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netherfeildren · 1 month ago

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Cannibals : 1. House of Fools

An At the Restaurant story; Part 2;

Pairing: Din Djarin x OFC

Summary: It's two days til Christmas, and the two of you sit side by side, thighs pressed warmly together, giggling at one another for absolutely no reason other than it’s been such a good day. All the best things the two of you do, wrapped into a perfect set of twelve hours.

It's two day's til Christmas, and one of the more bizarre aspects of life is how everything can fall apart from one moment to the next.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship to real love AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alternate Universe; Modern AU Din Djarin; Holiday Season AU; Fluff and Angst; Angst with a Happy Ending; Unhealthy Relationships; Emotionally Unavailable Idiots; But Also, Idiots in Love; Complicated Characterizations of Imperfect People; If that's not your thing, click away dear reader; Grief; Unprotected Sex; So Down Bad it Makes You Look Stupid; Commitment Issues; Found Family; Self Esteem Issues; Insecurity; It's Called Fuckboy Conversion Therapy Look It Up; Toxic Relationship

A/N: Happy New Year, beautiful people.

Word Count: 7.5K

Read on AO3

House of Fools

Glass shattered on the white cloth Everybody moved on Help, I’m still at the restaurant

The tree is set with multi-colored lights and tinsel and care. It’s a good tree, the one the two of you put up together as his little brother cheers you on. Too tall, fluffy and charmingly droopy, shoved into the corner of the two bedroom bungalow you’d helped them move into months ago.

Three years is a long time to know a person. It is an even longer time to love someone.

And yet, sometimes, it remains a half-full sort of love.

You watch as he lifts his brother’s small frame above his shoulders to set the star atop, final touch sparkle, and you’re still looking in through the window of this honest and heartbreaking home of two, even from your seat within their warm living room.

Finally, Din turns, and gives you that pink-glow smile, the one you love. Right corner of his mouth, pulling upwards—a dimple, tan skin and the flush of his appled cheek, and he’s really beautiful, sometimes yours, dedicated to many things before he is dedicated to you. But you’re here. And you’re grateful. The spaces for the shiny red ornaments you’d been assigned, carefully chosen and hung on the tree. Your imprint is there, in this small decision. Your mark on their home, on their Christmas tree. Your handwriting, looping and careful on the tags on the gifts you’d helped him wrap beneath the branches. Grogu, not Greg, thank you, written out with all the care and consideration you feel for the small boy who you’ve come to love as much as you love his brother.

The two of you had come to some sort of staid agreement in the past year. Together. That’s what you are. Afraid of each other, too. Perhaps. Afraid of what you feel, of what could become of it. But aware enough now that you can both understand you can not be without one another, so that any sort of lingering fear or trepidation was forced to become secondary. There were eggshells still, to be treaded on. A carefulness about the way the two of you approach one another day in and day out. An awareness on your part, that there is so much past loss and even more future responsibility awaiting him so that he’ll always live his life afraid and with bated breath for the worst still yet to come. On his part, the awareness of an easily broken heart and a willingness to give more of yourself than is right. And a promise to be careful with those things. Or at least to try.

But you’re together and it’s not easy, per se, but it’s necessary, and you don’t ask for more even though you want it. Even though there’s still that small bit missing. And every time you look at him, every time he’s sweet and considerate and so aware of you it’s almost overwhelming, and when he touches you in that way that is so delicious it should be illegal, you’ll say: I like you so much, Din because you’re afraid to say the stronger word out loud.

You prepare for the holidays with frenzy. In between classes and your thesis and a reading list so long you’re afraid your eyesight will never recover this finals season, you still find the time to do your gift shopping and help him with his. The three of you go out one evening in early December to buy their tree. Taller than Din, is Grogu’s stipulation and the decree that leads to the slightly hunched behemoth with the lopsided star held on by the sheer force of a zip tie’s will.

The two boys meander slowly amongst the evergreens while you trail behind, watching them. The way Din towers over the young boy, occasionally bopping him over the chunky green hat with the droopy knit ears, listening intently at Grogu’s excited chatter. The sweater Din has on had been carefully chosen between you and your mother for his birthday, navy blue half-zip knit that makes him look so sexy and is so, so exciting to unzip, bearing the sharp edges of his collar bones, keeping him warm so that when you slip your hand beneath the hem and up against his hard stomach his skin almost burns.

Or maybe it’s just you, the burning. Maybe it’s what you make together.

Grogu had vetoed seven trees thus far—not fat enough, not tall enough, too wimpy, doesn’t have the right “vibe”. The kid said it needed to be wide enough so that all the naked little angel babies he loved to collect, and for which he’d been soundly sent home from school two weeks ago for—and this is a direct quote from the principal Mrs. Armorer as per Din—‘enabling a covert trading ring as if these artifacts were the most insidious of contraband being distributed amongst the most derelict of city streets’. An exaggeration surely, but Din’s own hatred for the little angels only reinforced the gravity of the boy’s crime. And as he’d so eloquently put it, “When I looked up in the shower the other day to find twenty of them watching me wash my dick, I knew we had a problem.”

If only he also knew you were the one constantly buying them for the kid.

When you blink your daze away, resurfacing from your thoughts, the boys have disappeared. You can hear the sound of Grogu’s voice in the distance, high pitched and laughing, and when you look up at the dark night sky, the first flurries of snow are starting their spiral fall. The warmth of the cocoa the three of you had bought at the entrance of the Christmas tree farm has long since left you, and you burrow further into the damp warmth of the scarf wrapped around your neck, suddenly unable to catch any sound but the rhythm of your own breaths.

You take a few more steps forward, peering through the trees and seeing no one—there had been so many people just minutes ago—when a strong tug at the back of your puffer pulls you between the branches of two of the larger evergreens.

His breath is warm on your face, you can smell the sweetness of the chocolate and marshmallows, but his lips are cold when they press against the corner of your eye, pulling you in close against him, pushing you deeper into the pines.

“Kiss me. I’m cold,” he pouts, another flutter of lips to the apple of your cheek, the point of your chin, and then he’s licking against your mouth and his tongue is hot as sin, sweeter than the chocolate. You open for him, pulling him against yourself as tightly as he pulls you, pressing up on your tippy toes to get even closer.

“I couldn't find you. Din—” you gasp, kissing him again, again.

“Can’t get lost in the snow, baby.” The puff of his laugh is warm against your face, the tip of his cold reddened nose nudging against your own. You cling to him more tightly, feeling unfocused, almost drunk—the tip of his tongue against the arch of your cupid's bow. There are snowflakes catching in his eyelashes. The deep green of the trees, the sky, dark and falling above you, the cold everywhere except for where he touches you, presses against you.

“Need this kid to pick out a tree so we can go the fuck home and get in bed,” he says, shivering and grouchy. “Still gotta strap it to the car, lug it inside…” He buries his face in the warm space between your throat and scarf and whines.

His hair is long enough right now it sticks out the back of his beanie, curling against the edge, and you tangle your fingers in the soft locks, holding him there pressed against you. You can hear Grogu sing-songing your names, coming up behind where you’re embracing with loud stomping gallops, bulldozing into your back hard enough he’d knock you over if you didn’t have his brother there to hold you up. The boy wraps his arms around your waist, shaking the two of you out of your daze, demanding you stop making out and get moving.

“Don’t whine, I’m going to help you.” You say it laughing, fond and grateful. Grateful that you get the chance to be here with the two of them.

“You use laundry softener?”

Wham! plays softly through the overhead speaker of the empty grocery store. It’s early on a Friday, and both of you had found yourselves with the rare treat of being off work and out of classes at the same time. It would be a busy weekend for him, the last home stretch before Christmas. The 23rd and he’d be swamped at the bar the next two nights, facing the revelers returning home for the holiday, eager to get drunk on booze and merry joy.

“Yeah. Don’t you?” He turns to press his mouth against your temple where you cling to his arm, slumped over the shopping cart he's been slowly pushing through each aisle. He has a list he’s not looked at once, throwing things into the basket thoughtlessly. When you get home, you know he’ll complain he got too much he didn’t need, but you keep quiet, happy to see him have his indulgence.

“I do. Yeah.” You don’t know why the sight of the lavender scented softener makes you pause—the same one your mother buys for your parent’s home. Maybe because in some moments, the reminder that Din is also someone’s mother is more sobering and obvious than others.

“Smells good,” he says as he reaches for a box of Scooby Doo fruit snacks. Two boxes of granola bars go in next, peanut butter protein for himself and double-chocolate puff for Grogu.

Pressing your face into the hard muscle of his shoulder, you inhale deeply. Silently agreeing with a nod of your head, pressing your fingers into the swell of his bicep beneath the thick fabric of his dark hoodie.

Tipping his chin, he gives you a sly, knowing look. “What?” He asks—half-crooked smirk. But you can’t even say, and anyways he knows. You drag your fingernails against his muscle, tummy going tight, hiding your face in the warm cotton, shaking your head.

His laugh is soft and gently teasing.

The post office is a mess after the grocery store, and the two of you stand in line for forty-five minutes, waiting to buy stamps and post the last minute Christmas cards to your friends you’d entirely forgotten about in the mania of turning in the final draft of your thesis to your advisor. Another thing that was in the home stretch—your fight to get your masters had been a long journey of indecision and self doubt, but you were so close to being done you could taste the freedom. Your edits were going smoothly, and your advisor, Luke, had been a great help this past year. Disheveled beard and mind in a million places at once, a little bit of a hippie, but always patient and kind and in tune with your wants and ideas when you were really desperate for him to be so. Din had been so supportive, as well. Staying up late with you when you needed to study or write, perfecting the art of a BLT and keeping you fed, because as he put it, there was much more to the construction of it than just bacon, lettuce and tomato. Even though they always ended up being nothing more than just that, it was the action that counted.

You’d be presenting at the end of January, and you were looking forward to being done with school once and for all and being able to work. You’d been offered a position at the public library as the junior librarian over heading the non-fiction department, and you were more eager than words could express. It wasn’t only the idea of leaving behind your little job at the bookstore and being able to come home with something more than a meager paycheck, it was also the notion that you’d finally done something. You’d made a decision for your life, and you’d seen it through, and come January 19th with no extraneous tragedies, you’ll have succeeded. It wasn’t something you were used to, making a sure decision and seeing it to completion. Throughout the course of your program there had been so many times when you’d felt as if it was all a play-act, a game you were taking part in through each step and that eventually, the rouse would be up and you’d realize you weren’t actually passing your classes or enjoying the field you’d chosen for yourself or doing well at this thing you’d so agonized over the decision of.

But here you are now. You’d committed to something and you’d seen it through and not only had you not coasted by, but you’d excelled to a degree that had gotten you a job you were extremely happy with.

And amidst all this, there was also something about doing this and having the people in your life see you do this—having Din see you do this. Having Din see you commit to something and stick to it with your whole heart. You wanted him to know you were capable of such a thing.

After the post office, he obliges you with a wander through the frantically busy Old Port streets. Picking up some last minute wrapping paper you’d been eyeing for the little box of earrings you’d gotten your mother, delicately hand-painted trees and golf leaf holly, some cigars for your father’s stocking. You purchase a box of assorted salt water taffy when his back is turned, large enough it should last him at least half the year, hopefully, considering the way he goes through it. And you stop to get a little cup of gelato to share between the two of you despite the twenty degree day. You walk slowly, your arm looped through his and your hands twined together, your fingerless gloves folded warmly into his fleece covered palms, protected. And this is how you best love being with him—sharing bites of sweet cream gelato from the tiny spoon held in his long fingered hands, he feeds you every other step—when he feels so yours. When he’s most like your boyfriend, and the whole world can see that the two of you are together so that it’s real, so that there’s proof and witnesses you can revel in.

Perhaps it’s insecurity, this feeling. Low self esteem that demands constant reassurance. Perhaps it’s pride. Candid and unashamed elation you feel when people see the two of you on the streets together and know you belong to each other.

He drives you over the bridge and into the Cape after lunch to pick up a package from your parent’s house that had been mistakenly delivered there. The place is quiet, neither of them home yet, but you can see the Christmas tree lit up and sparkling warmly through the large bay windows in the family room, your mother’s heirloom hand-blown ornaments backlit and glowing.

The kid is at a sleepover tonight, the last Christmas celebration for him and his friends before the 25th, smores and ghost stories and a game of white elephant. Making the most of your freedom, the two of you pick up large coffees before heading to the North Viewpoint to sit together for a few hours before Din has to head in for his shift at the bar. The sun begins to set at about four this time of year, and you’re able to catch the last fiery burst of it slipping beneath the water’s edge before you’re left in the murky darkness of the oceanfront. The horizon turns to a purple grey frisson you feel imitated in the over-eager beat of your heart. All there is to hear is the sound of your synchronized breaths and the furious salt spray crashing against the rock cliffs. It’s like you’re the only two people left in the whole world.

It’s been a perfect day so far.

Twin splashes of the Baileys you’d nicked from your parents house while Din hunted for your package, go into your coffees, and the two of you settle into a contented silence. The heater is on full blast, warming your frigid fingers and toes, while your Irish coffee melts you from the inside out. Makes you go all soft. The sweet of the drink makes you tipsy fast, and you eagerly go for a second helping from the thermos he’d prepared while he paces himself for his shift later.

Frank Sinatra’s I’ll Be Home for Christmas comes on the radio, and Din drops your fingers he’d been playing with to turn up the volume.

“This is my favorite one,” he says softly, reaching for your hand again and bringing it up to his mouth to press a kiss against the quickly warming skin. Your fingertips buzz and tingle, suppressing a heart-set-to-burst sigh, and you want to say that it’s your favorite too, all of it. The two of you here together, the overwhelm of the water, so dark if you were to fall in you’d surely disappear off the face of the earth never to be found again. The suspended stillness of you sitting here before it.

This is the neighborhood you grew up in, the exact spot you’d had your first kiss at thirteen and then clumsily gone to second base a couple years later with your highschool boyfriend. Din had found that small piece of your history endlessly fascinating, knowing he was sitting in the place of your ‘historic first fingering’. You’d tried to throttle him when he’d said that, flushing with embarrassment from head to toe, and then a flush of a different sort when he’d made you come on his own hand afterwards. And in record time, lest he be outdone by the competition of your teenage past.

But it was true, this was a place significant to your history, and now, it had become a place the two of you found yourselves at often, together. The playground of your upbringing you’d been able to share with him as much as he’d allowed. All the times he’d driven you over the bridge to your parent’s house to spend the night—never coming in, but always kissing you soundly and waiting to drive off until you’d made it safely inside. It didn’t hurt your feelings, you wouldn’t let it, his not coming in. And anyways, you’d never formally asked him except for that time your father had thrown your mother’s fifty-fifth birthday party. A large and extravagant thing because he claimed double fives were lucky. Din had played dumb until the last minute, and then politely refused, sending flowers in his stead. You hadn’t been upset because you’d expected the refusal. He’d claimed he couldn’t find a babysitter, lied, but you knew it was a hard limit for him. The metaphorical line that could not be crossed. Whether that was because it would inevitably be a hallmark simply too serious and devoted to come back from. Or, and more devastating an option to consider, because it was too hard for him to see the happiness that still lived through your family, the care and love you and your parents had for each other. The closeness. You knew. You know. You could see it in the look in his eyes when he dropped you off once a week for family dinner and a sleepover, wine nights and board games and things he couldn’t understand. Saw the way he’d look up at you the moment before you’d open the front door, eyes full of yearning and hurt for parents who would never again be. A look that said he didn’t think he could ever belong to something like that.

His twelve minute drive to drop you off was enough. It meant more to you than perhaps it meant to him, his bringing you to the doorstep of your home full of love and parents who were still alive. So you didn’t, wouldn’t, let it hurt your feelings, his refusal to join you.

And anyways, your mother knew all there was to know about him. Your father, aware of his existence but unwilling to extend the benefit of his doubt or any sort of grace because he held it against Din that he’d never shown his face in their home. He couldn’t understand, thought that getting the chance to be with you should’ve been enough to cure whatever past trauma kept Din from committing himself fully to his little girl. Your mother was keener, though, more understanding. Especially after you'd run into him once at the grocery store together. He’d had to run in unexpectedly for last minute cookie supplies Grogu had conveniently forgotten to mention he needed for school the next day. And the way Din had blushed and stammered, shaken her hand no less than three entire times, babbling about how he was so glad he’d gotten the chance to meet her, the glaze in his eyes when he’d looked at you, like he was begging you to see how pleased he was, how ashamed, how confused and hurt and shy and out of his depth. How desperate he was to be approved of but how unwilling he was to let himself be.

Your mother had held your hand afterwards, in the car on the way home, while you’d been unable to hold back a few helpless tears for the heartbroken boy you couldn’t help but love. And still, you promised yourself your feelings weren’t hurt. You promised yourself it was enough and that you could understand.

He takes a long pull of his warm drink, and you watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, pressing your thighs together to assuage the tight heat in your belly. His cheeks are flushed with bright red splotches from the bite of the cold outside and the blasting heat of the car’s vents, the spike of whiskey, and you can see his eyes swing from one end of the dark ocean to the other. Wondrous, almost. You’d tell him you feel the same if you didn’t want to keep him.

“What’re you looking at?” He says without turning, half smile and the flash of a dimple.

“I think I’m buzzed already,” you mumble, cheek smooshed against the seatback.

He laughs softly, corners of his eyes creasing so endearingly that your heart gives a stupid, pitiful throb. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Finally, he turns to look at you. You cross your legs tightly, can’t help it, and his gaze flashes briefly, knowingly, to your legs. “My little light weight. Can’t handle shit.” He chucks you under the chin, voice full of fondness, pinching the soft skin to pull you towards himself.

“You know whiskey makes me drunk fast,” lashes fluttering as he presses a bitter sugared kiss to your mouth.

“That’s your excuse for everything we drink.” You pout against him, breathing a don’t tease against his mouth when he kisses you again, changing the angle, deepening it, giving you his tongue. “It’s alright, I like you just the way you are.”

The sound of his favorite song throbs in your ears before it floats away, and then it’s just the sound of your heavy breathing again as you tug him closer by the collar of his sweater, wanting to pull him over the console and on top of you. His mouth slides a wet path over your cheek to suck on the sensitive spot beneath your ear he loves best, humming deep in his chest at the taste of you.

Nothing has ever felt better than touching him.

The hand at the back of your neck moves to your front, slowly pulling the zip of your jacket down; the sound loud and shocking amidst the heave of your panting. Despite the heater, you’re wracked with shivers as he pushes your jacket open and over your shoulder, cupping your breast as he sucks on your neck.

“You gonna get in the backseat and fuck me?” He murmurs between wet kisses and a soft bite.

He pulls you across his lap after your mad scramble between the seats into the back of his little 2008 hunk-of-junk Corolla, silver and shitty but reliable, according to Din. The space is too small for his tall frame, and the burst of biting cold that’s let in during his thirty second spin to join you in the back has you shivering against his broad chest. Long legs bent against your back and spread wide but allowing you ample space to sit on strong thighs. Now it’s your turn to taste him, scraping your teeth against the hard edge of his jaw while your cold fingers sneak their way under his hoodie, dragging your nails over the hard planes of his abdomen, pulling a gruff whimper from his throat. You spread your thighs wide, grinding down against the hard bulge in his jeans, finding the perfect angle to press your clit against the seam of denim.

“Fuck, baby. Fuck me—” he moans your name and it’s the greatest sound in the world. Worth everything.

Your kisses turn sloppy, desperate, fingers twisting tightly into his hair, pulling his mouth against yours until it hurts. And there’s something about the fact that no matter how many times the two of you do this together—whether it’s hard and fast in the back of a shitty car in the freezing cold or slow and deep and helpless, when he wakes you in the middle of the night, warm and naked in his bed, sliding over you and between your thighs, tasting your cunt before he’s pressing inside, needing inside of you—it’s always, always bursting with a sort of frenzy. A desperation, even in the slow, that helps make up for other things that might be missing—that proves a point. A promise in the way he touches you, like he’ll never get enough, like he’ll always want more, even if it’s just of this.

When you pull him from his jeans, hot and heavy in your palm, his breathing goes ragged and the flush in his cheeks meets the hot splotchiness of lust crawling up his neck and over his jaw. His moan is broken, needy, head falling back against the seat and eyes rolling backwards, the soft curls around his ears damp with sweat. You lick your palm, gripping him tight and slick, twisting at the thick head as he tries to fuck himself into your fist, hips jerking helplessly. He’s yours like this. Gorgeous and vulnerable in the palm of your hand, moaning that you make him feel so good, that you’re doing it just right, that you’re his good girl. He wants you so much like this, gripping your hip with one wide palm, the other clutching at your ass to pull you in closer. You wrap your fingers halfway around the wide base, squeezing, other hand concentrated at the tip, working him round and round. You’d make him come like this, quick and sloppy in seconds if he’d let you, show him how good you are and how quickly you can make him feel better than anyone else ever has.

But soon he’s demanding, “Inside. Want inside your cunt,” and shoving you sideways to rip your boot and one side of your leggings off, yanking the center of your thong aside to slick his tip against your swollen wet before he’s pressing against your entrance. All “Let me in. Let me in. You’re fucking perfect—” Chest heaving.

He works himself inside slowly, in stuttered thrusts of his hips, moaning while he goes. Clutching at your hips and rocking you forward while he forces his way in from below. The sticky wet sound of your grinding against him, your clit rocking against his pelvis until you’ve taken him so deep the pressure is just this shy of painful so that you know you’re going to come quick and hard and wet.

His hand snakes it’s way beneath your sweater, and you can feel the tremor in his fingers as he makes his way up your back, gripping tightly at the nape of your neck, squeezing, his other palm flat against the base of your spine to hold you imobile. Allowed nothing but the helpless jerk of your hips, chasing your pleasure, desperate for your orgasm while you feel him throb against the deepest part of you.

“Please, Din.”

“Wait. Wait. Not yet. You feel so fucking good.”

The sex is messy. He tells you he wants more. The wet sound of his thighs slapping against your ass as he starts to thrust again, gripping the swell of your bottom to bounce you on his cock, meeting each other on the up and down. In tune with one another’s bodies in a way you've never been with anyone else. Your cunt clenches tight, it almost hurts, and he laughs, bends his head to bite at your breast over the thick knit of your sweater. Please, baby, I want more. Hold on just a little longer. Your face and throat flush hot, burning, you can feel the sweat collect at your temples and along your spine as he tugs gently at your nipple with his teeth, fucks into you with snapping hips, the rock forward of your clit sliding against his hard stomach.

It’s dizzying. You can’t help it. You come with a cry of his name, clutching him to your breast, wrapping your arms around his head as his bite turns reprimanding, “Fucking lightweight, I told you.” Another laugh that turns into a strangled moan when the heat of his come fills you as your muscles clench tightly around him. The gruff sound he makes: masculine, vulnerable again—the way you wish he’d always be—a mix of your name and a whine. Now that, that makes all the rest of it worth it.

You’re supposed to meet Bo and her girlfriend for drinks at a new wine bar at half past eight. A cosy little place tucked into the cobbled streets of downtown you’ve all been desperate to try. She’d mentioned the plan every day for two weeks, giving away her nerves at the prospect of the three of you getting together. Likely afraid of your reaction at what you’re sure will be the announcement that she and Fennec are planning to move in together, news you've been expecting for a while and which you’ll take more than happily. They’re in love and your friend, who had always been known to be light and wandering as a butterfly in love, was ready to settle down and commit herself to someone she truly wanted to be with in a real way. There was never the possibility of your being anything but happy and excited for the two women. After all, you and Bo had been waiting for this for a long time, steadiness, commitment, a forsaking of that fear of forever you’d always found camaraderie in.

And it only added to that keen sense the past few months had brought along, that the two of you were growing up in a real and immeasurable way. Your lives were changing, moving on, who you were as people was evolving. Leaving behind the last vestiges of your frivolous youth full of too much partying and more fun than anyone should probably rightfully have for something steadier, more reliable. Grown up. As much as you’d miss your friend, your housemate of the past five years, this move spoke well of what was to come for the both of you.

Din makes the two of you a quick dinner before you have to part ways for the night—a creamy mushroom risotto and a crisp glass of white wine for you. The man likes to get you drunk and slutty. Watching him move around the kitchen, lithe and capable, makes you squirm for more of what he’d given you earlier, the sound of his moans in your ear and the wash of his hot breath against your throat while he throbs inside of you.

The house is cozy, the warmth of the tree, the toys strewn across the living room floor, the precariously leaning tower of Din’s cookbooks at the edge of the kitchen counter, the overflowing pile of laundry on the sofa waiting to be folded and Grogu’s art pinned by spaceship magnets to the refrigerator door. Something you’d always admired in the way Din had taken on parenting his brother, the way he'd nurtured and preserved Grogu’s childhood, giving him the space and safety to be a little boy for as long as he needed without the pressure of feeling like he had to grow up too fast. Not the way Din had.

He brings your dinner to you on the sofa, presenting it to you with a flourish of steam and his beautifully proud grin, like, look what I’ve made for you, aren’t I a nice boy? And the two of you sit side by side, thighs pressed warmly together, silverware clinking as you watch each other eat, giggling softly at one another for absolutely no reason other than that it’s been such a good day. All the best things the two of you do together, wrapped into a perfect set of twelve hours.

Then, one of the more bizarre aspects of life: how everything can fall apart from one moment to the next.

“You and Greg should come to dinner at my parents tomorrow night.” You don’t know why you say it, or where it comes from. “My mom would really love to have you, and she makes a great Christmas Eve roast.” Probably because it’s simply the truth. You want him there, quite desperately. Both of them. And your mother had asked. Your dad too, why he wasn’t joining you all, why he didn’t want to.

You suppose you also want to hear why he doesn’t want to. What excuse he'll give.

He goes silent, fork halfway to his open mouth, and a stupidly shocked expression on his face you could slap off of him.

Suddenly, you’re angry enough you could cry.

“My dad got some really nice wine too, something about a two thousand ten harvest—he said it’s something real special,” you press. “Do you want to come? My mom can make up a room for you guys so you don’t have to drive back, and then on Christmas morning we can—”

“No,” he says abruptly. “We can’t. What are you doing?” He sets his plate down loudly on the coffee table, the rattle of his fork making you jerk.

Your throat convulses around a swallow, your own plate held shakily in your lap. You should stop, but you feel ruinous. Half-full and ready to self implode.

It had been such a perfect day, resplendent with that knick of time possibility. That maybe forever tease. But in the end, what is this casual intimacy, and why does it always feel like a wait in line for the execution block? He should want to spend tomorrow with you, let it be another perfect day.

“Why not? Why can’t you?”

“We have plans already.”

“What plans? You’re just going to be here. My father wants to meet you.”

“Well I don’t want to meet him. What is it that you’re trying to do here?”

You close your eyes, shaking your head quickly in a nod. Okay. Okay. Open your eyes again. “Okay. Then tell me what your parents were like.”

He jerks back in a flinch. “What?”

“Tell me. You’ve never told me about them before. Not really. I want to know what they were like. All I have to go by is a fucking photograph I had to rifle through your drawers for. Do you have traditions for Christmas they left you with? What were they like? Tell me, Din.” Your tone is perfunctory, cold and biting, too fast and not the tender sort a conversation like this requires.

And he gives you a sort of look—one that asks, are we really doing this? But you’ve already decided you won’t let him get away with it this time. You’ll ruin it all if you have to. And you know he won’t ever tell anyone else, so he might as well tell you. Right? You, who knows and cares and asks.

Who else will ask you these sorts of things? You want to say. Who else will help you remember? Who’s going to love you like I do?

Your gaze is persistent, and he nods once, swallowing acceptance, finally understanding what it is you’re doing—ruining it all.

“What is any parent that’s gone like? Perfect in your memory. I don’t know… They were real and busy and kind and thoughtless. All the things all parents are. But they’re absent now. That’s all I'm left with, which I hate. They’re dead, and that’s all they’ll ever be and I resent them for it. What else do you want me to say? What would I do at your parent’s house? I don’t know what I…I wouldn’t belong—We wouldn’t—” His jaw is set in anger as he says it, choking on his stumbled words.

Your chest aches with a repressed sob, and you refuse to blink and miss a single second of this.

“What were you like as a child?” He looks at you like he can’t understand why you’re doing this to him.

“Solitary, but not lonely.” I’m equipped for this in reverse, you think. “And then Greg was born, and I was a kid for only a very short time longer. Why are you asking me this? I don’t have anything for you but sorry answers. Is this really the shit you want to talk about?”

You clutch your plate more tightly. “I want to kn-know you. I—”

“You do!” His voice goes from measured to a yell very quickly. “You know me better than anyone else! What more do you fucking want from me? Jesus Christ—” he spits, shoving himself off the couch to pace away from you, running his fingers through his hair, agitated, angry. You’re never satisfied, he says at the wall.

It’s true. You’re not.

It’s helpless. You feel big and greedy. You’re never going to be able to stop wanting more. And you’d always told yourself, tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow, it will—he will—be different. Something will change because it has to, because everything always changes.

But you realize in this moment that maybe the only change here has ever needed to come from you.

You realize that you’ve been eating your own illusions for too long, selling yourself snake oil.

“I don’t want to be alone in this anymore,” you tell him. “I want more.”

“But what? What more is there? You’re not alone, and I don’t—” he makes some choked noise of frustration, “This is all I have to give. Can’t you see that? I don’t know—” The look he gives you, palms out and pleading, like some infinitely lost boy—half abandoned child, half apology.

“I don’t know either,” you cut him off, setting your plate down next to his with a surprisingly steady hand.

It’s a lost battle, no more starry eyed sleight of hand, all the cards are on the table.

When you look back at him you can see the emotion choked behind his eyes. That you’ve pushed him beyond the line of his own reasoning and into hurt. But his comfort had to become secondary to yours eventually. You couldn’t tend to it forever with as much care as you’d always done without hurting yourself.

And everything has a breaking point.

“Maybe I wanted you to think of someone other than yourself for once.” You see the blow land. The snapping bone, wrong-thing-said reaction. It’s a lie, after all, you know it. A terrible lie, a terrible thing to say to someone who has so obviously given up everything and their whole life, their youth, for the sake of another, and done so gladly.

Perhaps a wiser person would take this as reasoning enough for Din’s behavior. For his lack of ability to give more of himself to a relationship. Perhaps for someone more mature or with more experience, with a greater sense of self, it would be obvious, the fact that a person who’d lost so much of themselves so young found it hard to love, to give themselves over to partnership and the sort of commitment needed for a fully functioning adult relationship. But you can’t, or choose not to see it anymore. Perhaps you’re tired of fighting, of working so hard for it. Perhaps you’re tired of waiting.

His face turns away like you’ve struck him, and for a long moment he doesn't turn back, but when he does there’s anger almost like hate, and his eyes are wet with tears. You wish you could be cruel, laugh in his face, but your own drip from your chin as well. And anyways, it’s so shocking there isn’t any room for cruelty.

You go gasping fish silent, until he says, “I do. It’s just not you.” The salt lie drips from his long lashes and he moves, turning away from you towards the Christmas tree you’d picked out and decorated together, the gifts for his brother you’d chosen and wrapped with him.

“What did you want here? From this?” Maybe he means the fight now, but what does it matter compared to the whole mess and lie of this entire fraught ordeal.

“Well…” you stand, moving for your purse on the kitchen table. There is, in everyone, a limit to the amount of pain you’ll put up with for love. You can’t ever know the limit beforehand, but once you’re there, you know, and then it’s impossible to move the line. “I figured you’d love me.”

The word out loud is shocking, never before been said.

You hear his stuttered breath, the way your words might make him angry. Throwing this lacking of his in his face—his inability to love the person who loves him. You think you should tell him that you’ll hate him now, but you’ve never been a talented liar. You think you should ask him if it’s such a bad thing, to want his love. But you know he won’t have an answer. You know he doesn’t believe he has it in himself.

You move towards the door, pausing at the mouth of the hall to their bedrooms. The lopsided ‘Greg’ sign tacked to the kid’s door. The ‘E’ had been haphazardly turned into an ‘O’, a ‘U’ scribbled on at the end, the slip of the shaky marker bleeding out messily onto the wood of the door at the tail end of the letter. Like the child had been hasty in his vandalism and slipped, afraid he’d be caught by his older brother.

It makes you smile dimly.

And below that, in a green meld of water colors and marker and crayon, depicted in a manner so lovely it could only come from the imagination of a child, a drawing of the three of you together, stick-figured and holding hands.

Like a family.

“We’re eating each other alive,” you whisper at the imagination family. He moves forward, his socked footsteps towards your turned back.

You’re truly crying now, unable to hold back the sob of grief, of too much time wasted and a loss of yourself you’ve yet to fathom the depth of. He’s looking at your face again, finally, and you think, let this be the last time. Let this be the end of it now so that I’ll never have to feel like this again.

He’s crying too, and you want to be angry at him, at the lie you have to take it for. He cannot cry and not love you back. It’s not possible.

“Is that it?” All you can manage is a half nod that dislodges the cold tears clinging to your chin. “We had a good run,” he says like an almost question, and looks at you very sadly—tiny flame of struggling hope about to die. A held breath: should I go with grace? sort of look-back. But the gleam in his eyes, like he really might care, like this hurts, like he might feel anything—there are no notions of valor left.

No benevolence to be found in this moment. You’re very tired. “Did we?” Head cocked to the side gracelessly. If ever you could hurt him the way you’ve been hurt here, now would be the time. The last chance.

“Maybe not.”

We were so close. We almost had it. You’re so, so tired. You could sleep for an age.

You take your hurt and go after that, not entirely understanding what it is that’s happened here between the two of you, why you’ve wrought it so suddenly. Also, relieved. That finally, everything’s been ruined for good. That there might be rest now.

Christmas comes, neither one of you calls, there’s nothing else left to say.

2. LOVE.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

#vic fic #ATR fic #din djarin x you #modern din djarin AU #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian AU #din djarin x oc

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fallinforerling · 2 years ago

Note

mimi i can’t stop thinking about when y/n comes and visit sthe bellinghams and y/n and jobe hug for too long n jude is just so very… pouty the whole night lmfaooooo then when he drops you off at home he’s so clingy and whiny :c

- bora <3

ps. this used to be erensfavgirly just so you know 😭 you can tag me as roses-arerosies for all ur new fics <3

but you love me more, right? - jb

ೃ⁀➷ jude’s taglist

ೃ⁀➷ masterlist

ೃ⁀➷ jude’s masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Jude was ecstatic once he found out you were able to come with him to England. Visiting his family already had him in a fantastic mood, but now that he knew you were accompanying him, he was over the moon. He knew how well you got along with his family, so once he let everyone know on the group chat, he confirmed all the affection his family had for you with every new text popped up on the screen.

✉️ Mum ❤: Yay! That’s such great news!

✉️ Mum ❤: Tell her I’m making her favorite

✉️ Hey! What about my favorite?

✉️ Jobe: Oh, please. She’s the apple of mum’s eyes, don’t act like you didn’t knew

✉️ Dad: Tell her that I bought new tea flavors for us to try

✉️ I’m starting to think I’m not the main attraction of this visit, am I?

✉️ Jobe: No way! Seriously?

✉️ Jobe: She’s also my favorite

✉️ Dad: Jobe, donʼt be hurtful towards your brother

✉️ Mum ❤: Canʼt wait to see you both 💕

✉️ Jobe: Tell her I miss her

He couldn’t help but smile at his brother’s text. It was obvious he had a crush on you; Jude found it funny since it was a little bit cliché, the little brother having a crush on the older brother’s stunning girlfriend. Oldest joke in the books. It wasn’t a big deal anyways.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

He didn’t consider himself a jealous person. At least, not the type of person that would go as far as considering his own brother a menace to his relationship. It was stupid to even consider it anything more than something to joke about. There wasn't a real chance of something actually happening, not only because he was his brother but also because he was younger than both of you. You considered him a little brother, for the love of God.

Nonetheless, it was hard to ignore how long the hug between you two lasted. His brother seemed to be in heaven while holding you tightly, his head basically on your neck, refusing to let you go after a couple of minutes. It was almost funny to see if it weren’t for the unnerving feeling he was getting from it. He didn’t want to sound crazy, but... Was he smelling your hair?

“It’s so great to finally see you!” You said once Jobe let you go. He looked down at you with the biggest of smiles. “And you got so tall! How did this happen?” You pinched his cheeks, treating him as you always did, with care.

However, Jude’s brain started to overthink, and he was feeling nauseous. Why was he jealous of his own brother? He was being ridiculous, and he knew that. But some things were hard to avoid, and his jealousy was one of them. He tried to fight it as you all moved to the living room, where his mom had prepared a big tray of snacks.

“So, did you had a good flight?” His dad asked once you were all sitting on different points of the large sofa. You nodded with a smile, receiving a tiny bowl full of your favorite snacks from Jobe, who only had eyes for you.

“Thank you, honey!” You said to Jobe, who nodded with a slight blush on his cheeks before getting a bowl of his own. “It wasn’t as terrible as I thought. I actually really liked the food they gave us; it was a tasty chicken sandwich. Right, babe?” Your voice woke him up from his daydreaming, making him sigh with guilt for the direction that his thoughts were taking. “Are you tired?” You asked once he didn’t answer right away, rubbing his leg.

“No, no. I was just distracted for a little bit. But yes, it was a surprisingly good sandwich. She had to talk me into eating it at first, though.”

You smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but hold you closer to his frame, suddenly hungry for your touch. He didn’t let his mind slip to any other ridiculous thought about jealousy and his brother’s stupid crush on you. He gave his full attention to one of his dad’s stories, making sure to always have you close to him while listening. He knew you were giving him weird looks because this wasn’t his usual behavior around his family, but he didn’t care, he needed to have you next to him for a moment.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Okay, forget about leaving his jealousy thoughts behind.

Jobe was stepping over an imaginary line that he didn’t know he had marked down since you all entered the kitchen. He was all over your space, but the worst thing was that you didn’t seem to mind. He hugged you by the shoulders, talking about God knows what while giving you the smile he knew very well since he was the one who taught him the smile trick. Was he openly flirting with you, or was he seeing things? Why would he do that in front of him? Why would he do that in general?

When he decided that enough was enough, and that he was going to do something about the situation, Jobe left your side. He saw how you nodded with a tiny smile at whatever he said, still sipping the cup of blueberry tea his dad gave you not too long ago. He saw it as the perfect opportunity to take you away from his brother’s hands.

“Hello, pretty.” He said once he was near enough to whisper in your ear. You giggled, as every time he startled you, but you immediately turned around to hug him. “I missed you.” Jude returned the hug, closing his eyes once he felt your warmth around him.

He didn’t know why, but he was feeling the need to be as close as possible to you. Why was he feeling so clingy all of the sudden?

“Are you okay, babe? You were acting a bit weird earlier.” You said against his neck while rubbing his back distractedly.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He wanted to stop there and just enjoy the hug, but his brain had other plans. “Seems like Jobe missed you a lot.”

“Right?” You were apparently naive about what he meant by it, since you just smiled. “He’s such a sweetheart, I love him a lot.”

Okay? Ouch, no need to rub it on his face.

“But you love me more, right?” He bit his lip, surprised by his own stupidity. Why would he ask something like that? What was wrong with him?

“Are you guys ready for dinner?” His mom interrupted whatever dumb thing he was about to say after what just came out of his mouth.

“Just a minute, Denise.” You didn’t let him go, hugging his waist a little bit tighter while smiling apologetically at her. He saw the expression on your face, and he knew you noticed what was wrong.

“That’s alright, I’ll hold your plates for a minute, come when you’re ready.” His mother said, finally leaving you alone. It appears like you weren’t the only one who noticed something strange going on.

“Baby, are you jealous of Jobe?” You asked it in a serious manner, but your eyes were filled with such amusement that he felt like a little kid that just said something very stupid but very funny as well.

“No…” You knew him very well, so there was no point in lying, but he did it anyway because admitting something so ridiculous was very embarrassing.

“You’re so adorable.” You laughed after a moment, taking his face in your hands. “Don’t be silly; why would you be jealous of him? He’s like a little brother to me.”

“I dunno.” He simply answered, knowing he was being irrational. “He has a crush on you…”

“He’s your brother, Jude.” You giggled again, kissing his lips shortly. “That’s why you’ve been hugging me all night long?”

“Mmmh.” He felt mortified, so he went for the safest option and hugged you again, trying to avoid your face. You were having too much fun with this new information. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Of course I won’t.” You whispered back, silently laughing at his antics. He could actually feel how hard you were trying to hold your laugh. “I really love you a lot, silly jealousy included and everything.”

“But more than you love Jobe, right?” He asked with hope, still refusing to retrieve his head from your neck.

“Yes, Jude. More than Jobe.” You laughed loudly, not being able to keep it down anymore.

“What’s up with me?” Jobe said, entering the kitchen, clueless about the subject of your chat.

“Nothing!” He quickly said, not letting you give away anything that happened seconds ago. If it was bad that you already knew about the jealousy thing, it would be hell if his brother found out. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Okay? Well, let’s go eat it then? Stop asphyxiating her with your love, she’s got enough of that already.” He knew Jobe was just messing with him, but he had to bite his tongue and resist the urge to say something along the lines of “Well, she’s my girlfriend, not yours!” but that would be too childish, even for him.

So he just stayed silent and followed his brother into the living room, still giving him annoyed looks that were received with pure confusion. You just rolled your eyes and whispered to him to keep it down.

Needless to say, even though he acted normally, refusing to let his childish side win, he still felt like he needed to create some space between you and Jobe. He insisted on sitting between both of you, keeping a hand on your tight at all moments, which resulted on you casually laughing or giving him loving looks that just made sense to him, the rest of the family weirdly looking at each other. He made up an excuse after an hour or so, saying you two were so tired from the flight and you needed to head to the hotel, but in reality, he just wanted to cuddle with you and have you all to himself for the rest of the night. You just let him be, still messing around while giving him head scratches to help him fall asleep.

He guessed that jealousy just turned him into a clingy mess, but you seemed very okay with it, so what was the matter?

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ * JUDE'S TAGLIST

#jude bellingham #jude x you #jude x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #jude #jb22 #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fluff #mimi answers #footballer fic #football fic #footballer fanfiction #football fanfic #footballer blurb #footballer fluff

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honeekyuu · 7 months ago

Text

squeeze. [sakusa kiyoomi x reader] satin black intros.

place of (homosexual) business

masterlist.

[playlist]. satin black || vibes

a/n. im completely totally normal about this au. completely normal.

warnings: me.

✗ !!! minors do not interact !!! ✗

✗ !!! ignore timestamps !!! ✗

satin black moved into its current location about three weeks ago, and theyve tortured brews abridged ever since

they were at a smaller location for 3 years prior, but they outgrew it when each of them independently went a little viral online for their work

everyone has a license to both pierce and tattoo, but iwa/akaashi stick to tattooing and suna sticks to piercing

akaashi’s the only one who went to art school

iwa taught himself on youtube

suna and sakusa taught themselves by practicing on each other – all of suna’s tattoos are by sakusa and all of sakusa’s piercings are by suna exclusively

it went a little like this the first time around: "i can do this. i dont need instructions-" "ARE YOU FUCKING SURE ABOUT THAT!!!!"

akaashi specializes in black and grey tattoos and iwa does color; sakusa does both but prefers black and grey

iwa’s best known for watercolor style art and akaashi’s best known for geometric art

sakusa’s best known for japanese style art

suna's keeps trying to sell people on new and strange places to get pierced. this is dangerous and sakusa has banned him from doing it 8 times already.

hes actually so good at his job, hes just an idiot

theyre total assholes who chain smoke in the shop and swear at each other from across the room

the shop motto is "make them horny until they come back" and boy does it work

every single one of their clients transferred across the city with them when they moved

sakusa doesn't actually take new clients anymore, he just keeps up with regulars. he's very adamant about this

he is most often found in his office, which is also his private studio

the shop playlist consists of music added by sakusa, suna, and iwa -- they tried to get akaashi in on it but he got apple music just to spite them and wears his headphones when he works

suna can and WILL add the most unhinged shit to the playlist. there is a near-daily incident where sakusa tries to skip past suna's songs but suna keeps going back to them just to be annoying

this results in the shop being filled with the nonstop sound of skipping songs and sakusa screaming at him from his office

iwa usually joins in too because he has a short temper

akaashi always has to put his gun down and dissociate, because he can feel himself about to fuck up his lines with how hard his eye is twitching

akaashi has the least tattoos but that’s really not saying much; they have a board in sakusa’s office with the running count for each of them

everyone who comes in for the first time always sees two tattoo artists: iwa, who sits in the corner chain smoking and frowning and generally looking like he could kill you; and akaashi, who is generally polite and looks way less scary than iwa.

and they always choose akaashi, because he looks nice

he is not fucking nice. he is mean as shit. iwaizumi is the nicest one in that shop.

iwa so often is the type to roughly grumble "oh, yeah we can take a break -- this placement always hurts like a bitch. i need a smoke anyway" (hes already smoking).

akaashi keiji is the type to whisper "oh, did that hurt? pussy." and go in even more.

he is mean as shit and everyone makes this mistake.

sakusa and suna met in high school -- they would skip class together and sit behind the school smoking and blasting bass boosted music

theres something about running from campus security every day that bonds two people into brotherhood

theyre like,,,, fucking carbon copies of each other, these two -- two tall as fuck, tatted up, pierced up dudes with matching judgmental expressions and chipped black nail polish, standing outside the shop smoking, talking shit, and glaring at anyone who comes out of the stupid ass 3-in-1 shop next door

they met iwa and akaashi during their apprenticeship. they really didnt get along at first, but it takes a very unique combination of crazy to be able to open the kind of tattoo shop sakusa wanted.

and he had his combination of crazy right there in front of him.

iwa’s the most normal one and just wants to be akaashi’s friend. thats all he wants. he wants to make his silly little money and be akaashis silly little friend.

iwa is the only one akaashi trusts for literally anything related to the shop but he wont ever say that

it's so painfully obvious that suna named their group chat. sakusa stopped trying to change it back years ago.

taglist = [open]

@mollyrolls @nectardaddy @onlytendoguesses @scinclaitnoir @marsoverthestars

@bookskeepers @choerry-picking @siheez @introvertsince2003 @eggyrocks

@atrashsith @beckixwsm @kakeru-eem @atsumusc0ck @seroh

@reignsaway @a-little-pebbl @bakingcuriosity @dondoncool @corvid007

@asthmaticcchoeee @liliumaraneae @savemebrazilhinata @whydoyoucare866

she put my hand up on her throat and told me // squeeze that shiiii-

squeeze [ghostemane].

#haikyuu #haikyuu texts #haikyuu smau #haikyuu smut #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #sakusa texts #sakusa smau #sakusa smut

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yourheartonfire · 2 years ago

Text

An assassin with a speciality in dispatching super powered beings is hired to protect a blossoming rookie whose power, once properly trained, is predicted to turn the tides of the hero-villain conflict. (Bonus if they’ve also been hired by a separate party or kill them, and they’re unsure which order to follow through with)

Prompt courtesy of @thepenultimateword !

"Breath," the Assassin suggested, eyeing the rookie uncertainly as they quickly gathered up their knives out of their opponents. Their former opponents.

"I'm breathing," the Rookie wheezed, hands gripping their knees. "I've checked. Definitely breathing. My god, your hands. They're all- all-"

The Assassin wiped the blood off on their pants and hauled the Rookie close with their offhand. The attackers were down but who could say if that wasn't just the first wave?

"You need to transport us out of here," they murmured to the Rookie. "Can you do that?"

The Rookie locked their arms around the Assassin's neck. "I couldn't hurt them," they gasped. Their breath, hot against the Assassin's throat, was somehow still speeding up. "I'm sorry, I couldn't use the power-"

"And that was the right choice," the Assassin said with total and honest conviction. They'd seen the Rookie in training. From three clicks away. In a bunker. "You're not a weapon yet, kid. But you are our exit." Shadows moved in suspicious patterns. The Assassin chucked their empty clip, slammed in the next one from their belt one-handed. Stay calm. "Breath, kid. Think of somewhere safe and take us-"

The world warped around them. For a horrible moment the Assassin felt themselves stretch and warp too - and then the world snapped back into a new shape.

The Assassin and the Rookie tumbled to a softly carpeted floor. The dim room came into focus: a rug, looped with letters and numbers. Colorful walls, low shelves filled with baskets of toys and picture books...

"A preschool?" The Assassin sat up. It was dark here too but a pre-dawn, peaceful kind of dark.

The Rookie's breath was slowing, finally, their nose pressed to the gritty fibers. "Daycare," they said.

The Assassin started to reach for them - then thought better of it. They stood and made for the tall, adult sized cabinets. Wet wipes got the rest of the blood off, then there was a full first-aid kit and bags of emergency food. Now they returned to the Rookie with their prizes, smelling of disinfectant.

"Drink," they said, dropping a couple juice boxes on the Rookie's head. "Are you hurt? There's Pokémon bandages."

"Ow," the Rookie muttered but took a box. For a moment they both sucked down apple juice in silence. The Assassin made a mental note - daycares and preschools as makeshift safe houses, while figuring out how to hide their tracks - stage an animal break-in to the food? - when the Rookie cleared their throat.

"You didn't have to - why did you -?"

"I didn't have to kill them?" the Assassin guessed. They took the silence as yes. "Definitely did. Those weren't muggers, that was two of Supervillain's mid powered killers. You noticed how they were trying to kill you?"

"That's not how heroes fight!" The Rookie pushed up to their feet stubbornly. They didn't look particularly steady. "We fight to incapacitate, to defend."

"Maybe that's why your hero squad hired me to watch you," the Assassin said.

The Rookie's mouth opened and closed as they worked that one over in their head. "You think they hired you to... to send a message?" they said quietly.

The Assassin tossed the bag of boxed raisins and cheap granola bars at the Rookie's chest and let themselves collapse onto a pile of gym mats. "Shouldn't happen again anytime soon," they said gruffly. "(Supervillain)'s gonna have a harder time finding volunteers for the next kill squad..." Then their stupid, tired brain actually heard what the Rookie had just said. They sat up fast enough to make the kid flinch. "What do you think they hired me for?"

"In case I..." The Rookie's eyes dropped. "Well. In case something goes wrong..."

With me, was the unspoken end of that sentence. The Assassin's stomach gave another lurch.

"Just cause they pay me to do bad things doesn't mean I'd do anything for money," the Assassin snapped.

Another long silence. The Rookie's eyes widened slight, but they were smart enough to say nothing. The Assassin lay back, closed their eyes again. "We're both stressed and sore," they said. "Let's take a rest before we call for ground transport out of here. I suggest - no, I recommend that this conversation never happened."

The Assassin let the exhaustion take them. When they woke a few hours later, the Rookie was clearing up the last of the medical supplies.

"Let's go home," they said, face guarded, but their hand in Assassin's was warm and the squeeze real. The Assassin nodded and let the Rookie carry them back.

It was going to be really hard to keep lying, and more and more, the Assassin was realizing maybe, maybe, they could find a way to avoid it...

They were never taking a bodyguard gig again.

#my fiction #hero x villain #hero x Assassin #rookie x expert #filled prompt #thepenultimateword

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speedydestinydream · 6 months ago

Text

Post "Fight or Flight" Episode Thoughts

(general thoughts after watching episode 2 of the milliot spinoff; seeing if my predictions were right and just talking about the episode)

!SPOILERS FOR THE NEW TMF EPISODE UNDER THE CUT; POSTED AFTER THE RELEASE OF THE EPISODE!

For reference, my pre episode prediction post

• Okay so they did show the video advertisement, and Elliot didn't really freeze up BUT he did stutter a lot which is fair, Milly didn't really speak but thats fair since it's. His gardening club

• Elliot was STRUGGLING with pulling out that fucking weed. Bro you can use a weed cutter THIS IS WHY THEY WERE MADE

• SEAAAANNNNN MOMENTTT YEAAAAHHHHH it's mostly his voice behind the camera but STILL. Also poor guy man accidentally ate compost RIP (Elliot being so apologetic for it,,, Elliot you are me and I am you.)

To be honest I thought black gold was oil tho??? Not compost? Idk

• Elli. Elliot. Elliot Thornton. Why did I just watch you bite into a tomato like an apple.

• Did he change shirts into the exact same shirt after that take cause he definitely had tomato juice on his shirt lol 😭

• Elliot practicing conversations in the mirror 🤨 Giving me huge Jake vibes here JUST LOOK AT HIM

• RAINBOW DASH SHIRT OH MY GOD MILLY IS AN MLP FAN (she is so rainbow dash)

• Milly has a father‼️‼️

• oh god cyberbullying... Elliot NOOOOOO

also for the students that were typing those replies. How stupid do you have to be to cyberbully someone on THE SCHOOLS OFFICAL GACHABOOK POST. WHERE THE FACULTY CAN SEE IT. USE YOUR BRAINS PLEASE

• Also... Bradley's last name is Buckley I think? Bradley Buckley? (the @ on one of the replies of the post)

• "Nothing will change. I'll always be pathetic." ELLIOTTTTTT NOOOOO

• MILLY FIGHTING BECAUSE THEY CALLED THEIR VIDEO ADVERTISEMENT CRINGE. I WAS RIGHT SHE WAS FIGHTING PARTLY IN DEFENSE OF ELLIOT LETSSS GOOOOOO

• I WAS RIGGGHHTTT ELLIOT WAS HORRIFIED BY MILLY FIGHTING BUT DIDNT WANT TO GRT INVOLVED BECAUSE HE DIDNT WANT TO UPSET MILLY OR EMBARRASS HIMSELF I WAS RRRIIGGGGHHTHT

• "Stop fighting this isnt you 🥺" - Elliot, probably

• OH MY GOD I WAS RIGGGHHTTT FAYE AND DOMINIC JOIN THE GARDENING CLUB I WAS RIGHT!!!!!

• Ms. Cherry is PISSSSEDDDD

• ELLIOT OH MY GOD???? YOU FAINTED??????? THAT CAME OUT OF LEFT FIELD I DIDNT NOT EXPECT THAT OH MY GOD.

• I WAS RIGJT WE DID SEE NEW STAFF (the nurse!!) She seems nice :3

• Elliot: "Oh lord... I wanna die...!"

Milly: "Yeah, he's ok. He's back to normal." LMAO. poor Elliot bro

• He PASSED OUT and still doesn't wanna go home??? Elliot take the free go home excuse it's ok

• awwwwwhhhj he's blushinggg

• FAYE AND DOMINICCCC!!!!

• Faye and Dominic wanted to be friends with Elliot but thought he was avoiding them and Elliot wanted to be friends with Faye and Dominic but was too scared to talk to them,,,, awwhwwhwhw friiieeennndddssshiiipppp

• damn these two are PASSIONATE about their animals

• BRADLEY (PINEAPPLE GUY 🍍) JOINING THE GARDENING CLUB???? MY PREDICTION WAS RIGHT?!??!?! OH MY GOD?!?!?!?!

• He sounds like a really sweet guy

• Bradley. Is blushing. Oh my god

• Man these guys all LOVE Elliot. Treating him like Jake 2.0 LMAAOOOO (seriously tho I'm so happy Elliot has 4 friends now WWOWOOOOO)

• His height compared to Milly I. He's SO FUCKING TALL WHAT. He's gotta be a senior atleast right???? Jesus christ how old is he

• "Who died and made you president of this club?" Dominic you are going up the ranks of my favorite tmf characters at an alarmingly quick rate I'm afraid that when I'm done typing this you'll be in my top 5

• JUMPING UP AND DOWN THEYRE SO SILLYYY

• Clozy Crunch? Wonder if it tastes good 🤔

• BRADLEY CANONICALLY BENCHES 100KG????? THATS LIKE 220.462 POUNDS?????? HES A HIGHERSCHOOL???? OH MY GOD??!??!?!

• THE MUSIC CLUB YEAHAHAHAH

• So real Hailey, princess is a stupid nickname fr

• "Hate is a strong word-" Jake bullied you for 2 years???

"Hate isn't strong enough of a word for me." Real Zander real

• THEY CUT ZANDER OFF BEFORE HE COULD CURSE. LET ZANDER SAY FUCK PLEASEEEE

#letzandersayfuck2024 rip 😞

• awwwhh Elliot's symbolism with the pink cactus flower that's cute

• God they're so awkward I love them

• Milly you are blushing RED girl

• JAKE AND ELLIOT INTERACTION OMG?????

• Hes just gonna. Leave the paper towel on the floor?? 😭 I mean I wouldn't wanna touch it either but atleast kick it to the bathroom??? Jake???

• Jake reprimending himself for embarrassing himself in front of someone and Elliot celebrating the fact he built up the nerve to talk to someone... oh how the tables turn

• AWWW DOMINIC WITH A FLOWER CROWN

• Faye are you HOLDING A FUCKING SPIDER

• Aww butterfly on Bradley's nose

• They're all BUDDIES

• Good ass episode and I was right with a lot of my predictions omg. How did that happen 😭

• Elliot I wanna see more of you and your club YOU WERE FUCKING AWESOME

Anyway that's all I just had to talk about this episode cause it was SSOOOOOSOSOOSOO good. I was literally screaming while it was premiering I was so overjoyed

#tmf #the music freaks #the music freaks rosyclozy #tmf rosyclozy #freakblr #speedy speaks about tmf (and other stuff)#speedy liveblogs tmf #<- sorta #letzandersayfuck2024

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unreadpoppy · 1 year ago

Text

song as old as rhyme - chapter 2

{Beauty and the Beast AU - Raphael x OC (Elize)}

chapter 1

Read on AO3

A/N: So here's chapter two and we are still setting up, so trust the process. Once again, i'm thanking my bestie @littlemoondarling for giving his insightful commentary ❤️ Anyways, enjoy the chapter!

Her prediction was right and her father had indeed woken up. He had his back towards her. Audifax was a tall and fat man, his white skin was tanned with how much out in the sun he usually was, and his short hair was almost all white, with a bald spot on the back. He was still in his night clothes and it appeared that he was setting the table.

The moment Elize walked, Audifax turned around and was shocked to see the state his daughter was in.

“Elize! What happened?” He rushed to her, putting both hands in her face, examining her but she brushed him aside, walking past him to put the basket on the table.

“I just took a fall while apple picking, father, but it will be fine.” She lied. Elize knew she didn’t have to lie, but at the moment, the girl did not want her father to get angry at others and do something stupid. He was an old man at this point, it wouldn’t do well to make him worry.

He eyed her suspiciously but decided to let matters go. “If you say so… but if anything is troubling you, don’t be afraid to tell me.” Audifax walked towards her and kissed her head. She just hummed in agreement.

“Well, I’ll change dresses and then we can eat.” Elize said and quickly made her way to her room, leaving her father to tend to the fruit.

The moment she entered her room, she covered her mouth with her hand and allowed herself to fully cry for a minute. Her mind kept replaying the events of the day, only making her feel worse. She wished she could have standed up for herself but it seemed that in those sorts of situations, Elize would find herself lost, and then people would walk all over her.

After some time, she finally calmed down and was able to put on new clothes, this time opting for a white shirt and some pants. She threw some water in her face, trying to clean some of the dirt, but knowing she would have to wash herself later.

When she was done, Elize left her room and sat down on the table with her father. As always, three chairs were sat, even if only two were occupied. She stared at it as Audifax passed her the plate, where he had cut a few apple slices, already having taken out the seeds.

They ate in silence and after finishing their meal, Audifax spoke. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

Elize relaxed in her chair. “I’m going to the river to wash our clothes and try to take a bath there as well, and then I’ll go to the library to help Mr. Antoine. Considering that that place is a mess, I can’t guarantee I’ll be back home in time for dinner.”

Audifax chuckled. It wasn’t the first time that Elize was going to help the old librarian, and she always complained about how even before his injury the books would be poorly kept and just put in random shelves. Whoever Mr. Antoine hired as his assistants before were terrible at their job.

“But what about you, father? Are you going to spend the rest of the day missing me?” She said sarcastically.

He smiled. “No, because I actually have business to attend to. I will also probably miss dinner.”

Elize crossed her arms on the table as she leaned forward. “Business? Of what kind?”

“I’ll have a meeting with some important people at Sharess Caress.”

“Where is that?”

“Baldur’s Gate.”

Elize must have had a worried look on her face, as Audifax put his hand over hers. “Do not fret, child. I know that city is far from where we live, but I promise to be back in a weeks time.” She gave him a small tight smile and nodded. She believed - hoped - that her father was doing the right thing, even if something felt odd. The lack of specifications on the job worried her, but she felt it was better not to dig further.

After they said their goodbyes, the day went as Elize had planned. Thankfully no one was around when she went to the river, and so she was able to once again enjoy some tranquility. She went back home to hang the clothes outside, to let them dry, and headed for the library.

Mr. Antoine was a very old dwarven man, his hair all white and his beard almost as long as he was. The week prior, he had fallen from the stairs, while arranging some books, and so he employed Elize’s help while his leg got better. They got along easily because neither enjoyed talking for too long.

Day became night and soon, Elize found herself back home and immediately went to bed.

In her dreams, she had terrible visions. She saw a man, with four long horns and skin as red as a cherry, who sprouted long leathery wings. He sat on a chair that almost resembled a throne and in front of him, kneeling with his head down, was her father. The man snapped his fingers and her father let out a scream as he was engulfed in flames, disappearing from where he was.

Elize woke up from her nightmare, sweating and with tears in her eyes. She tried to calm herself by thinking it was just a bad dream, but, as she noticed that it was already morning and there was no sign of Audifax in the house, she had a terrible sensation that something bad had happened.

The week passed, and her father had yet to come back.

#raphael x oc #raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #raphael the cambion #raphael x elize #not tav oc #beauty and the beast AU

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lonestarss · 5 months ago

Note

wait, I misunderstood the assignment. BOOTHILL AND TIGHNARI FOR THE ASK GAME!

BLORBO SQUARED HOLY SHIT!!!!! sorry if this turns out to be like a novel i'm so normal about these two specifically i promise

my first impression

tighnari: i thought he was so cute and funny but also so goddamn pale. i remember getting really into his dialogue because unlike other genshin characters he actually had a backbone

boothill: it was love at first sight tbh. i was immediately like "COWBOY??? FREAKY COWBOY THAT HATES THE IPC??" because i'm gay and southern, and as we got to know more and more i got So Much Worse.

my impression now

tighnari: FUCKKKKK. he's my second favorite genshin character. i love how kind and caring he is and i love how he chooses to be that kind. i love how much he devotes himself to his work. i love his "do no harm, take no shit" mentality. i even learned to love his fuckass bob in time.

boothill: he got me back into honkai star rail after nearly a year of not interacting with it. i'm obsessed with him. he feels like an oc because of how tailor made he is for me. he's sooooo fucked up and soooooo goddamn tragic and i love how weirdly respectful hoyoverse was with coding him as indigenous. i just. fuck there's so much i love about both of them but i'm already yapping enough so.

favorite thing about that character

tighnari: i love how fucking mean he is at times! like i said his backbone and standing up for others was a big appealing factor for me.

boothill: HE'S SO SILLY........ LIKE DESPITE EVERYTHING HE'S KEPT HIS WHIMSY AND SENSE OF HUMOR.......... also his synesthesia beacon malfunctioning is the funniest shit ever as a southerner who swears like a sailor.

least favorite thing

tighnari: like acheron, it's unfortunately his design. i get what they were trying to do but they just... didn't execute it that well imo.

boothill: his stupid emo bangs and the way that some of his dialogue is written irks me a little bit. it's very "trying to make it Really Clear that he has a southern accent" especially in his character stories, which doesn't even make sense to me because his accent isn't even that thick??

favorite line/scene

tighnari: "don't be afraid to make mistakes. it's all part of the learning process."

boothill: "in this life, you gotta believe in some things and doubt others. believe in folks' good intentions, the value of courage, and all that other hodgepodge. but never believe that these good things will just fall into your lap— you gotta make them happen."

favorite interaction that character has with another

tighnari: i don't think i have to answer this one for him, do i.

boothill: he hasn't interacted with many characters thus far, but i do really love his dynamic with argenti. can't pick out a specific scene right now though.

a character that I wish that character would interact with more

tighnari: DEHYA AND CANDACE..... THEY COULDV'E BEEN SO GOOD AS BESTIES BUT THEY BARELY DID ANYTHING WITH THEM

boothill: if we ever got canon gallahill interactions oh i would've been sooooo insufferable. be grateful it never happened.

another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character

i'm unsure for both of them lmao

a headcanon about that character

tighnari: have i spread the demisexual tighnari agenda enough lately? i don't think so. WOE ACESPEC NARI BE UPON YE

boothill: he has pica and was that kid on the playground that would eat grass and sand. now that he has a cyborg body, he can indulge these whims without harming himself.

a song that reminds of that character

tighnari: pink + white by frank ocean

boothill: baby said by måneskin

an unpopular opinion about that character

tighnari: neither of his english voices are good. please hop on chinese/korean tighnari.

boothill: jokes about boothill being a cowboy/southern became stale and tacky back in may. why do you think him not being perfectly literate is funny? answer quickly.

favorite picture

2 apples tall nari + boothill being cuntyyyyyyy. honorable mentions go to the tighnari sitting emote and boothill's battle pass pfp

#long post #<- i yap too much #tighnari #boothill #4ggravated #genshin #genshin impact #hsr #honkai star rail #asks

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fourthdistrictfishie · 29 days ago

Text

The Victorious Pearl of Panem: A ‘The Hunger Games’ Fanfiction

🐚🐠🐚🐠🐚🐠🐚🐠🐚🐠🐚🐠🐚

Part One: The Reaping

-/-

I awoke, as usual to the sound of the gulls screaming from somewhere along the vast shore outside my window.

..Stupid birds…

I sigh. The light peaking in from the curtains says it’s still early.

But not early enough.

The smell of breakfast lures me to finally pull a blue robe around myself and slip into my slippers. By the time I reach the kitchen downstairs, Mother is pulling cinnamon buns out of the wood stove.

“Ma you shouldn’t have…” I mutter sheepishly.

I know she had to have made these herself from scratch. District Four has some nicer shops up in the northern city, with much more capital perfect pastries, but we definitely couldn’t afford them on a day like today.

“I’ve set your outfit on the bathroom counter, give the water heater a while to heat the water and you should be good to go.” She says, smiling. The smile does not reach her eyes.

I wolf down three cinnamon buns and some fresh Apple juice and try to keep from fidgeting out of my seat.

It’s half past ten, the reaping is at One.

I finish my meal, not bothering to clean my dishes and numbly shower.

My reaping clothes are a simple yet pretty seafoam green dress with once white flats, a little tan from being bought secondhand. I dress silently.

I tie my still damp red hair into a rubber band, and tie a small white ribbon into my hair with a hand embroidered anchor on the tail.

I spent hours sewing that anchor onto this ribbon. If I go into the Games today, I want a piece of home with me.

‘It won’t be me,’ A small voice inside me whispers. A louder voice argues that the odds are stacking against me. I’m Seventeen this year. My name will have entered the bowl more than six times.

I thank the Starfish that I never took out any Tesera in the years mom and I were struggling. We luckily could just barely afford to not have to get it, between the both of us working. And then Mom got that promotion and we were living pretty decently. Full time Power and Water, a fridge full of discount, but still mostly fresh food. We did alright for two women on our own.

I finished dressing, meeting my mom in the Doorway.

“You look absolutely beautiful, Pearl Marino” My Mother kissed me feverishly across the forehead.

We trudged outside, the beautiful sight of our seaside town, and the beautiful day seemed to be mocking me.

“We’ll meet at the Town Square.”

She seemed nervous as we walked our bikes down the stone boardwalk. A few others rode by periodically, also on bikes.

“I’ll meet you there, Ma. I promise, we’ll be fine. If I get picked…”

She shushed me, waving away a tear.

“I’ll see you there, honey. Be careful.”

I nodded, and got on my bike without another word, petaling as fast as my feet would take me in a dress.

In no time it seemed, I reached the Old Lighthouse that served as District Four’s designated City Hall and Reaping place.

The Peacekeepers are sat at their usual makeshift stations, lines of kids getting scanned in while their Parents stand helplessly behind the Thick Braided rope that stretched in a huge oval around the reaping stage.

I filed into line, gritting my teeth as my finger was pricked. I trickled into the massive pen of other youths, suckling the blood from my finger. The taste of the salt comforted me.

What seemed like a fraction of a second stretched out into Eternity, a colorful bunch of Capital people took their places on the stage.

The Woman, who had her hair dyed a rainbow of different colors, wore an oil spill colored suit that glimmered as she walked. She was slender, and tall…. A little too tall. She had to be at least Six Feet. This was Venus Aribosan, the District Four Capital Sponsor.

“Welcome, District Four, to this year’s reaping, for the 80th Annual Hunger Games!” She said in a low, yet boisterous tone. “First off, a message brought to you from our Prestigious Capital!”

A set of Screens showed the annual Capital Propaganda. It made my head ache just listening to it.

The film ended, and Venus took her stance above the bowls containing the names of the children of District Four. She gave a small speech about the Brave Tributes she was about to choose.

“As is Customary, Ladies First.”

She plunged her hand into the bowl, plucking a name out.

“Pearl Marino.” She declared.

I stood frozen for a long second, only moving when people turned to look in my direction. I smoothed my dress out, wiping my sweaty palms.

I plastered a smile on my face, and marched onto the stage, where Venus met me by putting a strong arm around my shoulders. I was thankful.

“Isn’t she lovely, folks? Congratulations, dear. Now for the male tribute.”

She plucked a name from the opposite bowl.

“Minn Flounders.” She cheered.

A small boy, looking around thirteen, with blonde hair was ushered onto the stage, tears dripping down his face.

“Shake hands, you two! Go on.”

I took the boy’s trembling hands, trying my best to smile at the Camera.

“There we have it folks, your District Four Tributes for this year’s Hunger Games!”

The crowd clapped awkwardly.

We were rushed away, put into the Lighthouse in white, waiting room style rooms to say goodbye to our families.

My mom just sobs in my arms. I promise her I’ll try to win for her. For Us.

And then I am put onto a train to The Capital.

#the hunger games #district four #The Hunger Games OC #District Four OC #Hunger Games Oc #80th Hunger Games Fic

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lizziespoem · 1 year ago

Text

the return | gojo ͏⸺ one shot

͏⸺"Yuji, I can’t see anything!" Nobara whined as she pressed her face against the head of the pink haired boy to look between the small gap in the wood while she tried to keep her voice down so the two in the room next to them won’t hear her talking.

With crossed arms over his chest the black haired boy raised his eyebrows and he watched them both fighting for better view as he couldn’t stop himself from asking, can you see anything interesting?, but he tried to sound unbothered as possible. Still the girl with the orange hair turned her face surprised and a little amused to Megumi as she left her head crooked and asked mockingly “since when do you want to interrupt someone’s privacy?"

Megumi rolled his beautiful eyes as he heard Nobara mimicked his words he always used to comment whenever Yuji and Nobara tried to eavesdrop on a conversation.

“none of them is saying anything” yuji whispers as he observed his sensei and you wordlessly looking at each other through the little crack in the wood of the old door, while his hand laid gently at the door frame so he wouldn't lose his balance, while as he ducked to have a perfect view inside the locked room “they are just staring at each other”

Unlike the other two students of Gojo, Megumi knew you, even though he could not remember the last time he saw you, what you wore and what you said before you left, but it didn't mattered since you had changed after the last time he saw you, but he still remembered well enough what you had done with Satoru, after you had left. The dark-haired boy had never lost a word about how his sensei's stupid grin had changed after you left and how it had not carried the same warmth inside as when you were still there, he acted like he hadn't noticed that Satoru changed, maybe he had done it because he didn’t want to make the heart of Satoru more heavier than it had already been and he had hoped that the pain would fall faster.

“what do you think you're doing there?” Shoko’s warm voice admonished the young students as the heels of her shoes clattered over the floor of the hallway and approached closer to the eavesdropping students, followed by the tall, well-built man with blonde hair, whose hands were hidden in the pockets of his beige slacks.

Yuji and Nobara straightened up again and stepped away from the door as they both hid their hands behind their backs and stared at the floor in guilt, when Nanami carefully pulled his glasses a little bit from his nose and bent down to also take a look into the narrow gap before he straightened up again and his dark voice the silence breaks “did anyone of them said anything?”

“no” the pink haired boy loses his tensed shoulders as he catches the gaze of the tall man.

In fact, Yuij Itadori was right.

Silently you both stood in the small room, between you there was so much emptiness as if you both would not dare to face each other, afraid of the things that might happen. Neither of you said even a word and that was not necessarily because you had no words in your minds but because so many thoughts overlapped in your mind that no one could grasp a clear thought.

You never thought you’d ever come back, not after you disappeared without a trace and yet you were back in Tokyo, in the jujutsu academy and in front of Satoru Gojo.

“You can't save everyone, Gojo.” you break the unpleasant silence between you and your old friend, as if it would make the atmosphere between you two more pleasant and yet you wish that you could climb out of this little window again and just disappear.

The man’s face contorted, his jaw tensed, the apple on his neck twitched as the veins on his hands froze and he wrinkled his nose as if you insulted him “Gojo?”

Never in your entire life had you called Satoru by his last name and there was a much deeper sting in his heart than he ever thought.

"I'm sorry.." you tried to let an apology slip over your dry lips but Satoru interrupted you with a sarcastic scoff “sorry can't save you now, y/n”

His jaw bones could have split stones into two pieces at that moment and his gaze looked at you in disgust, well it was hard to say in which way his eyes were looking at you, cause in every moment the sunlight hit his eyes, you could see a new emotion in them, but as he clenched the black blindfold between his fist it seemed to be anger flashing through his pupils.

Even in your eyes you could see a little bit of the poisonous anger you wanted to hide in your heart for years and maybe it was the reason for your incredible courage when you went without thinking some steps closer to Satoru “what do you want me to do then? beg for forgiveness or..”

“don't you dare to be angry, you have no right to be” the blindfold drops onto the ground as his right hand clenched around your chin pulling you even closer to him, letting your head fall into your neck so you can look into his erratic eyes, only one movement could let you two freak out, you, only one movement till two raged comets collide and tear everything apart.

The grip around your chin became rougher as he pushed your chin further up as if it wasn’t enough for him how you looked at him, as his lips moved again and his voice sounded brittle “do you know how long I've waited?!”

Neither Satoru or you cared about his fingers that stretched around your chin, and how they drilled into your skin. The rage flowed through your veins as if they could numb the actual grief of both of you and exclude the thoughts from your minds.

“A call, a message or even a fucking letter, y/n” his voice was gravelly and if his eyes could, they would burn you down, as he his chest moved in rage “there was nothing left and now you care to show up?”

You had planned your disappearance for weeks, down to the smallest detail you had thought about what time and day everyone would sleep at night and how you could climb down the window without waking anyone else up, you had been thinking for weeks which path you have to take so that you leave no traces and with which people you had to talk so that they forget who you were and that they saw you on your escape.

“I thought you were dead, you know how long I searched for your corpse before I realized you didn't want me to find you?” his voice trembled as he spoke, you thought even he would split into your face as his fingers drilled into you bones, but Satoru would never split into your face, even if he would hate you.

Of course you felt guilty and you had no doubt about it, you had to struggle every day not to come back, not to call any of your friends and tell them where you were so they would follow you and bring you back home. You couldn't sleep for nights because the mattress had not been as hard as in the academy, because Shoko and you could not talk about the latest stupidities of Satoru, while Kento knocks on the door and asks if he can join them until finally everyone gathers in the room of you.

But you had your reasons for running through every muddy puddle and never looking back.

"21 months i've searched for a clue, any sign to find you” he yelled, god your heart cramped, his shouts crawled under your skin and you couldn't stop it, you wanted to open your mouth and speak up for yourself, but his hand on your chin closed your mouth within a small second when he shakes his head “don't you dare speak up, don't you dare ruin this like you ruined me”

Your eyebrows tightened in confusion because you do not understand what Satoru means as the words leave his mouth and yet you are silent just looking up at him.

“you know how much I wanted you to come back? how many versions I’ve played through in my head how you’ll return?” again his fingers drilled deeper and his knuckles discolored as a dark laugh escaped from his tongue “and I’m in every version the fool who would fall to my knees and beg you not to go again”

Your heart beats against your chest as if it wanted to jump out and roll in front of Satoru’s feet, as if the home of your heart were not in your chest but in his hands.

“Maybe I took it too far when I showed you my heart” his murky voice split the words over his tongue as he let go of your chin, letting your head drop a little after the weight laid in his hands and there it was his eyes showing disgust towards you.

Nobody dared to say a word or even catch someone else's gaze as they stood outside in the hallway, not even needing to eavesdrop as they could hear every single word through the old wooden door.

“now I know who you are” Satoru mumbled as he looked down at you, noticing your face getting a bit paler.

No clear thought could enter your mind, every single synapse seemed to be blocked and only the last words of Satoru repeated over and over like a curse that would not fade and then out of nowhere your hand landed against his cheek and the loud clapping brings you back to reality, withdrawing you from the cruel curse.

The white hair man didn't even flinched, not a single movement either in his face or in his body.

You could not explain why you had hit him, everything in your mind resembled a thick fog that did not want to go away, your heart pounded wildly against your chest so hard it began to ache and the throbbing pain on your chin from the previous grip of Satoru seemed unimportant.

His eyes tried to study you, tried to understand why, not why you hit him, he wanted to understand why you left.

“don't dare speak to me like I have no heart” unlike Satoru’s voice, your voice was quieter, but still covered in anger as your eyes flickered, trying to avoid those tears you held back to leave your eyes as Satoru spoke before he thought about it “do you have one?”

Again your heart tense and you wanted to turn around so that you don’t have to look Satoru in his eyes and disappear from the room, disappear from the home that doesn’t want you anymore, but out of nowhere, Satoru’s hand wrapped around your neck and pressed you against the empty white wall.

Your bodies touched in a single breath, he felt your heart racing and threatened to jump out of your chest, the two comets collided.

His left hand leaned against the empty wall next to your head while his right still grabbed your neck and there was no escape for you, not again.

“why y/n?” his voice was softer, still deep and rough, but you could hear the pain behind it, the fear he held in for too long.

For a moment you close your eyes not to look into his, not to give in to all the feelings you wanted to hide as you gently put your hand on the black fabric of his shirt and feel the heart of Saturo beating against your palm, you took it too far and you knew it.

“why do I still crave after you left me?” his voice sounded like he was wincing, begging to make the pain in his heart stop.

His left hand slowly moved to the back of your head and got lost stroking your hair, while the hand around your neck lay traveled to your cheek as his thumb drew small circles on your skin, he didn't dared to raise his voice again against you “I just want to know why”

“I couldn't stay, not after my nightmares chased me” you whispered as you looked up into his eyes, there was a sudden fear hidden in your eyes and Satoru saw it when you kept talking “not after Haibara and not after Suguru”

His palm slipped a bit under your chin to push your face lightly up “you could have told me”

“Did you ask Nanami or Shoko how they felt? You were too caught up in the idea of saving everyone you didn’t even see us break apart” you whispered as you feel the weight that had pressed on your heart slowly disappear.

It tortured him to know he couldn’t save you but he would never let you leave.

“I’ll nail every window with the most expensive wood in the country, lock every smallest door I can, obstruct every hole you’ll ever see and I’ll follow you every step so you don’t leave” his voice was stern, yet soft as his thumb stroked over you bottom lip “all I want in return is that you say goodbye when you decide to leave again”

you will never have to say goodbye, because you will never be able to disappear after your heart recognizes Satoru.

but all you do is to nod with a relieved smile on your lips as you whisper promise while tears run down your cheek.

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drabblesmm · 2 years ago

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Unnamed Fic (pt.1)

(The beginning to a Shadowhunters Fanfic I've been working on, part 1)

Thomas Doe was known for stupid risks. It was the main reasons he wasn’t allowed on missions anymore, until he was eighteen, at least. It was why he wasn’t allowed a pet or to leave the London Institute. Except you can’t expect a thrill-seeker to stay in one building. No matter how big said building was. Thomas had been sneaking out of the London Institute since he was twelve. He knew all the secret passageways, all the dark corners and all the people who’d turn a blind eye to him. There were a few perks to being a child of the Institute, after all. That night was almost too easy. A few different attacks had led to the Institute being practically empty. The perfect playground for a wild seventeen-year-old. He drew runes on him to climb along the walls and stand on the ceiling. He made ‘potions’ (just various drinks mixed until they smelt weird and off-putting) in the industrial sized kitchens and pretended to be the Head of the Institute, Kairo Stewart. But even putting on a funny voice similar to Kairo’s gruff cockney accent was enough to cure his boredom. Thomas genuinely loved the Institute. He loved the people working there and loved doing his part to make the world better and safer. He’d like to even more if there were literally any other kids there. Thomas had been the youngest Shadowhunter there since he was brought there when he was one. No other kids had been brought in over the sixteen years since, and the other Shadowhunters who’d had kids in that time tended to keep them away from Thomas. He was a ‘bad apple’ who ‘wreaked havoc’. Thomas preferred the term ‘had too much fun’, but each to their own. Kairo seemed to be the only adult who understood him. Or, who saw the chaos as teenage fun and not purposefully disruptive. It was a bit of both, if Thomas was honest. Kairo was one of the oldest in the Institute. Shadowhunters rarely lived past thirty if they lived outside of their homeland, but Kairo was almost fifty and had never lived in Alicante. The peace was ‘too quiet’ for him, which Thomas could understand. Kairo was a gruff and sturdy built man, tall with enough muscle mass to threaten anyone just by standing there. The grey in his hair had arrived and stuck there, and Kairo didn’t seem to mind. It peppered his buzz cut and short beard, mixing with his natural black rather nicely. Thomas hoped he aged as nicely as Kairo, if he lived that long. Thomas was much younger, with ginger curls and little wisps of a beard that didn’t attach to anything else, so it was just little, extremely pale ginger hairs. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent besides a few freckles across his entire body. He was also really frail looking. He knew he could pack a punch, but his body hated showing any muscle mass, so Thomas looked like a strong enough wind would knock him over. And all his clothes were baggy in some way. His pre-pubescent dreams of low buttoned white shirt that showed everything were scrapped long ago. He was lounging around in the Head office, sitting with his feet on the desk. The Head Offices were usually very nicely furnished and organised. But not this one. Kairo rarely organised anything. Paperwork was scattered all over the desk, spare hunting gear was strewn over his hat holding thing, and every single surface had at least two cups of either empty or half-drank tea. Thomas was slightly impressed that it was somehow messier than his own bedroom. “Now, Thomas, you must behave like a depressed adult like the rest of us Shadowhunters are,” Thomas said, addressing no one whilst using his slightly off cockney accent. Thomas was decent at accents, but Kairo’s voice had traces of every county he’d worked in. And he’d worked all over the world.

#shadowhunters #fanfic #writers on tumblr #pt. 1

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sorisooyaa · 3 years ago

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Body Swap - June 21st

Characters and Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield and Thranduil / Thorin x Wife!Reader

Movie: The Hobbit

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @lathalea

AN: Ok, Thorin, Thrandy plz don’t come at me, this was just a joke!! Love you both!! 😂 @i-did-not-mean-to this is what I meant Angel! Also, I’m sorry no graphic for this, and I’m really busy for the next few days. Ok bye bye, Haldir is whining for my attention again! 😂 - Haldir: Shalini! Get off that thing and look at me chasing my tail or I will chew your slippers again!

“It suits you!” You winked mischievously at your husband. His eyes flashed at you, the icy colour sending chills down your spine.

“I feel very uncomfortable that the fact you like me in this wretched figure, dear wife,” Thorin grumbled. You had to admit, it was odd hearing your husband’s voice fall from the elven king’s lips.

“Who are you calling wretched figure, Oakenshield!” The shouting from the other side of the room made you almost throw your head back in laughter. It greatly amused you; the once tall regal elven king now standing in the body of a dwarf to assert dominance, “If anything you should be grateful, to be blessed for the chance to wear a body so gifted and crafted by the eyes of Eru Ilúvatar.”

“I feel disgusted to have the body of a traitor,” Your husband growled out as you rolled your eyes. You placed a hand gently on his shoulder- or well, Thranduil’s shoulder. As amusing as all this was, it was uncomfortable to suddenly address your king and husband within the body of King Thranduil. The touch of velvet silks underneath your fingertips was not welcoming, nor was it, loving as the leather your husband always wore.

You have heard the fairytales from your own world before, the enchantment of the glass slippers, the curse of a rose, the darkened taste of death from a red apple, to possess the body of an animal and many others, though this, here, was truly something you never thought you would have ever come across. But your husband was within a world where magic flowed with free will, and dangerous curses lurked on the horizon. To be honest, this really, shouldn’t surprise you too much, compared to the many other things you have seen and heard (thanks to that certain wizard with tall pointed grey hat).

“You both do realise this is your own fault?” You stressed out, now strengthening your voice to overthrow them both.

“Pray tell, strange little human, how so is this our fault?” The elven king mocked from within your husband’s body. ‘Strange little human,’ well it was a nickname that started from your initial meeting with his crazy, big, giant tallness!

It wasn’t your fault the humans from your world were in the height range of dwarves. The elven king couldn’t believe you were a human during that first meeting while on the quest to reclaim Erebor.

“Both of you, as per usual, argued non-stop!” Your eyes twitched ever so slightly with each word, every little fight between these two- you swear, sometimes you just wanted to suffocate the both of them.

“I sent you both for a bonding trip, and you come back with some odd curse?” You groaned out, wanting to facepalm yourself for ever thinking this was a good idea. Maybe you should have listened to Balin’s warning, then you wouldn’t have screeched at the sound of Thranduil’s voice from inside your bed chambers, the one you shared with Thorin.

You had however whipped yourself around to find the body of your husband, but he grunted his disapproval of anything and everything he found. You had to listen to a whole speech from Thranduil as you made your way over to Mirkwood about how offensive of a treatment this was.

At times you felt like pulling your own hair out in the middle of these two, but you accepted your fate.

“I don’t know why, I agreed to this stupid ordeal!” Thranduil’s grunted, his voice falling from Thorin’s lips.

“That’s because I promised to give back your precious necklace, you moron! Now, shut up, and think about what happened on your so-called walking trip!” You almost screamed at the elven king, now having enough of his attitude.

The glare you received was familiar, the features of Thorin’s beautiful face moulding together to wear the emotion, but the person was different. You saw it through the eyes... because even if your husband was ever mad at you, he would not let you receive the full heat of his anger, a simple gaze from you or the touch of your skin on his would be enough to melt it all away.

“I do not remember meeting anyone,” Thranduil hissed out, you knew his patience was running out faster than the current of the river just outside, “Except that odd-looking elderly lady on the road on whom that stupid dwarf made a rude remark about and it had angered her!”

You raised an eyebrow, that sounded more like a Thranduil thing, than a Thorin thing.

“You wretched fool! That was you!” Thorin barked at him. Sometimes you actually felt like you were stuck in a nursery, with two of the naughtiest kids known to mankind!

“Thorin, honey, just wait,” You tried to cool how the rising anger within your husband, “An odd-looking elderly lady?”

“Yes, why does it matter?” Honestly, at times like these, you understood why Thorin would often speak out wanting to meet his fist to the elven king’s jaw until it was out of place. But you rather whack him in the head with his own berry-filled crown, though you couldn’t, even though you desperately wanted to, because it was your husband’s body that would receive the damage.

“You idiotic king of these stupid trees!” You whined, running a hand over your face, “For all, we know, that elderly old lady whose appearance you mocked about could have been a wicked witch!”

When a look of realisation passed over the faces of both kings, you rolled your eyes and let out a laugh.

“Then... what do we do now?” Your husband spoke, with a frown Thranduil’s features. For a second, you thought, if Thranduil wasn’t an ellon but a human, like yourself from your world, he would have been probably been concerned over the wrinkles frowns and smiles caused. You covered your mouth trying to keep in a laugh as you imagined Thranduil as a version of Victoria Beckham.

“Amrâlimê?” Thorin questioned at your sudden giddiness.

“I will tell you later, husband,” You promised him with a wink.

“For now we must find a cure for... all this,” You gestured vaguely at them in whole.

“How do we break this curse?” Thranduil made himself known again, of course, he couldn’t stay quiet for too long.

“You both kiss!”

The snap of their alarmed shocked faces towards you made you throw your head back in laughter until you were holding onto your stomach in stitches and tears dwelled in your eyes.

“Y/N!” Thorin grunted at you.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” You said, still laughing, “Let us find this elderly lady then. Unless... you two are actually willing to kiss!”

“Absolutely not!”

“I would rather die!”

You giggled as they answered you quickly with strong disapproval.

“Alright then, let us go find this witch. Maybe she’s the wicked witch of the west in middle earth?” You hummed, nostalgically, remembering the fairytale of Dorothy and her ruby red slippers.

You laughed at the confused expression on their faces, “I will tell you the story on the way!”

#armitage summer splash #richard armitage #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin and thranduil #thorin and thranduil fights #thranduil #thranduil oropherion #thranduil of mirkwood #the hobbit #body swap #thorin and thranduil fight like kids #from shalinizhara's temp acc

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writtenonreceipts · 2 years ago

Note

Happy October!! 🎃 Very excited for spooktober, how about some Elorcan sass:

“We only have to make it until sunrise, which is… 7 hours away.”

Happy October nonny! thanks for sending this in!

My sick-adled brain wanted to keep drawing this out into further nonsense but nyquil finally had her say and we're backing away real carefully in the hopes that this is somewhat good...

warnings: none? ~4k words

...

Hauntings and Happenstance

Leaves skittered across the ground as the wind picked its way through the trees. Huge cedar trees towered overhead and blocked out the inky black sky. The past few days of rain and fog dominated the weather patterns, and that night was no different. The clouds barely broke enough to offer a window to the deep crescent of the moon. Pale silver light attempted to illuminate the forest, but the heavy bulk of the clouds ate whatever light they could.

The subtle scrape of the leaves and cool glow of light were soothing to Elide. She’d always loved autumn with its changing colors and weather. Especially when she had an active excuse to continue drinking hot apple cider or hot chocolate all day every day. Now, however, her hands were empty except for her flashlight. The stiff chill dug into her fingers making Elide plow one hand into her pocket and the other gripped the light. It really was a cool night, with the covered sky and promise of more rain.

Elide walked through the old Terrasen cemetery, she had a giant backpack on one shoulder and an even bigger duffel bag on the other. A girl needed her snacks and blankets if she were going to stay in a haunted house this close to Halloween.

She’d long had a fascination with the cemetery and had quite honestly jumped at the opportunity to explore it further. It had been abandoned back in 1856 on account of accidental double burials. Which had then amounted to a resurgence of omen watching for any and every bad deed. It also didn’t help that Terrasen had been known for a serial killer too—who supposedly was the caretaker of the cemetery back in ‘56.

Terrasen had far too many skeletons in its closet.

The flashlight she held did a poor job at lighting the narrow trail that curved along the back of the cemetery. Late autumn fog began to condense before her and shape into the shrubbery that was trying to take over any space it could find. Elide sipped her cider, which was growing cold. Maybe she should have brought another blanket. But her backpack had already been growing full and she thought snacks might be more important than—

The snap of a twig behind her had Elide spinning around. The beam of her flashlight intercepted a hulking shape coming towards her. A shape she instantly recognized.

“You asshat!” Elide yelled. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

In two long strides Lorcan Salvaterre leveled up with her, a smirk dancing on his mouth. He easily took her duffel bag from her despite her glares.

“Isn’t that the idea of this plan?” he asked. “Which by the way has to be the stupidest thing you’ve done.”

She scowled at him and turned around, doing her best to walk quickly. Lorcan of course kept stride.

“If you think it’s so stupid, why are you here?” she retorted. “Doesn’t Maeve have that party tonight?”

“You think I’d let you do this alone?” Lorcan brushed an errant branch out of his face. He was so tall that even the recently beaten back shrubs still got in his way.

She cut him a sharp smile. “Didn’t know you cared so much, Salvaterre.”

The night was quiet around them, save for a few skittering animals in the fallen leaves and other debris on the forest floor. The silence, of course, made it easier for her mind to wander. Because first and foremost, Lorcan was here. She hadn’t even realized he’d known what she was doing tonight.

Her crush was stupid, she knew. Lorcan was older with a brooding sort of attitude. He was the type of guy who didn’t care what others thought of him and made certain they knew it too.

Somehow over the last year and a half, Elide and Lorcan had formed a little friendship separate from everyone else. He’d been held back in high school for skipping so often that Elide had managed to, somehow, get to know him better than anyone else.

“I’m not going to let you get yourself killed, Elide,” Lorcan said.

Another twig snapped beneath their feet. Though, it was nearly drowned out by the low growl of thunder overhead. Hell. Hopefully that was just a little threat and not a promise of something to come.

“You do realize the house isn’t actually haunted, right?” she asked. “I’m just doing this for extra credit in my cultural anthropology course.”

According to local legend, the old caretaker house had fallen to shambles after a series of mysterious murders swept through the down. Murders that had been committed by the caretaker himself. Now, the old house and cemetery were left alone, to disappear into both memory and the once vibrant forest. For her class, Elide was going to write a paper on how the legend had been mixed and convoluted through the years.

“I know it’s not haunted,” Lorcan scoffed, “but there’s probably some dumbass who thinks it’s funny to play pranks on people like you—”

“Like me?”

“Who walk into situations they don’t belong in.” Lorcan cast her a dark look at that, only emphasized from the shadows of the night.

Elide let out a laugh and bumped his shoulder. Her heart thumped just a little faster, which she ignored.

“Are you worried about me now?” she teased. “It’s just a haunted house, Lorcan.”

“You’re impossible,” was all Lorcan said.

“I am impossibly delightful,” she corrected, waving her flashlight in his face.

And then to punctuate her words—it started to rain. Big, fat drops fells from the sky and startled her out of whatever bit of teasing he’d been about to embark on. Blinking rapidly, Elide looked up to the sky. The canopy of trees blocked most of the heavy onslaught of rain, but it would only be a matter of time before they got soaked.

“Son of a—” Lorcan muttered. He glanced at her, trails of rain already slipping down his face. “Seriously, Lochan?”

Elide grinned. “Scared of a little rain, Salvaterre?”

She adjusted the strap of her backpack and picked up her pace.

In a matter of minutes, they came to a small cobbled path that led through overgrown blackberry bushes and ferns. The house was slumped to one side, the roof curved with some unknown weight. Though, Elide imagined that in the light of day she would see heavy strings of moss hanging from the eaves of the house and the molded cross-beams sagging in age.

The porch, missing several sections of wood, wound around the perimeter of the house. Ivy curled around the railing until it nearly consumed any bit of wood left over. The rain only added to the ambiance of an abandoned home.

Elide picked her way to the front door, careful of any rotted-out pieces in the flooring. The front door had been replaced on more than one occasion, as was evidenced by the shiny new padlock and set of chains strapped to the framework.

Shrugging, Elide held her flashlight out to Lorcan who approached from behind. Despite his large form, he barely disturbed the porch.

“Hold this,” she said.

Lorcan took the light. “You got the key to this place?”

“Uh,” she said, digging around in her backpack. Elide pulled out the lock and pick Manon had given her for her birthday last year. “Not exactly.”

“Dammit, Lochan,” Lorcan said, “did you get permission to come out here?”

“Where would the fun in that be?”

Lorcan continued to mutter oaths under his breath, though he kept the flashlight trained on the padlock. Elide worked in that steady stream of light, sticking the pick and hook in the lock and finding the tumblers. The police department really needed to up their game if they wanted to keep trespassers out of the old home. In a matter of minutes, the lock popped open and the chains fell to the floor.

The door creaked open and a puff of stale air saturated with moss and age greeted them. Elide grinned triumphant. And Aelin had said she wouldn’t even make it in the front door.

Ha!

Elide grabbed the flashlight from Lorcan and stepped into the house. Immediately, the rain ceased and it felt a fraction drier.

Cobwebs draped from the ceiling in thick billows. Dust hung in the light lazily, only disturbed when Elide walked past. She swung the light around to every corner noting everything. The small chandelier overhead hardly seemed like enough to light the house. Sconces were set up along the walls, though they were long empty of any candlewick. One doorway led off into a tiny kitchen that held only a wood stove. The other room was full of old furniture and smelled like mice had taken over.

Elide spun in a slow circle around the living space. Outside there was the subtle thrum of rain pattering on the roof. It wasn’t as big a storm as they usually saw this time of year. As she moved around the cabin, her steps creaked beneath her and an owl gave a hoot from its perch in the trees.

“Is that it?” Lorcan asked. He hovered near the door. “Can we go now?”

“Are you scared?” Elide raised a brow. “The great Lorcan Salvaterre taken down by a haunted house?”

He rolled his eyes at her, unamused.

In the last two years of knowing him—Elide had become very aware of who Lorcan was. She’d gotten to know him in detention, because even if he had been held back to repeat senior year, he still preferred getting into trouble. And then during football games, parties, and random sneak outs—he’d always been there. Somehow, they’d become friends. And somehow, she’d let her little crush take root in her chest.

All of this was very unhelpful, because they were friends. At least, she considered him one. He’d been the only one to express real interest in this plan of hers to explore the old caretaker's house. They were friends and he didn’t see anything beyond that.

Elide cleared her throat and kept talking.

“Legend says, I have to stay the night if I’m going to have any chance of meeting a spirit,” Elide said. She gestured to the duffel bag he’d taken from her. “Hence the blankets and snacks.”

Sighing, Lorcan finally entered the house and wedged the door shut behind him. Without the padlock and chains to keep it in place, the door slanted open near the top. Lorcan frowned up at it.

Elide blinked at him. “Whatcha doing?”

“I’m not leaving you in the middle of nowhere alone, Lochan,” he said. “I already said that. Now, please tell me you have something other than a Ouija board to keep us occupied tonight.”

“You’re impossible,” she said. She dropped down and pulled her down sleeping bag from the backpack along with a few sealed Tupperware of veggies. The duffel had the chocolate.

Lorcan scoffed. “I’m not the one who decided to have a slumber party on death row.”

He cast another dark look around the room, stooping to avoid running into a bean that ran across the cabin. He came to sit beside her in the middle of the floor and offered the duffel up for her.

“Its research thank-you very much,” she replied. “Go ahead and unload that, it’s just got more blankets and water. Don’t touch my chocolate stash.”

Lorcan did as he was told, pulling out two blankets and the giant two-gallon jug of water. He stared between her and the contents.

“How did you carry all this up here?”

“What just because I’m a woman?”

“You’re five-foot nothing with even less meat on your bones than a rabbit.”

Elide stared at him. “I’m going to choose not to take offense to that as long as you hand over the chocolate now.”

“I’m just saying,” Lorcan began, holding the grocery sack of candy out, “I wouldn’t have expected you to handle all that.”

“Yeah right,” Elide muttered. She was grateful for the shadows cast by the flashlight and that hopefully the flush rising in her cheeks was unnoticeable. She tore into one of the chocolate bars and tossed him the veggies. “There, you can be the healthy one.”

And if she wasn’t mistaken, she could have sworn there was a flash of a smile on his lips.

They sat in silence for a few minutes with only the flashlight to illuminate the room. The poor light was hardly helpful however and against her will, Elide found herself glancing off to the far corners of the cabin. She knew it was silly. The house wasn’t drafty and it seemed well enough intact that there shouldn’t be anything sneaking in. Hopefully.

“What kind of extra credit assignment calls for all this?” Lorcan asked. He nibbled on a carrot slice un-enthusiastically as he looked around the cabin.

“Anthro exists on a whole other plain,” Elide said. “The professor doesn’t really care what we do as long as we don’t give him any grief. And no one else seemed interested in this, so I figured why not.”

“Why not indeed,” Lorcan mused. “You just choose chaos at any chance you get.”

Elide threw her half-eaten candy bar at him, which Lorcan caught with ease. Damn him. He only grinned and took a bite of the chocolate before leaning back on an elbow to stare up at the darkened ceiling.

“Y’know,” he began, but a soft snuffling cut him off followed by a series of creaks and groans from the porch outside.

Elide sat up straighter and went for her phone. She’d planned on getting a few recordings or pictures to show for her efforts. And she knew, of course, that it was probably an animal out there but--

“Let’s go see,” she said.

“What?” Lorcan snatched out a hand and snagged her wrist. “We are not going to do that.”

“Oh come on,” Elide insisted. She tried shaking him off, but his grip was tight. “It’s probably a mouse or something.”

The snuffling got louder and the aged wood outside squeaked with the distinct hint of splinters. Perhaps it was not a mouse. By now the rain had lightened up a bit, so it wouldn’t be surprising if there were other animals coming out of their hovels. But she wanted to make this little adventure worthwhile and just catching images of Lorcan—no matter how satisfying—wouldn’t really help her in her search for extra credit.

“Or it could be something not so friendly,” Lorcan said. He didn’t loosen his hold on her, but his voice was softer than it usually ever was.

Elide scowled. “I could be missing my chance to catch footage of a ghost, you know.”

“Or missing the chance to get rabies.”

Lorcan held her gaze for long enough that the noise outside faded. Huffing, Elide settled back down and finally managed to pull her arm away from him.

“You never did answer my question,” she said. She pulled a deck of playing cards from the backpack and began shuffling the deck. She’d been content to play a one woman round of solitaire, but if he was going to insist on staying they could play poker. It had been a while since she’d kicked his ass at it.

“What question?” he asked, tucking the now empty candy wrapper in the duffle bag.

“Why you’re here,” Elide said. “You didn’t have to come. I just texted the group so you’d stop bothering me about going to Maeve’s party.”

Maeve had been a miserable part of Elide’s life ever since starting college that September. The older girl was relentlessly inserting herself into situations and inviting Lorcan out on “study dates.” She used to have her claws latched onto Aelin, until the blonde nearly bit Maeve's head off a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, the girl did know how to throw a party and given how midterms had sucked the life out of everyone it had seemed like a good idea to go.

But Elide still clung to one thread of sanity to know that being anywhere near Maeve while harboring a crush against Lorcan was the stupidest thing she could do.

“I didn’t want to go to Maeve’s party either,” Lorcan said. He was leaning back on his elbows again and the shadows cast from the flashlight illuminated angles of his face she’d never noticed before.

“You didn’t want to go to Maeve’s party?” Elide asked in disbelief. “Her family owns the country club and has enough fancy booze to keep the entire city sated. She may be a bitch, but she knows how to have a good time.”

Lorcan barked out a laugh. “I didn’t know you felt so strongly, Lochan.”

Ignoring the blush that rose to her cheeks, Elide kept shuffling the cards. She couldn’t bring herself to deal them out and invite him to play another little game with her.

Games with the likes of Lorcan were easy enough—don’t back down, keep a sharp tongue, and never apologize. But it was moments like this when she kept making eye contact and kept fighting a blush that she had trouble remembering those little rules. She wasn’t going to survive the night.

Lorcan held her gaze now, though, firm and steady.

“I don’t like Maeve,” Elide finally said. “She’s never bothered to talk to me, so why should I seek out her approval?”

That got her another smile.

“Makes sense,” he replied, “why waste time on something that’s not worth it in the end?”

“Exactly.”

Outside, a gust of wind howled and rain slanted against the side of the cabin. Something heavy thudded against the far wall sending a shudder through each of the beams and floor.

Elide couldn’t help but shudder. She wasn’t scared, of course, but sometimes she didn’t do too well during storms.

“Did the caretaker murder men or women?” Lorcan asked as dust spun in the glow of the flashlight. “Just so I know if I need to start running yet.”

“There’s no ghost,” Elide told him.

“You’re shaking,” he pointed out.

Indeed, she was. Elide ignored it and began dealing out the cards to distract herself.

“Seven card draw,” she said, “jokers are wild.”

“Weird way to play go-fish,” Lorcan muttered as he arranged his card.

“We’re playing poker,” she corrected.

Lorcan stared at her over his card. “Hell no, I’m not stupid enough to play poker against you. And don’t give me that innocent I don’t know what you’re talking about look, it won’t work.”

He’d pitched his voice an octave in clear mockery of her. Elide threw another candy bar at him. “I don’t sound like that!”

Lorcan only laughed, letting the candy bar bounce off his chest.

The wind continued. And with the way Elide and Lorcan played—ruthless with no holding back—go-fish turned into a near bloody battle. They ultimately called a truce after six rounds, three each.

“Tie-breaker!” Elide ordered, gathering the cards back up.

Lorcan groaned and fell on his back. “You said that last time. How long are we staying here?”

“We only have to make it until sunrise,” she said and glanced at her watch, “which is seven hours away.”

“Seriously, woman?” Lorcan sat up enough to glare at her and Elide only smirked.

“Worried about missing your beauty sleep?”

“No, I’m worried about what this floor will do to my back.” He sat up if only to glare at the offending matter.

“C’mon,” she said, “let's spread the blankets out.”

In a matter of seconds, they had the first two blankets spread out as a mat. It would be a little better than laying on the bare floor. Another gust of wind from outside, this one managing to ease through the nooks and crannies of the cabin.

Elide shivered. “I forgot how cold it gets out here.”

“You take the sleeping bag,” Lorcan said.

“I’m not letting you freeze to death.”

“Do you suggest we snuggle then?”

“Are you that touch starved that even the thought of snuggling has you sneering?”

They glared at each other from across the stretch of blankets. Elide broke first and began to fully unzip the sleeping bag so it spread out completely.

“You get one side, I get the other,” she said, “and remember, you’re the one who decided to join me out here.”

Lorcan rolled his eyes, toeing off his boots. “The ghost killed men and you’re just biding your time, aren’t you?”

“Please, if I wanted to get rid of you, I would have by now.” The words were out before she could really process them herself, but Lorcan, it seemed, missed the implication hidden behind them. Good. She wouldn’t make it through the rest of the night if he started teasing her.

They settled down beneath the sleeping back with a good six inches between them. There was a draft on Elide’s outer side, but she didn’t want to risk snuggling into Lorcan. So she kept ramrod straight and clicked off the flashlight.

It was perfectly silent now. Not even the little gusts of wind outside seemed to register anything in Elide. She could hear the wood of the cabin settling and the occasional scuttle of a mouse off in one corner. She tried not to think about that too closely. Everything had settled into a lull that she almost thought Lorcan had fallen asleep beside her.

“I don’t like Maeve either,” he said into the darkness. “Don’t like that party scene, too. It’s what got me into a mess in High School and I just managed to get all that behind me.”

Elide knew--mostly--what his high school years had been like. Too many parties, not enough studying. He would either flunk tests for not knowing the material or flunk because he was suspended. For a while, Elide had thought there was nothing more to Lorcan Salvaterre than drunken nights and wasted DNA.

And boy, how she was wrong.

“So coming out to a haunted house behind a cemetery is how you decide to change your ways?” she turned toward him, just enough to catch the shake of his head.

“Well I’d like to think I helped prevent you from doing anything stupid,” he said.

“You failed on that when you let me pick the lock to the front door.”

Lorcan shifted closer to her and Elide could just make out the glint in his eyes.

“You are full of surprises, you know?”

Elide shrugged, finally feeling herself relax a little. “It’s what keeps things interesting.”

“Menace,” Lorcan muttered.

Elide reached out beneath the blanket to poke his side, earning a curse.

…

Somewhere along the way of their scattered conversations—they fell asleep. Elide would never be able to explain how—considering the wind outside, the surety of mice and spiders crawling on the floor, and the guarantee of haunting of some sort happening—but sleep did fall over them.

And when she woke up to the pale streams of dawn, Elide found that she wasn’t freezing or covered in rodent bites. Rather, she was tucked against Lorcan’s side, snug against his chest. One of his arms fell around her waist, the other stretched over head. She was nestled in so close that she could smell his cologne mingling with his natural scent. She might have only gotten six hours of sleep, but it was the best damn rest she’d had in a long time.

Not good. Not good. Not even remotely good. Elide shifted, ready to roll back to her side of the makeshift bed. Lorcan’s arm tightened around her keeping her firmly in place. Which, sure wasn’t the worst thing in the world. But this was also Lorcan.

She paused for a minute thinking about how her extra credit assignment was going to go if she admitted to a night of snuggling up beside one of her closest friends.

Oh hell. Her friend who she had a crush on.

Elide squinted up at Lorcan, his usually harsh face softening in his sleep. How different he looked like this, more open and relaxed. Closing her eyes, she let herself drift back off to sleep. She would let her self worry about the ramifications of this later.

...

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#elorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #elide x lorcan #elorcan au #lorcan x elide #modern au #halloween au #tog #throne of glass #tog fic #throne of glass fanfiction

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