it was intended, no requests or commands, just a quiet devotion, a simple offering to a sleeping idol to be taken or left as you chose.

If he doesn’t want you to fall any harder for him, he’s doing a terrible job.

_____

The final labor comes the following morning, Tommy holding one of Maria’s hands and you the other–both of you gritting your teeth as her grip leaves bruises–and Willa holding the soles of Maria’s feet, giving her something to push against.

Joel’s been tasked with guarding the door to the house since Maria’s taken to screaming with each push–not in pain, but in ferocity–and the neighbors have been coming around in concern. He’s quick to turn them around and send them on their way and you’ve gathered from Ellie’s reports that they seemed offended until she started volunteering the information that Willa is upstairs helping out. Then everyone readily accepts that all is well and being taken care of.

But Maria, she’s the real star of the show here. Yes, she’s in pain, and yes, she’s tired and weeping–no tears, dehydrated–but she’s nothing if not a fighter. She wouldn’t be in Jackson without that being true. And, frankly, Jackson wouldn’t be Jackson if it weren’t true either.

When it’s all done and the delivery miraculously comes off without a hitch, when Willa checks the baby boy over and finds him responsive and healthy, ties him off and hands him over to Tommy, taking her leave to go wash up and rest, the room is eerily quiet.

“Hello, little man. I’m your dad,” Tommy whispers, on the edge of tears but too tired to cry as he sits next to Maria and shares the bundle with her, the two of them staring down in awe at the tiny new human. “I’m your dad, and this is your beautiful, strong, fantastic mamma. And your auntie’s here too and we’re all damn happy to meet you. Welcome home.”

Maria smiles wide, the pain already fading to memory, an unnecessary detail she’s gonna leave behind her in exchange for exponentially better days ahead.

“Good job, you three.” Adding to the kiss count on Maria’s head, you start to pick up some discarded towels and sheets, preparing to leave the new family to rest. “Did you finally agree on a name?”

“Oh, I think I settled early on,” Maria sighs, completely in love. “Riley.”

You hum in satisfaction. “Nice. Where’d that one come from?”

“Ellie suggested it and it just hit me right. It’s a good name for a boy or girl, but mostly I liked it because it’s a fighting name. All riled up and ready to go.”

“Sounds like trouble.”

Maria snorts. “Oh, I’m sure. After all, he is a Miller.”

“Damn right,” Tommy whispers, bestowing his legacy.

It’s an easy decision to make, your vow of silence. You’ll never let them know you feared losing her. Not when there’s more now to protect, more to love.

There's been enough fear. It isn't worth your time.

_____

Over the next week and change, a routine easily emerges. You make yourself available during the day for any needs–help with cooking, diaper washing, or just rocking Riley while Maria has a bath or Tommy needs a nap. After school, Ellie comes by and adds two more hands, truly turning childrearing into a village affair. Joel’s the last to add to the party after the sun starts getting low and construction on the new district slows down for the day, earlier if it’s his day for patrol. Every night is family dinner night now and sometimes Riley’s actually awake enough to join them.

Ellie can’t get enough of her new little friend. If she’s got empty hands she willingly fills them with baby, either rocking him or laying him on a cushion to watch him watching her. She’s not had a lot of experience with babies or newborns other than the lambs, but she’s a quick learner. It’s just one more thing that this harder world has deprived her of. Babies were few and far between in the QZ and Ellie seems bound and determined to make up for lost time, not wanting to miss an instant of growth or change.

Joel, on the other hand, is more stoic. If he was hard of hearing before, it almost completely disappears when Riley’s in the crook of his arm. He can’t help but be captivated by his new nephew and you catch a fond smile creeping along his cheek now and then, but there’s always something a little sad behind it, and when the light catches a glimmer off the face of his broken wristwatch, it’s not hard to guess what he’s thinking.

It’s during one of these moments when Maria’s napping and Ellie and Tommy are out in the yard, that you finish up the dishes and plop yourself down on the couch next to Joel.

“Your arm tired? Want me to take him?”

“No. I’m fine,” he says quietly, trying not to wake the boy. But the silence is more for himself than the baby–Riley sleeps hard. For now.

You simply draw a knee up onto the couch and lean your elbow against the back cushion, watching them, chin in hand.

“Where’s Ellie?” he finally asks.

“Enough leaves are down. Tommy’s out back showing her how to make a leaf pile. And what to do with it.”

He chuckles, knowing exactly what’s proper and good to do with leaf piles. “We used to have a big maple out back when we were kids. Dad spent hours raking and nothing he could say or do could keep us from demolishing his work. Whip our hides and we'd be back out there the next day making a mess.”

“Well, at least lawn maintenance isn’t such a priority anymore, right? Just think of all the leaf piles this one’s gonna get. Let the destruction commence.”

“Yeah.” It’s slow and subtle, but the light slowly leaks from him, a twilight descending over his brow. “I guess there’s still a few pleasures to be had for kids in this world.”

This is why he’s always so contemplative with Riley. Worrying. Taking everything he’s seen and experienced and piling them onto one little baby, doing the parent thing, hoping that they’ll have a better life…but doubting that it could ever happen.

“There’s always going to be something, Joel. If the world hadn’t gone to hell, there’d still be car accidents and kidnappers and war in some far off country and the capitalist job market. A kid has every chance to have a good life in this time as in any other. And even if it isn’t in the world we remember, this one has you and me and all of us in it to look after one little boy who gets to live a life. Isn’t that what’s great?”

“Is it?” He finally turns to you. “You think it’s a good idea to bring a kid into this disaster?”

His eyes lay bare the puncture you’ve made in him, his sorrow and apprehension starting to vent, and it seems he hopes you can patch the hole because god knows his hands are full and not steady enough to handle the delicate procedure.

“Hey. Kids are going to happen, Joel. People are still going to find each other and fall in love and I hate to break it to you, but babies are sometimes a consequence of that. Biology’s a hell of a thing. But just because it’s not the world we knew as kids doesn’t mean it’s not worth living in. In fact, Ellie and Riley are going to do better than us, because they were born into it. They’ll have all of this kind of living in their bones from birth and don’t have to take twenty years to relearn it all. Or use up twenty years living life with regret.”

You expect him not to take that well, but he surprises you, softens, and turns back to the baby, his eyes skipping to his watch.

Maria told you once that sometimes she’s glad that Kevin died. He was still young–only 3 and a half–but he would have remembered. He would have held trauma. Back then, a lot of the little ones were lost, either to hunger or to attack…they didn’t know enough to be quiet.

Sarah on the other hand…. Joel didn’t know it, but Tommy had said once that Sarah would have never made it in this world. Too good. Trusting. Gentle. She would have been taken advantage of or become severely damaged by the shift coming in her formative years. Children are resilient, but a teenager’s psyche could be a difficult thing.

“Still not a good idea,” he mumbles. “But he’s here now.”

“Thank god. Maria needed another man in her life to boss around.”

He’s not budged by your joke. Instead, he side-eyes you, hits you with a cynical question, trying to knock you off your rosy pedestal. “If you’re so happy about kids, why don’t you have any of your own?”

You shrug. “Got sheep. What. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what.”

“Not every woman wants kids, Mr. Man. Even if they like them a whole lot.”

“Biology’s a hell of a thing.”

Catching his not-so-clever info gathering, you smirk. “I had other things to concentrate on. And in the meantime, the factory had blessedly closed down.”

He can’t help the instinct that makes him truly assess you now. “You’re not old enough for that.”

You chuckle. “I’m starting to think what you don’t know about women could fill a few books, Joel Miller. You let me know when you’re ready to brush up.”

It’s at this point that Ellie calls in from the porch, telling Joel to “get your flat ass out here! Tommy says you’re a champion leaf-piler!”

“Goddammit,” he hisses as Riley starts to stir.

“Go on,” you smile, holding your arms out for the baby. “I’ve got him. We’ll need to wake his mamma up so he can eat soon anyway. Go on outside and play with the other kids. Be home before dark.”

_____

A few nights later, you’re making assessment in a full-length mirror on the inside of a closet door in a room in your house you very barely use. When was the last time you really had a look at yourself? And when was the last time you wore a dress?

Sure, it’s a fall dress, fine-knit by Addie as a gift for bringing her on as a Roostling so many years ago. You keep it for special occasions, which means you get to wear it maybe once a year. The wool is undyed, so the natural oat goes well with your brown leather work boots. Unfortunately, shoes are at a premium, so having a second pair just for fancy isn’t really a thing anymore. Doesn’t matter. The weather’s been a bit wet and the streets a bit muddy. Boots’ll do you just fine.

But you haven’t worn your hair like this in ages. Freshly washed and let to dry rather than set back or under a bandanna for utilitarian purposes, you almost forgot what it looked like natural like this.

You almost forgot that you could actually clean up quite pretty. Huh. Imagine forgetting a thing like that.

The knock at the front door’s expected. Even though Ellie and Joel come and go as they please, tonight you knew he’d do the polite thing and knock. The comfortable part of you wants to call down and tell him to just come in. But the hopeful part of you knows that this is his way of making an effort. Of taking a step your way.

“You sure?” you’d asked Maria earlier in the afternoon. “You’re gonna be okay for the night?”

“It’s a dance, not a trip to the moon. And Ellie’s here. We’ll have fun.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, clearly not happy about diaper changing duty, but smiling through it. “Please. Go. Get him out of the house. The later he comes home the better. Bonus points if he’s not back until morning.”

“Jesus, Ellie.”

Maria only smirked in full agreement.

He’s waiting on your porch when you open the door, one thumb tucked into his belt, the other holding onto a porch pillar as he examines the sole of one boot.

“You step in something?”

“Shit, I hope not. I just cleaned these. I thought–” but of course he stops when he looks up and sees you. Joel himself doesn’t have a lot of extra clothes, and is dressed in a clean dark flannel and jeans, nothing you haven’t seen before–although tucked in this time–his hair is still wet and slicked back, exposing more of the gray.

Your getup, however, is a new sight for him, and he’s struck enough to let it show on his face. So you give him a twirl, let the dress swing a bit. “Get your fill, I only bring this out like once a year. You’ve earned it this time.”

The smile is subtle, but it’s there, along with the tiniest of nods.

It’s not a long walk to the mess hall, but on your way you both determine that Joel’s definitely stepped in something, and yes, it’s still worth holding his hand. Horses are gonna horse and stepping in crap is an everyday occurrence when you live around animals at the end of the world. He seems grateful and maybe a bit chagrined, but neither does he seem ready to let you go.

The mess hall’s brightly lit; several jack-o-lanterns carved by the town’s kids adorn the long tables which spill out into the street to make room for the buffet and the dancefloor inside. A good portion of the town is out tonight and mingling under the canopy of string lights.

Addie and Goldie are the first to find you and greet you, the former admiring her own handiwork on your dress–even if she’s much improved over the years–and the latter pushing mugs of warm cider at you and Joel. Willa, it seems, took to the Roost short after Riley’s birth, always opting to take solitary watch during big gatherings and celebrations. But she did help with the decorations and is responsible for a good portion of the cornbread on the banquet table. When they start asking questions about the baby, Joel politely excuses himself, muttering something about getting you a plate.

“And how’re you doing?” Goldie asks, nodding after Joel. “I didn’t think that grump would warm up to anyone, but I suppose you’re tenacious enough when you want someone. I don’t blame you. Grey Fox indeed. If I was twenty years older, we’d have to share.”

“Yeah, he’s coming around.”

“Didn’t think you’d ever take up with anyone again. I heard Ellie had a run-in with the lye.”

A sudden lump rises, nothing you can’t swallow down. “She’s fine. And so am I. Maybe I'm a little lonely is all. Maybe I got a type. Here’s to hoping I’m wrong where it counts!” You smile wide, clinking your mug with Goldie’s and drink deep, chasing away whatever guilt rudely decided to come calling.

Tonight’s supposed to be happy. Tonight’s your night with Joel. Just you and him. No family, no interruptions. The past is the past. And this night is easily the first of many.

Soon enough you catch him waving you down at one of the tables and join him for dinner.

“Figured you weren’t picky, so I got you some of everything.”

“Hells bells, Foxy. Were you planning on dancing with me at all tonight? Because I won’t be able to move if I eat all of this.”

At least he swallows what he’s chewing so he can answer you between forkfuls. “Don’t worry. I’ll eat what you don’t.”

“Then how are you gonna dance?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t plan on gettin’ rowdy. Not with these knees.”

“Oh my god, you old man. Did you really come here with me just to sit and eat? There’s a band playing. And they’re good. You’re not gonna dance with me?”

“To be honest,” he says, straining above the chatter spilling out of the hall and taking another bite of chicken, getting it mostly down before continuing with a pained squint, “I was never good at it. One of those ‘stand around with a beer and watch the band play’ kinda guys. But a pretty girl wanted me to slow dance, I could do that. More swaying than anything.”

“Well I guess that’s something to look forward to then.”

“Good thing you’re easy to please.”

It’s another hour sitting at the communal table, the night settling in and the fiddle and guitar music rolling out from inside the hall. A few friends come by to visit, Missy Tippett makes her way to Joel’s right side to flirt and he pretends to hear her, answering all questions with a “yep” even if they aren’t yes or no queries and you do your best not to laugh. True to his word, Joel takes on the leavings of your meal–nearly half the plate–while you chat with folks, and he rises beautifully to the challenge. Without having to scrape and scramble in the QZ or starving out in the wilds, he’s put on weight since the spring, just enough to fill out his hollowed cheeks and pleasantly soften down his belly. He keeps active with the construction enough that he’s putting away more fuel than storage, but it’s good to see him enjoying the harvest.

You’re mid-conversation with one of Willa’s brothers when Joel taps a knuckle on your elbow. Turning to find him with his chin in his hand, he points inside of the mess hall where a slow song just started, an old Buddy Holly tune, True Love Waits. The time has come then. Like the worn shoe that he is, he gets up and re-tucks his shirt as you excuse yourself and then let him lead you inside to the dance floor.

He’s an old-schooler, guiding you close around your waist and taking your hand in one of his.

In all the time Joel and Ellie have been in Jackson what you’ve felt toward him was a strong pull, a crush, an attraction. It’s been years since you felt drawn to someone like this. But it isn’t until this moment that you actually register the ramp up and learn that your species of butterflies don’t really seem to reside in your belly, but behind your sternum. The tip of your nose and chin tingle with the proximity to his, his breath warm and apple-scented, his flannel smelling of soap and being dried in the sun. His hand fits perfectly at your lower back and your arm was made to curve up and around his sturdy, ample shoulder.

It’s that feeling where you can’t seem to look him in the eye for more than a fraction of a second for fear of losing control, and so you focus on his chin instead, yearning to land your lips there.

It takes most of the song to realize he’s doing the same with the top of your head.

You should say something; it feels odd not to be poking fun somehow. But then, you can’t think of a damn thing to say now that you’re exactly where you’ve been wanting to be all these many months. Well, nothing witty anyway.

“It’s been forever since I slow danced with anyone.”

“Out of choice, I assume,” he answers after a while. “Seems odd you being here so long and not spoken for.”

“Not everyone has to be paired up for life to be worth living.”

“Maybe not. But it looks like you want to and I’m not sure how anyone says no to you if you set your sights. You’re damn persistent.”

The song ends and you break to applaud, ready to quip back. But there’s a look on his face, and expression that you’re not able to categorize in the context of this moment, only that it looks like he might want to leave or be alone.

“Joel, I’m sorry if I pushed you. I know you’re still settling in. I didn’t mean to–”

But the next song starts up, sweet and slow–You Belong To Me–and he doesn’t give you a chance to finish. He just pulls you in close, tucking your head against his shoulder under his jaw, taking your hand again and holding it against himself.

“I’m settled,” is all he says as you sway.

Determination. That’s the expression. A commitment laced with lingering sadness or fear.

And that’s okay, you think. After everything he’s been through, that’s okay. As long as he wants to be here with me, everything’s going to be okay.

At the end of the song he peels away, and while the expression has softened, it still remains.

You reach for his hand. “You wanna walk?”

He nods. You let him lead.

Outside in the crisp autumn night air, he doesn’t take the direct path to your house, instead, he ambles slowly down another road, toward Maria and Tommy’s place.

Joel’s a thinker. He’s got things to say but needs to put them in order in his head first. So you let him organize while you walk slowly beside him, the light and the pretty violin ballad fading behind you. It takes a little longer than you expect and you’re almost to the house when he finally speaks.

“I’m not good at this.”

“You say that like there’s one right way. Like I’m expecting something out of you.”

It’s obviously not what he expected you to say. “But you are.”

“Okay, maybe. But I’m also willing to meet you where you are.”

“No, that’s not what…” he breathes out hard, frustrated that his thoughts are getting out of order, but you wait. “You should be…expecting…something. You should want me to…reciprocate.”

“I do want that, but I can’t force you and I know it.” You amble on, watch his jaw tick. “Joel, I’m crazy about you and I’d love nothing more than for you to feel the same way about me. It’s been a long time since I felt that way about someone. But I know it’s different for you. I know you were more recently attached, and for a long time–”

“It wasn’t like that. Well…wasn't like this, anyway.”

You follow him silently past Maria and Tommy’s place–dark, everyone asleep–and take a turn that will eventually lead you to your own house. A block goes by before he finds his next words.

“Tess and I…our lives…we were…rough with each other. Cared for each other, but we were hard. We had to keep on our toes, couldn’t let feelings get in the way or make mistakes. But all that…stuff… We had each other physically but we kept a lot at arm’s length. Like a survival mode. Conserving our energy for things that kept us alive. Safe.”

“I think I understand. Tommy said–”

“Tommy didn’t understand shit. He thought I was using Tess. But he was wrong.” Even if he’s keeping his voice even, his eyes cold, you can see his fist clenching and unclenching out of the corner of your eye. “I…I needed her and didn’t know it. She was right there and I should have… told her so. That’s what I think I’m saying. I don’t have any practice in anything that isn’t just surviving. And I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”

“Are you pulling a ‘you deserve better’ on me?”

Another look of surprise. Again, you’ve thrown him for a loop.

“Because I do deserve better. You’re right. I do deserve to be loved and to be adored and to be happy. But so do you. Most of us do. Doesn’t mean everyone’s gonna get it. Sounds like you spent the last decade and change denying it for yourself and to someone else. But at least you had someone. At least you knew where you stood. Me, on the other hand…I spent the last decade remembering something like that and wishing it would come back, knowing it wouldn’t, and beating off any chance of having it again like a damn fool. Maria ever tell you about Troy?”

His headshake is subtle, but his look of concern not so much. You decide to let it roll off you just as you had with everyone else in the past ten years.

“Figures. Tommy’s got a big mouth but Maria’s always kept her trap shut when it’s not her story to tell.

“Troy was my...husband. We were married for three really good years. He was a refugee, like you. Came through from Seattle QZ with his sister. Ash was a wild one, loved the sheep. She was the last trainee we had before Ellie came out. She had a habit of wandering though, hopping the barrier for berries and honey and just to run free in the woods without a care in the world. Almost cut her off from going out to the Meadow, but Troy spoiled her, took her side in most things. His only weakness. Damn, I loved that stupid man so much.”

Coming up to your house, you take a seat on the steps, not ready to go inside yet. As you continue, Joel follows your lead and ends up beside you.

“You ever wonder why Maria and I don’t live on top of one another? Troy and I lived in the house next door. Once he died, I couldn’t bear to live there anymore.”

The breeze picks up and you give it a minute to die down. Joel’s voice pushes through your silence just above a whisper. “What happened?”

“Troy and Ash were out at the meadow and they weren’t answering the check-ins. So Willa and I went out there with the patrol. Right away we see almost the whole herd gathered in one lay. Not like them unless they’re protecting a sick or injured one. And that’s what they were doing, all huddled around the hole.

“Can’t say for certain how it went down, but from the looks of things, Ash got herself bit, nearly took off her forearm. Back then the area wasn’t so cleared out and Ash liked to play her chances outside the barriers as I’ve said. Must have scrambled back in and come looking for Troy or he brought her back thinking he could fix it and found out he was wrong. He blew her face clean off. He must have dug the hole and put her in it. Covered it with lye. Got in there with her. Shot himself.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Bodies were in pretty rough shape when we found ‘em.” The stars are bright tonight as you blink back tears in the dark. “I shouldn’t have let her go out there. I thought he would get her to take it seriously. I should have pushed. But. They were so close and I also know that I couldn’t ask him to choose my wants over hers. And in the end it looks like he wouldn’t have picked mine anyway.”

The power from the dam is being conserved for the harvest dance tonight, so the streetlamps are dark on your row. But the moon’s bright enough to catch Joel watching you, reassessing you.

“I’m very, very capable of deserving love, Joel. And I’m capable of giving it with my whole, stupid heart. I remember what the world used to be, and how it turned on a dime and how we all lost everything we were and had. And when I met Troy I thought that love could fix it. Nope. It doesn’t fix it. The past doesn’t go away. But it’s nice to have someone to walk through the better days with. To choose to live in the present and make it brighter.”

As if the world is an underscore to your story, one last, lonely cricket interrupts the silence, a holdout for the season, waiting a little too late to find itself a mate and a home.

“I’m a murderer, Songbird.”

It’s a simple statement.

“I know you are.”

“Just so you know. Just so you know what you’re getting into.”

Now it’s your turn to gather your thoughts. “We’re all a pile of our many selves. Who we were, who we choose to be going forward, how we see ourselves, how others see us. It’s all there, always will be. All of us a little broken. Fractured. But it doesn’t have to be just one thing forever. There’s no mark of Cain here. Just making choices every day to be the person you want to be. You find your people and you take care of them as best you can, and they do the same for you. You slip up, you start over tomorrow.”

And now it’s his turn to blink up at the night sky.

“You did what you had to do, Joel, we all did. We all had to revise the moral manual for a minute. Nice thing about Jackson these days is that there’s nothing you have to do. You can just do what you want, what makes you feel whole and alive. And if that’s something different every day, then that’s your choice. You say you’re not good at this, but you are. You danced with me. Walked with me. Listened. You’re just as good as you have to be and if you want to be better at it then you just...try again. You get unlimited tries.”

His expression is muddled in shadow, his face turned out of the light and focused on you.

Suddenly tired, you stand up and walk up the stairs to the door. “I had a nice time tonight, Foxy. The best. Even if it ended on a downer.”

“That’s my fault.”

“No. It’s nobody’s fault, it’s just what life is now sometimes. Will I see you tomorrow?”

He’s slow about it, but he climbs the last few steps to the porch. You were wrong about the solitary cricket; there’s still a few still pushing the limits, challenging the first frost, singing to the moonlight.

Reaching out, letting his fingertips trail your arm all the way down, he captures your hand to keep you still and moves in, slow and quiet.

When he finally kisses you, it’s a tentative declaration, a promise of what he can give right here, right now; his kiss lingers in apology, showing you in every way that he has trouble letting go, unpracticed in being tender, but he’s willing to try.

Finally.

Every second lingered is worth the wait, only because you can feel that it won’t be the last.

“Guess I shouldn’t put off until tomorrow what I can start on today then,” he says when he steps back.

“That's a real good start.”

There’s not much more to say as he makes his way down the steps off into the night and toward his own house. No need. No expectations. There’s always tomorrow.

And since Joel’s come to town, it seems like every tomorrow’s usually been better than the yesterday before.

_____

You’ve been sitting on Maria’s couch knitting a sweater in the chilly morning sun for at least a good hour when Ellie comes down from upstairs.

“Oh hey, you’re here,” she says, throwing herself down on the floor by your feet and beginning to paw through your basket.

“I am. Didn’t have any plans today, thought I’d come and be on hand. How’s Riley?”

“Down for one of many naps. He’s growing so fast already.” Finding a full spindle in your stash, she begins unwinding it and forming it into a neat ball with practiced hands.

“That’s what babies do. He’ll be walking and talking before you know it.”

“We should bring him out to see the sheep when he’s walking.”

“We’ve got a corral of milkers in town he can visit. Probably not a great idea taking kids out of town. You’ll see when he’s up and about. Little kids like get away from you and hear themselves scream. Hard to keep safe if you’re dumb and loud.”

“Oh. Right.” She’s silent a while, slowly building her yarn ball.

“Something you wanna ask me? It’s not like you to volunteer to help with this part.”

There’s a certain way Ellie chews her lip and scrunches it at the same time. “I was thinking of asking you…if I could stay behind next time you go out to the Roost.”

That makes you chuckle. “Riley’s a little more fascinating than the sheep right now, huh. What. You thought I’d be mad?”

“No, just…I do like being out there. But I also feel like I can help here. For now. And I know you’re skipping your weeks to be here and I thought if I stayed you could go and then there’s still enough of us around….”

“The sheep are in good hands, they can wait. I’m in no hurry and I don’t mind being here. But I appreciate it.”

The yarn’s coming to an end, the ball in her hands reaching a pleasing softball size. “Can I ask you a favor then?”

“Of course.”

“Tommy went out to the reconstruction site and left his lunch and Maria asked me to bring it to him so he doesn’t come home for it and wake her or the baby.”

“But you wanna stay here.”

“Yeah.”

“Good timing.” Smiling and finishing up your row, you tuck the needles and sweater into the basket. “It’s a nice, dry day for a walk and I’ve been meaning to go see that sector. Tell you what. Eye for an eye. I go out there, you ball up all those spindles while I’m gone. Don't undo my knitting."

What the autumn sun is lacking in warmth, Ellie makes up for it with that spark of unbridled joy. “Fuck yeah, deal!”

_____

Swinging a bundle bag full of Tommy’s lunch and other sundries, you walk out to the old north edge of town. The wall’s come down here, another one erected a handful of blocks beyond, re-civilization slowly sweeping and expanding out as the need arises. The houses are in varying stages of disrepair, repair, and some have come down to use for scrap. Your elementary teacher’s house is still here, getting a spiff-up treatment and you’re remembering Mrs. Erstine and her roses fondly when there’s a sharp whistle and call of your name.

Joel’s walking down the block toward you with an easy smile and you return it as he nears. It’s been a couple of weeks since the harvest dance and you haven’t seen each other much outside of family dinners and scattered evenings at Maria and Tommy’s’. Between the rush to get some of these homes fit for winter and you helping out with all the canning and preserving down at the mess hall, a twilight trio on the porch with Ellie here and there has been your scant means of together time.

“What’s brought you up this way? Everything okay?” He’s good enough to bend his neck a little so you can meet his patchy cheek in a kiss.

“Tommy forgot his lunch and Maria wants to spare him a trip.” You hold up the bag. “And I brought treats for you too.”

His finger hooks the bag, trying to peek in. “Really.”

“Nah ah, not until you take me to your leader.”

“My leader,” he scoffs, turning and leading you up the street. “Ain’t nothin’ he can do I don’t have to come up after him and fix.”

“Speaking of fixing, we could use new shingles at the Roost. It’s been wet and I’ve heard there’s a leak.”

“Yeah? When you going out next? I’ll go out with you.”

Turning onto a more wooded road, you both follow the sound of hammers. “Well, Goldie’s up there now and I usually take after her. I suppose I could go next week before the rains really start up.”

“Next week then.”

As you approach a beautiful A-frame home, Tommy’s over to one side at a couple of sawhorses, measuring out a beam. Joel calls out to his brother with the same whistle he gave you.

“It’ll be just you and me,” you say. “Ellie wants to stay home with Riley.”

Joel’s head whips around. “What?”

“Hey there, ma’am-o-jam, what brings you up here? Everything alright?” Just like his brother.

“Yeah, all’s well. You forgot your lunch and my legs needed a stretch.”

“Oh shit,” he grins. “I was just starting to get hungry. Thanks.”

“No problem.” You gesture to the house. “This is really beautiful. It’s like a bigger version of the Roost.”

“It’s nothin’ like the Roost. It’s on the ground.” Tommy smiles as you swat at him. “We’ve started with all the houses that need the least amount of help, tearing down the ones that need the most to fix ‘em up. This one had a lot of protection from the elements–the sun and the snow–from all these pines around it. All the windows still in place. Mostly just had to clear out a couple of overgrowths in the basement–probably the previous owners gone to seed. But it’s all good treated hardwood. Good bones. It’ll stand another century or two.”

A small, involuntary shiver passes through you at the casual mention of dead infected. “Did you burn them? The previous owners.”

Your reaction doesn't escape Joel’s notice. “Did it myself. There were a few in this section. It’s okay. They were long gone. Dry as a bone. It’s safe here.”

He’s earned a smile, even if it’s a sad one. “That’s good. They must have loved this house, to want to stay here, even when they didn’t know any better. Can’t blame ‘em. Anyway,” you go through your bag, lifting out a small parcel and handing the rest to Tommy, “here you go. But this is yours,” offering the parcel to Joel but then snatching it away as he reaches for it, “only if you promise to be honest and tell me if you like it or not.”

Joel’s eyes light up when he opens the package. “Holy shit; is that…pecan pie?”

And Tommy winks as he takes his lunch and walks back toward the house.

“Heard it was your favorite.” You can’t help but laugh at his big dumb grin. “Don’t be too excited! I obviously had to make every substitution. Walnuts for pecans, honey for sugar; it’s not exact, but it should be close enough. Been working on my bakes.”

Taking a bite, he shakes his head in what at first seems like pain but soon reveals itself to be the opposite. “Damn woman. And you only bring me one piece?”

“You’re a carpenter. That’s a triangle obviously cut out of a full circle. You know there’s more where that came from.” It’s a pleasure to watch him lose a battle against another big bite. “I take it you’re happy.”

His mouth full of sticky sweetness but the crow’s feet setting in, all he can do is chew and cock his head, looking you over as if to say, damn right I am.

_____

Joel’s quiet the whole ride to the Roost. It’s easy to guess what’s troubling him. A whole week alone should be exciting, but he’s worrying about expectations again and there hasn’t been much time to talk about it…or he just didn’t want to.

“Meadowlark to Goldfinch.”

“Present.”

“Bringing a Grey Fox in at the north gate.”

“Noted. You brought your own sheets I hope.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Joel’s frown and straightened shoulders as he suddenly loses the sympathetic gait with his horse. “Yup. Both sets. For two beds. Man’s here to work on that roof and I’m only payin’ him in food.”

“Ooof. Poor Joel. He deserves better.”

“Yeah, well I’m working on it. Boiled water last night and I didn’t even burn it.”

The banter seems to have relaxed him back into the saddle sag for the time being, and you keep it up until Goldie has you in her sights.

“I know you like sleeping under the stars, Foxy, but it’s been cold and wet. Bed’s yours. I’ll take the top bunk.”

“Fine,” he grunts.

“And you’re not allowed to go up on the roof unless I’m around to spot you.”

“I can handle it.”

“Oh, I’m sure, but my nerves can’t. And this is my domain. I’m the boss out here.”

This gets you one half serving of smile with a side of eyeroll. “Yes ma’am.”

Once you’re settled in, Joel descends the ladder and starts going through the woodpile, looking for adequate repair material, taking up the axe to split some logs for shingles while you go take a cursory round through the meadows.

The sheep are mostly on the near side by the copse of trees housing the Roost, keeping a tight flock, settled down and facing into the wind. A few bleat as you arrive but none of them skitter, allowing you to pat a couple as they chew cud and to check any for painted marks in case Goldie found one of them sick or lame. Other than one small ram that wants to playfully butt you in the thigh, all seems well. The rest of the flock is mostly down by the river and you take a little time to make some noise and shoo them toward the others before circling back to the Roost….

…which is where you find Joel Miller up on the ladder prying at rotted shingles.

“What the hell did I say, Cinnamon Roll?”

“Hold your britches,” he calls down. “I’m just assessing.”

“How am I supposed to get up there and you got the ladder?”

“Oh now we have a quandary,” he jokes. “What are you gonna do if I don’t let you up?”

“You think I haven’t slept out with the sheep before? I’d have no issue with it but that it’s gonna rain, so maybe you should let me up so I can help and make that repair go faster.”

Coming down and moving the ladder to the balcony drop, he scans the sky with doubts. “What makes you think it’s gonna rain?”

“Because I read sheep.”

“You read sheep.”

“Yeah. They spell it out like a marching band. RAIN. Big letters. Cursive. Could you just–”

The ladder comes sliding down with a thunk and you climb, taking his helping hand as you reach the top.

He smirks. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

All you can do is shake your head and hide your grin. “Don’t you dare. I’m gonna get my gloves.”

As he starts to heft the ladder back up, you go inside and quickly grab a wool hat and a pair of deerhide gloves from your pack. Turning to go back out though, a glint catches your eye near the door.

There’s a new nail in the wall.

With a broken watch hanging from it.

Huh.

This must be the place where he feels like he can be free of it and of the past you gather it represents for him. A special spot for it by the door where he won’t forget it when he leaves, somewhere he can see it if he needs it, but not carry it so much.

It’s a nice piece but for the hole. Well cared for. 2:40. You realize with a little regret that you missed the anniversary, that Outbreak Day no longer registers. Which means you also didn’t–

He doesn’t like to celebrate his birthday, Tommy once said.

It had come and gone without much fuss. But also without any noticeable misery. Railroaded by a new nephew and hard work.

That’s good. He’s not forgetting, just letting it rest. Someday it will be a good day again.

“You gonna get out here and hold this thing or what? You’re the one said rain is coming.”

“Not me. It was the sheep. Hold your britches or get a better belt. I’m coming.”

_____

A gentle roll of thunder wakes you in the night and the Roost is dark as you listen for a moment to the rain pattering against the roof slanting up and over you, inches away. Tuning in, you train your ear for a hard patter, a splotch, any indication that the roof patch didn’t hold, but of course it has. It was mended by Joel Miller himself.

Well, at least it’s dry, but damn, it’s chilly. A glance toward the little iron stove shows you nothing but darkness, which means the fire’s out. As much as it hurts to leave the little nest of warmth you do have, it’s probably better to relight it and warm the place by morning, so down the bunk ladder you go, being as quiet as possible.

Somehow, it's always comforting waking up at night at the Roost. Your house in town is too quiet at night, too full of the possibility of unfamiliar ghosts--of those that lived there, of the society it held, of your own loneliness. At least out here you feel held by the trees and needed by the sheep. There are ghosts buried out there in the meadow, but they're long gone now, part of the land itself, land that was always wild and free and full of the kind of life that wasn't destroyed all at once in one day. Night at the Roost is a quiet comfort, a place of purpose and sisterhood and family. It's full of wooden and woolen things made by hands you know and is welcoming to everyone, including the moonlight and the stars.

It takes a little doing with the wind up and you have to manipulate the flue a bit, but after a few minutes there’s a lovely crackling and smell of pine. Padding over to the chair by the window to snatch the wool blanket there, you stop for a minute to look out at the storm, trying to catch a glimpse of the sheep in a flash of lightning, but there’s not much of that to be had, so you wrap the blanket around yourself and make your way back to the bunk ladder.

“Sheep okay out there?” Joel mumbles in the dimness from his bed, somewhere near your knee.

“They’re fine. Did I wake you up?”

“No. Been listening to the rain a while. You cold?”

“Yeah. Fire went out. You?”

His answer comes in the form of something like a sail in the darkness and it takes a second to realize that he’s holding his blankets open in an invitation. “Come on. You’re gonna let the heat out.”

Sliding into Joel’s warmth is an easy decision to make. And it’s not just the warmth of his sheets, but that he brings the covers around you, pulling you all the way into his chest against his soft old undershirt, tucking you in under his chin, wrapping you up in his whole, woodsmoke-scented self.

Every tension in you simply melts into bliss.

Resting his lips against your forehead, his breath fans gently at your hair. “I could get used to this.”

A long hum rides out on your exhale. “I think I already am.”

“You’re a good woman, you know that?”

“Spoken like a true Texan.”

A long kiss presses into your forehead. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. I’m gonna do my best to be good again, Songbird. Hope I can be what you want.”

“That’s easier than you imagine. You’ve been what I want since you showed up around here, so I’m already quite pleased. Hope I can be what you want.”

A new warmth takes you over as he starts to spread his hand along your back, simply running over your contours, testing out what it’s like to hold someone this way, slowly caressing, lightly squeezing, tucking you in tighter. “You seem to know what I want before I even do. I look forward to finding out what I want next.”

“Well, I have to admit. Your brother tipped me off about the pecan pie.”

He laughs a little as he tips your chin up to meet you in a kiss in the dark. It’s hesitant but hungry; a long time needed and a long time savored.

“Did your sheep say it was supposed to rain all day?”

His hair and beard ruffle softly under your fingertips. “I didn’t ask, but I think it probably will. Sure hope that new roof holds.”

“We could always just stay right here and keep an eye on it.”

“See? You know exactly what you want. We can do that. I’d say that’s a good day’s work.”

His hand splays big and warm on your back, pinning you close for another kiss. “I tend to agree.”

_____

PREVIOUS: SUMMER

WINTER

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

[lou-struck]

The Smell of Denial

Eijirou Kirishima x reader

~ Kirishima's day takes an unexpected turn after his friends point out something that is obvious to everyone in the world except for two people.

W.C. 1.5k

a/n: a little bit of friends to lovers to end the night! This has been in my folder for far too long.

Eijirou Kirishima is plenty thankful for his job as a pro hero. But on days like today, where there are no distress calls, and his agency overbooked the number of heroes who need to go out on patrol, he feels extremely bored…

The wheels on his chair go round and round as he spins in little circles around his desk. For once, he is all caught up on paperwork. He looks over at Denki and Mina, but the two friends are deep in concentration. As much as he wants to, he probably shouldn't bug them right now. 

With a sigh, he stops spinning and flops against the padded back of his chair in defeat. Just as he does he hears the light little chime of his cell phone. He lunges for this new distraction eagerly, and his shark-like teeth flash with an involuntary smile when he sees that his new message is from you.

His best friend.

You must be bored as well because you are flooding his inbox with dozens of funny little videos and memes that have him laughing out loud. Sometimes, he thinks that you know his sense of humor better than he does. When he gets to the end of your thread, he starts furiously scrolling, trying to find funny videos that will have you laughing till you cry as well.

“y/n texting you again?” Mina calls over from her desk. The Pink Haired Pro Hero has a knowing look on her face as she spins around in her office chair. 

“It is.” He smiles, pressing send on a video of a guy who teaches his pet monkey with a pyrotechnic quirk how to light a firework. “Is it that obvious?”

“Totally.” She laughs crumpling up a bright pink sticky note and tossing it into the waste bin in the corner. “You are always smiling like an idiot when you are texting them.”

“Excuse me,” he scoffs, pretending to be offended by this completely true statement. “I happen to smile all the time.”

“Not like that, you don’t,” Denki laughs, “You’ve got it bad.”

The Crimson-haired pro hero furrows his brow, “ got what bad?” he does not understand why his two friends are looking at him like he just told them the Earth was flat.

“ Obviously, everybody knows that you are in love with them.” Mina grins, giving him a punch on the arm.

“Except for y/n, of course.” Denki chuckles. He sniffs the air and looks around, confused for a moment. “Hey, do you smell that?”

“Smell what?” Kirishima answers by sniffing the air, not picking up on anything unusual. He furrows his brow and tries to figure out how a strange smell in the office is more important than the notion that he has feelings for you.

“That, my friend, is the smell of denial. You reek of it. You better tell y/n how you feel before someone else decides to steal their heart.” He tries to lean back in his chair but ends up tipping over. 

As the electric pro hits the floor, Kiri is too preoccupied to help him up.

Is he in love with you?

~

Eijirou Kirishima definitely is NOT in love with his best friend.

He is just standing outside your door with an armload of your favorite snacks because you told him that you had a rough day at work because he is a good friend. 

He just happens to know all of your favorite snacks by heart because…

Because…

He’s Manly?

Right…

This extremely weak self-justification is exactly what he needs to bring himself to knock. Just seconds later, he hears a loud crash and a series of jumbled movements just beyond the door. Before he can react, you swing it open and greet him with a genuine yet kinda frazzled smile. Your skin has a wonderful natural glow to it that is enhanced by your bright eyes. 

“Hey,” you breathe, opening the door wider for him to come inside. 

“Hi,” he says, walking over the threshold like he has done thousands of times before. “What was that thud I heard back there?” 

“Oh, that was just me,” you grin, shutting the door behind him. “Nothing serious, I promise.”

There is that smile again, why does his heart feel so strange. Did he have too much coffee today? It feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest. Although you tried to hide it, he can tell that this silence is awkward, and he has to bring himself back to reality. “I got snacks,” he offers, holding up the grocery bag as a peace offering to end this awkwardness.

“You’re wonderful,” you say, taking one of the bags. “I ordered us some takeout, fried chicken, okay?”

“You had me at meat,” he laughs, striding into your kitchen and setting the bags down on the counter. “So what happened today?”

“My Manager was on one again today. I swear, Kiri, A villain could crash through our window, and he would find some way to blame me for the damage.” You say with a groan, grabbing the ice cream he got you and tossing it into your freezer. 

“Ouch. Do you want me to go down there? Show 'em who’s boss?” he says sarcastically, rolling up his sleeves and flexing his well-trained biceps. 

“Nah, just having you here is enough,” you say with a warm smile. Your eyes trained on Krishima’s face with a dreamy intensity that has him fighting a blush. You blink and take a flustered step backward. Your eyes flicker down to his phone and zero in on the thin red line where his battery percentage lies. 

“Dude…Charge your phone.” you tease, “ what if for some kind of world-ending emergency?”

He scuffs. “You know, I would’ve had a full battery. But someone kept sending me videos, and it completely drained my battery.”

“Oh, who would do such a thing?” You gasp sarcastically. “Come on, You can use my charger; it's in my room if you wanna plug it in.”

You turn and walk across the carpet, your bacon and egg-printed socks carrying you into your bedroom. As Kiri shuffles behind you at a polite distance, no

“What’s wrong?” you ask, taking in his furrowed brow. 

“Something’s different,” he mutters, looking around your space, trying to pinpoint what exactly has changed. 

“It’s my comforter,” you laugh, “I just got a new one.”

“Oh, looks nice,” he comments, setting his device on your bedside charger. 

“It’s amazing,” you gush, “I have never slept better in my life.” 

Have you always looked so adorable when you are excited about something?

“Oh really? I doubt it’s that comfy.” he challenges, raising a crimson brow. 

“I’m serious-” you are interrupted by a knocking sound coming from the front door. Your lips curl up into an eager smile. “Oh yay, food here. I’ll go grab it but you have to at least try my comforter for a second.

Eijirou holds his hands up in surrender, earning a big grin from you as you run down the hall to greet the delivery person. As he hits the surface of your bed, he expects to bounce slightly, but instead, he sinks into the pillowy foam. 

“Oh, this is soft,” he says aloud, readjusting his head against your pillow as he takes a deep breath in and relaxes deeper, feeling the stress of the day melt away. Closing his eyes, he smells something familiar. Its sweetness washes over him as if there is a weighted blanket covering him from head to toe.

He should move…

But he doesn't…

Held captive by the plush duvet under his ridiculously strong arms he stays breathing in that smell he just can’t seem to remember the name of. It dances teasingly just under his nose.

“Hey, are you really gonna fall asleep and leave me with all of this food?” You call from the doorway, freeing him from his trance. 

He jolts up immediately, an embarrassed tint on his cheeks as he looks over at you. “Shoot, sorry.” He says, walking out of your bedroom, trying to hide the flush on his cheeks with his loose hair.  “I guess that mattress pad or yours was a bit more comfortable than I thought.” 

“I told you it was comfy.” you laugh as he walks past you; he is shoulder to shoulder with you when that familiar smell breaks through his curtain of crimson hair.

His heart starts beating wildly in his chest as he realizes that the puzzling smell that has ensnared him is your shampoo. “The scent of denial,” he mutters to himself.

“What was that?” you ask, cocking your head to the side adorably. 

“N-nothing,” he says quickly, wondering how he is ever going to tell you how he feels.  “Just thinking about something someone said to me at work earlier.”

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

[st-el-la-luna]

Thinking about König

Mainly, thinking about his anxiety being like my anxiety. It's social anxiety but more than the "oh no, people, scary!" That people tend to generalize it as.

That's not to say that it isn't like that. Yes, people are intimidating, especially large groups of them. Or if you're being put in a command position. Or if you're in a position to be judged... Which is most situations. (Public speaking, especially for school projects is especially bad).

But it's not just shyness. It's also the aversion.

Walking through the halls, with a dead sort of stare. Not intentionally intimidating, but it's very much a resting bitch face, look at me and I'll kill you sort of expression.

Saying as little as possible to people he's not comfortable with.

"yes."

"no."

"I don't like that."

"I don't want to."

"we are not friends."

Staring so intently at people that it unsettles them.

"-and that's why I think... Why... It's... Is everything okay, Colonel?"

"Ja, why?"

"You're, uh... You're looking very intently."

"This is just how I look. Eye contact is important."

"uhh... Right, it's just... I haven't seen you blink?"

"I blink when you blink."

Like, yes, of course there are situations where he gets mousy voiced or sweaty palms. But not at work, no. At work he's able to conjure up, maybe not confidence, but something.

At a restaurant though? Speaking softly, making himself small, saying please and thank you after every sentence. It doesn't matter what the server does, he's always soft spoken and polite, nervous. If he asks for no pickles and they bring him his dish with pickles, he'll eat it. If he orders a chicken sandwich and they bring him a burger, he'll eat it. If he tells them that he has a deadly peanut allergy and they bring him a tub of peanut butter... He'll send that back, but he'll be polite about it.

"Oh, ja, I'm sorry, I... This isn't what I ordered. Oh, no, no, it's okay, don't apologize. I'm sorry. You're busy. It's fine, I understand."

Sometimes during mission briefs he will randomly growl and smack his fist on the table. People think he's mad at them and straighten up, stop sipping so loud, on their best behaviour. He actually just got mad at himself, remembered something embarrassing from his past.

He almost acts like a narcissist. Passes by a mirror, winks at his reflection: "How's it going, good looking?"

Makes jokes about being the pretty one. People think he's full of himself.

He actually hates himself but has replaced negative self talk with show boating. He doesn't hate himself any less, but he tells himself to kill himself way less often!

Always has some sort of plan. An escape route, a plan of attack. Watching the people around him nervously.

Sits in the back of the room so he can watch everybody. Sits with his chair pushed far back so he can stand quicker.

Glares at people who walk by. Gives their dogs heart eyes. Prays that the owners realize and ask him if he wants to say hello. He's too awkward to ask permission. And he's too angry looking for people to offer.

Represses lots of anger from incidents he feels he can't lash out in, goes batshit in training or on missions. (I used to do kick boxing, the gym people had to keep coming up to me and moving my punching bag back because I was hitting it too hard).

The kind of person to, when going to someone's house, immediately look for signs of a pet. If he finds it. The animal is now his best friend. Goes to a party hangs with the dog type of beat.

Thinks smoking pot would help him. But the idea makes him nervous. Which he thinks, smoking pot would help... But the idea of smoking pot makes him nervous. But he–

Will just lie to get out of shit.

"Hey, we're going to get drinks tonight, do you want to come?"

"ah, I can't... I promised to get dinner with a friend."

Goes home and enjoys a night alone.

Avoidant. Will just not do things that cause him stress. Hasn't been to the dentist in years because talking to the lady at reception makes him nervous. What if the phone signal is bad? What if it just keeps breaking up? What if she can't understand his accent? What if when he gets to the dentist they hate him for the state of his teeth? What if he goes to the dentist and they steal his teeth?! It's happened before! He's seen articles!

Gets adopted by extroverts by being unhinged.

"Hey, what are you thinking about?" Horangi asks.

"I heard that human meat tastes like pork... The best pork, actually." König says absently.

"Huh... And you know this why?"

"I was curious."

"okay... Let's go to dinner."

"Ja, let's."

A sort of dry air about him that comes off as a lack of empathy. But he's just got so much going on in his brain that he can't focus on emoting anything but augghskft.

Will stare off into space with a blend of the hundred yard stare and the most murderous expression known to man. He's not mad. He's just thinking.

Undiagnosed autism

Forgets people's names, gets to nervous to ask again. So he just calls everyone "you".

Acts cold and indifferent. He just really hates small talk, doesn't understand it. Why say something if it's not important? He doesn't care about your grandchildren. Or your wife. Or your morning.

Is the world's best host mainly out of fear. Asking if you need food or a drink or a blanket or if–

König who after confrontations, has to take a step back, hands shaking slightly. But who's also still super pissed and ready to throw punches at the drop of a hat

König who worries so much about physical affection that it just becomes too much. Hugs are suffocating, hands are held too tight, cuddling is like being smothers. But it takes him a long time to initiate anything. God forbid you initiate anything. Hug the man and he bluescreens

Please reblog to support my writing!

Masterlist

[farfromstrange]

heyyy can you do Matt Murdock Smut where him and brat!reader are in a heated argument and the reader is short and small, is feisty and takes no shit.

During the argument he says

“watch who the fuck you’re speaking to, I am not one these idiots who take shit from you”

and the reader is like

“I’m not watching it, no prescription with it, even blind at this point…. what are you going to do about it?”

Matt responds

“im going to put you in your place”.

The reader responds

“you can put me in my place, might a fact since you think you’re supposed to scare me and intimidate somebody I have a solution for that”

So the reader drags a chair to hover over him. Both a face to face banter and Matt laughs at her.

During this smut he is teasing the reader saying

“why did you go quiet? Aint so talkative now hotshot?”

Matt degrades her and calls her little girl and is pounding into her until she admits she will stop being a brat and obey Matt.

Please and Thank You!

Hi! Thank you so much for your request (and I am terribly sorry for the long wait). I started this a few days ago but I couldn't find a proper end. I adapted pieces of the dialogue so they would fit, but I used what you told me to, so I hope you like it!

Feisty | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You and Matt get into an argument and he decides it's time to put you in your place again and remind you who you belong to.

Warning: SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI, PWP, established relationship, Dom!Matt, Brat!Reader, cussing, strong language, teasing, degrading, praise kink, vaginal fingering, mentions of oral (f!receiving), rough sex, unprotected p in v, hair pulling, choking, slight breeding kink (?), marking kink, use of "good girl", semi-public sex (office sex), orgasm denial, fluff in the end

Word Count: 3.2k

A/n: This is some filthy shit. The other requests are coming, by the way. I'm just trying to find ways to continue them. My inbox is still open for your thoughts and requests, but keep in mind that it might take some time for me to finish them. I also always have an open ear for anything else you guys feel like sharing. Enjoy! (and thank you for the request, lovely!)

18+ under the cut!

Sometimes, Matt makes you livid. Like, beyond compare, makes-you-clench-your-fists-and-want-to-punch-a-wall livid. He can be the sweetest and most caring partner, but there often comes a time when you want to scratch his eyes out. Today is one of those days. 

You’re not sure what prompted this argument you find yourself in, but it was bound to escalate from the second you muttered a silent, “Fuck you!” Under your breath. 

Foggy and Karen are out, it’s late and you are both way too overworked. You thought you could get away with hiding your investigation into one of his high-profile cases from him after he explicitly told you to stay away from it, but after watching Karen, you got motivated and it wasn’t until the clock struck twelve today that he opened his files to evidence he surely hasn’t put there and he realized what you were up to. Needless to say that his worry has made him angry. He doesn’t understand how you can be so reckless and won’t take a simple ‘no’ for an answer, and it frustrates him to no end that you refuse to have a proper conversation about the danger you put yourself in and the position he now finds himself in. You’ve made your case pretty straightforward, but you refuse to listen, and that’s what drives him up the walls. 

So when you tell him, “Fuck you!” Under your breath, all self-control and tendency to try and be kind snaps in him. 

“Watch who the fuck you’re speaking to,” Matt says. He doesn’t raise his voice, but the amount of pressure he puts behind delivering his words suffices just enough to get his point across, “I am not one of those idiots who take shit from you!”

Other couples fight too, there is no denying that, but there is something that happens almost every time you and Matt get in such a situation. Your words turn into ticking time bombs, and you are quick to explode. He thinks he’s in control, you refuse to bow down, and then the situation escalates to the point you wonder if the neighbors think you two are anything but healthy. And maybe your fights aren’t healthy, but you love each other and you always find common ground. Eventually. 

But not right now. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of doing what he says or admitting whatever mistake he thinks you made. You were just being yourself, really. 

“Watch it?” you repeat, the words rolling off of your tongue like sour candy. “I’m not watching it. In fact, I’m going to act blind just like you and not even remotely watch it.  What are you gonna do about it?”

He chuckles darkly. “I’m serious, you better watch it sweetheart or I’m gonna put you in your place,” he says. There is something about his silent anger that sends shivers down your spine. 

You’re not scared of him; Matt would never hurt you. The exact opposite of fear happens whenever he talks to you that way, and you want to know how far you can push it because this argument is silly and he’s going to realize that soon enough. But you are not one to back down without a fight, and if you want to get what you so desperately crave, he needs to fold first. But God, he is so hot, and he looks even more alluring with his sleeves rolled up and his cheeks flushed like that. 

He towers over you as if he owns you. You’re a good few inches shorter than him, but that has never stopped you before. He likes to make fun of it, you like to make him regret it. You complete each other and yet you tear each other apart just the same. 

You mimic his stance with your hands on your hips and your head slightly tilted and you know it drives him mad. “You can put me in my place. In fact, since you think you’re supposed to scare me, I have a solution to make it easier for you,” you say. Your voice still sounds like sour candy, but he can’t stomach it. He’s almost allergic to it. All he wants is to stuff your smart mouth with his tie, tie you up and fuck you until you can’t walk straight anymore. Perhaps then you will realize that you can’t do everything without facing the consequences. 

Your vision is red like the towel held before a bull in the ring. Reaching for his office at the dinner table, you drag it out and place it before him. You climb on it, making sure you are face-to-face now and you cross your arms. “There, done,” you say. 

Matt takes a moment to register what you’ve done, and you think you’ve finally won, but then he opens his mouth and laughs right at you. That bastard. 

“Don’t laugh at me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You’re not seriously telling me what to do, are you, sweetheart?” 

“Maybe I am. It’s not my fault you’re being such a dick.”

Bad idea. 

Suddenly, his arms are around your waist. He picks you off the chair and throws you over his shoulder. It’s almost effortlessly how he carries you over to his desk and throws you on it, the wooden legs shaking under the weight. 

“I’m being a dick?” he growls, leaning over you and trapping you against the desk with his arms on either side of you. “I think you need a reality check.”

You try to wriggle out of his grasp as you snap back, “What are you gonna do, hm?”

He smirks. “What am I gonna do with you? You’re being a brat, don’t you think that’s gonna have consequences?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“No. Fuck you!” He swiftly pulls you off the desk and spins you around, arching your back far enough to press your chest flat to the wooden surface. “And I mean that quite literally,” he says. 

You gasp when he grabs the hem of your skirt and roughly bunches it up around your waist. The comeback you had planned out gets stuck in your throat when his hand collides with your bare ass cheek. He gives them both a firm squeeze and his grip is almost territorial, as is the growl that comes straight from his soul into your ear.  

“Why did you go quiet? Ain’t so talkative now, hotshot?” he says. 

He doesn’t waste time. Don’t get me wrong, Matt Murdock could spend centuries between your thighs and it would keep him alive long enough to draw orgasm after orgasm out of you as he devours your sweet little cunt like his last meal over and over again. He could stuff you with his fingers all day and then leave you empty just to be craving more. He could rub your clit as hard as possible, then go slow and gentle until your body quivers with the magnitude of an earth-shattering orgasm that has you screaming his name in ecstasy and makes his neighbors complain. He could do it and he loves to do it, but today, he is anything but a patient man. 

Your panties are soon a mess of ripped fabric on the floor of his office. The wetness seeping out of your pussy hits the cold air and you hiss, but all you get in return is a low chuckle. “What’s wrong?” Matt coos into your ear. “Did my pretty little slut forget how to speak?”

There are many buttons he can push to make you obey, even though you don’t often seem like it, but the way he talks to you is by far the easiest to shut you up. 

He slides his middle finger through your slick folds, gathering the wetness and spreading it over your clit. You jolt. He’s being rough already, and when he shoves his finger inside of you, you moan. He curls it up and hits your G-spot without a single struggle, but that’s all he does. He tells you without words that he knows what you want, but he won’t give it to you. Instead, you hear his belt buckle hit the floor, and then it's the tip of his cock that is rubbing through your arousal. 

Your walls clench around thin air. Your cunt barely lets him in, but he pushes inside of you anyway. The pain mixes with pleasure, your legs squeezed so tightly together, you can feel him bulge your stomach from where your torso is pressed against his desk. All air leaves your lungs. Left behind is a gurgled scream that makes him smirk into your shoulder blades as he licks a long stripe over the back of your shirt. 

You reach back to touch him, but he slaps your hand away. “Only good girls get to touch,” he says, “and you haven’t been a very good girl, have you?”

“No,” you sob. His cock is so deep inside of you now, brushing your cervix with every relentless stroke and you hate it. You hate him for pulling this card because he knows you can’t resist. 

Tears are streaming down your face. 

“Pathetic. Always talking back at me but when it’s my cock inside of you, you suddenly can’t speak.” Matt grabs a fistful of your hair at the same time he slaps your ass. “I shouldn’t even be fucking you right now because quite frankly, you don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve my cock and you certainly don’t deserve to come, not like this.”

You clench around him as if to keep him so deep inside of you. “Please, don’t stop. I’m sorry!” your voice echoes through the office in a desperate cry. Your fists are locked up, trying hard not to touch him, but it’s torture. You want nothing more than to put your hands on him, maybe even push him away because God, he is so deep, you’re not sure you’re going to survive. 

Every inch of your body yearns for him. He hits all of the right spots over and over again, and he drives you higher up the precipice, ready to push you over, but you know he won’t let you. It’s the way he purposely avoids touching your clit that tells you that you have to work for that orgasm, but it’s almost impossible when you can’t speak. Every word turns into a moan when he hits the sweet spot inside of you, your eyes roll back and you let out a broken scream of his name. Surely, Foggy and Karen could hear you from home. 

He slaps your ass again, relishing the feeling of the flesh jiggling at the impact. Your skin is hot and sweaty, and there is a clear imprint of his fingers on your hips and your rear now, too. He feels your erratic heartbeat and tastes your arousal in the air. Your muscles clench wildly, and you try your best not to move. You’re moaning, you’re so loud, but no words are coming out of your mouth. It’s just you and him and his cock that manages to make you feel things no man has ever made you feel before. You’re in heaven but at the same time the bus to hell is about to leave, and he is not yet done punishing you. 

Matt grabs a hold of your throat and hauls you back into his chest. “What was that?” he asks, his voice now a desperate puff of air too. 

“I’m s- ugh!” You can’t help yourself; you reach for his hip as he delivers another hard thrust directly against your cervix. 

He slaps your hand away again. “Answer me!” 

“I’m sorry!” Instead, you place your hands on your chest. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to- to- fucking hell!”

His grip tightens around your jugular. “Thin ice, sweetheart,” he barks. 

“Please, Matty, I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to! I thought I was… I was doing the right thing and I- ah!”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry!”

“Uh-huh, what else? Come on, this isn’t an apology when I can tell your tight little cunt is just desperate to come all over my cock. That’s the only reason you’re apologizing and I am fed up with your fucking attitude.”

He wouldn’t let you come that easily, it becomes crystal clear to you.

Matt pulls out of you entirely, cupping your cunt with his large hand, and starts rubbing your clit. It’s a pace you have gotten used to, but the strength he puts behind the pressure he applies once again renders you speechless. 

He smirks, his teeth sinking into your shoulder. “Oh, you’re so wet for me. You’re dripping. I could smell you even from the other end of the city. You’re so desperate, it’s pathetic. You need to come so badly, don’t you? You love when I talk to you like the dirty little whore you are, hm?”

“F-” You bite your lip until you can taste copper on your tongue. “Matthew!” He delivers a hard blow to your clit and you jolt, every fiber of your being high with electricity.

The pain only adds to the arousal that is flooding out of you, or it feels that way because he simply won’t stop, even when you beg him to. You could utter your safeword, but as much as it hurts, his punishment feels so damn good, your body just wants to let go and come. He just has to let you come, and you hate him that he is playing games that make it even harder for you not to.

“That’s not an answer,” he says. 

“Yes,” you choke out, “I love it!”

“I can feel how close you are, baby. You’re squeezing me so tightly.”

“Please, just- I’ll do anything, just let me come!” He has you right where he wants you. 

“Is that so?” He makes you feel so stupid, but you love it. 

“Yes!”

“Then tell me what I want to hear and maybe I’ll put my cock back inside of you. If you don’t, well… I’ll make better use of that big mouth of yours since you love to tell me how much bigger you can be, see if you can swallow as much as you like to chew, but I doubt it.”

Matt’s the cruelest when he stops right before you can tumble over the edge. You grip the desk, your chest heaving with abandon as the orgasm dissipates. He turns you around and grabs your chin roughly between his fingers. “Talk,” he demands. 

You swallow, his brown eyes wild, but you could never be scared of him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, and then, hoping you’re right with your assumptions, “I’ll stop being a brat and do as I’m told,” you say. “You were right, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything, just please! Please…”

The faintest hint of a smile shows on his face and finally, he leans down to kiss you. It’s a heated kiss, his tongue already halfway down your throat, but you take that as an invitation to touch him. 

Your ass hits the desk’s surface and he spreads your legs again. This time, he slides in a little slower, sensing the soreness of your muscles. Though as soon as his cock is sheathed deep within you, his hips start snapping in the same relentless rhythm from before again. 

You cling to him and the desk, pulling at his hair and just hoping he will have mercy on you this time. As his pelvis grinds against your clit, his tip brushing your G-spot followed by the relentless assault of your cervix, it doesn’t take long for you to fly to the top of the cliff, ready to fall off. 

He kisses you again. “Good girl,” Matt murmurs. 

The praise makes you clench. 

“Such a good little slut.”

He knows exactly how to use his words, the fine line between degradation and praise that blurs into pleasure. He doesn’t hurt you with malicious intent, he hurts you just right where pain and pleasure meet, and he does it because he loves you. He may not always seem like it, especially while you’re fucking, but this is what you both crave, this is what you both need, and he does it perfectly every single time. You can’t get enough of him, he is everywhere, and you couldn’t bare to lose him. 

This time, it is you who kisses him. He can feel the vulnerability in your touch, how your nails no longer dig into his skin but rather caress him. You’re close, clenching, and your moans seem so close to his ear, his cock starts to twitch. He can feel the pressure building alongside yours. 

He changes the angle of his thrusts a little, grabbing your thigh and pushing it up against his chest. “Tell me,” he pants, “Who do you belong to?”

You whimper, “You.”

“That’s right. And whose pussy is this?”

“Yours!”

“Yeah. You have such a fucking big mouth, it’s infuriating. But it’s my mouth. Everything about you is mine, do you understand? No one else gets to have you like this, touch you like this, or see you like this. You get that?”

“Yes!” you cry out as you throw your head back, and his hand is right back at your throat. 

Matt grunts. “Good girl. That’s a good-” he thrusts forward hard, “fucking-” he pulls out and thrusts back in, bottoming out fully, before repeating the same motion as he finishes with a loud, “girl. Now fucking come for me!”

Your body responds to his command before your brain can even register it. The orgasm crashes into you like the wave of a tsunami. Your thighs lock around his hips, you’re shaking, you’re falling, and your moan turns into a scream that is barely muffled by the hand that is still choking you, still holding on as the warmth of his cum fills your abused cunt.

He crashes your lips together, swallowing your noises. With every anguish thrust, he makes sure his cum stays seated deep within you, a reminder that you are no one’s but his, and he’s the only one who gets to mark you like that. Always. 

You wouldn’t want it any other way. 

The moment after is silent. Only your labored breathing fills the air. Matt buries his head in your neck and he holds you there. The roughness from before it’s gone. He is gentle now, seeking your comfort and maybe something else he can’t describe. You melt into his touch. He holds you close and you do the same for him, stroking your hand through his hair. You’re both breathless but you’re calm, and all the stress from before falls off of your shoulders. 

“You okay?” you ask once you find your words again. 

He nods, silently at first, but then he slowly lifts his head. “Did I hurt you?” he asks. 

You’re quick to wipe the guilt off his face. “I’m perfect.”

“Okay, good.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I was worried there for a second.”

“You could never hurt me.”

“That’s not entirely true”

“Matthew-”

“I could tell you you’re hot when you’re feisty, but that you’re wrong about 98% of the time.”

You feign a gasp. “Ouch!” you press a hand to your chest. “That was harsh.”

“See?” he smirks, and it tells you that he has found back to himself rather quickly. “Told you,” he says. 

With a chuckle, you pull him down to press a kiss to his swollen lips. “I love you,” you say. 

And Matt is quick to return the sentiment with an even gentler kiss, “I love you too.”

You know that the next time you two fight, you will act the same, you won’t shut your mouth and he will once again find himself agitated enough to fuck you against every surface he can find, but if he knows one thing it’s that he wouldn’t have it any other way, and he loves how feisty you are regardless of what you say or do. He’s head over heels in love with you, and you are a real keeper. 

At least with you, he will never have a dull moment again in his life. That counts for more than you could possibly know. And as he’s holding you close, his cock still buried deep inside of you, he thanks God for putting you on his path. 

[uglypastels]

That70sShow au with Eddie & y/n = Jackie & Hyde... I thought about it a lot! The episode with 4th of July party, where Hyde punches a guy for being mean to Jackie, and Kitty makes him realize he likes her so they go for a date (just maybe with date going well this time). OR for the Donna/Hyde... the ski cabin episode when he kisses her "just look at you" (my favorite line)...

i got a bit too excited over this one and maybe tried to add a bit too much but fuck it. thank you so much for this request!! I also got another request for the date scene so I might write a part 2 tomorrow or something) :))

warnings: cursing, drinking, Eddie being a bit of a dick but mostly towards someone who's an even bigger dick. enemies to lovers?? female!henderson!reader

masterlist. || join the Stranger Things taglist

No one was more surprised to see Eddie Munson attend the school bake sale than you… except for maybe Eddie himself. Especially since he wasn’t really sure why he was there, to begin with. He didn’t exactly have any money to spend on muffins and traybakes. And even if he did, why the hell would he spend it on high school? The place is filled with people who despise him and have no problem showing that hatred off every single day. 

‘I hope you didn’t bring any of your special brownies, Munson,’ you threatened as you walked past him. Eddie had been standing in the corridor, being his usual degenerate self. 

‘You wish. Those would have at least been worth something,’ he quipped. ‘But no, because of your little bake sale, everyone I know is here, so I have nowhere else to be.’ 

‘Well, don’t just stand there then,’ you hand him a Tupperware box full of chocolate chip cookies, ‘make yourself a bit useful.’ 

‘I don’t think anyone’s going to want to buy anything from me… here, at least.’ He couldn’t help but laugh. 

‘I don’t care. Go stand at the table and pretend to have aa purpose.’ 

‘Always the little charmer, aren’t you, Henderson.’ He didn’t understand how Dustin could be such a cool little nerd with a sister like you. Always on his case, no matter what. But he didn’t feel like arguing, so he took the damn box of cookies and walked over to an empty table. What the hell was he doing… 

Eddie sat down on the chair and leaned back. There was no way any of these suburban moms were going anywhere near him. Instead, they avoided him like a carb-full meal. He could very well see the glares he was getting from across the room, but he didn’t care. 

‘Damn, Munson, did she get to you too?’ a chuckle neared him. Jack walked up to him. Eddie had seen him sit at another table, chatting to some possible customers over slices of pie. He didn’t know much about the guy besides that he was the captain of the school’s Mathlete team and always in everyone’s business. The biggest grin spread from side to side of his face, no matter who he spoke to. It should make Eddie fill included, but it only made him uneasy. No one should be smiling this much.

‘Uhm. I guess.’ Eddie really wasn’t up to making conversation with anyone who didn’t want to take those cookies from him, but Jack didn’t seem to be eager either. 

‘Yeah, she can get pretty bossy sometimes, that one.’ He found you in the crowd, and when you caught his eye, he waved with an even bigger grin… if that was even possible. ‘And she talks. A lot.’

‘Yeah.’ Eddie chuckled to himself a bit.

‘It’s not the exactly a turn-on, I’ll be honest.’

No one asked you to be, Eddie thought. ‘Aren’t you two going out?’ That’s right, Dustin had spent most of last week’s Hellfire session nagging on about how he could get no peace in his own house ever since his sister brought over her new boyfriend. And Eddie had seen them around school as well. 

‘Yeah, but you know how it is, nothing serious. We’re just fooling around.’ 

‘Right. Right,’ all Eddie could think about is if you actually were of this. To him, it seemed like you were pretty into this guy… for whatever reason that might be. ‘But why, if she’s so annoying to you?’ He was barely conscious of the conversation he was having, already zoning out a bit. One thing was for sure, though, Eddie needed to get out of there. He was already getting up, waiting to use his excuse. No one would care if he left, besides you, maybe.

‘It’s worth the hassle if I can get some.’ 

‘What?’ Eddie, already with the exit door in his vision, turned around. Jack seemed surprisingly happy with his little comment. 

‘C’mon,’ he laughed, patting Eddie on the shoulder as if they really shared something in common here. ‘Why else would I go out with her?’ 

‘Oh, I really wish you hadn’t said that.’ He didn’t know why he cared so much. You two weren’t friends, but you were the sister of one of his best friends. He couldn’t let some asshole get away with talking like that about you. Or you use like that. 

‘Wha–’ Jack didn’t even get the chance to ask his question before Eddie’s fist met his cheek. Jack folded over, hand up to his cheek, already showing a red tint. People naturally looked over at the boy's yelp that came out at the moment of contact, and a crowd gathered. 

‘Eddie!’ you ran over and got down on your knees to look at Jack’s face. ‘What the hell.’ 

‘He deserved it,’ was all he said. ‘Believe me.’ and with that, he walked away. He knew he would be told to go in a moment anyway. Fights weren’t exactly encourages, were they?

↯

The next day at school, all eyes were on Eddie, of course. The news of him beating up Jack spread out like wildfire, and it didn’t help that the guy showed up with a black eye either.

‘I didn’t think I had hit him that hard.’ Eddie said during lunch.

‘Why did you hit him, exactly?’ Dustin asked, plastic fork twirling around in his hand. 

‘Because he’s an asshole, Henderson. And you should tell your sister that.’ To Eddie’s surprise, you had not left the jerk’s side all day. He could see you sitting across the cafeteria, looking at him in pity. Apparently, the giant bruise only added to his already questionable appeal. 

‘My sister?’ Dustin raised his eyebrow and looked over at you. ‘What’s she got to do with it?’ 

‘Nothing. Nevermind.’ Eddie, tired of the subject, shut his lunchbox and got up. ‘I’ll see you guys later.’ 

↯

Eddie had never taken any particular interest in you previously. In fact, he really only saw you as Dustin’s annoying older sister. Any time he saw you, you were diving deep into a book, telling him to shut up because she was studying or scolding him for being a bad influence on Dustin, which was a fair accusation. 

But, as the weeks went on, he found himself wanting to talk more and more to you. Every time you picked your brother up from Hellfire, he tried to say something, even if the second a conversation started, the two of you were already getting annoyed with each other. 

‘Do you listen to anything else besides this trashcan bashing?’ You commented on the music that Eddie had playing in the background.

‘You wouldn’t know good music if it hit you in the face.’

‘That seems to be a recurring theme around you, Munson.’ You crossed your arms. Luckily, Jack’s face had healed up quickly, but he was still avoiding Eddie, walking circles around him, scared as if he would jump on him again. But Eddie was avoiding Jack just as much. ‘I still don’t understand why you did that, by the way.’ 

‘Yeah, well, I suppose it will remain one of the universe's great mysteries.’ Right there with ‘why the hell would still be going out with that jackass?’.

  ‘Whatever,’ you roll your eyes and drag Dustin out of the room to take him home. 

‘Why did you hit him?’ 

‘Ask me that one more time, and you’re next, Wheeler,’ Eddie warned. 

↯

A perk, or perhaps a massive disadvantage, of being newly acquainted with the one and only Steve Harrington is also being invited to all of his house parties. 

Sure, Eddie didn’t have to go, but all his insecurities came out when he missed out on things. It was a nasty compulsion. But that is how he found himself in the corner drinking out of a red solo cup. 

‘Hey guys!’ you said as you walked into the full living room, hand-in-hand with Jack. 

‘Why did you invite him?’ Eddie leaned over to Steve, jugging the last bit of his drink.

‘I didn’t. I assume he just tagged along with her.’ Steve explained, ‘what’s your deal with him, seriously? You’ve been acting crazy– crazier than usual, at least– ever since that bake sale.’ 

‘He’s a massive dickhead, that’s all.’ 

‘Or is it possible that you’re just jealous?’ Steve smirked over the edge of his own cup. 

‘You’re making it harder and harder to defend your intelligence, Harrington,’ Eddie muttered. Steve was ready to continue on that subject but realised that would have been exactly what Eddie wanted. 

‘I’m on your side, man. But in my experience, you shouldn’t go for a girl that’s taken. Shit gets messy after a while.’ 

‘There is no side. I don’t even like her… I just… I think she deserves a guy that’s–’

‘You?’ Steve cut him off, smirking, getting a nasty glare from Eddie. 

‘–A guy that’s not just trying to use her for sex.’ 

‘Oh shit, wait, what?’ Steve looked around. The room was too crowded and rowdy for anyone to hear their conversation, probably. You were outside, in the garden, laughing with your friends. Jack was nowhere to be seen. 

‘Yeah, but it’s been two months, and they’re still together, so what do I know.’ Eddie grabbed Steve’s cup and chugged the content before any protest could be made. 

↯

‘What do you even see in him?’ Eddie asked you. It was late, there had been more than plenty to drink, and the party was almost over. You were sitting on the edge of the pool, looking across to where the last large group of party-goers had congregated. Jack was one of them, telling some joke that everyone laughed at. ‘And don’t tell me “he’s funny”.’ He was ready to puke. 

‘He’s nice. And smart.’ you said, kicking your legs back and forth.

‘Mr Mathlete.’ Eddie huffed out. ‘He thinks he’s way cooler than he is. Just sayin.’ 

‘Because you’re so cool?’ You laughed. 

‘No. But as a certified outcast and loser, I can spot other and bigger losers from miles away. And that-’ he pointed directly at him, ‘is the biggest one of all.’ 

‘You’re such a dick.’ That had been enough for you, and without another word, you got up, leaving Eddie alone for the rest of the night. 

↯

‘You’re not gonna get anywhere if you just keep insulting her boyfriend.’ Steve said the morning after. Eddie had stayed over after having a bit too much drink and was trying to shut out any words said to him. Steve was known to be even louder when hungover, somehow, and was a horrible nuisance to be around when sporting a giant headache.

‘I’m not trying to do shit,’ Eddie spat out, pillow only seconds away from suffocating him as he blocked the morning sun out of his face. 

‘Dude, you clearly like her.’ Steve raised his voice, in volume and pitch, nearly making Eddie’s ears bleed. 

‘I don’t, and please, for the love of anything sacred to you, shut the fuck up.’ He rolled onto his side on the couch. ‘And get me an aspirin.’ 

↯

School felt like hell. You seemed to be everywhere Eddie looked. Following him around like a ghost. Or perhaps he was the one following you? It was definitely not his intention. It made it worse that you turned out to be assigned lab partners in Chemistry. 

‘Hey, I’m sorry about the shit I said at the party.’ These were the first words to come out of his mouth when he got the chance to talk to you. The class was pretty quiet, so you whispered back a sternly: 

‘I don’t care, Munson.’ 

‘I just–’

‘I. Don’t. Care.’ You glare over at him. Eddie decided it was best to drop the topic for now. 

↯

Another Friday, another Hellfire session.

It went pretty much like any other week and lasted much too short. Before the party noticed, it was time to clean up again.

Everyone had left, one by one, leaving Eddie to pack up his DM things. He had just finished up when there was a knock on the door, and you walked in, clearly surprised to see only him in the room. 

‘Where is he?’ you referred to your brother, naturally.

‘He said he was leaving with Lucas, I think.’

‘Little shithead.’ You mumbled under your breath. 

‘Wow, there, pottymouth.’ Eddie smiled, but you didn’t seem to be so amused, understandably, as you just drove through half the town to pick up your little brother, who had just decided to leave with someone else. Because why would he call to tell you? What a waste of a Friday evening. 

Eddie grabbed his backpack and headed in your direction of the door. Switching the light in the room off, he let you walk out first. The school was practically deserted except for a rogue cleaning lady somewhere four corridors down, listening to the radio so loudly you could still hear every beat of the song that was playing. 

‘How’s Mr Mathlete doing?’ Eddie asked out of lack of other conversation topics as you made your way out of the school. 

‘You can be a real jerk sometimes; you know that?’ was your direct response. 

‘Would it make me a bigger jerk if I said that I do?’ Eddie didn’t mean to laugh, which probably didn’t help his case. ‘But I’m not sure what I did this time?’ 

‘Why are you so hung up on who I date? It’s like everything I do is just a massive annoyance to you.’ You spoke out your frustrations, and each word broke Eddie’s a little. He had definitely acted badly over the past few weeks but hadn’t even realised how bad it was. 

‘That’s not what I–’

‘So what is it? Why do you have such a problem with me?’ You stopped a foot away from the door, crossing your arms. Between him and the door, Eddie had no choice but to stop too. 

‘I don’t have a problem with you.’ Not anymore, at least. Not that he would ever admit it, but he realised, ridiculously slowly, that Harrington might have been right. ‘Who I do have a problem with is that asshole of a boyfriend of yours.’

‘Why?’ You looked him directly in the eyes, which made him speak up a bit more difficult. 

‘Because,’ he looked around for a moment. ‘Because you’re a really great girl and I look at you and just…’ he stopped for a second, taking you in as you stood in front of him; everything he wanted to say left his mind. ‘I mean, look at you.’ And before he could pull himself back, he cupped your face in his hands, pulled you in, and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was brief and messy, and when he pulled away again, a million different emotions went through Eddie’s body. ‘I– I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have–’

‘Jack broke up with me.’ You blurted out.

‘What?’ Eddie blinked slowly, confused at the progression of events. 

‘At Steve’s party. He broke up with me so… so he didn’t feel bad for making out with Pam.’ You looked away from Eddie. Admitting what happened at that party was embarrassing enough. 

‘Shit, I’m sorry.’

‘Guess you were right, then, huh?’ You tried to smile. 

‘Doesn’t feel good.’

‘Good.’ You lightly punched him in the arm, ‘because you’re still a jerk, Munson.’

to be continued...? (a promise will jinx it)

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[teddybeartoji]

MICKEY YOUR RB ON THAT SMOKER!SUGU POST………. oh i need . lore . so badly

ROOMIE!SUGU BEING A SMOKER MAKES SOOO MUCH SENSE OBVIOUSLY (my heart goes out to depression era sugu and his inherent need for self-destruction 🫡) but i must know …. does he. try to get you to smoke 😳😳 does he … shotgun you……… or does he steal any cigarettes you buy with a teasing grin so you never start………. i need answers so bad misu you are my otp always

(also <3 ily!!! remember to have yourself a nice big meal if you haven’t already!!!!! <33333)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA deep breaths deep breaths...

you're out to get me fr ari you're insane i love you so much. OKEOKE OKE SO we did have a lil talk abt this already buut yeah in the misu world.. roomie!suguru definitely smokes. we have a little balcony in our apartment too so he doesn't have to like.. smoke out of a window or go down the stairs which is nice. aaand we have two little chairs outside too aand a little table and then we have a few plants too (he takes care of those i am awful with plants..) AAAND this is our regular hangout spot!!!!!!!!!! smoking or not, we like to sit there a lot!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ok now to the actual smoking lmao like i already mentioned i am not a smoker but i am not a Cigarette Virgin either so i don't have a problem if he smokes or not. i think smokers are hot and i'm not gonna lie abt he looks SO fucking good while doing it oh my god my heart is going to give out................................. so yeah i definitely grab one from him every so often bc why the fuck not. but... mostly he just shares the cig with me... sometimes he just holds it to my lips so i wouldn't get the smell on my fingers and he always holds eye-contact while doing that bc he's a fucking asshole aaand when i blow the smoke into his face to get back at him he just . grins at me.. (he's so fucking hot ari i really do think i'm gonna die if i think abt him too hard)

he isn't the biggest smoker ever though, shoko definitely does it more than him. buuuut he does always want at least one after a long day and i think that's more than fine (i am drooling rn). oh aaand whenever we're hanging out with satoru and shoko and they go out for a smoke i mostly stay with satoru lmao this is important ok me and him are very very very good friends in this au i baby him i tease him we get along so well that it makes suguru a little jealous and then shoko gets to tease him abt that😭😭😭

liike suguru's just leaning against the balcony railing while shoko sits on one of the stairs and he's just . looking at me and satoru laughing together inside and shoko thinks it's the funniest thing ever hgashdgghsahdghgsa AAAAAAAAND when they come back inside, he always plops onto the couch right beside me (like awfully close) and then puts his arm behind me on the backrest and he thinks he's. smooth lmao pls everybody INCLUDING ME knows what he's doing😭😭😭

mm i don't carry around any cigs but i do always have a lighter with me and while it is very hot when he lights his own cigs.. he lets me do it a lot too and this is also smth that makes me fucking dizzy bc he leans in so close and then holds onto my hand so it wouldn't shake and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH i hate him i love him i need to punch him i need to kiss him he's awful he's sexy he's the worst man alive

he definitely smokes weed sometimes too but uh. that's uhh. gulps very fucking nervously. that's when uh. Things happen ok i can't go into detail or i'll pass out.. he gets very touchy LIKE VERY TOUCHY i mean like nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck while toying with the hem of my shirt YEAH YEAH YEA H I NEED TO STOP HERE FUCK .

[wraith-caller]

WIP Wednesday

@tallmatcha kindly tagged me. @no-braincells-inc @nullcanary @fenharael @scrawnytreedemon and anyone else on here who may have a WIP they wanna share :)

here is something from my singular attempt at a more light hearted fic.

“Would you like to tell me why you felt the need to break Head Preceptor Callium’s nose just outside my class where all of my students could see it?” Rogier was truly at a loss. D had been many things, but rash wasn’t typically one of them. Perhaps he could stand to be a bit more thoughtful or nuanced sometimes, but he’d never been prone to such violent outbursts before.

Maybe things had changed in the years they’d been apart. Well, of course they’d changed. Change was the only constant, after all. Evidence of that was glowering at him from behind a featureless golden mask made to appear as if it were peering out from the gaping maw of a lion. Silver and gold replaced by the red and gold of the New Order. “I found him disagreeable,” D answered.

Rogier waited for elaboration. None came. He pressed his lips together and kept his face passive enough, even if he wanted to shout at this idiot for the scene he’d caused. Half a lecture wasted quelling the wounded pride (and face) of one ex-lover, wrangling the stoic fury of the other. He almost wished Radahn had never given up his stranglehold on the stars so that fate would stop fucking with him. Of all the preceptors for D to run into in the hour or two he was here!

Maybe it was a tad self-involved to assume that he had been the reason for D punching the other man in the face, but with so little data, Rogier could hardly begin to extrapolate. The only point of commonality between the two was himself, but how likely was it that they’d spoken of him in such a brief space of time?

He changed tactics, hoping to put D at ease and draw something approaching an explanation out. He’d have to give it to the provost before long anyway. Callium would surely twist this into being his fault somehow, after all, and he would need to be prepared with a defense.

With his most condescending smile, he eyed the red feathery thing on D’s helm. “Nice plume, by the by.”

D was still rigid, and had not taken more than two steps into the room. “So I have been told.”

Rogier let the smile soften up, something more friendly. “The students have been tracking your company’s progress since you left Leyndell. They’re thrilled to see Knights of the Order in person. You could be very popular here, you know.”

Nothing for a moment. Then, “We don’t need to speak.”

Why be precise when you can just obliterate everything at once? Such was D, Hunter of Tact, quarry ever out of reach. Rogier kept the smile but what had he been expecting? That D would see him and change his mind about everything? Sit down for a friendly chat over tea? Maybe even sweep him in close and touch his cheek tenderly like he used to? By every star in the sky, he was delusional. It’d been five years! Why couldn’t he let this damned thing die? “That makes for a very boring wait, and you’re the one who disrupted my class and caused me to have to endure it. So, you will have to deal with some discomfort of your own.” Rogier dropped into his chair and sank low, legs splayed like a child having a minor fit. The toes of his boots were peeking out the other side of the desk.

D said nothing still, and stood at attention like a soldier waiting for an order from his superior. He looked imbalanced and strange without the bust at his chest. Rogier tilted his head and let his eyes wander around his office. This was becoming painful. Had been painful for years, really. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, and tried again. “How do you find Leyndell?” he asked, eyes on the ceiling.

“Pleasant.”

Had he ever had a single conversation with this man? Ever?

But that was just it, he supposed. He’d had far too many. The well was dry but he kept stubbornly sending a bucket down expecting to get anything back but bones and dust. Knowing this, he threw the bucket again anyway, because he had never been good at knowing when to quit. “How is Devin?”

“Why do you continue to speak?” D asked before Rogier even finished the question.

“It is entirely normal to make conversation-”

“I don’t want to talk with you,” D reiterated.

“You punched. The Head Preceptor. Of my house. In the face,” Rogier said like he was speaking to an idiot. Because he was! What’d D think would happen if he did something like that in Raya Lucaria? That he’d just continue on his merry way without having a little talk about it first? Rogier shoved himself to his feet and closed most of the distance between them, leaving D at arms’ length. From here he could see the pale eyes behind the mask and they were as angry as they had always looked. He could imaginethe scowl that was permanently carved on D’s mouth, as if everything he beheld was an affront to him, personally. “Do you have so little to say for yourself, Knight of the New Order, for surely this conduct does not reflect highly on your station?”

“Do you so enjoy lecturing you do it in your leisure time, too?” D muttered.

“Oh, leisure, you say? You think I enjoy this?”

“The way cats enjoy mice.”

“I had no intention of making this any more difficult than it needed to be-”

“Stop bloody lying for half a second of your miserable life,” D snapped.

Rogier clenched his teeth. “I am not lying. You aren’t worth the effort it takes.”

D’s eyes were furious. But he spat, “He’s sullying your name to strangers.”

The dizzying pace of their conversation suddenly ground to a halt. Rogier’s mind was reeling from the whiplash and he squinted at D in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“The man I punched,” D said. “He implied-” D stopped and shifted his weight but kept his shoulders squared and his head high. “Unsavory behavior. On your part. To get where you are.”

Rogier stared at him, and was it suddenly quite warm in here? Was the world on fire, actually? Why was his face so hot? And oh but he was a wretch, truly pathetic, that someone defending him set his heart aflutter like a dying autumn leaf tossed to the uncaring breeze. It wasn’t that he was so incapable and helpless. He was born to nobility, of course he was used to politicking. And of course an academic life must be drenched in those politics he so despised. And of course he managed to tangle himself in them in the most foolhardy manner possible by spurning the head of his department. The idea of the faculty knowing anything about his personal life had mortified him to begin with, but he should have considered that before sleeping with and then violently severing all ties with his bloody boss.

But impulse control was something D had always had an iron grip on and Rogier could never grasp. So when he surged forward and shoved up that golden mask to capture the mouth behind it with his own, D was likely too startled to know what to do. And it was terribly immature, and brash, and stupid, and everything that Rogier did wrong on a regular basis yet somehow never learned from. D’s mouth was soft and warm and responsive, even if the rest of him was less so, still too stunned to react. This was senseless, a dog chasing its tail, a child babbling incoherently, moths chasing flames instead of moonlight, it was-

A knock at the door and the provost announced his arrival. Rogier drew away sharply and D was staring at him in shock, expression not unlike those of his students who panicked when called upon precisely because Rogier knew they had not been listening. It didn’t matter in the end. D would leave on his assignment, and Rogier would remain here at the Academy, and they could go back to studiously forgetting that the other one even existed. With that in mind, he allowed himself to admit, “I did lie.” He pulled D’s mask back down over his stunned face and held it by the chin. “I hate your plume.”

He turned to the door and set his features back to something pleasant and agreeable, but also adequately chastened and humbled, since the provost was bound to be terribly irritated that he even needed to have this meeting. Rogier greeted him with utmost professionalism as he opened the door to allow the venerable old man inside. His expression was distinctly displeased and he nodded a curt greeting as he swept in.

“I’ll make this brief,” the provost said, not even deigning to take a seat. D stood rigid and tense. “Your conduct with Head Preceptor Callium was most unbecoming, and it is only the seal of the Elden Lord upon your missive which has kept me from having you thrown from the Academy gates by a pair of knights.”

D bit out a quick apology, perfunctory and meaningless.

The old man sighed dismissively. “Fortunately, Callium’s nose will mend, but I am afraid lost trust takes a bit more time, which is not anything you have the luxury of since he was to set out for Leyndell with the others in a week’s time. I am sure your superiors will be thrilled to learn that, and so I’ll leave the reprimands to their capable hands, as my time is too precious for that. Our arrangement called for ten spellblades, and you have, whether knowingly or not, eliminated one of them from service by your own hand and so I have had to call for another.”

Oh. That certainly complicated this situation. D was going to have this unlucky sod as a living reminder of his brash and uncharacteristic behavior, which was likely to result in a black mark on his record upon his return to the Capital. Rogier pitied whatever fool they’d send in Callium’s place.

“Preceptor Rogier, I’m sending you in Callium’s place. Your courses will be divided among the faculty, so don’t worry over that.” Oh yes. That’s what he was worried about, wasn’t it? The lectures and poorly written essays he’d miss out on grading, not the dragon-sized elephant in the room that his miraculously stupid mouth kissed back into being. “You may wish to consult with each other about what preparations you ought to be making for this assignment. But do remember you are a representative of an esteemed Academy...not some ruffian out for a game of fisticuffs.” The last was aimed at D, who was undoubtedly as blindsided as Rogier and so totally oblivious.

Rogier smiled and graciously accepted the provost’s decision, all the while screaming internally and damning the stars for drawing the path of greatest resistance through the heavens the day he was born.

[wheels-of-despair]

[Archived: Visit my masterlist for the new & improved version, which is now chapter one of a series!]

Worth It Pairing: Ralph Penbury x You Summary: Your mother forces you to go to a Valentine's Day dance with a dull date, but Ralph manages to make your night worthwhile. Contains: Overbearing mother, being forced to attend a social event against your will, a dreadful date, an adorable Ralph. Words: 2k-ish

"Hello! You look simply radiant this morning. I hate to bother you, but I wondered, would you care to attend the Valentine's Day Dance with me?" He spoke so quickly, it took you a moment to absorb it all. You'd just stepped outside your front gate, on your way to mail a letter to your aunt, and Ralph Penbury was suddenly right there in front of you, as if he'd been waiting behind a shrub for you to appear.

"Oh, I'm… I'm sorry, Ralph. I wish I could, but someone else is taking me." His face falls and turns red.

"I'm so sorry for bothering you, I hope you have a fabulous time," he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, which wasn't much, and then turned on his heel and scurried away.

"Ralph…" you called at his retreating back, wanting to explain. "Ralph!" He pretends not to hear, darting to the other side of the street so fast that you have no hopes of catching him.

You wish he'd asked you three days earlier.

You'd known the Penburys for quite a while. You were slightly older than the twins, but your mothers ran in the same social circles, so you often ended up mingling at the events they dragged you to.

Victoria was loud, brash, and unbearable. The most self-centered person you'd ever met. Victoria dominated every conversation, and had no qualms about using her shrill voice to interrupt, should the subject not please her. You'd spent many an event thinking about bludgeoning her to death with various objects in your vicinity. Candlesticks. The base of a festive floral centerpiece. The chair she was sitting in. Her own shoe.

Her brother Ralph, however, fascinated you. Mostly because he hadn't smothered her in her sleep yet. The willpower that must've taken! Ralph was a true gentleman. And he was pretty funny too, on the rare occasion he was able to get a word in. He smiled often, and his eyes would shine with excitement when the conversation turned to something that interested him. (Not that he was ever allowed to chime in.) Sometimes he tried so hard to keep in an excited outburst, he would literally shake. It was adorable. If only you could get him away from her long enough to let him share what's on his mind.

On the night of the Valentine's Day Dance, your mother flitted and fussed about you more than usual, making sure every last detail of the silky pink dress that she'd commissioned especially for you was absolutely perfect.

You hated it.

The doorbell rang, and your mother clasped her hands and nearly fainted with excitement. You tried very hard not to roll your eyes. Checking that every hair on your head was still perfectly in place, your mother finally gave you a nod of approval, and led the way downstairs to meet Donald Andrews in the entrance hall.

You hated him.

This nightmare was entirely your meddling mother's doing. She'd had a hand in every detail of this night, from the venue her club had booked for the dance, to the boring boy escorting you there, to the exact vendor he'd purchased your flowers from.

You hated her.

He stood there smiling stupidly in his freshly pressed suit, back straight, blonde hair plastered down, holding two matching bouquets: one for you, and one for your mother. He greeted her before he greeted you, handing her a tacky bouquet with a flourish. She giggled like a schoolgirl.

You hated them both.

You'd suffered through exactly one dance with the most boring boy you'd ever met before retreating to a table and drowning your sorrows in whatever kind of non-alcoholic punch the responsible adults chaperoning this event had provided.

Donald's friends and their dates came to rest at your table between dances, every single girl asking why you weren't dancing with your dreamy date. You told them you'd twisted your ankle during the first dance. An outright lie, but Donald, ever the boring gentleman, wouldn't dispute it in public. You were sure you'd get an earful on the way home, though. You glanced at the clock and heaved a sigh.

You passed the evening by discovering creative ways to fold your napkin, ignoring the crowd of Donald's gossiping friends around you until they suddenly fell silent.

You looked up to see what had caught their attention.

Ralph Penbury, dressed in a fancy new suit, was asking a pretty redhead to dance on the other side of the room. He was so excited, or perhaps so nervous, he was visibly shaking. You thought it was adorable. They'd make a cute couple.

The girl threw her head back and laughed, then turned back to her friends. Ralph stood there, looking crushed. You felt your own heart drop, as if you'd been the one on the receiving end of this rejection. What was wrong with her? Could she not see how precious this sweet boy was? Then Donald Andrews and all his idiotic friends roared with laughter, and your sadness turned to rage.

Ralph looked up and saw the table guffawing in his direction, and he froze. You stood up suddenly, knocking your chair over, and started weaving your way through the buffoons. Your elbow caught the back of several heads in your haste to get away from them. You hoped it hurt. Ralph had turned to leave by the time you escaped the tangle of limbs surrounding your table. Dodging dancing couples in the center of the room, you didn't take your eyes off of him.

He was nearly at the exit by the time you caught up with him, still walking slowly with his head down.

"Ralph?" you asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. He turned to face you, eyes brimming with tears. Your heart felt like it could burst. "Don't pay those idiots any mind," you said gently. "They all share a single brain, and whoever was supposed to have custody of it tonight must've left it at home." He giggles, causing a single tear to spill over. He wipes it away quickly.

"Are you leaving? I was hoping I could ask you for a dance before you go. Or maybe we could go sit outside for a while and cool off?" You may hate these events, but you know he loves them. You wouldn't let those blockheads ruin his Valentine's Day.

"Really?" He sounds hopeful. You smile and nod, waiting for him to make the next move.

He returns your smile and extends his hand. You place your palm in his and give it a squeeze, letting him lead you back onto the dance floor. The song is a slow one, which is nice, because this is the first time you've ever managed to get him alone for more than a few seconds. You'd never realized how eager you were to talk to him.

A moment of silence passes as you get situated and start to dance, but it's not an uncomfortable one; just two casual acquaintances getting used to being so close to each other.

"Your date looks angry. Should I have asked his permission?" He asks with a worried glance to his left.

You let out a laugh, a genuine laugh, the first of its kind all day.

"That boy is the dullest creature I have ever encountered." Ralph looks confused, so you continue. "My mother set all this up. That's what I was trying to tell you the day you asked me to come with you. She accepted his invitation on my behalf. Picked out this hideous dress and the torturous shoes that go with it. This is all her doing. If I had my way, I'd be at home, reading in my pajamas."

"Why?"

"Why would I rather be at home reading in my pajamas?"

"Why did she make you come with someone you don't like?"

"I think he's her last hope." You sigh. "You see, Ralph, my mother's greatest fear is not war or famine or even snakes. Her greatest fear is that I wind up a spinster like my Aunt Molly. Who is doing quite well for herself, by the way! Large house all to herself… an impressive library… several cats to choose from when she needs a cuddle…" You trail off and sigh dramatically in the direction of the chandelier, with a dreamy look on your face, hoping you've amused him.

He laughs, the trauma of a few minutes ago already forgotten. He launches into a passionate speech about cats, then dogs, and you wonder if this is the longest he's ever been allowed to speak at once.

You hate dancing almost as much as you hate being dragged to these stupid events. You really do. But here, dancing with Ralph as he chatters away excitedly, it suddenly dawns on you that you're actually enjoying yourself. You're only on your second dance, but somehow, all the pain and suffering and boring gossip about who's wearing what and who'd gained weight that you'd had to endure tonight seemed like a distant memory. This? This made it all worthwhile.

When Ralph finally stops to take a breath, you seize the opportunity to make a confession.

"I didn't want to come to this… but now, I'm glad I did."

"Why?" he asks, oblivious at the hint you're trying to drop.

"Because I got to dance with you."

Ralph's face turns a deep shade of red, and he's unable to control the giggle that bubbles from his throat. You laugh with him, because it's so cute, you can hardly stand it. This is the best dance you've ever been forced to attend. You're so enamored by him, you don't even notice Victoria's shrill voice cutting through the air, or the blisters forming on your feet from the shoes that were manufactured in Hell.

You suddenly feel a chill run up your spine, and as Ralph turns you, you catch a glimpse of a very red face glowering at you from behind the giant crystal punch bowl.

"Oh, no," you groan. The moment is ruined, the spell is broken.

"What is it?" Ralph asks, on the brink of panic already.

"My mother's spotted us. If she gets any redder, I think her head will explode." Ralph looks worried, like he's going to be in trouble, but it gives you a delightfully devious idea. "I bet if she saw us kiss, it would tip her over the edge. Shall we try?"

Ralph's eyes widen, and he nods feverishly. Smiling, you stand on your tiptoes in your dreadful shoes and capture his lips in a kiss. He doesn't move. You pull back and look up at him, standing completely still with his eyes blank. Is he still breathing? Have you broken him? You'd better check just to be sure. You come back in for one, two, three more short and soft kisses that he happily returns, now that the shock has worn off. Yes, coming out tonight was definitely worth it.

You see your mother advancing out of the corner of your eye.

"Meet me on the bridge in the park tomorrow at noon," you whisper. Ralph gives you a puzzled look. "If you don't see me again, she's killed me, but know that my last night on this earth was worth it." Her claw circles your wrist and tugs you away, steam billowing out of her ears. "It was worth it!" you yell back over your shoulder with a grin.

Ralph stands there, in the middle of the dance floor, watching your mother escort you from the building. He reaches up and touches the lips that had just touched yours. You were right. It was worth it.

[basilone]

'Glide' and 'deep' for our beloved Buck Cleven? Juno xx

The amount of recalibrating I did to keep this away from the gremlin part of the brain that was cryin' out for smut... 🤣I think this one became a lot of fun in its own right, though! It can sort-of be a companion piece to this one, as we take a closer look at Gale during his interrogation and get some scraps of what his bond with my OC Lottie is like. (And apparently, Gale gets a little belligerent when he's in pain. Who knew. 😂)

Glide / deep

His face hurts. He’s pretty sure there’s a tear in his jacket sleeve. His ankle is screaming murder at him until he sits down in a chair that makes the rest of his body hurt with its rigidity. Blood and cotton are waging a war in his mouth.

Spit it up, Gilly. Her voice dances on the periphery of his being, past the sharp cuts and the dull pain that makes him want to curl up into a ball. Don’t hold that in, ain’t good for ya – and if he focuses just enough, he can feel the brush of her thumb on his chin – never swallow a beatin’, Major, just spit it back out. Put it where it belongs.

He sucks in a breath. Spits blood into the glass.

“That is a waste of a good drink,” says his interrogator. Voice too glacial to be disapproving. Voice too controlled to be much of anything meaningful. “Not a man for alcohol, I take it?”

Gale rolls his head back. Looks down his nose at the too-clean desk. Would smile at the small spatters of blood that escaped the glass if he felt his face could still move that way. He can practically feel the glass splinters in his cheek tremble and burrow deeper with each movement.

I need to get that looked at, he thinks, feeling something giddy swoop through his belly at the inanity of the thought. Benny’s going to have kittens about it. Unsanitary.

Out loud, he rattles a breath into the silence. “Buck Cleven,” he says evenly, trying not to wince at the b’s or e’s his mouth is shaping around. “Major.” He pauses. Lets his rank hang in the silence for a moment. “O-three-nine-nine”– he coughs –“seven-eight-two.”

“Buck? You are not Gale Cleven, Major?”

I haven’t been Gale to anyone in a damn long time, asshole. “Buck,” he asserts.

“We need to know you are who our papers say you are, Major.” That same even voice again. Prick. His knuckles itch. “Are you or are you not Gale Cleven?”

Gilly Gale Cleven of the three-five-oh, his mind sing-songs, and he smiles through the pain. “Buck Cleven, Major,” he says again, focusing on the glint of his interrogator’s glasses. Focusing on the slicked-back hair and the self-serving smirk. Lot would be begging to punch him by now – please, Gilly, lemme at him – and his hand nearly curls into a fist in her absence. “O-three-nine-nine-seven-eight-two.”

“I see.”

You can’t see a goddamn thing because that mustachioed knucklehead of a Führer sticks his hand up your ass and makes you parrot his nonsensical bullshit all goddamn day. Gale disguises his snort of laughter as a cough. Remembers Lot’s drawing from about a week ago – sockpuppet Nazis, painstakingly sketched out while tucked against his side in the crush of a too-busy pub – only because the man sitting in front of him now looks like her drawing come to life.

“Something funny, Major Cleven?”

Gale smiles back. You wouldn’t get it.

“I always like a good joke,” the man continues. “You Americans are very funny sometimes. Are you a funny man, Major?”

If he closes his eyes, he can hear Lot’s laughter play into his ears over the persistent radio static he has not quite managed to shake since the crash. He likes that laugh – full, booming, fearless – almost as much as he likes seeing the scrunch of her nose above her mask. Gilly, stop distractin’ me, she’d admonished, reaching over just to slap his arm. We got a ways to go yet, and you ain’t helpin’.

“No, you are not,” concludes his interrogator, who’s clearly never seen Lot’s eyes sparkle with joy over something Gale said. “You are a more serious man. A good pilot, if these tales of you gliding your plane to a landing without engine are true.” His fingers tap a folder that contains far too many papers. Far too many pictures, too. “A studious man with deep thoughts, aren’t you? We appreciate men like you here in Germany, Major.”

Gale summons the blood in his mouth until his gums feel encased by only cotton. Aims. Spits. The desk, once too-clean, spatters red.

“Buck Cleven,” he says, smiling past the pain, feeling the shards of glass dig deeper and deeper into his skin. “Major.” Knows he’ll stay that, even if he won’t fly again. They should promote Lot next, but she’s bound to do something stupid like wind up in the cell next to his. A ways to go, you and me. “O-three-nine-nine”– he laughs –“seven-eight-two.”

“We do not appreciate difficulties, Major.”

You’re gonna hate Lottie when she gets here. “Buck Cleven,” he repeats. I’ll never be Gale in this country. “Major.” And I’ll make damn sure you don’t forget it. “O.” Where are my men. “Three.” Where is Benny, is he okay. “Nine.” How many others survived the crash. “Nine.” All that paperwork and you still don’t know what matters most in a man’s life. “Seven.” Hope Marge will get word back to base that I’m okay once you let me write her a letter. “Eight.” Like an ouroboros, biting its own tail. “Two.”

His one-fingered salute is the loudest thing in this silence.

[melancholysway]

Serendipity (2007!Raphael x Fem!Reader) 9

Chapter IX: I Love You

NOTE: There are NSFW mature themes towards the end, there's a warning before hand, so you'll know and can choose not to read.

Chapter Key:

——— = a flashback is happening or ending ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ or ====

= perspective change

~ = small time skip

---

You shift in the seat cushion of the chair, feeling slightly relieved after today's session. 

You tap your fingers into the wooden armrests, smiling at the familiar jet-black-haired lady, whose red lips curl into a smile as well, her early showing wrinkles crinkling at the corners of her eyes. 

“You did a great job.”

The woman you’ve come accustomed to seeing once a week on Friday mornings sighs with contentment, “Y/n, you did a great job. I was simply here to listen and provide you with the steps to heal and move past those horrible experiences you’ve had.” 

You are nearing the end of your discussion and final session with her, but she’s helped you so much with time. 

Half a year has passed since the last major events in your life. Donatello had put up a different type of glass for you that won’t shatter at all, which you were extremely grateful for. 

You assumed that Raphael’s gestures and open arms would be able to help you fully heal. Master Splinter helped as well, he listened to you talk about the situation.

You see, having two traumatic instances where you possibly could’ve died is not something that goes away easily. It shakes you mentally and sometimes leaves you with PTSD. You truly thought you were doing just fine with Raphael soothing and helping you on the night the man broke in, as well as the very first incident of almost being assaulted. However, sometimes, you have to get help from another source. 

It started small, where loud noises caused you to become startled and you automatically would freeze up. However, the first major episode was in the Lair, when Mikey accidentally dropped a box of lightbulbs, causing them all to shatter on the floor. 

—-

“And now we just…steady…MIKEY! STEADY!” Donnie exclaims to his younger brother as he watches the lightbulb fall to the ground. He was fixing a lamp from Mikey’s room, and the orange-clad turtle wanted to be all handy and help out. Donnie (reluctantly) agreed, knowing that at least one bad thing would happen during a seemingly easy task. 

At this time, You were learning self-defense lessons from Splinter, along with Leo and Raph. It was very quiet throughout the Dojo and even the whole Lair, only the grunts and sounds of your punches hitting Leonardo were heard. 

“Okay, now try sweeping me off my-“

BANG!

Suddenly, the loud noise of glass shattering on the floor is heard, ringing through the dojo. 

“Tha hell was- Y/N!” Raphael is the first to run to your side as you’re curled up in a ball on the floor, but he doesn’t know what he should do. Leonardo puts his practice katana down and also runs to your side, and Master Splinter gets up from his position off the floor to tend to you. 

”Y/n? What is the matter?” Master Splinter's voice echoes through your head, but you can’t answer. Your hands cover your ears, and the only look in your widened eyes is fear. 

“Sorry, guys, Mikey here doesn’t…hey, is something wrong?” Donatello and a sheepish-looking Michelangelo trudging behind him enter the dojo as well, and now all eyes are focused on you and your well-being. 

“I don’t know, Don.” Raphael is gentle with you, as he goes to his knees and draws comforting circles on your back. You both sit like this for a few moments, until you snap out of whatever trance you were in. 

“I…I’m…fine.” You hide your red, tear-stained face from Raph, who helps you back on your feet. 

“Bullshit,” He doesn’t rudely mean this, and you know that; but he can tell when you’re really not doing your best. You shouldn’t lie and hide how you’re truly feeling, it’ll only blow up in your face as time goes on.

“Raphael! Language.”

“Sorry, Mastah Splintah. Y/n…ya ain’t fine.” Your eyes adjust to your surroundings, and you become slightly overwhelmed that everyone is staring at you, all with concern. 

Raphael has started to read you and how you feel. He’s still getting the hang of it, but right now, he’s 1000% sure that something’s going on with you. 

“It’s probably from how loud it was, it just scared me, is all.” You huff, trying to divert the attention away from you. 

Everyone else deems it as you simply getting startled, but Donatello and Raphael think it’s something serious. Splinter really does not want to pry, as it may be a sensitive topic for you to be open about, but he trusts that Raphael will be able to get through to you and really find out what’s wrong.

~

“I dunno what ta do, Don.” Raphael sits across from his brother in his lab, as he does some extensive research to come up with some possibilities on what may be up with you. Medical databases, websites, and anything he could find. 

“Has this happened before?” He asks, typing on his notepad on his computer. Raph takes a moment and thinks about other times it was as bad as today, but they all seem minor compared to this one. 

“Just because they weren’t as serious, doesn’t mean we should ignore them. Was it the same? Reaction to a loud noise?” He asks his older brother. Raphael then hears your quiet laughter coming from the other side of the lab door, followed by Mikey’s voice. Raphael sighs, smiling at the fact that Mikey is trying to make you feel better in some way. He truly does appreciate his brothers. 

“Anythin’ with glass. It ain’t just objects fallin’ eitha. She avoids goin’ out when it’s dark unless it’s with me, she’s been avoiding hangin’ with Jade in the nighttime, unless it’s earlia.”

“Hmm…you see, now, I don’t want to diagnose her, I can’t, actually. I’m not a doctor. But…”

“But, what?” Raph asks, anxious to hear Donnie’s answer.

“Given that she’s been almost assaulted by a gang, and had someone break into her apartment, it sounds like she’s showing signs of post-traumatic stress disorder, Raph.”

He’s taken aback by Donnie’s theory with your current mental state and scoffs.

“No way, she woulda told me that.”

“PTSD is something people aren’t aware they have until it gets bad, Raph. The best action you can take as her boyfriend is to offer support so she can have that realization.”

---

So, that’s what Raph did.

He gave you support. It took a few weeks for you to come to the realization Donnie was talking about, actually. You initially knew something was up, but couldn’t put your finger on it. 

Up until one night, while you were in the comfort of your own home. It was worse than the first incident in the lair because the setting you were in reminded you of the break-in as well.

---

“Whaddya think, Y/n?” Jade twirls around in the 5th and final dress she had to try on for you. It shocked you, but Jade was preparing for a date with, get this,

Teddy.

It all happened so smoothly when Jade decided to walk you to a class pertaining to your major since hers was canceled. You, unfortunately, were still stuck going to class. 

Luckily for you, Teddy was aiming for the same degree as you, so you saw him frequently in your classes throughout the new semester. You both decided to sit together once again like it’s tradition. 

The football player was already in his usual seat, his bag on the chair next to him, holding your spot. As you and Jade made your way to your spot, Teddy was, quite literally, starstruck with Jade.

So much so, that he immediately asked for her number or whatever social media she had. 

“He’s a good guy, Jade, promise.” You whispered into her ear as she was thinking if she should give Teddy the time of day.

“Hmm…tell ya what, Wilds.”

“Yes Goddess Jade- err, I mean Jade?” He plays his sentence off smoothly, whilst scratching the back of his neck nervously waiting for her answer. 

“You’re cute, and you seem harmless, so why not?” Yes! You could SEE the fireworks go off in Teddy’s mind.

That man would not stop talking about her the whole time after she left, he was seriously excited that he was already planning on a first date. 

The rest is history.

And now, here you are, watching Jade’s cheeks turn red just at the mention of Teddy’s name.

“I think-”

CRASH!

You stop mid-sentence, as a loud crash is heard coming from the hallway outside your apartment door.

“Whoa! What the hell was that?! Hey,- Y/n?” Jade stops talking when she notices you curled up in a ball on your bed. She immediately rushes to your side, confused about what’s wrong with you. 

“You okay?” You did mention the fact that you were almost robbed a few weeks prior, but Jade didn’t seem to put the pieces together that your reaction was a result of that incident. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe. I’m right here.” She tries soothing you, but it doesn’t go away. Soon, you’re pushing her away while telling her to stop touching you.

“Wha? Y/n, I’m your friend!”

“Get away! I don’t have any money!”

“Oh…” A lightbulb seems to go off in Jade’s head because she’s telling you to repeat positive affirmations while keeping her distance from you. 

“You’re safe, you’re okay.” She repeats for what was the 50th time. She spent 20 minutes trying to calm you down, and it was working. 

“I’m…safe…I’m…”

“You’re okay, Y/n.”

“I’m…I’m not okay.” You take a deep breath, physically and mentally drained from all the panic you were in. 

“I think…something’s wrong. With me, I mean.” Jade gets up from the opposite side of your room and sits down next to you.

“I get like that whenever glass breaks or shatters loudly, I don’t understand.” You feel defeated, truly. 

“How about this, we get some fresh air, while it’s still bright outside?” Jade’s offer is nice, and you decide to accept it. 

~

‘Jade is truly a great friend,’ you think to yourself. She takes you to one of your favorite spots to get food and tries to get your mind off of things for the time being. She did the best she could, but it was something that loomed over your mind for the entirety of being outside. 

So when she walks you back to your place, she asks you if you’ll be fine on your own for this evening. 

“I’ll be okay, thanks, Jade. Really.” 

“You’re my friend, Y/n, I’m a phone call or text away.” With that, she gives you a gentle hug before returning home.

~

“Hello?”

“Hey, Donnie?” You ask, hoping he has some time to spare.

“Hey, Y/n! You doing okay?” He asks sincerely, only for you to sigh on the other end.

“I…no. You’re right, about something being wrong.”

You can hear Donatello shift in his chair, “Oh no, Y/n. It happened again?” 

Laying on your bed in a starfish position, you gaze at your ceiling, “It was worse. I…thought Jade was an intruder.”

“Give me a few minutes, Raph and I will be right over.”

When Donnie and Raph did make it to your apartment, they could feel something is off the moment they both step in.

“Hey babe, com’ere.” You walk over to Raph, smiling at him as he embraces you in a warm hug. Donatello greets you and flashes a small smile, as he says he’s going to give you both some time alone before you all talk about what could be wrong. 

“Where’s my favorite Stelly-Welly?” Donatello cooed as he searched for your cat in the living room. He’s been obsessed with Stella since he fixed your window, she was just so sweet!

Raphael’s golden eyes stare into yours with concern. 

“We’re gonna help ya, don’t worry.”

“Thank you, Raph.” You wrap your arms around his neck and plant a kiss on his lips. 

“Anytime, babe.”

~

When it came down to Donatello telling you what may be wrong, you were shocked, to say the least. You told him that you would’ve never thought those events would have an effect on you after the fact, months down the line even. 

But, he explained that that’s how your mental state is affected. You may physically be okay, but deep down your brain is still expecting the worst of the worst. 

So as Donnie showed you the many resources and steps you could take to get help beyond just friends and Raph, you took it. 

“If it worsens or stays the same after speaking with a licensed therapist, they may even prescribe you medication,” He says. As nervous you may feel right now, you know that you can’t simply “get over it.” You have to find a way to heal, much deeper than how you initially thought you had been. You’re also not alone at all, it seems. 

As Donatello focuses on helping you find a local clinic and a potential therapist, Raphael is focused on keeping your spirits up. 

—-

That was the beginning of your journey to recovery. It wasn’t an easy one, opening up to a complete stranger about the events. But, with time, it worked. 

You thank your therapist, Christina, once again for her help. She smiles her usual sweet smile, and tells you that whenever you may need to speak to her again about anything, she’s always here. 

“I’m glad Raphael is still by your side in all this, he seems great for you.” She says as her final thought. She’s right, Raphael is truly a great match for you. 

“He's done a lot for me, Christina. So much, it’s unthinkable.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Christina tucks a strand of hair behind her left ear, “I’m also glad I was able to be of help to you, Y/n.” 

With that, you give her one final goodbye, and you head out of that same familiar birch door that squeaked everytime it was touched, out into the world once again. 

You made your way through the bustling city streets, the warm polluted air kissing your face. It’s springtime, and that meant you were wrapping up your spring semester as a sophomore, ready to be a junior. It wasn’t easy, especially dealing with the new mental health crisis you discovered. Not only this, but classes seemed to be longer, the work harder, and the deadlines coming quicker. 

But, you were getting through it, and not a lot of college students can say that. By this point, the average person may have dropped out by now, but not you. You’re strong- and you were determined to graduate college. 

Since your therapy sessions were finished, you felt hopeful for the days to come. You haven’t had any episodes since the last time with Jade that were THAT bad, but you’re still getting comfortable going out at night. 

You couldn’t wait for tomorrow, as you were going to visit your boyfriend. Until then, you’ve been talking on the phone after therapy sessions for reassurance and just to enjoy the sound of each other’s voice. 

“I’m glad it worked for ya, princess. I see it. Donnie sees it, too.” Raph says on the other end. 

Unlocking your apartment door, you’re greeted by the warm air due to very nice heating, “Thank you guys. Hey, I’m gonna come over tomorrow, I’m gonna go through withdrawal if I don’t see you.” You whine jokingly, well, half-jokingly. Raphael chuckles on the other end, his low voice always sending you down a spiral of restlessness. 

“Trust me, I miss ya more, I’ll try and swing by tonight afta patrol, sound good?” The red-banded turtle asks. 

“More than good, Raph.”

~~~~~~~~~

“Raphael~!” You sing as you enter the lair. 

The living space is empty, except for Leonardo at the kitchen table sipping some tea. 

“I’m not Raph, but hello, Y/n. Look, Mikey made me toast.” Leonardo says happily he takes a bite of a slightly darkened piece of whole wheat toast. Leonardo has confessed to you that he couldn’t cook, so he often relies on Mikey for that. 

“It’s so easy bro. You just pull the lever down and…actually, Nevermind. Dudette! Hey!” Mikey says as he comes down the stairs with a comic in his hands. You greet and give him your usual giddy hug, and he takes a seat on the couch. 

“I’ll get Raph for you. Observe. Ahem, RAPHIE!” Mikey exclaims from his spot, only for Leo to shush him and Donnie to wheel out of his lab on his chair, giving Mikey a dirty look from the darkened corridor and slowly wheeling back in. 

Suddenly, you see Raphael and Splinter emerge from the dojo, and you watch as Raph’s amber eyes glared at his younger brother, also giving him a dirty look. 

“That nickname is exclusive ta Don, Mikey! It’s our thing!” Raph reminds. Mikey can’t help but laugh, and Leo can’t help but sigh at the situation. 

“Hey, Raph.” “Hi, Master Splinter.” You bow at their rat Sensei, as you read somewhere that it was a sign of respect. Plus, the turtles always did it during training or talking with Splinter, so you sort of picked up on it. 

Dating Raphael had to be the best decision you’ve made so far. His life…was widely interesting. He had three amazing brothers, all of which work together and are a strong team. He also has an extremely wise father and sensei, who only wants what’s best for his sons.

As for the relationships you’ve built with Raph’s brothers, you find Donnie to be your closest friend out of the three. Donatello and Raphael are beautiful counterparts of each other. Donnie’s sarcasm is very complex and advanced, while Raph’s is just plain crude. But, they both bond over this sarcasm and even bounce off of each other at times. Raphael’s favorite brother was always Donatello. 

Let’s not undermine the fact that Donatello understands Raphael completely. He’s your go-to. If you aren’t sure what kind of date you should set up with him, ask Donnie! He’ll gladly help you plan a date with his brother. A happy Raph is a good Raph in that household. Donatello is a great turtle to go to when you need advice. You know, a relationship is rocky, there are ups and downs, and there are exciting times and boring times. But, that’s the beauty of a relationship, that you can get through it all with the same person- er, turtle. 

---

“It sounds to me that he just needs some time to take in what you said, Y/n.” Donnie says, face coming up from being buried in his computer monitor. Raphael and Leonardo had gotten into a petty argument again. If you remembered correctly, it was something about beating down the PDs or letting them go. Leonardo chose to let them go, and it resulted in a fight between the two brothers. 

Raphael did what he usually does when he gets into it with Leo, he calls you. But, this wasn’t one of those petty arguments he and Leo agreed to disagree on, no, Raph was genuinely mad. 

“I see where Leo comes from, if they’re not doing anything, there’s no point in poking the bear if that makes sense. Bu-”

“You an me both know tha PDs are pieces of shit.” He interrupts you, which was common if he was upset about something he was passionate about. You can’t be mad at Raph for caring about a topic. 

“I know, but let me finish. I see where you come from too, Raph. You still carry the world, it won’t change. But, I think the point of Leo having you all walk away was to show that at some point in your lives, you won’t be able to stop the PDs. If they aren’t bothering anyone, there’s no point.”

Raphael doesn’t say anything, but he sighs on the other line.

“You know,” You start, “As much as I would love to beat the shit out of the PD’s, they’ll just get back on their feet and move on.”

Raph stares at the ceiling, you’re right. Maybe he shouldn’t have been mad at Leo and gotten into an argument about it. It’s not like they constantly argue, it’s just little things they may disagree on. But, this one was the first MAJOR argument they’ve had since Winter’s Corp and the Stone Generals situation.

Raph’s trying. He’s trying not to erupt on you about the situation and your opinion. He can’t get mad at you, he knows this. You’re simply there to listen and give your feelings; you are not obligated to agree with him simply because he’s your boyfriend. He understands that sometimes, you both may disagree on something, but that doesn’t mean it should result in a fight. He’s better than that. He wouldn’t have fallen for you if he thought you would’ve brought drama into his life. 

So, to prevent him from saying anything you may take the wrong way, he tells you he’s gotta go, and that he loves you before hanging up. 

~

Thus, this is where you seeing Donnie comes into play. 

“I see he’s trying. He’s trying to be a good guy for you. If he hurt you once, he absolutely does not want to do it again.” The brown-eyed turtle stops typing on his keyboard, and his attention is all on you. Donatello wants his words to get through, and to be a good wingman for Raph when Casey can’t. Truth be told, Donnie feels a little bad for thinking Raphael did nothing during Leo’s absence, so he’s trying to make up for it. In contrast, Raphael feels bad for giving Donnie a hard time as well, so he’s trying to make up for that. They talk more, spend more time together, bond over more common interests, and are a pretty good duo. 

So, it’s only right that he helps you with Raph. 

Now, don’t get the wrong idea, Donatello is not having feelings for you. He absolutely does not want Raph to think this at all, so he changed little things. He keeps the door open in his lab when you’re in there and he limits the hugs to just greetings and goodbyes (lord someone teach Mikey this before Raph blows a fuse,) he would hate it if Raph got the wrong idea. 

“He’s most likely thinking about apologizing to Leo as we speak.” You and Donnie stop talking, and it’s silent throughout the lab, except for the rhythmic beeping from his monitor, and the footsteps of Leonardo approaching the lab door and passing through, his seemingly stressed form trudging its way to the dojo. You wondered how that would go since Raph was also in there. You’d usually spend your time watching him work out or (attempting) to work out with him. But, you knew a lot was looming on his mind, and he locked himself in, so. You really couldn’t get in there. 

That is until Leo tries to open the sliding doors, only for them to be jammed. 

“You’re kidding. Raph!” Like watching a sibling trying to get in the bathroom while the other is wasting all the hot water, you faintly hear loud knocking on the dojo doors. 

A few moments of loud knocking later, you hear the dojo doors slide open with great force. 

“Yeah?” You hear Raph’s voice, it’s hard to hear, but you can make out what the two brothers are saying.

“It’s my meditation time.”

“Ya got a room fa that upstairs.” Raph retorts, smirking and pointing up at Leo’s bedroom.

The leader in blue deadpans at his brother, “But I want the dojo,” 

“No.” Leonardo sighs. Raphael could push his buttons without even trying, huh? To avoid the possibility of a petty argument over the dojo, Leonardo turns to leave, until Raph chuckles. 

“I’m messin’ Fearless. It’s all yours. I ain’t good at sayin’ sorry ta ya…ya know that. So…I’m at fault. Fa not hearin ya out the other night. Whether we here or not, the PDs will continue to terrorize this city.” Overhearing that coming from Raph makes your heart flutter. 

Now, Raph listens. He’s a listener when he wants to be. He took what you said to heart, and came to the conclusion that you were right. 

“Terrorize is an understatement little brother, but when they do, we’ll be there to stop them. Promise.” With that, Raphael looks at his older brother and smirks as they fist-bump each other. Raphael does not and will not hold a grudge against his brother after the one due to his absence. He let this anger about his brother leaving to train and then staying longer than he intended to seep in and fester. Grow into a despise of his own brother, and that’s what led to the fight on the rooftop. 

—-

He doesn’t want that to happen again. After all, family is everything to Raph. It’s why he’s so protective over his younger brothers because they’re everything to him. They mean everything to him. As for Leo, though Raph may not admit it, he looks up to him in a way. He sees him as this level-headed entity who tries his best, and he sees that. Raph sees it now, as he had this realization after that fight. Leo’s trying, for himself, and for the family. And if Leo could put his heart and soul into trying to become a better version of himself for the sake of the team, Raphael can appreciate his efforts and try to see where he’s coming from. He may not understand it at first, but right now, he does.

To jump back to the previous point, you mean a lot to him as well. That’s why he stops himself from letting that inner anger take control and chooses to leave or change the direction of the conversation.

Raphael was happy. Happy that you were with him, but even happier that you liked his brothers. Like it was mentioned earlier, dear readers: Family means everything to him. If you didn’t get along with his family, he’d have to let you go. It sounds crazy, but family comes first- even if it means having to leave you. It’s something he never had to think about with you or Sabrina because you both were just drawn to his brothers. It may also be because Raphael seems to attract level-headed women, while someone like Mikey may get women who might take advantage of his kindness. Not to say Mikey doesn’t know his worth, but Raph isn’t so gullible. He knows how shit works. He knows how to play the game if there is one. 

So, he loved that you got along with all of his brothers so well, especially Donnie. Raphael knew that Donatello needed someone to listen to him and to be interested in what he was saying, so he appreciated that you became that person for his little brother.

“I’m gonna go say hi to Donnie,” You say as you walk toward the lab, you can hear Raph’s footsteps follow behind. 

Once you get to the lab, Donnie’s lips curl into a smile at the sight of you- his closest human friend. He gives you a nice greeting that you reciprocate, as you both talk for a few minutes. Once it goes silent between the two of you for a moment, Raphael clears his throat. 

“Hope ya don’t mind Don but I’m takin’ my girl away from ya,” Raph says, thinking about what he’s gonna do with you when he gets upstairs. 

“Nope, she’s all yours! We can talk more later, Y/n.” Donnie says as he goes to his table of inventions and things that require repairs. He eyes the microwave and scowls. Yes, Leo broke it if you were wondering. As if Leo couldn’t break anything but the toaster, he goes and breaks the fucking microwave. Donatello isn’t even sure how he broke it in the first place. Like, how do you manage to break a microwave, Leo?

Anyway, you give him a smile and wave as Raphael leads you out of his younger brother's lab and up the stairs, all the way to his room. You sit comfortably on the edge of Raph’s bed, the dim light seeping from outside his room. Raph looks at you before winking and closing the door, light coming from the living space is now gone, and you’re left in complete darkness. You could feel him staring at you, and you think he has that sexy smirk he puts on when he wants to make out with you, and you hear him quickly making his way to the bed to stand in front of you, lifting your chin up and his lips landing on yours. 

“I thought about…sumthin…well, I think…about it…all tha time,” he says in between kisses. As you moan slightly into the kiss, he places his hands around your waist and moves his lips from yours to your neck. He leaves butterfly kisses all over, not wanting to leave a mark (though he also thinks about this sometimes.) You close your eyes, basking in the pleasure of having your boyfriend kissing and loving on your skin, as you respond to his earlier statement in between breaths. 

“Thinking…about what…Raph?” You can feel him getting confident in working with your body, as he lives little nips on your cricoid clavicle. It feels amazing, and you can’t help but moan slightly louder than before. You feel Raph’s lips vibrate into your neck as he shushes you sensually, before working back up to your lips. 

“You. When I told ya I loved ya. The first time. I think about that a lot.” Raph says, his cheeks heating up as a result of minor embarrassment. But, as you rub up and down his biceps, he doesn’t feel so embarrassed after your response.

“Wait, you think about that? Truly?” You ask, smiling gently. You know Raph probably can’t see your face, so you let your tone show Raph that you love what he just confessed to doing. 

“Yeah…I do. I don’ know why, but it stays in my head all tha time.”

“It’s a core memory, that’s why Raph.” You say, kneeling on his bed so that you’re slightly taller than him and feeling around in front of you for his forehead, kissing it gently when you do. Raph was a sucker for forehead kisses. His strong hands find their way to your waist and latch onto you like he loved to do, and you go back to your original position on the bed. This is short-lived, as Raph gently picks you up and puts you in the middle of his bed, going on top of you and smashing his lips into yours. 

“I know I can’t see ya right now, but you’re gorgeous, princess.” Raphael’s deep voice compliments, sending shivers down your whole body. His fingers find their way into your hair, and your fingers twirl with the ends of his mask. Raphael always liked your hair. 

A core memory, huh?

Well, his first “I love you” ever wasn’t something he would forget. Not now, not ever. 

Raphael was in love with you. He knew that’s what it was because he looked it up. Not only that, but he asked Splinter about it to confirm it was love and not early signs of a heart attack according to Google. Now, you’ve told each other you loved each other already, but we’re focused on the very first time. Because Raphael continues to play it every time in his head before he goes to sleep now. 

—-

“Kneel, my son.” Master Splinter says to his second oldest son. He’s sitting in the dojo after just meditating, surrounded by a soft ambiance and candlelight. Raphael’s nervous body language didn’t go unnoticed by his Sensei and Father. 

“First off, how are you, my son?” Master Splinter uses a different tactic when it comes to speaking to Raphael. He knows that Raphael needs someone to listen to him fully, without judging. So Master Splinter asks how he’s doing to establish a comforting space for him to talk, to where Splinter is talking to him as his amazing son, not his student or a troubled young adult. 

“Good…I’m good. It’s just…Y/n.” Raphael seems to talk steadily, almost unsure of what he’s feeling. 

“Is there trouble in paradise, my son? You are always welcome to discuss your and Y/n’s conflicts with me, I will not look at you both any differently.” The short rat states, stroking his fuzzy beard. But, Raphael shakes his head in response. 

“No, ain’t no trouble. Bein’ wit ha…it’s nuthin but paradise. It’s just…I think I love her.” Splinter’s ears perk up, excited to hear that one of his sons is starting to experience an emotion that was thought to be exclusive to only two humans. 

“Well, what is the problem with that Raphael?” He asks. Raphael thinks for a moment, then sighs.

“I- I don’t know how to tell ha that. Or if it’s love. It can’t be, right? Is that too much? What if she don’t feel tha same? What if it’s too early fa that? What if I mess up tellin-.” Raphael spits his thoughts out sporadically, unsure of the answers to all of his “what-ifs.”

But, when Splinter gets up from in front of Raphael and puts a supportive paw on his shoulder, he stops rambling and breathes in deeply. 

“Listen, my son. Miss Y/n is someone who has shown time and time again she cares for you. She cares for your feelings, if she did not care, she would not have taken you back after your leave of absence from her life.” 

Splinter walls around the dojo and goes into a drawer, opening up a small box of lavender incense sticks, and picks one out. Placing it on a nearby unscented candle, it catches the flame and is engulfed onto the end of the stick. After a few seconds, he gently waved it around for the flame to die, watching as the smoke emerged from the end and bringing the scents of the purple flower as well as mint to life in the dojo. 

Raphael looks at his Sensei, then at his fingers resting on his thighs, as he balls his hands into a fist, taking in what his father is telling him. He’s right, he always is. He’s right about Y/n, Splinter can see through people for God’s sake. 

“It is love, Raphael. If you are thinking this much about it, there is no doubt in my mind it is love. It is only right that it is, you have developed feelings that get stronger the longer you are with her.” Raphael smiles, thank God it’s not early warning signs of a heart attack. Not only that, but now he knows his mind and heart are in sync with each other, and he loves Y/n. He loves her. 

“If you overthink like this before you tell her, you will never get the chance to. It’ll come to you, at the moment. Do not think about it, it will come naturally. And who knows, you might be surprised by what she says.”

~

As days went on, Raphael was fighting with himself to tell you and to also find the right time to. He was beginning to think there wouldn’t be a right time. But…it was supposed to come naturally. He seemed to forget that part Splinter told him because Raph is a natural overthinker in some situations. 

How would you react to his confession? 

Well, unbeknownst to Raphael, he was about to find out. 

And better yet, it came just like Splinter said it would: naturally. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Raphael’s nerves were going slightly wild, as he cuddled you on your couch. This was your 4th official date, and both decided to stay indoors enjoying each other’s company. He didn’t reveal what he had made for you, not yet. He was waiting. Waiting for what you may ask? He wasn’t sure. 

“Raph, did you wanna spend the night? I would love to continue this on the bed,” You say as you turn and face your boyfriend, pecking him on the lips before you stretch. Raphael follows suit until he remembers he still had something to do before he heads to bed. 

There wasn’t going to be a “perfect” time to give you this, so he decided to just go for it. 

“Hey I…have sumthin’ for ya, Y/n.” He says. You walk to shut off the TV, maneuvering around Stella so you wouldn’t wake her. Raphael takes this time to get out his “something” for you, and he hopes it’s as good an idea as Donnie said it was. 

“Really? You know you don’t have to get me anything, being with you is enou-“ You stop mid-sentence and look at what Raph’s holding. 

It’s…so cute. 

It mimics the features of a Chinese braided bracelet- one that signifies good luck and fortune. This one, however, has a white “R” etched into the thickest part of the bracelet, which after you put it on, sits on your wrist. It’s simple, yet you couldn’t help but smile your biggest smile at your boyfriend. Raphael looks at you and smiles sheepishly back at you. 

“I thought I should make ya sumthin…that reminds you of me when you’re away, is it too much? Don said it wasn’t but then again he’s single and hasn’t-“You stop Raphael from rambling with a hard kiss on his lips. He kisses back with an equal amount of force and passion as well.

 “Raph, you took the time to make something for me. I don’t care what your doubts are about It. I love it so-” 

“I love you too.” It may have been that Raphael was over the moon with your reaction and that you didn’t finish your sentence and he jumped the gun, but he told you that he loved you.

Too. 

It takes you aback, because Raphael had said it as if it’s been on his mind for a while, and it sounds like he’s lifting a big weight off his shoulders. He doesn’t register that you didn’t say you loved him until after. That’s when he panics a little. Now, Raphael wears his emotions on his sleeve, and you immediately see the panic in his eyes. He didn’t mean to tell you he loved you like that. He wanted it to be mutual, and for it to go smoothly.

“Wait, wait, it’s okay! I…I love you too, Raphael.” You say, squeezing his bicep before he gets any more nervous or overthinks the situation. You loved Raph, you really, really did. 

So, you look up at him and give him a loving kiss on his cheek. “I love you. I mean that.” 

Raphael’s golden eyes seem to light up with a new admiration for you. After all this time, from the first meet to the time you spent together, to the time he completely left you out to dry, to now…you loved him. There was nothing that doubted him at that moment. You said it once more to put him at ease, that you didn’t just say it the first time back because he said it. No, you truly loved him. It’s rare for him, or any of his brothers, to find love. He was hoping there would be women like you somewhere in New York that accepted his brothers as you did him. 

Now, it was very rare for Raph to widely smile- much like Mikey. He would usually smirk, or give a normal smile. But right now, he had the biggest smile on his face. 

You were the cause of this. Of this sudden euphoria. 

******OKAY Y'ALL if you don’t like mentions of rated r activity feel free to skip this part*******

So, it’s no surprise that Raph picked you up and walked to your bedroom, lightly placing you on the bed. He goes to dive in for a kiss, but you decide that it’s time for you to take some control. So, you sit up, and motion for Raph to take your spot on the bed. 

He watches you in awe as you straddle his waist, enjoying the show you're giving him on top. You decide to take off the top that you’re wearing, only leaving you in your bra and shorts. Raphael notices every mark you may or may not have, and he loves it. He sees how you chose to wear a red laced bra tonight, almost teasing and enticing him to take it off of you. Give him some time to get comfortable and navigate your body, and it’ll surely happen in a few moments. With the new exposed skin, Raph smirks as his hands find their way to rub up and down your sides, loving how smooth your skin was, and how warm it felt. 

“Ya know…yer so…fuckin…sexy,” Raph whispers in between kisses. He loves the sight of you. It’s like a drug he’s rapidly becoming addicted to. As you gave him access to your neck and collarbones, he was ready to paint you and make you a work of art with his signature all over it. Because good God, he was so ready to suck your supple skin. To taste how sweet your skin was, and when it was getting heated, the slightly salty taste it had from light sweat. 

You were his, undeniably his, and you were loving every second of this moment. That you allowed him to leave those marks on your neck, as he searched for a spot that would have you-

“Raph, ah~” Bingo. He was understanding how your body worked, what places to kiss or nibble that made you crumble on top of him, and others that made you giggle from it being ticklish.

He just made you moan, and it seemed to have boosted his ego because he was going in with more confidence, and more drive to get you to do it again. Your voice sounded so perfect, he wanted you to sing like that for him again; louder. 

“I love tha way ya sound, do it again fa me, princess,” He says, sitting upright and latching his lips onto your chest. He doesn’t want to take you apart just yet, and he begins to leave small love bites right on top of your breasts until he gets to one spot where you make that sound once again, that wonderful moan that signifies he’s doing the right thing. That he’s allowing you to become vulnerable and exposed on top of him. 

“Is this okay?” You asked, fiddling with your bra strap. Raphael gives you the same sexy smirk he gave you the first time he kissed you, and it seals the deal. 

“More than okay. I want ya, princess.” He says as his fingers dance over your bra straps, which slowly make their way to the hook-and-eye closure on your bra, getting slightly irritated when he can’t unclip it with his larger hands. You giggle softly, and help him out, giving him a smile when you feel the support on your breasts falter, and the only way the bra is being held up is because of Raph’s hands. 

Once it’s fully off, Raphael can’t help but feel. They’re soft. They’re so soft. How they jiggled when his hands fiddled with them, and how the small buds became harder and more sensitive due to the fresh cool air and the sexual activity being initiated. He looks up at you with amber eyes full of lust as he begins to dive in and suck in places that send you into a downward spiral of newly sprouted orgasm craving, and a longing for your boyfriend in such a sickeningly sexy sinful manner.

It’s amazing that Raphael can make you feel this way. It’s something that’s unmatched. 

So, when you both get comfortable enough to where all the clothing is off you, and he’s looming on top, ready to pop his own virginity cherry, you can’t help but kiss him with pure love right before he slides it in. As he’s in his most vulnerable state on top of you, blushing madly from all the friction and this erection that can’t seem to go away, longing for your soft walls to welcome it home where it belongs, you kiss him again. To let him know that you want this as much as he did.

And holy mother of mutagen, he wanted this bad with you. Because honestly, he couldn’t be more in love with you.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: HERE

NEXT CHAPTER: HERE

Taglist:

@bee-1n-space

[nirikeehan]

Happy Friday!!! I'm sure you can writing some soul killing angst 🤣 "Taking the blame" - Thalia/Blackwall

I sure did! I added Cullen/Thalia to the mix and a tiny bit of Cassandra, too. A direct continuation of this trainwreck that I started last week. Love triangle drama!

IDK if I stuck the landing on this one, but oh well, I got Cullen to punch Blackwall and that's the important thing.

For @dadrunkwriting and @badthingshappenbingo

WC: 1853

Series: Dragon Age: Inquisition

---

She sits alone in the war room, watching the slanted sunlight creep across the floor. 

“Inquisitor?” Cullen’s voice, from the hall. 

Thalia starts, thinks absurdly of hiding under the table, but the heavy wooden door swings open and the Commander pokes his head through. He spots her immediately, slips in through the narrow space. “There you are. Josephine’s been trying to locate you all afternoon. We’ve no meeting today, but there’s a number of reports that need your…” 

He trails off, getting a good look at her face. His brow creases. “Are you all right?” 

She must look a fright. The skin around her eyes feels hot and puffy. Her eyes itch from crying. Her red hair is gathered low at the nape of her neck, a poor show for someone of her calibre, but this morning her wrist throbbed when she tried to do one of her usual elaborate plaits. She swallows and averts her gaze. “I’m fine.” 

Cullen wavers in the doorway. His hand moves to the hilt of his sword, as if he could use it to slash at her emotional distress. “I’ll tell her it can wait.” 

“Good. Thanks.” Her voice is faint. Her head pounds with humiliation.

The door closes. She waits to hear the heavy tread of his boots recede. Instead, they move toward her. She looks up; he’s pulling out a chair, sitting beside her. Her chest tightens. He’s so handsome in the soft glow of the afternoon light, hazel eyes soft with concern, that it’s difficult to look at him.

“Would you like to talk about it?” he asks quietly. 

“Not really.” She stares at the map spread across the table before them. So many tokens laid across the map, each representing obstacles she had tried her best to overcome. “I’m just wondering where I went wrong.” 

“With what?” he asks, though she suspects he knows. She’d spied him in the crowd at the judgment, way in the back, wearing a grim expression. 

“Thom Rainier.” The name scalds her tongue.

Cullen’s face hardens. “You showed him great mercy. If he cannot handle it, that’s his problem.” 

Thalia snorts. Leave it to Cullen to have such a straightforward view. “Did he have a point, I wonder?”

“About?” 

“He called me corrupt. A criminal. Just like him.” 

Cullen narrows his eyes. “Thalia, with all due respect— I don’t think you ought to pay such prattle any mind. He was goading you. Trying to drag you down to his level. That’s how men like Rainier operate.”

“Men like Rainier.” Everything about the distinction feels foreign. 

“Bruisers. Thugs. Men who’ll do anything if the price is right.” 

He’s not like that at all, she wants to say, chest tight. He’s noble and good, I know he is, I just don’t understand why he’s so intent upon proving otherwise.

“Do you think I did the right thing, freeing him?” Thalia asks quietly. 

“That’s not for me to say.” Cullen’s response is immediate, voice resolute. She forgets, sometimes, how much of his life he has spent answering to others.

“It is, though.” Thalia shifts in her seat, fixing him with a stern look. “You’re one of my top advisors. I take input from you every day.” 

“I think…” He pauses, eyes skittering across the wide, worn map. “I think nothing was going to stop you from giving him another chance, whether he deserves it or not.” Cullen locks his gaze on hers, fierce and electric. “What Rainier chooses to do with it now is up to him.” 

Thalia’s heart thumps. She feels self-conscious, this close to him, alone. Something between them has been intensifying since that terrible night in Val Royeaux. She’d opened the door in the jail and there he stood, ready to fix this, whatever the cost. He rode all night. Left as soon as he heard, Josephine told her later, Thalia’s mouth open in a tiny o of surprise. 

“Thank you, Cullen.” The gratitude wells in her. He’s been here all along, unwavering, despite fighting demons of his own. She smiles, painful at it is against her chapped lips. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

He clears his throat. Is the color rising in his cheeks? “You’re the Inquisitor. You’d be fine, I expect.” 

She shakes her head. “No, I’m serious. I don’t think I’d’ve got this far if I didn’t have you. Your support. I just… I wanted to thank you.” Maker, now she’s blushing. The war room has gone terribly hot. 

He reaches over and takes her hand. Stunned, Thalia stares, then slowly lets her fingers thread through his. He wears soft, downy gloves, and she wishes he might remove them, so that she would feel his skin on hers. 

She twinges her wrist, and pain reverberates up her arm. She winces. 

“What?” Alarmed, Cullen loosens his grip. “I’m sorry, did I—?” 

“No, no, it’s nothing,” Thalia says. “Don’t worry about it.” 

But he’s watching her with careful eyes, measuring the way she’s holding her arm. He’s a warrior, no stranger to injury. He leans forward and gently slides up the sleeve of her cobalt blue tunic, revealing beneath the ring of grey bruises. He studies them, turning her hand over to get a better look. 

“Did he do this?” Cullen asks in a low voice, devoid of tenderness.

Thalia shivers and pulls away. “Cullen…” 

“Did he do this?” Urgent now, sharp and dangerous. 

Thalia presses her lips together, swallows the affirmative. Cullen’s face changes from open and expressive to the visage she spied on the night Haven fell, and at the battle for Adamant. The corner of his lip by his scar twitches. All at once he’s on his feet, he’s storming away, to the heavy wooden door and out into the corridor. 

“Cullen. Cullen, wait!” Thalia dashes after him, panic seizing her. 

She doesn’t know what he’ll do, but she feels the promise of it welling around her, threatening to shatter the brittle peace that has gripped Skyhold. By the hole in the stone hallway, she grabs his elbow. “It was me. It’s my fault. I tried— I was so angry, and I tried to strike him—”

Cullen whirls on her. “And so that justifies hurting you? A man three times your size?” He shakes his head, lets out a wry laugh. “There are a dozen ways he could have deflected a blow without leaving bruises, Thalia.” 

He sidesteps her grip, as if to prove his point, and keeps walking. His strides are long and sure, and she’s left scrambling to keep up. “Cullen, please. You don’t understand.” 

“Oh, I understand perfectly.” 

The door to Josephine’s office lies open, and mercifully she is not present. In the light cast from the fireplace, Thalia again reaches for his arm. “Cullen, please, where are you going?” She fears she already knows, and that she won’t be able to stop him. 

“I need to have a word with Rainier.” 

She shakes her head frantically. “Please don’t. Please. You’re just going to make it worse.”

“How can it be worse?” He takes her gently by the shoulders, bends down slightly to look her in the face. “Listen to me, Thalia. None of this is your fault.” She sees every facet of his hazel eyes; this close, they look flecked with gold. “You have done nothing but give that man grace, and all he’s done is spit it back at you. That ends now.” 

Cullen releases her, leaving the impression of warmth on her skin. He strides out into the Main Hall, and Thalia follows him. There’s no other way. If she thought she could run down a secret stairwell and beat him outside, she would, but there’s no time. 

Everyone sees: the visiting dignitaries, the soldiers on watch, the servants and the refugees looking for a meal, Varric snug in his seat at his writing table, watching over the top of the manuscript he’s proofreading. Vivienne stands at the balcony above, one hand curling on the balustrade. They all see the Commander marching through the hall, face stony with determination, and the Inquisitor running shortly behind in a panic. 

The cold outside air hits them. Cullen does not even slow. Down the stairs, past the landing, deftly dodging a masked Orlesian admiring the view. Thalia is right behind him, eyes darting about, praying she might spot Blackwall first. She could run to the barn and warn him — and then what?

Cullen reaches the grass of the upper courtyard. When the Commander arrives, people stop what they are doing and stand to attention. He’s been counting on this, it’s clear. He searches the crowd, looking into the eyes of soldiers and citizens alike. He raises his voice, projects with authority. “Have any of you seen Thom Rainier?”

“Er, he went into the tavern a little while ago, Commander,” says Scout Harding, from her usual resting spot near its entrance. Her green-eyed gaze travels from Cullen to Thalia, and the pleasant expression freezes on her face. Her brows furrow, as if aware she may have made a mistake, but not sure why. By the training dummies, Cassandra and the Iron Bull abandon their battle stances, straighten, and stare. 

“Cullen,” Thalia tries once more. “Please. Leave it alone.” 

He turns to her, and she thinks that perhaps she’s finally gotten through to him. 

The door to Herald’s Rest opens, and Blackwall steps out, head ducked to clear the low threshold. Cullen steps forward, jaw set. “Hey, Rainier.” 

Blackwall looks up, and Cullen punches him in the mouth. 

Thalia gasps. Blackwall’s head snaps back. He rocks on his heels from the blow, recovers, and faces front, strands of hair knocked loose into his face. Blood drips from his lower lip as he fixes Cullen a look of icy hatred. The courtyard is silent.

“Touch her again,” Cullen says, “and I’ll drag you back down to the dungeons myself. Is that understood?” 

Blackwall turns his head and spits blood-tinged saliva into the grass. He straightens, eyes narrowed. “Yes, ser.” His voice is steely, unyielding. 

“Good.” Cullen turns on his heels and walks away. 

Blackwall wipes his mouth with the back of his gauntlet, squares his shoulders, and returns to the tavern. 

The people frozen in the courtyard begin to thaw. Heart thudding, Thalia tries to rush forward, but someone grabs her arm. Cassandra is by her side, a grim expression on her face. “I wouldn’t.”

“But—” Thalia shakes herself away. “I’ve got to talk to him.”

“Who?” Cassandra arches a brow.

“Blackwall. Cullen.” Thalia huffs. “Both of them.”

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra says, exasperated, “were you never taught not to kick a hornet’s nest?”

Thalia swallows hard. “Cullen, he… he shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, he should not have.” Cassandra fixes her with a shrewd eye. “But I have never known him to act without cause.” 

Thalia chews her lip.

“You ought to go get some rest, Inquisitor.” Cassandra’s gaze travels over the courtyard, at the spectators awaiting any sign of an encore. She angles Thalia toward the respite of the keep. “It has been a trying few weeks for us all.” 

[curator-on-ao3]

Ten Random Lines

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll roughly to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

I was tagged by @starrybouquet. 💕 Thank you so, so much for tagging me in this super-fun game!

1. Boots That Touch at the Toes (Una Chin-Riley/Christopher Pike, T)

Heat cracks like fire across her hand, sharp and searing as numbness gives way to life, Chris’ breath hot on her skin, his exhalations steady, even as she shudders.

His lips brush her palm, pain fading as quickly as it started. 

And her throat sticks with thank you and oh my God and don’t go.

2. Hello, Again (Una Chin-Riley/Jack Ransom, T)

“Captain,” Una turns toward Chris, all business, “I can recreate the solution Starfleet Academy devised to correct for the temporal imbalance in the planet’s atmosphere, which also explains the trouble we had with transport. It should take about a week to refit the transport ionizers, plus run a few tests.”

“I can help.” Jack flexes a bicep that didn’t need flexing. “Double Number One fist-punch to the problem.”

Is Una chuckling? Jack’s joke wasn’t that funny. Not compared to some of the really funny stuff Chris says. 

3. The One That Is You (Una Chin-Riley/Christopher Pike, M)

“Yeah, I’m going to go back in time.” My toes nudge her ankle monitor. Not enough for the metal to dig into her skin, but enough to remind us both of the present. “Someone once told me that she refused to believe there isn't another way. I listened. Now she’s in prison and I’m trapped in a war that the Klingons say could have been avoided if I’d met my fate. So, yes, I’m going to go back in time and convince my younger self to do what’s right, not what’s convenient.”

4. Hold My Hand and We’re Halfway There (Kelly Grayson/Ed Mercer, G)

“Hey there,” Kelly holds up a bottle of wine, “I wasn’t sure if this was business or pleasure, so I brought a red blend.”

“Because, ‘Sometimes being a little blended is the best way to enjoy all the cultures that blend to form the Union,’ right?” 

He expects her to chuckle. 

But her head tilts, light catching her hair and playing across her cheekbones. “Did you just quote my father?”

5. Chrysalis (Una Chin-Riley/Christopher Pike, E)

“What?” Chris pulls away just enough to look at her, confusion and pride chasing each other across his face. “One of the Talosians said that you … you fantasize about me?”

How is it possible to be more embarrassed the second time? Her cheeks warm, not even the distraction of irritation at an alien probing her mind available to save her.

6. Synchronous Orbit (Kathryn Janeway & Tom Paris, G)

“I remember what you said about wanting my help to find the Maquis.” He forces his hands to rest on his lap, fingers splayed, useless. “But we both know you could have gotten that information and not taken me along for the ride. This has been the best seven years of my life and … before I go … I want to know why.”

Her chair, always so quiet when the ship pulsed with activity, creaks again. He swivels and the captain is the same size she’s always been, yet also somehow smaller.

“Looking back can be dangerous, Mr. Paris.” She glances toward the viewscreen, then at him. “Sometimes the best course is forward.”

7. The Haze (Una Chin-Riley/Christopher Pike, T)

There’s a rustling from his darkened alcove, then quiet again. “I’m glad not knowing your past is pleasant for you, Una.”

Maybe he’s not listening well because he’s very tired and having trouble falling asleep. 

“The haze is pleasant. Not knowing my past can be confusing. I like when you explain things so I can understand.”

There’s more rustling. “Is that why you didn’t want to go into your quarters? You didn’t want to be by yourself without someone there to explain things to you?”

8. Gotta Admit, It’s Pretty Sweet (Churrolivia/Jack Ransom, T)

Jack is about to ensure his irritation is clear in his voice, but he remembers just in time — he promised Olivia he would try to be more patient with the ensigns. So Jack’s pecs rise with a deep, calming breath and he calls out as cheerfully as he can, “Come on in, Ensign Mariner.” 

She waltzes in like she owns the place, sits crooked in a chair as if she’s Captain Riker or something. “Hey, do I smell cinnamon?”

9. The Melody of You (and Me) (Una Chin-Riley/Seven of Nine, T)

There’s a chuckle from Seven.

“This,” Seven squeezes Una’s hand, “isn’t solely your affections. You’re worried about me tripping and falling with my ocular implant low on power. I’m all right.”

10. City Lights (Seven of Nine/Liam Shaw, T)

He sits heavily in the chair across from her, all clean scents of soap and shampoo. “Look, Hansen, my buzz is nearly gone and I’m not exactly in the habit of entertaining mesmerizing company as yourself, so —” 

Mesmerizing? The captain is a lot of things, but he’s not a liar or a flatterer.

Her cheeks go warm, both from the unexpected compliment and from the frustration that balls her fists and hardens her voice. 

“So why don’t you call me by my damn name?”

As always, I love being tagged but my tag anxiety keeps me from tagging others. If you’re reading this and want to play, please consider yourself tagged! 💕

[seapopsworld]

I’m starting to pass out! yes!

hi I start talking to someone and I wake up in mid sentence sometimes I can finish what I was saying and sometimes I’m rambling on via outspoken speech but it’s incoherent to me; or I have no idea what was said or spoken about while passing out. For example Maybe we had been taking bout TV or a tv show episode and I pass out but wake up before the conversation is over and have no clue why I’m saying what I’m saying out loud and to an empty house or room. This conversation was not happening on or in this default world.

So if you happen to be a person or peoples I am having these conversation with then please people, please, keep me posted on what the fuck I was saying! If i upset you, stop being a fucking PC person and lighten up and listen up geez, I usually have an interesting unique perspective on things, I’ve been told this by people, I probably misunderstood something and to not look foolish I came up with something clever but not really enlighten like not like trying to make us all laugh ovah what some may perceive as heavy, that back fires and I come across as uncaring and seemingly someone who seems to like to upset people, saying the wrong thing at the right time is what I seem to be having a conversation about but with who and am I just dreaming this banter. Please answer.‘answer like the best way? Calling talking or actually face to face. Miss your face miss yours more.

Arghhh, ahhh, damn. It

I think to myself I need a hug so I attempt to hug myself, it’s a nice hug, then I start singing some lines from a techno track and I’m all like that’s it that’s all: time for more sleep. Shit I might miss the eclipse. “Darkness is the absence of light” music is again filling my head, conversation ovah, I’m starting to think about booty house and two live crew. Freedom of speech is our right and anything we do with our bodies should also be on us to decide. Telling people they can’t choose how they want or live because they are choosing some path in life you believe or think or have been told is wrong. Thanks honey bitch cunt dike whore for spreading the rights you have and I have of freedom of speech; I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion so take it and put it where you hurt and try and heal your broken ugly nosey disgusting human being self from the inside out or else.

“Or else what” the bitch snaps back at me!

Or else you are going to be a very miserable human being in the future, people like you and your thinking are becoming less the majority actually your more likely the minority these days. Anyway it’s nice to speak to you again miss Brady! Maybe we should just stick with fighting the fun laws cause guns killed people and those guns kill students, kill kids guns don’t have a side they fucking will kill us all if they so called could and as much as I believe worlds can kill so as they heal the sick.

L

Yeah I don’t take my own advice either even if it’s good advice, I usually test it’s advice on others first, see if it worked out for them, the advice I may have given not my own but yeah, so people made money from it, not I! Others. So I started to fight off people this time and I started tossing punches and running after those after hours I was conversing with but my conversation with them was gone and I don’t recall saying much besides what I’d just yelled or screamed. I was rocking back and forth in my chair at work and I passed out for few seconds while leaning forward and then opened my eyes as I was rocking forward so that I lost balance and then I felt the sensation of jumping out a perfectly good plane to skydive, like having lost one’s balance but for a long very fast falling sensation but I was able to not hit the ground face first but it was close. “ stop talking to me this way” I just briefly passed out and woke saying this while also my hands and arms started to flair and fly like a these long skinny arms do while talking but this was in a way a unconscious self defense cause I guess I didn’t like what they where saying to me whoever I was talking to in this passed out moment dream or are these moments where one connects with others and is able to astral project oneself into another persons place and is it’s this current year and current time line or is it another time another being on another planet in another universe in another galaxy. And are they into pegging? But not into LGBTQ rights to love and hug and fuck who they want to oxoxo.

Okay I hope you enjoyed this short story of a typical evening in my current life.

Peace, good night, morning whatever just hope the pillow don’t bite back!

[mykneeshurt]

Haunted part nineteen

Epilogue

You peered up at Shepard in utter disbelief, you knew he’d betrayed you after what went down with Graves. But for him to be behind your kidnapping? Surely he knew you wouldn’t know anything. ‘Why?’ Is all you managed to muster.

He regarded you as he circled your bound body in the chair. ‘Need to tie up loose ends’ he stated. What loose ends? What was going on? A sadistic chuckle left him ‘you being one of em. 141 have been a thorn in my side since Las Almas. But right now, I need you alive, because they’ll come for you.’

‘Yeah and look what happened to Graves when he tried it. I killed him. And it felt really fucking good’ you spat. Your voice filled with venom and faux confidence. Keep him talking. Just keep him talking.

‘Why do all this? What could you possibly get out any of this?’ Shepard pulled up a chair opposite you and sat down. ‘Five years ago I lost 30,000 men in a blink of an eye. The world watched as they burnt, did nothing. Now, I’ll have no end of volunteers. America will be great again. Thanks to me. I’ll be a hero.’

You scoffed. ‘All this for your own fucking ego? Well I can categorically tell you, sir, your dicks lookin real small to me.’

‘Anyone ever tell you to respect your superiors, girl?’ He scowled down at you, fists clenched. Shifting in your chair you narrowed your gaze, ‘respect is earnt, you lost that when you betrayed us. If anything I pity you.’ You were getting under his skin now. Like any narcissistic man. They’re a paradox, a self-inflated ego to protect their withering and non existence self-esteem. Sooth the ego to get what you want, but it’s so fragile you can destroy it in mere seconds.

Grabbing your cheeks he forced your glare, his face mere inches from yours. He smelt of whiskey, cigarettes and sweat. ‘Pity? I don’t need your pity. In a few days I’ll be a national war hero. And you? You’ll be left here to rot, where no one will remember you.’

Jerking out of his grasp you mustered up as much saliva as you could before spitting in his face. ‘She’s got a habit of doing that’ one of the guards chimed in. ‘Should we teach her some respect?’ Shepard stood and wiped his face in disgust. ‘Yeah. I think she could do with learning to respect her superiors.’ Turning on his heel he left the room, flashing you a malicious smile over his shoulder.

—

A table flew across the small living room of the safe house. ‘I’ll fucking kill him! That fucking cunt!’ Ghost roared. ‘Traitorous bastard.’ Price had filled them in on what he’d found, Shepard telling Makarov about the undercover agent in his midst. Makarov then killing him and planting a US patch on him to entice Russia and the USA into war with each other. How Shepard wanted to do this to gain some recognition as war hero.

Price put a calm hand on his shoulder ‘we’ll get him son, and her.’ He chewed on his cigar, the repetitive movements the only thing distracting him from losing it himself. ‘Now there’s two places secure enough he could have taken her. There’s an old Gulag used for training exercises here.’ He points on a map to a small secluded Gulag used in the Cold War. One road in, one road out. ‘The other, an old safe house Russian military use sometimes. We can clear both together or split up?’

Almost instantly Ghost spoke up ‘we’re splitting up. I ain’t wasting anymore time. Soap and I will take the Gulag, you two take the house.’ They all nodded in agreement.

—

You weren’t sure how long you’d been in this cell. Hours? Days? Weeks? Blood fell from your nose, deep thick bruises scattered across your face and torso. Your top was ripped, new lacerations and abrasions but at your skin. The pain was all but a dull ache now, adrenaline offering you some relief. Another punch landed to your stomach, paralysing your breaths.

You threw your head back offering a wheeze filled giggle. You may have been a medic, but you were a fucking strong woman. ‘Think she’s gettin off on it’ one of them muttered to the other. Your chest was heavy, clothes wet from blood and sweat. Tears lined your eyes, not from sadness but from defiance. They wouldn’t get to you, wouldn’t break you. Your thoughts returned to Ghost, the way he held you tight in his arms. The feel of his skin on yours. How his lips fit yours so perfectly. He kept you going. The thought of seeing him again. Holding him.

—

Soap and Ghost approached the enter ace of the Gulag. The night was dark, quiet, perfect for sneaking in through the exterior. ‘Tango one on the left, he’s mine. Drop the one on the right Johnny.’ Like a well oiled machine they picked off guards one by one, until the corner was clear.

They rappelled up the wall and onto the exterior wall as they surveyed their surroundings. ‘We need to get inside, they’ll be in the cells.’ Nodding Soap took point, clearing guards one by one. Ghost felt his heart tensing, he felt off, something wasn’t right. ‘I don’t like this Johnny.’

‘Neither do I Lt.’

Weaving their way through the small constricting concrete corridors, the stale smell of the rotting building infiltrated their senses. They hadn’t seen a guard in quite some time, the feeling was uneasy. ‘Psst, down here Johnny.’ Making their way down the winding steps to the cells a blood curdling scream made their blood run cold. It was you. It was your scream.

—

You were beaten and bloody, Shepard had returned. ‘Such a pretty scream you got’ he taunted as he removed the knife from your thigh. He leant in close to your ear ‘I know they’re here. They’re here looking for you. Wont be long and I can finally release you from your pathetic life.’

You were weak, dehydrated, drifting in and out of consciousness. They weren’t torturing you for information, they were torturing you for fun. Something to cleanse their boredom. You were their plaything.

The sounds of gunshots filled the hallway, hope suddenly filled your heart. He’d come. He’d found you. You smiled a blood stained grin at Shepard. ‘Right … on … time’ you wheezed.

The door blew open, the sounds of Soap and Ghost filled the room. He screamed your name, relief and pure panic both evident in his tone.

Shepard took refuge behind you, knife to your throat. The sting of the blade caressed your fragile skin. He was pinned to the corner, Soap and Ghost having taken out the other guards already. ‘Your odds aren’t looking too good sir’ you quipped through gritted teeth. Fresh blood from the blade tricking down your chest.

‘Get your fuckin hands off her’ Ghost threatened. He gripped his gun tightly, you were sure you could hear the metal creaking. ‘Might wanna do as he says Shepard’ Soap snapped.

Your breath caught in your throat, unable to fully breathe from the weight on your windpipe. Shepard pressed his body against yours moving you slowly. Your eyes met Ghosts, his were riddled with fury, pain, anguish. To see you stained with blood, weak, in agony, it broke him. He shook his head, trying to shake away the image of his mum, his brother, his nephew all slain in their home.

Knowing Ghost was seconds away from breaking you looked to Soap. He found your eyes and you carefully signalled him with your hand. Following your lead he noticed you pull a small knife hidden from within your belt. Ghosts voice echoed in your head ‘always have two knives. Never know when you’ll need em.’ Pulling it out of the sheath, Soap fired a shot into the wall next to you. Allowing you the time you drive the knife into his thigh.

Shepard yelled out in pain as he tumbled backwards into the wall, giving you time to turn and drive the knife in again and again. You fell on top of him, pushing the blade into his chest, the sounds that came from your chest were guttural. Your vocal cords straining from the pressure.

Ghost’s arms tugged you back wards into him. ‘Hey hey hey! You’re safe, you’re safe!’ He cooed over and over. You eventually stopped struggling, allowing yourself to relax into him. He cupped your face, no words able to describe how he felt. Tears trickled down your cheeks, smiling up at him. ‘Simon, I knew you’d come.’

He cradled you close to him, ‘always love. I could never leave you.’ Pulling him down he placed a masked kiss on your bloodied and cut lips. Soap looked on at the bittersweet scene before him. He was happy for you both, no matter how much it hurt.

But it wasn’t to last. ‘Lt!’ He yelled, Ghost looked up confused. Soap looked down to your stomach. You were bleeding. A lot. Ghost moved his hand down to your stomach, his gloves now covered in your blood. ‘No’ he whispered ‘no no no no no!’

‘Simon, it hurts.’ The adrenaline was wearing off, fast.

‘Get medical evac now!’ Ghosted bellowed, his voice strained with worry. Soap scrambled through his bag to get the satellite phone. He glanced over to Shepard’s body, he had the blade in his hand, covered in blood. Your blood. He must have managed to stab you during the initial struggle.

‘I feel cold.’ You cupped his face. Panic spread through him, straight to his heart. He couldn’t lose you. He couldn’t. He removed his mask and kissed you again. ‘You’re not going anywhere. I’m right here. Stay awake love, please stay awake.’ Your eyes were heavy. No matter how much pressure he applied he couldn’t stop the bleeding.

‘I love you Simon. I love you so so much.’ Your voice was getting weaker, quieter. He stroked your head, his own tears now free falling down his face. His black paint smudging on his skin, revealing Simon beneath it. ‘No no no. You can’t. Don’t you dare. You promised you’d never leave me. You promised.’ He sobbed. His voice wobbling as he begged you to stay with him. ‘You promised me.’

You were pale, all colour fading from you. The life fading from you. ‘JOHNNY! Help me please!’ Soap sprinted back to your side, he applied both hands to your stomach. Crimson liquid still oozing out of the slit in your stomach. ‘Im sorry’ you whispered.

You went limp in his arms. Your now lifeless body all that remained. Ghost gripped you tightly to his chest and screamed. Screamed your name into the empty corridors of the Gulag. Soap sat with his head in his hands, crying silently as Ghosts screams filled the empty void.

They weren’t sure how long they were there, Price and Gaz came bounding into the cell. They saw him rocking your body. Ghost was broken. ‘She promised she’d never leave me’ he whispered to Price. The Captain tried to offer something, anything to Ghost. But he snapped. ‘Don’t touch me. GO! GO AWAY! PLEASE!’

It took all three of them drag him away from your body. They had to physically force him onto the plane, while they retrieved your body. During the plane ride back to the UK he didn’t leave your side. He sat by your body, staring into oblivion. Barely moving. Barely breathing. Barely existing.

— A/N I’m such an asshole x

Epilogue to come

CHVRN - Delirium inspired this chapter