#if he hadn't been an idiot they would've held hands

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Look, we thought pairing my LDB up with freaking Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced instead of Ulfric would be funny.

It wasn't. It was just sad.

ao3 | masterlist

As I told my dear sweet @elder-dragon-reposes, it's one thing for one of Ulfric's followers clear across Skyrim to get heart eyes for Ulfric's girlfriendsword arm, but it's another matter entirely if it's one of his generals. In his own city.

Yrsarald remembers the Dragonborn from when she came to call Ulfric to the Greybeards' council. He remembers that she was soft-spoken and adamant about the World-Eater. She's hopeful and compassionate, and that stands out to him, even if she is an elf.

Ulfric doesn't seem to mind her ancestry, so Yrsarald elects to ignore it untilunless it becomes a problem.

News comes that Alduin has been banished, and the Dragonborn is about Skyrim, helping people. It's . . . nice that the foreign half-elf seems to care so much for the well-being of Skyrim and her people. Yrsarald keeps tabs on her through the informants and spy networks. It's a matter of security if the Dragonborn turns traitor to Skyrim and helps the blasted Thalmor. Galmar isn't keeping up with it, so for Ulfric and the Stormcloaks' sake, Yrsarald is.

But all he hears are good things. She wins admiration everywhere she goes, but she doesn't belong anywhere. Balgruuf the Greater is trying to tie the Dragonborn to Whiterun, but she's as flighty as Kyne's winds. Somewhere in there, Yrsarald learns her name is Leara Ormand and she's from HIgh Rock. She grew up on magic and chivalry. She probably sees life as a fairy tale. He may disdain her for it.

But then she comes to Windhelm. They've had troubles of their own, being stretched between the care of the city and fighting a war. And she solves problems. He hears she's investigating the serial killer in town . . .

. . .then finds the Butcher, and she's hurt? Ulfric is concerned, but Yrsarald finds himself livid. He cannot see his Jarl's worry for his own shame that their hero came to help them, and all she got in return was a bleeding wound and permafrost on her skin.

Imagine being so in love with an otherwise mythic figure, a celebrity, that you can't see that your friend, your brother, is also in love with her. How can you see it when you aren't ready to admit your own feelings?

Leara is renting a room at Candlehearth when Yrsarald decides he needs to pay his respects to her. She is surprised when he meets her near dinner. He has never seen a woman so precisely featured before. She's not in armor (he's only seen her in silver plate); her hair is down (curling in blood rose vines) and she's bundled in a cornflower blue dress (it's loose to accommodate her bandages). He wants to sit down and talk to her, but he doesn't. He thanks her, though, and she smiles. He stops by the counter later to make sure Elda sends her a dessert .

"But don't bother her with who it's from." "Well if that's how you choose to show your appreciation."

Yrsarald buys Leara sweets after that. She doesn't know it's him. She knows it's someone who appreciates her service and feels bad about her getting hurt, but Elda won't crack. Drat the woman.

Leara wonders if Ulfric is gifting her the sweets. She wants to hope it's Ulfric. She wants their past to be past and for her to appreciate everything she continues to do not for him, but to his benefit; she wasn't drawn in by his smile or anything. Who else would it be if not him? Ralof? He's not in town. General Stone-Fist didn't seem too bothered about her.

Leara's still healing. She's not bedridden or anything, but she's not fit to go beyond the city gates where there are bandits and dragons and necromancers (oh my!), so she decides that visiting the court wizard might be a fruitful investment of her time. She shuffles off to the Palace of the Kings. She runs into Jorleif right off and, on telling him she'd like to visit the court wizard, he's ready to take her to Wuunferth because she's been to see him before, and after all, she is the Dragonborn.

And this is that delightful moment when fate can swing either way because if Ulfric shows up and offers to walk Leara, that's all she wrote. Yrsarald's lost his chance because now that soft smile from Candlehearth is directed at the Jarl, not him, and Yrsarald will never get it back.

But maybe, just maybe, if Yrsarald gets to Leara before Ulfric does, if he captures her attention in conversation, maybe she'll look at him.

For a general commanding troops, it's terribly hard to be brave before a woman.

He would ask her how she's healing from the attack, and Leara would sigh, tired with herself but patient in her speech, because she's healing but she feels like she's letting the people down. And the tips of her ears might turn pink (Yrsarald didn't know elf ears did that) because Leara didn't mean to be that candid and trouble him – but Yrsarald is tripping over himself to tell her that she's done more for Skyrim than anyone (why is his neck red?) and it's reasonable for her to convalesce after an injury.

"Rest and eat apple tarts." ". . . how did you know I was eating apple tarts?"

Yrsarald coughs (he did not mean to tell her that). Leara is staring at him. They're at Wuunferth's quarters. She blinks at him before thanking him for guiding her through the palace. Then she's gone, and Yrsarald is kicking himself for being an idiot.

He's smitten.

Soon (too soon) Leara has healed from her injury and she's at the palace again, but this time she's offering to help Ulfric negotiate a permanent peace between both sides. Ulfric's seen Leara at the table, he knows what she can do. Galmar is more skeptical, but when Ulfric looks to Yrsarald for his opinion (and Leara's too-blue winter deep eyes follow) he says to let her have at it.

Leara needs to be brought up on the Stormcloaks holdings and Ulfric says he'll help her, but then Galmar needs him for something else and Yrsarald (does NOTdoes) jumps at the chance to help the Dragonborn. She's attentive and quiet, and asks the right questions about supplies and movements. And Yrsarald realizes as he's talking to her that Leara has been in a war before.

"Were you in the Great War?"

The stiffening of her shoulders is almost imperceptible. He'd have missed it if he weren't watching her so intently.

"Yes."

Her reply is measured. She does not lie.

"Legion?"

Because everyone was in the Legion then. Back when it fought for Skyrim. He wouldn't fault her if she was . . . why is her face sour? Her mouth is pinched.

"It doesn't matter–" "It does."

Why does it matter? He wonders, why is he pressing?

Her eyes are wide. So wide and too-blue.

Leara looks ill.

And then he knows.

He knew from the beginning she couldn't be trusted. She was an elf. All elves scurried back to the Thalmor in the end. She was here for that blasted Thalmor "ambassador" – she would betray Ulfric and the sons of Skyrim to their deaths!

There's a breathless scream.

Yrsarald doesn't realize until then that he has her on the ground. She's so small and too precisely featured. Her eyes are too blue. She's a traitor, a liar, a fraud–

The Dragonborn does not care for Skyrim.

"Yrsarald, please–"

Yrsarald growls.

Why is she crying? Doesn't she realize what she's doing to Skyrim? – Done to him? All this time and Yrsarald realizes he let Leara lure him into a fairy tale, only for her to shatter it with frigid reality when he thinks, when he thinks . . .

He might love her.

But elves can't love.

"You will rue the day you stepped foot in Skyrim, elf!"

She's sobbing. If she were really a true Dragonborn, she'd try and Shout him off, but Yrsarald wonders if she lied about that, too. High Elf illusions.

"Yrsa–" "What's going–?!"

Then Yrsarald is yanked back forcibly. Galmar is there. And Ralof. And Ulfric.

Ulfric is on the floor with her. Kneeling beside her as she gasps and tears turn her white gold face into wet porcelain. Kneeling beside her as if the elf wasn't going to sell Ulfric and everything they'd worked for to the Thalmor!

Yrsarald strains against Galmar and Ralof. He grits his teeth.

"She's Thalmor!"

Galmar stills. Ralof pales. Ulfric's head is bowed. She isn't making any noise but she struggles to breathe and it's tearing Yrsarald apart and enraging him all at once.

"I know."

And with those words, Yrsarald questions everything he ever knew about Ulfric Stormcloak. Ulfric knew she was a Thalmor spy? Was he coming to stop her – but . . .

Then Ulfric is lifting Leara from the ground, helping her to her feet, and it's too gentle for a King about to arrest an enemy.

Her hands are grasping Ulfric's arm, her eyes wide. Ulfric's face is drawn.

"We will discuss this later."

And he walks out with her. And the elf is free. And Yrsarald doesn't understand.

And then Galmar speaks:

"What in Oblivion did you do?!"

Yrsarald . . . doesn't know anymore.

What he learns later is more than he could stomach. Leara was a member of the Thalmor and she was a member of the Blades before that, and during the war, she smuggled information from the Dominion to the Blades intelligence networks and then defected while smuggling Ulfric Stormcloak from captivity.

He's nauseous when Ralof tells him this. Respectful Ralof – save this time there's steel in his eyes and disdain in his voice.

Yrsarald realizes he deserves that.

Later, when she finds him at Candlehearth, drinking his weight in ale, he realizes he does not deserve the understanding and forgiveness and the self-loathing in her face.

"I know why you did what you did. I can't fault you for it, not when I could've sold your Jarl and cause out to the Dominion. But I–"

Leara's eyes trail off.

"I'm sorry."

He chokes out the words. Her eyes slip back. She was far away.

"I think it's for the best if we're not alone together anymore."

Then she's gone.

Yrsarald buys another round.

The next day, Galmar says Ulfric wants him in the Pale. Far away from the Dragonborn goes unspoken between them.

Yrsarald goes. Ulfric's face is hard when he bids Yrsarald goodbye. The Jarl is not as easily forgiving as the Dragonborn.

Yrsarald is in the Pale when, a month later, news comes that the Dragonborn is handling an armistice in Whiterun. Skyrim divided. What was she thinking? She's thinking for Skyrim, Yrsarald realizes. That's all she's thought about this entire time.

It's a year before he returns to the Eastern capital of Windhelm, and only then, it's because the High King is getting married.

Yrsarald sees her. He doesn't stay long after that.

After all, Ulfric would protect her. Had protected her. Even from Yrsarald.

He could live with that.

[ssahotchnerr]

omg please part 2 off wishful thinking it was so good

we make sense, don't we?

thank you my sweet! cw; bau!reader, idiots realized <3, angst if you really squint, aaron pouring his heart out and FLUFF wc; 1k

part one

Saturday night had arrived; the sun was just beginning to sweep below the horizon. As a result, your living room filled with a comforting warm glow, contrasting the restless feeling your body currently held.

The thought had just entered your mind - you should've been getting ready for the date by now - but a sudden knock at your door interrupted your thinking.

Confused, you rose and crossed the threshold of your apartment. You opened the door, revealing none other than Aaron Hotchner.

"Oh," You blurted out, your heart picking up. "It's you."

You've never seen him like this; Aaron ridden with nerves. His eyes were somber, yet on edge. At first glance, they were desperate. His hands were buried within his pockets, and despite his nervousness, he didn't dare pull his eyes away from yours. "Can we talk?"

"Um, of course. Sure." You opened the door slightly more, allowing him the room to enter. "Come on in."

He thanked you with a swift nod, stepping inside. You closed the door, slowly, to fill the tense silence that hung over your heads, both of you figuring out what to say.

"What is it?" You leaned against the wall, crossing your arms across your chest. You were suddenly hyper-aware of your actions; should your arms be crossed, or was at your side better? What did your hair currently look like, after spending a rotting day on the couch, nose buried in a book. You nearly blanched at the thought, hoping you didn't look too horrendous.

However, while you contemplated your unkempt appearance, Aaron thought quite the opposite.

"I wasn't honest with you."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "About-"

"I don't think you should go on that date tonight." He confided earnestly, feeling nearly sick to his stomach at the thought. To be fair, he had felt similarly since the initial conversation on the jet. He could barely eat the past few days, his throat uncomfortably locked with dread. Regret.

Your mouth parted slightly, in surprise. You would've given anything to hear him say those words on the jet. But for now, your eyes only searched his for more.

"It's not my place to dictate what you do, and I'm not here to change your mind either," He honestly said, internally accepting the possibility his impromptu visit was for nothing. That he was truly, too late. "But you asked what I thought."

It took you a second, still soaking in his words, before you nervously queried. "What do you think, then?"

This is when he tore away his gaze - taking a moment to himself - internalizing what was due to be said and finding a sense of composure. He sighed heavily. Here it goes.

"You and me, we work, don't we?" He hadn't realized how frustrated he was until the admission left his mouth - his voice ached. He continued without waiting for an answer, his words flowing freely now that they've grazed the surface. "I don’t know about you, but I can’t pretend anymore. I can't keep pretending that there's nothing going on between us. I don't need to elaborate, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Right?" He took a step towards you. "We make sense."

"Then why haven't you asked me out?" Your voiced twinged too, partially at fault as well. You never initiated anything, either.

The empty hole that maintained home in the middle of his chest seemingly deepened, sadness brimming at the rim. "As cliché as this statement is, it's complicated. I'm complicated. It's... I'm good at shutting people out. You know how I am with the team, others, I prefer it even."

"But then with you... it's addictive almost, you're addictive. I don't know how else to put it. If I'm not near you, I have the utmost desire to be. You make me want to be open and vulnerable and as much as I fear I'd have a negative imprint on you" Like Haley. "I'm sick of allowing that to control my life. So I'm giving in to it, to be with you. If you'd let me, that is."

You blinked up at him, utterly speechless.

"Which, I'm sorry for coming over unannounced. Unfairly at that," An breath escaped from his nose, resisting the urge to clench his jaw in jealousy. "Before Cameron-"

"Actually," You finally found your voice, interrupting him and feeling lighter than ever. "He's not."

His eyebrows furrowed, a stern yet quizzically pull forming on his face. You could've sworn there wasn't a more adorable sight. "What?"

"I called the date off." You shook your head. "I didn't want to go, and the only reason why I even considered it was because I needed the distraction. From you."

There was an instant change in Aaron; his shoulders dropped, his face softened. Relief swept through him, he could breathe again.

"Truth is," You took a breath, bravely moving yourself closer and bringing your hand to his neck. You could feel his heartbeat racing underneath your fingers. "I've longed for you so much. So much it's almost embarrassing." You laughed gently, a faint blush appearing at your cheekbones. "Long story short, I've been holding out for you all along. No one is you. And it wouldn't be fair to James, you, or myself if I went through with it."

"Of course. Of course I feel it." You laughed gently, a sly smile tugging at your lips as your fingertips brushed against his skin. "Guess we've been on the same page all along, huh?"

"We're stupid, aren't we?" He laughed, his head leaning into your touch as your hand rose to cup his cheek.

"Definitely."

Aaron allowed himself to look at you, he wouldn't deprive himself any longer. He was free to fully admire you without the fear of being caught - no limitations. Lovesick.

"Are you just going to stare at me all night?" You quipped, a light tease in your voice and with just an admirable gaze at him in return.

"Maybe," He mumbled back as his smile resurfaced, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "There's something else I'd rather do, in fact."

Your heart skipped a beat, "oh?"

"Can I please kiss you?"

[frenchie-simone]

Awoken

almost pg

tags: confession, x-men 1 Logan, kinda angsty but not really, mutant & immortal reader

a/n: first time writing fanfiction on tumblr!! i didn’t do smut for this one because it would’ve been to long but just say the words and i’m on it

You wouldn't have confessed to Logan if he hadn't been on the verge of death. You would've stayed silent your whole immortal life and eventually forgot about him. That's what you told yourself: it will pass. Somewhere in you, you knew, these feelings would always linger.

Now, there he was, laying on Jean’s table in medical, nearly all life sucked out of him by Rogue. You wanted to blame her, blame him, but you couldn't. Not when you knew it was what needed to be done.

Everyone had already gone to bed hours ago. You’d been sitting next to his limp body for hours on end, squeezing his hand so hard you were breaking his bones. Seeing him like this made you scared that his healing powers weren't enough, that they couldn't save him. You were seriously afraid that he might die that day. Assuming he was unconscious, you began speaking: “Logan… fuck, I can't- even when you can't hear me, it’s so difficult telling you. I know you care about me, and I care about you, but for your part, I think it’s just friendly. We’re friends, yeah? You've saved me so many times, nearly as many times as I've saved you”, you chuckled, “and God, it kills me that I can't help you now.”

Logan’s finger twitched in your hand, but you thought nothing of it. You knew that people twitch in their sleep. You continued: “We got a good thing going on, you know. People tell me that they've never seen you care for someone as much as you care for me. That warms my heart so much, and you have no idea how hard it is to keep my face neutral. I think that in a way, Logan, we’re so similar. We both endured horrible things, and in an attempt to keep us shielded, we've shut off everyone who’s tried to care. And I tried shutting you off, and I know you tried to shut me off as well, and fuck, I did my best. But I can't anymore, because every single interaction we've had just stays in my mind and only leaves until I've seen you again. I wish it was just attraction, a little crush, but I crave to be near you, Logan. Every single sign of affection you show me leaves me wanting more. I can't look at you, let alone be within five feet of you and function normally. You are a distraction, the worst kind. But I need you there, everywhere, to distract me. Logan, I need you. I want you. I… I love you, you fucking idiot.”

With those words off your chest, even if he didn't hear you, you just began weeping and buried your face in him. Your tears were soaking his arm hair and running down his skin. For just a minute, you stayed like that.

All of a sudden, you felt a hand on the top of your head. You jumped at the touch, but then understood. He's awake. Logan is awake. Alive. Healed. His large hand stroked your hair until going down to cup your cheek. You finally gathered yourself from the disbelief and raised your eyes to meet his. He was smiling gently, a warmth in his hazel eyes you'd never seen before. He wiped away a tear that had fallen down to your lips. His touch against your mouth warmed your whole body. Just a second ago, you didn't even know if you were going to see his eyes open again. “Logan,” you managed to whisper shakily. His lips had formed a grin that told you he heard you. He knew how you felt. In embarrassment, you tried turning your face away from him, but his strong hand held your face in place, forcing you to look at him.

“Darling, you should’ve told me sooner. Now we've just wasted time,” he said, lowering his hand and pulling off every cable attached to his bare chest. He noticed the slight confusion on your face and laughed. Before you could even react, he stood up from the table leaving you sitting at the edge. He came to stand before you, opened your legs and pulled you closer to him by your waist. You were pushed against his hard chest, your hands being confused about where to land. “How haven't you realized? You drive me insane, woman,” he said in a low voice, almost growling, before connecting his lips to yours in a surprisingly gentle way. Your body felt like it could combust in sparks just by his lips being on yours. You were caught off guard at first, but then you eagerly kissed him back and grabbed his face in your hands. His grip around your waist tightened when you subconsciously slipped your tongue into his mouth. You moaned against his mouth as his tongue fought back, almost hitting the back of your throat. You grabbed onto his shoulders in an attempt to keep yourself upright. He groaned, and the sound of it just made you even crazier. You tried squeezing him closer, tugging at his body everywhere you could and practically ate his mouth for dinner. He answered your body’s request with almost double the intensity, lifting you further up the table and then crawling on top of you, positioning his knee right between your legs. You tried to muffle a pathetic whimper, but failed. He chuckled against your mouth and lifted himself just enough for you to look him in the eyes. The yearning look on your face was just enough to push him over the edge.

“My room, now,” he purred.

[icallhimjoey]

ARE WE GONNA GET FIRED? Fuckwe are so screwed we are so gonna get fired. If we get fired can we please blame Joe? And can he make it up to us? Because we're cute? 🥺🥺🥺 Thank yooooou!

oh we ARE screwed, but you're right, we are also very cute 🥰 Wordcount: 3.9K

---

Mistaken, Not Stirred

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Thin ice. 

You remembered Martin saying you were on thin ice, that one morning. And you'd understood. Agreed, even. You just thought that maybe the ice would've thickened up enough by now. 

It had nearly been three weeks. It should've thickened up plenty.

It hadn't.

But instead, you'd fallen through. Hadn't even heard it crack, no real warning signs alerting you that maybe you ought to be extra careful still.   

You left the bar in a weird defeated state, tears of frustration streaming down because you were an idiot. The biggest one you knew.

You hadn't for one moment thought that looking Joe in the eye when he walked in as you walked out would've lead to what it eventually did. 

"Hey, are you– what's going on?" 

It startled you enough to stop walking, and you looked at the wall next to you, jaw working and eyes blinking, hoping you could somehow make it stop. Make this stop, because you knew what Joe was going to do. You had gotten to know him well enough to know what he was going to suggest and offer and just... do. Even if you told him not to.

Fired. 

You'd gotten big-girl-fired. 

You were back in the same spot you'd found yourself in months earlier, where you'd had all of these same worries. How were you going to tell people you'd lost your job again? Would your landlord have the patience to give you a few extra days if you needed them? Would your dad look at you like that again when you'd eventually ask for some money that you'd swear you'd pay back the minute you'd make some?

You'd gotten fired.

Should've probably gotten fired after you and Joe left the bar in a right state.

Hadn't then, for whatever reason. Benefit of the doubt, maybe. Being cute had been enough then, maybe.

Thin ice, was all that Martin had said.

Joe looked at you now, stood in the long hallway in between the bar and the stairs that lead up towards the exit, and you couldn't look him in the eye. Couldn't even say why you were crying without hatred bubbling up inside your chest, all of it directly aimed at yourself.

God, you were so fucking stupid. 

Tears spilled, and Joe pulled you to the side by an elbow.

"Do you want me to go talk to–" 

You shook your head. Didn't want him to interfere. Not again.

"Because I will, you know? It's no trouble. I will–" 

"No, please don't, it's–" you hiccuped. "It was inevitable, wasn't it? It's fine, it's–" your throat closed and you shook your head. Looked away down the hallway as you blinked rapidly, eyelashes fluttering.

"Go have fun, it's nice inside tonight, there's–" you stuttered on an inhale and felt how Joe squeezed the elbow he was still holding. "There's live music and Martin's probably already mixing you something, he's making– he made a ramos gin fizz earlier, it's really good, you should get him to–" 

"Hey," Joe stopped you from rambling. Said your name and you finally managed to look up and meet his gaze.

"I'll talk to him." 

"No," you forced a sigh. Forced your shoulders to drop and relax. "You don't have to, you–"

"I will."

"I fucked up the drinks again, and I–" 

"Give me your phone." 

You looked at him a moment, then flicked your eyes down at the hand he held out to you. After another moment of hesitation, you fished it from your pocket and handed it over.

Joe took a look and gave it right back.

You had to unlock it first.

Joe put his number in, then called himself. It gave you a moment to peer back inside, and you saw Martin mix a drink whilst Chloé was stood next to him. Talking. Probably telling him about what else you'd done wrong. About how she thought he'd made the right choice by telling you to wrap up and not needing you to come back in again.

"It'll be fine." Joe said, twisting your phone in his hands, giving it back to you. "You'll be all right." 

And you didn't know what that meant.

You'd just been fired.

For something you didn't even fully understand, but you knew you were on thin ice, had listened to Martin tell you that you were on thin ice three weeks ago, and if you added up all the bullshit, then, yea, of course you were fired. It made total sense. But that didn't make it sting less, and you'd immediately bursted into tears when Martin pulled you into the back and said that this was it.

You cost him more than you made him.

"And I'm not just talking about money."

Took more than you gave, and somehow that was the worst of it.

If you really thought about it, the fact that you managed to hold onto your position for three more weeks after that one morning was quite the miracle in and of itself. That day where you woke up with warm heavy limbs in your bed that belonged to someone else. That took up most of your mattress. That hogged most of your duvet. That tried to pull you in for cuddles and snuggles after your phone call with Martin, who had just told you to come into work to fix whatever fucking mess you left the night before. 

You'd almost punched him then. 

Elbowed him in the soft of his stomach instead and wrestled yourself free.

Panicked.

Your boss was angry with you and Joe was in your bed.

Joe from the bar.

Shit.

Your job.

Your boss.

His friend.

Mistake.

One plus one became two inside your head, brain all scrambled, and Joe became part of the guilt and, fuck off, your boss was upset because you'd fucked his friend? That couldn't be right. Felt right, though.

Ten minutes.

You had ten minutes to get to work.

There was no time to brush your teeth, or your hair. You just quickly pushed legs into jeans and feet into shoes and with a cloudy mind you told Joe to do the same. To get out. Six minutes later, you were rushing down the street with Joe on your heels. 

"Let me come, I can help–" Joe was in all of his clothes, but none of it seemed done up. He'd only just managed to close his jeans before you pushed him out the door.

"Go home, Joe."

Hurried footsteps carried you through the drizzling rain, down the wet pavement. The bar was close, just a couple of streets away, but you knew you'd be drenched in no time.

Guilt.

Embarrassment. 

Shame. 

You kind of deserved to get drenched a little bit. It was still dark out, far too early for your own liking, everything wet and cold.

The dread of an angry supervisor hanging over you.

The potential loss of a job.

This was a bad morning.

There was no time to think of Joe and his undone shoelaces. His grey scarf that was about to slide from his neck. His coat collar that stuck up on his left and was folded over on his right. His messy soft curls and pillow creases across his cheek.

It had only just gone 8AM.

You had no idea Martin would already be at the bar at eight.  

Why was he already at the bar at eight?  

"Come on, there's mess I made, it's only fair if I clean that up myself, you don't–"

"I said, go home, Joe." You were adamant.

"At least let me talk to Martin, I'll explain, I'll–"

"No." 

There was nothing left of the teasing, and smirks, and the playful push and pull between the two of you. You were angry, mostly at yourself, and it put fire in your legs. Joe desperately tried to keep up as he followed you and he slowed you down in the process. 

His mistake. 

"No." you’d said and abruptly stopped, making Joe nearly crash into you.

You turned to see Joe squint, trying to keep the rain from getting him in the eyes as he tried to fix his scarf.

"Do you know what it'll look like if I walk in with you? I can't imagine what he must think if he sees…" you sighed, eyes closed and nostrils flared. "No. You can, I don't know, you can come in when the bar's actually open and talk to Martin then if you want."

"But–" 

“You're not listening!” it was too early to deal with some guy's hero complex. You'd fucked and fucked up and you were going to walk into work where you knew someone was angry and upset and, oh no, actually disappointed in you, and there was no breakfast in your system, no coffee, no carbs, no nothing, and you still smelled of vermouth and salty olive brine, had sticky fingers still from God knows which juices– it was all wrong.

Joe had to understand.

And then, he did.

"Okay." Joe said, nodding. "Okay. Just…"

You were running late and were about to get yelled at.  

You didn't have time for bullshit.  

"I'm sorry." His hand reached out, hovered near your arm, not touching because you didn’t really seem like you wanted to be touched right now.

Which was difficult.

Joe really wanted to touch you right now.

His apology fixed nothing in the moment. You'd probably be glad for it later, but now, it meant zero to you. It was mostly inconvenient, because it had taken up precious time you didn't have to spare.

It didn't help that Joe looked like someone you wanted to be hugged by until all the bad things had gone away.

Life didn't work like that, though.

Unfortunately.

"Yea, okay, thanks. I'll see you later." You grumbled, turned around and left, jogged the first few steps, and were glad Joe didn't follow you when you glanced over your shoulder. 

Your pace slowed down when you reached the matte black door, and you reluctantly went inside. You were immediately confronted with your wrongdoings and picked up Frank's stool that Joe knocked over the night before.

Shit.

You were so screwed.

If you'd have been Martin, you would have fired yourself over the phone.

You made your way down and winced at how sticky the floor was. 

Yea, you were absolutely going to get fired.

"Good morning," you carefully spoke into the bar when you laid eyes on Martin.

He was sat in one of the leather armchairs with his laptop.

"Good?" he asked, seemingly surprised at your choice of words, and you recoiled. 

Of course this wasn't a good morning.

"I'm sorry, I'll..." you lowered your head and took your coat off.

"You will...?" Martin waited for you to finish your sentence.  

"I don't know, I have no excuses. I'll– I'll get to work."

You pushed your sleeves up and avoided eye-contact as jittery legs carried you over to behind the bar. Said nothing, cheeks red with embarrassment, and silently started with the shards of glass you'd left there. 

It took you nearly an hour to get the bar looking like it should've looked when you clocked out last night, and it was stupid how often you caught yourself glancing at the spot where Joe always sat. Made you realise you probably did that all the time. Give a quick glance that way. Should stop doing that, probably.

Martin seemed to warm up to you the further along you got, and when you were finally finished, he said, "Make yourself a coffee and come sit with me a second."

You prepared for a scolding, and got one. 

Deserved it too. You understood. Agreed.

You listened to all the action-reactions, to all the cause-and-effects. To the boundaries-and-limitations. To the lines you'd very clearly crossed, and you waited for him to tell you that he was going to have to let you go.

But then Martin said James and Chloé shouldn't have left you to do the work yourself. It wasn't just you he was unhappy with.

Your instinct was to take full blame and to argue him on it.

You wanted to tell him that they didn't leave you all alone, because Frank was still there when they left, and then you told Frank to go home. That was your mistake. Your fault. But Martin wouldn't let you speak. 

"You're not completely off the hook yet," he warned, eyes scanning across the bar that looked fine now, but his eyes seemed softer.

"Thin ice." 

You nodded. Fully understood. Repeated, "Thin ice." and accepted that you brought more trouble into this place than anything else, but were really fucking pleased you were allowed to keep the job. 

"All right. See you in a few hours." Martin dismissed you.

Getting back into your wet coat, your stomach grumbled with hunger, but the self-loathing would have to do for breakfast today. You hoped that with every step up the stairs, you'd lose some of the dread you felt at having to come back later and face the music once more. 

Thin ice. 

When you stepped through the door into the light of day, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath of fresh air as you acclimated for a second. It was no longer raining, and the cold air stung your lungs, but it was nice. Made everything feel a little calmer than it had all felt inside.

"How did it go?"

You jumped clear out of your skin, heart immediately in your throat, adrenaline surging right into your toes.

"Jesus!"

"Sorry, I didn't meant to startle you,"

"What the fuck are you..." you frowned, caught your breath and tried to come to terms with why the hell Joe was there still. Had he waited around outside this whole time for you?

The urge to hurt him was still there, but you only pretended you were going to slap him. Just wanted to make him flinch, which worked. Lurched forward with a raised arm that never swung. Scared him before it made him laugh, and then you failed miserably at hiding a smile of your own.

"Was everything okay?"

"Yea... yea, it's, it's fine. I didn't get fired, I'll..." you sighed, seemed exhausted. "I'm going to go home, I'll see you later." 

You waited for Joe to say something before you would turn around to leave, but Joe didn't say anything for a second. Just looked at you a moment, and you could see how his eyebrows quirked up a little with empathy.

He shouldn't have done that.

He shouldn't have made himself look so soft for you.

It made you abandon rational thought.

Made your eyes flick down to his mouth

Made you step a little closer, and then Joe was already leaning down when you got a hold of a wet coat collar to pull him in for a kiss.

A slow kiss.

Too slow for the time of day.

Too slow and too soft for what all of it, all of this, whatever that even was, had been the night before.

You pulled yourself away when you started to feel yourself lose it a little, and then poked him in the stomach for good measure. To set the record straight. To remind Joe of what this was.

It caught him by surprise, and Joe recoiled, stomach muscles tensed as he bent into you and showed the hurt in his face.

"Hmm," you smirked. "Good thing I'm cute."

And with that you turned on your heel.

Left him there.

Joe watched you walk away and did an awful job at hiding his grin.

When you disappeared around the corner, Joe glanced at the door and, he just couldn't help himself. Told himself he shouldn't go in. You didn't want him to go in. But then he went inside anyway and talked to Martin who wasn't surprised to see him at all. That should've maybe given something away then.

"Not your responsibility, Joe. She works here, not you."

"I know, but she made me the perfect martini last night and I just thought–"

Martin raised a hand in a bid to shut Joe up. It half-worked. Joe backed off a little. Held up two hands and took a step back, and then said, "Almost liked it better than yours." before disappearing into the hallway and shouting, "I'll see you tonight!" over his shoulder.

Joe'd be back over that evening. Would see Martin then. Would see you then, and couldn't fucking wait.

At 9PM that evening Joe'd walked in, had sauntered over to his usual seat and sat down. Smiled and nodded, mouthed hi at all staff as he took his coat off and didn't like how you ignored him. How you didn't greet him at all.

But he got it.

This was a bit awkward, probably.

But fine.

He could make it not awkward.

Joe looked at Martin who seemed busy with a tray of drinks, clearly working on a larger order, and caught his attention.

"Interested in trying a poinsettia?"

"Actually, I'd love a dirty martini," Joe said, pretended to be all casual and it made Martin narrow his eyes slightly before he turned to find you. Eyes scanned around the bar, and there you were, talking to some guests, made them smile as you handed them their drinks, no spills this time.

"Give her a second, she'll be right with you."

When you made it back to the bar, Martin put you to work and with shaky hands, under the watchful eyes of both Martin and Joe, you mixed the drink just like you'd done the night before.

Gave it to Joe and turned to clear the workspace of bottles and jars. Heard him say, "Perfect." after a sip and you snuck a look to see Martin smile.

Good.

Everything was fine.

You and Joe had had a weird one time thing, and now he was here, and he was trying to make sure everything was normal still, and it was all fine.

And everything remained fine when Chloé gave you an order and you managed to do it without any issues. There was one hard collision between the two of you, but Chloé just grabbed you by the shoulders to ensure neither of you fell over and then laughed. You swore she was about to tell you sorry, but caught herself just in time and then instead just laughed as she stepped around you.

It was fine.

No more mistakes.

Well.

No more life-altering ones, at least.

You were lucky you were cute.

Joe slipped right back into his annoying-guest slot, and it took a couple more digs from him for you to realise he'd been flirting this whole time.

Flirting.

Joe was lucky he was cute, because had he not been, it would've never fucking worked.

Martin got his goodhearted smile back when a few shifts later he saw Joe sneaking up on you as you were cleaning a table on the other side of the piano. He was the only guest left and decided to make you jump by abruptly using both hands to press down on some of the keys.

You'd nearly cried at the shock, and a weird chase followed where you tried to get Joe in the face with the wet dishcloth you'd been holding. Martin had to stop the running by talking to the both of you like a stern teacher would.

"Oi! No running in my bar!"

It was fine.

And Frank looked on and fondly shook his head with a smile when you'd been sent to go and fix the tinsel that adorned the door outside. The wind and rain had messed with it and it was no use trying to fix what was still up, so you pulled all of it down and decided to start over. Do it properly, and try to make sure it would last until Christmas.

Joe had just walked up, had to finish a cigarette before going in, and decided he didn't mind this view all that much. He stood to the side, next to Frank, and both men watched on as you balanced up high on your knees on one of the barstools as you struggled with staples and tie-wraps.

Tinsel fell down and Joe decided to be kind and saved you climbing off and back onto the stool. He helped by picking up what had dropped, but instead of simply handing it over, he draped it across your neck and held onto it for just a lingering second too long.

Couple of lingering seconds too long.

You felt how he pulled and you kind of had to bend down a bit because if you didn't the tinsel would snap. Couldn't have that. Couldn't have the tinsel snapping.

You'd gotten close enough for it to be weird with Frank there, especially since you were both sporting stupid dopey smiles that did an awful job at hiding how you felt about each other.

Frank had to clear his throat loudly to break you apart.

But everything was fine.

It was fine and remained fine as you grew more confident, the night of mess sort of already forgotten, and after a night of bickering with Joe over payment and tips, you decided that the bar needed an actual tip jar.

"I know you think I get half my drinks for free here, but I'd bet good money that I actually end up paying more than–"

You were already rolling your eyes.

"No, I do! I always tip well, don't I– Martin! Do I not always leave big tips?"

Martin grinned whilst he worked, gave a small nod before picking up a full tray of drinks and bringing it over to a larger table by the piano. It was busy. Martin didn't have time to be entertained by your play fight.

"Well, I kind of need to see it to believe it."

And you'd found an empty jar that you rinsed and stuck a note to. You wrote "Just put the TIP in... see how it feels" in black sharpie and smirked to yourself when you placed it down in front of Joe.

And Joe read it, sighed the deepest of sighs and took the glass jar in hand, pretended to undo his trousers underneath the bar and you shrieked for him to stop it.

Got immediately told of by Martin for fucking around.

"Hey, keep it the fuck down, will you? You. Toilets. They need more loo roll."

Joe apologised, said it was his fault, said he shouldn't have made you scream like that, but Martin kept stern eyes on you for the rest of the night until you got rid of the tip jar.

It was fine. Ups and downs, but nothing insane.

Three weeks passed, and you'd forgotten you were on thin ice still. Christmas was getting closer, and you thought maybe if you made it 'til Christmas, you'd be good to stick around for a good while, you know?

Martin kept giving you shifts, kept giving you tasks that you proved you were able to do right and when one night, you got to close all by yourself once more, you did all of it correctly.

Didn't mix Joe any drinks. Didn't drink whatever he spat out. Didn't kiss him behind the bar, and didn't desert the place because you had to take him home so desperately.

You'd wanted to do all of those things again, but you hadn't.

But you had been on thin ice still, and one big fuck up was enough for Martin to pull you aside and tell you that actually, you wouldn't even make it 'til Christmas.

Fired.

"It'll be fine." Joe'd said. "You'll be all right." and when you hesitated to accept that, Joe used both arms to pull you into him by the shoulders and hugged you tight.

And you wanted to leave. To get out. But you also wanted Joe to squeeze you until all the bad went away, so this felt good.

This felt nice.

You felt how Joe pressed his lips into your hair before he spoke closely to your ear.

"I'll text you, okay? Don't worry, it'll be fine. I'll text you."

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @chrissymjstan, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[ameliaenya707]

okay, okay, so what if keigos darling had tried to kill him while he was asleep.. Like he awoke to her standing over him with an angry face and a knife held up, just ready to plow that shit into him, but his keen instincts and all woke up up in time to catch her before she inflicted any pain. I'd like this in a short fic format, but anything that's easy is fine!!

Omg yes of course!!! I lowkey loveee writing darling hating this man's guts and wanting to kill him so you've made my heart happy nonnie 💗

Keigo felt this weird feeling as he slept. As If there was a weight on his chest, a cold shroud over him. His eyes fluttered open to see what could have been disturbing his rest. He hoped it wasn't messing with your sleep either. You were more irate during the day if your sleep was interrupted. Then again you always seemed to be irritated but he was working on training that out of you. He groaned as he reluctantly opened his eyes, your face flashing in front of him. The moonlight gleamed against the sharp kitchen knife you were holding in your hand. His hand shot up to grab your wrist, his other yanking the knife from your hand and letting it fall to the floor with a clank.

"What do you think you're doing," he watched as horror flickered across your face and he scoffed. Yanking you back into bed and holding you down beneath him. He glanced down at the floor, chuckling when he saw the knife you'd picked as your weapon of choice.

"I-" he laughed in your face as you struggled to get words out, tears already brimming your eyes and wetting your lashes as your bottom lip quivered.

"You were going to try and kill me with that?! God your fucking stupid, you couldn't even do any damage with that. Fuck, let me spell it out for you. Say you did stab me, I would've woken up regardless and that's not a one-and-done knife idiot, how far would you have gotten anyway? Did you even think about that?"

He sighed, brushing away the tears that fell from your eyes. Such an incompetent little thing. Stubborn and difficult but fell apart at the slightest snag. His hand moved roughly to grip your chin, making you look at him.

"I'm going to let it go this time. You're not in the right mind space right now for a punishment. But if you ever try to fucking kill me again, I will make the next few months a living fucking hell for you, I will break your arms so you won't even be able to pick up a knife like this again. Do you understand me?"

He watched as you nodded weakly, choking out sobs. He thought you were over this little rebellious phase but he hadn't squashed it like he thought he had. Didn't you realize you were just making things more difficult for yourself? He didn't enjoy calling you stupid but he had to state the facts.

He sighed, his hand cupping your cheek as he moved off of you, making you lay on your side facing him and he cooed over you.

"Don't cry, pretty girl. You're okay, just breathe for me, yeah?"

[gwiyeounsonyeon]

Hold Me

Pairing: ftm!Leon Kennedy x cis!Male Reader

Summary: Leon's dysphoric and depressed and reader comforts him

Words: 859

Warnings: depression

Notes: I just wanna give him a hug and cuddle him until he feels better :(

if you like my work please support me with either the tip button or visit my kofi page, you can see the pinned post on my blog for more information please look into it

It didn't take very long for you to notice, given it wasn't some huge in-your-face statement, the little things he did just gave it away. Earlier that morning when Leon had finally woken up, it took him a little longer to get out of bed and when he finally did get up he walked hunched in on himself and put on a bigger thicker hoodie than his usual leather jacket. He took a while to get to the bathroom and when he did he hadn't bothered turning the lights on, you guessed so he wouldn't have to look at himself in the mirror.

When you’d offered him breakfast he had declined and pulled out his favorite whiskey and when you eventually took it away from him he had snapped at you and chewed you out. You knew he didn't mean the shit he said but it still hurt and you got a little mean with him in return causing him to recoil and slink back into your guys’ dark bedroom to get back in bed and wallow.

That left you sitting at the kitchen table feeling like an idiot for what you said. You look up at the door to the bedroom before sighing and getting up from the chair, you put Leon’s whiskey back and walk to the bedroom only to hesitate at the door when you hear Leon sniffling. It was very uncommon for Leon to be crying so you couldn't help but feel worried, more so when you pushed the door open to see Leon cocooned in blankets in the dark room “Lee… Baby? What’s wrong?”

You walk into the room unable to take your eyes off of the trembling lump of blankets. “Leave me alone” You have to strain to hear his muffled watery voice and when you do your heart breaks, Leon didn't deserve this. “Tell me what’s wrong baby” You try to be as patient as possible, This is the man you love the man you've been in love with for years, it literally kills you to see him like this. “Just leave me alone.”

It's not hard to hear the desperation in his voice, he needs you but he's too proud to admit it. You take a seat next to him on the edge of the bed and lay your hand on his back “I love you, Leon… Too much to let you deal with this alone” You speak from your heart, you wish that Leon could know the lengths to which you'll go for him to just be happy, It’s true, you love him so much that if you had the choice you’d probably take Leon’s pain and deal with it for him and It pains you so much to see your baby like this.

Upon hearing your words Leon finally breaks down, he sobs quietly into the pillow he's clutching. tears come to your own eyes, Leon sounds so raw and broken, he's been holding this back for years. Years of being alone, years of suffering and trauma, years of being abandoned by the people he fell for. In his eyes you were a gift from god, you were an angel, he hates that you love him of all people and he hates that you care so much and he absolutely despises how gone he is for you.

If it weren't for you Leon would've drank himself to death by now, You were his saving grace and here you come again, unraveling his pathetic form from the covers and wrapping him back up into your arms, holding him to your chest. Leon feels pathetic to say it out loud but since breaking up with his girlfriend before Raccoon City 19 long harrowing years ago he hadn't been held and even then she couldn’t compare to you.

The way he fits against your body, Leon is certain that you were made for each other, You once called him your soulmate and he had scoffed and called you a kid trying to act cool but later after you had left he had cried himself to sleep in the dark of his room because he didn't want to believe it, it was too good to be true, the way you looked at him, the way you smiled at him when you called him your soulmate, it all felt too good to be true and he was so scared.

So scared that he’d lose you because he’s so jaded and old and miserable and everyone he loves always ends up leaving him. but not you, you were so determined to love him, In the beginning, Leon had tried with all of his might to push you away but you stayed, no matter how hurtful or nasty or pathetic he acted. You stayed and you loved him unconditionally through all of it and now here you were, petting his greasy hair and rocking him back and forth as he cried pathetically into your shirt.

He vaguely recognized you talking, saying something about how good he was and how strong you think he is but the words only made him cry harder, you were his angel.

COMING UP NEXT - SEP 22

Pairing: cis!Simon Riley x Male Reader

Summary: Simon is angry and takes it out on his boyfriend

Words: 666😳

SEE NOW ON - kofi

[six-eyed-samurai]

I succumbed to temptation and wrote a lil something for our Geto Junior and big bro Suguru-nii once more...

"Hey, Satoru, can I ask a question?"

"Make it quick, I'm grinding right now." Gojo's fingers smacked the phone so hard and so many times it was a miracle it hadn't broken... but seeing how rich he was he'd probably replace it within a day with a newer, better model. "SHOO, TJ UNDERSCORE 010, THAT WAS MY KILL!"

Geto pinches the bridge of his nose. "Does my hair really look that weird?"

"HAR?!"

Gojo actually slams down his phone. Geto breathes a sigh of relief; it can't be that bad if Gojo is stunned he's asking the question, right? Maybe those bangs weren't as bad of a decision as he had thought yesterday.

"HA! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Never mind.

Geto threw a cushion off the couch at him, ears reddening against his will. "Stop laughing! What's wrong with them, boke?"

"Everything! Shoko told me not to say anything because it'd be embarrassing if you thought they were cool, but if you're asking...ha! Hahahaha! Who told you they were ugly?" Gojo pounded his fist on the floor, writing around like a gasping fish full of mirth.

"Mhm..."

***

The day before..:

"AAAAH! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

"Your house?" Geto self-consciously reaches a hand to his hair. What on earth had gotten into his brother, digging his head under the pillow and yelling blue murder? Granted, kids at this age of not yet double digits were kinda...yeah, but he'd never seen him act this way before, throwing a literal fit the moment he opened the door. "Are you - are you mad at me for going out without you or something? I already told you I was just going to the salon, you would've been bored, and I thought that show you were watching only airs at 2."

The younger kid's mouth fell open and hung there, suspicion and terror immediately creeping into his widened eyes. "How do you know all that, you imposter! You must've been spying on Suguru-nii! Stop pretending to be him!"

Is he seriously continuing the spy game from this morning?

Geto plopped himself down next to him on the couch, throwing off the pillow and grabbing his legs before his idiot brother could roll off and away; he clapped a hand over his mouth, causing the boy to cease his accusing mumbles of trying to take the "real Suguru-nii's place". If eye rolling was a sport Geto would've won gold, silver and bronze.

"First off, I'm not an imposter, and second, stop squirming around. And don't you lick my hand."

"It was one time! When I was five!" His eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Wait, how do you know that? I'm calling my mom, you fake Suguru!"

Geto actually slapped a hand to his forehead. "Because I AM the real Suguru, idiot!"

"Huh? But the real Suguru wouldn't have gotten such ugly bangs!" The kid wailed in reply.

"..." Unbelievabe. Geto could hear his pride, dignity and all self confidence shattering into a million pieces. "Say that again, you little punk."

"It's true! Suguru-nii is super cool! He wouldn't get this kinda haircut on purpose!" He gasped, nearly falling off Suguru's legs, where he was currently being held hostage. "Someone must have - uh - uh - mailed black him!"

"Blackmail? No, what - what - I got this haircut myself?" Geto groaned loudly, letting his head fall back and tilt towards the ceiling. "How can it be so bad you think I'm an imposter?!"

"It is! And the only way to prove you're the real Suguru is...tell me something only the real Suguru will know!" This kid and his demands...

Geto pretended to think hard, tapping his free hand that wasn't locking his brother in place on his chin. "Well, let's see, remember that time you told everyone you were a big kid and you could sleep without a mattress protector now? And that night you immediately wet the bed even though I told you to go use the bathroom before sleeping? And you made me promise not to tell mom and dad?"

"And it was all because you thought there was a cockroach in your room?" Geto continued, smirking at his brother's crestfallen expression. He began to secretly inch his fingers closer towards his side, preparing for an attack. "Then the next few nights you kept barging into mine to sleep because you were too scared to be alone?"

He gasped. "No, I didn't! I only slept in your room because you took my- HAHAHAHA, STOP! STOP, PLEASE!"

"Never."

Geto couldn't help but chuckle as he went on flattening his baby brother into a pancake on the sofa, digging tickling fingers into all his weak spots and stirring up a racket shrill enough to annoy the neighbours. His brother's writhing and futile attempts to get away were all literally quashed by Geto's irritatingly long limbs.

"STOP! ST-ST-STOP, I'M BE-GI-GIN-GING YOU! O - O - OKAY, OKAY, YOU'RE THE REAL SUGURU! BECAUSE ON - ONLY - ONLY SUGURU-NII IS THIS MEAN TO ME!"

"I'm hurt," Geto whined, finally lifting himself off his squealing younger brother. "Just because my hair's ugly, why wouldn't I be the real Suguru?"

His brother scrunches up his nose in thought, trying to come up with ways to appease Geto and avoid another tickle attack. "Hmmm...you do sound like him and act like him, so you are Suguru! My bad!"

"Dummy." Geto fondly pulls at the kid's own hair. "You gotta stop playing Among Us."

***

"You do sound like him and act like him, so you are Suguru!"

But whoever was using his body wasn't Suguru. Not for the first time he wondered if this was the wisest of decisions, aligning himself with that... entity, despite his desperate sisters Mimi-chan and Nana-chan's attempts to stop him, bring him back, pleading there was a better way to avenge Geto. Regretfully he had to go as far as to disappearing without a trace or a word to Jujutsu High, where they'd have no way to find him.

It was all for a good cause.

A very good, good cause.

To kill Gojo Satoru.

A thought crosses his mind as he fakes a smile at Fushiguro and Itadori, coughing out a fairly convincing boisterous laugh. Kind of ironic now I'm the one playing imposter as well.

[salads-and-bolts]

Borusara Week 2024

Sarada’s Day | Hokage | Rebel

It's the last day! And finally time for a one shot I'm decently proud of x) Post Time-skip in cannon, fluffy, and a little hint of angst.

It had been three weeks since he left on that stupid “atonement mission,” and three weeks since Sarada felt fully focused at work. It was the last day of March, her birthday, and she couldn’t even take time off to celebrate.

Documents towered to her shoulder in a stack least 200 pages high, waiting for a signature. A higher stack of at least 300 pages high waited for a stamp. Three important meetings needed to be arranged. There were 30 new documents to review. It all had to be done before the end of the day. She could get it all done without a problem if she could organize her schedule and just. Focus.

In hidden grass village, there is a food shortage and a report of bandits stealing frequently. Konoha's assistance is requested.

Stamp. Sign. To a pile on her left on the floor.

D rank mission completed by team 32. Lost ca...

Capybara? Rubbing her eyes still didn't produce clear results. And that was when she realized... It was because her eyes were wet with tears. Her head throbbed and pounded, her stomach cramped and ached... She had to do her work. She had to. But as tears dripped down her cheeks and onto her desk, all she could think was... She just wanted to see him.

Whenever he noticed a large stack of papers on her desk, he'd stand behind her chair and rub her shoulders. Whenever she was too overwhelmed to handle things and got snappy and stressed, he'd walk behind her desk until she caved. She'd curl into the small space at his feet, hide from all her unwanted visitors, lean her head in his lap while he played with her hair. Let him stamp things that needed to be stamped. Was that a fair thing to do as Hokage? No. But she trusted him to do it because he was Boruto. And because a mere five to ten minutes was all she needed to feel human again.

Where was he? When was he coming back?

Thinking about it every day made her heart do that stupid annoying thing where it raced too fast for far too long, spreading numbness all the way down to her fingertips. Her vision blurred. The pen fell from her hands as she held her head to get a grip.

She didn't want to think of Boruto as the type of person to avoid her out of embarrassment, but the possibility did cross her mind and linger there for longer than she would've liked for it to. She shouldn’t have hugged him goodbye. He shouldn’t have kissed her forehead.

She was Hokage, and that meant she didn’t have time for him in the way that they both wished they did. That’s why she didn’t advance their relationship any further. That’s why she always held back.

She took a deep breath in and took her eyes off of the door, gritting her stomach to bear with the pain, trying to fix her migraine with medical ninjutsu. Come on Sarada. Focus. Focus... Focus!

After grabbing a clear file off of the top of the stack, her computer screen went black. And just before she could move the mouse, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes sunken in, glasses slightly crooked on her face. Perhaps that was what Shikadai hesitated to say. She looked like a hot mess, minus the hot.

The oversized hokage hat could fix that. Her hair, her eyes, all of it. She could just hide. And then, on top of concealing her appearance, she wouldn't have to worry about what reaction her idiotic hormone ridden brain would have to seeing him if he did happen to show up.

Just as she set her hat on her head, she noticed.

There was a clear glass vase of red roses on her desk that hadn't been there seconds before, and there were only two people that could flicker in and out of her office without her noticing. Neither of them were there, not on the ceiling, not under her desk, not behind any of the stacks of paper or even just outside the window. The fresh floral scent chose that particular moment to enter her nose... And the throbbing in her head grew worse with the pounding of her heart.

Calm down. It's your birthday. Maybe he just came back to give you flowers for your birthday...

And then. There was a box of chocolates sitting on top of the clear file she'd placed there moments ago. How was he doing this completely soundlessly?! This was not fair.

The crocodile tears stinging her eyes were also not fair.

Sarada picked up the box and inspected it hoping to find some sort of note, only to notice... There was a silver ring on the fourth finger of her left hand?! She abruptly dropped the box and fanned out her fingers, staring, touching it to make sure it was real. It was very real. And cold, and round, and smooth, and imbedded with tiny diamonds that ran in a spiral around the metal.

"Yo."

Sarada's entire body was so tense that she banged her knees on her desk out of startlement. "Idiot! What is... What did... How is..."

He really owed her an explanation for this, but she wasn't sure whether to yell at him, pull him down by the loose collar of his white t-shirt and force him into a kiss whether he wanted one or not, feelings be darned, or sob harder because this was all some cruel prank.

She hid her face. She had to. She was really crying now, curse her stupid emotions. Fat tears dripped over her cheeks, the metal of the ring heating as she tensed her hands.

"Sorry it took me so long," he said sheepishly. "Himawari wouldn't let me go until I could do it all without making any noise..."

Sarada tried to stop her quivering by telling herself to relax, but the built-up stress in her body decided that now would be a good time to escape, and her muscle system blatantly refused to shut down.

"...You okay?"

"Of course I'm not okay!" Her swollen throat had a lump the size of the Land of Fire. Her voice sounded like a sad cross between an underwater donkey and an angry sheep. The trembling was doing nothing for her headache or her cramps, and every second she spent in this confusing situation was another second lost in completing her work. "...Idiot! Stupid! Dummy! What... What even is this?"

- Read the rest on Wattpad and Ao3!

[kissorkill16]

Just An Idiot: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Sometimes, you just feel like an idiot for wanting a pretty girl.

Enzo tried not to squirm as his sister pressed the disinfectant pad on his chest.

"You're a real idiot for doing that.", said Maritza. Enzo rolled his eyes and gently pushed his sister, "Mari, please. This is punishment enough.", he said, gesturing to his stab wound.

"Whatever, man."

Maritza grabbed the bandages from the table and began wrapping them around Enzo's chest.

"I mean it, though.", she said. "You knew it was risky, and you still went out there anyway. And for what? For some girl who doesn't even like you like that?"

At that point, Enzo felt something inside him just snap. He stood up despite the pain, and he shoved his sister to the floor.

"What the hell is your problem?!", he yelled at her. "You constantly mock me, tease me, throw things at me and you act like you're embarrassed to call me your brother, even in public. Trinity makes me happy, and you think she's just using me for her own gain, but you're wrong!"

"And how do you know that?!", Maritza yelled back at her brother.

"Because she's given me reasons to trust her!", said Enzo, "While she's been a totally awesome friend to me, you've been nothing but a total bitch!"

Maritza stood up, "I'm not taking it back. You're an idiot for wanting someone just because they're pretty.", she said. "I know what Trinity is really like, because I'm not blinded by her pretty face."

Enzo felt himself ball his hands into fists, "And I'm the idiot here? Just because I want to trust someone and help them out when they need me?", he said. "Yes, I love Trinity because she's pretty, but I know she's more than that. She's kind, she's smart, she's brave, and she's a fantastic leader."

He bent down to meet Maritza's level.

"And if she's really using me, I'd prefer it over you being a total asshole to me 24/7 any day of the fucking week."

Maritza's eyes widened. She's never heard her brother swear before. At least not in English. When he did, he only swore in Spanish, never in English. That's how she knew that Enzo was really angry.

Then she saw Enzo curl up and his eyes fill with tears.

"Maybe I am an idiot.", he said, "We went into the woods together, and when I screamed, she didn't even come to save me. You did.", he wiped his face as tears started to run down his cheeks. "Maybe Trinity isn't the girl I fell in love with anymore, maybe I was an idiot for just falling for her pretty face."

Maritza didn't like seeing her brother cry. She sat down next to him and gave him a side hug, "Enzo, I know you feel stupid, and I'm gonna admit something."

Enzo looked over to his sister.

"As I got to know Trinity, I kinda fell in love with her too."

She looked away from her brother's surprised face, "But ever since she found that coin, she's become more stubborn, and I know she's probably under a lot of stress, but..."

Maritza took Enzo's hand and held it in hers.

"But you almost died tonight, and if I hadn't known about this, Crowface would've fucking killed you. She knew you'd come with her because you were the only one willing to help her, and she used that to her advantage. That's not the Trinity either of us fell in love with.", said Maritza, "I guess we're both idiots."

Enzo looked at his shoes, and Maritza gently squeezed his hand.

"But we can be idiots together, but maybe we can stop following the pretty girl."

Enzo smiled warmly at his sister, and Maritza gently wrapped her arms around her brother, careful not to put too much pressure on the stab wound.

[dokoni-mo]

Crave: Part Five || William Afton x GN! Reader

summary: saving face can be hard.

mild NSFW

word count: 5419

warnings: age-gap relationship (reader is 20 william is pushing 40), allusions to mental illness, willy is obsessive, possessive too, and a little creepy, and a hypocrite, and narcissistic lol, and a little bit of a yandere, or at least becoming one, mentions of divorce, dysfunctional parent-child relationships, secret relationships, swearing, gaslighting, manipulation tactics, dom/sub undertones if you squint, willy is VERY egotistical, allusions to corruption kink, sir kink, sensual touching, dirty fantasies, praise, Michael is in this, breif violence, heated arguing

minors dni// please read warnings!!

part one // part two // part three // part four

a/n: willy is so fun to write he is horrible but it is FUN,, taglist open! Enjoy! (disclaimer: i do not condone this type of relationship irl, this is just my take on being with Willy)

~~~

Aside from the moments that he was close to you, William never felt like he was able to be alone with his own thoughts. Unless, he was in his basement workshop, surrounded by his own creations where that brat Michael couldn't bother him.

That's honestly why he spent so much time down there, when he wasn't on-the-clock at his diner. If Michael didn't catch him in another screaming-match, William was almost always tinkering away in his little sanctuary from the outside world. He had built everything in that cellar himself. Every robot, every trinket, and even the entire basement itself from the ground up. When he first moved into this house, he knew his family would annoy him. He wasn't fond of having that bitch nag him all the time while three snot-nosed brats ran around his feet. He knew he needed a place to escape to, to cool down before things escalated.

It was a place to collect his thoughts in a healthy manner. And now, it had a different purpose. It was a place where he could think of you.

Michael was annoying as shit. He had been all his life, but he was especially annoying that afternoon. He had told his father that he'd be back home Monday morning, not Monday evening. That threw off all of William's plans; made him miss out on valuable time with his precious bunny. With you. All because of Michael and his inability to have any sort of cognitive thought.

If William had known that his son would be home late, he would've had you stay for a while longer. Convince you to skip your classes and spend them in his arms. But, no. As soon as the sun shone through his windows that morning, William had to get you out of bed and out the door with one last kiss goodbye out of fear that his idiot son would catch the two of you. And oh how it hurt him. The ache in his chest still hadn't gone away from earlier. He could still feel your touch on his shoulders and arms, and the way your waist and hips felt on his hands. It hurt so fucking much watching you go, knowing it'd be five whole days before he got to see his bunny again. When he kissed you goodbye, he knew he lingered a bit longer than he should've; held you for longer, too. You had caught it. Teased him for it with a smile so adorably.

Oh, bunny. Your smile. That's what kept William going. That's what kept him willing to keep these charades of good father, good businessman going. Was to make sure you had a happy life. That he could give you all your little heart desired. Money. A nice house. A nice car. Clothes. Gifts. Him.

It was more bearable now that you were his, yes. But it was still painfully boring without you by his side. There to kiss him and cuddle up close to him, looking at him with those big, gorgeous eyes. Tell him all sorts of gossip and stories around your campus. Listen to his own while he held you tight, stroking your hair and feeling your warm little body close to him.

God. He fucking missed you. It hadn't even been twelve hours since you were last there in his arms, and his body and heart already ached for your presence again. He yearned for your touch; to feel your soft, smooth skin against his. He wanted your lips against his own. He wanted to hear you laugh at his jokes. He wanted to feel your hair between his fingers. He wanted to squeeze those delectable thighs. Kiss your neck and leave his mark on you. Hear your little moans and how you cried out his name so pretty...

William sighed as he reached the bottom of the staircase to the cellar, greeted with the familiar expanse of his workshop. He took the papers that he carried down there and plopped them on a corner of his workbench, not caring to do any more work at the moment. The older man pulled up his chair and sat, running his fingers through his grey-and-brown hair.

Why. Why was fate so cruel? He only wanted his bunny with him. Was that too much to bloody ask for? Fuck he missed you so much. It was gonna be hell waiting until the weekend again.

He needed to take his mind off of it. Sitting around and moping was just gonna make it worse. He knew you wouldn't want him to be miserable. You loved him. He knew that if you could, you'd be here in the basement with him, sitting on his lap and giving him kisses. Telling him it was all gonna be okay while your plush thighs and butt were pressed against him.

William felt one of his hands detangle from his hair, sliding down on top of his clothed crotch.

His sweet bunny. His adorable (Y/N). He loved you so so much. Your kisses felt so good on his skin; so warm and soft. Just like you were. You were so perfect for him, bunny. You always knew exactly what he needed. Sitting on his lap so pretty for him. Don't his hands feel so good on your waist? So big and strong, a feeling only his hands give you, yeah? His hands are the only ones allowed to touch you, bunny. Did you understand that? You were his, and only he was allowed to play with you like this. Come on now, don't be shy. Lay back on William's workbench for him. Silly little one, don't be afraid to knock things off. Sir will allow it to happen. He wants you now, those silly little tools can fall all they like. That's it, there you go. Good bunny. So perfect for sir. Let's get those clothes off you now, yeah? They're just in the way of what he wants. He'll do it for you, bunny. Strip you down just for him. Just relax and be good. Ah fuck. His precious (Y/N). He misses you so fucking much, little one. Be a good bunny and-

William's fantasy was interrupted by the sound of the basement door flying open from the top of the stairs, making him jump from the sudden noise. The brit adjusted himself in his pants and smoothed back his hair as he looked over his shoulder with a glare, seeing who the rude intruder was.

William felt his brow furrow even deeper

Fucking hell. Michael. Of fucking course.

That boy just didn't know when to quit, didn't he? Stupid fucking idiot. Mike was not going to win that damn argument. He's such a fucking hypocrite. Accusing William of starting shit, and then goes off and starts shit himself.

His son was just like that bitch of an ex-wife he had. No wonder he fucking hated his son just as much as he did her. Perhaps even more.

"What do you want? I'm working-" William tried to say to scare his son off, but was rudely interrupted. As Michael stomped down to the bottom of the stairs with a sneer, the young man threw some sort of cloth at his father's face. William tried to block it away, but wound up catching the offending garment instead.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" Michael shouted at William, louder than the brit ever heard before. William was a bit taken aback by the sudden hostility, swiveling on his chair to face his son more directly with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't know wha-"

"DONT fucking play dumb with me, you DEMENTED fuck!" Michael yelled again, the young man's freckled cheeks beet-red, "What the fuck did you do to them?!"

William's look of confusion grew as he looked at his son. William genuinely didn't know what made him so angry. Looking down to the cloth in his hands, however, the pieces suddenly fell into place.

Michael found your jacket. He found it. And William thought he did a good job of hiding it too. The brit knew he probably shouldn't have kept it. It was yours, after all. And judging by the amount of wear-and-tear the jacket had, you were rather fond of it. Maybe it was wrong to take it.

Maybe.

But William found it hard to care if it was wrong or not. He loved you bunny. He loved you so so dearly. Without you, William wasn't himself. He had to pretend when you weren't with him. He didn't feel normal without you in his arms. When you left that morning, he knew he would miss you so much. He'd miss feeling whole, and having you close with him. And you loved him, right? You wanted him to feel good just like how he made you feel good, right? Of course you would. You wouldn't mind.

He just had to keep something of you close to him. Something that reminded him of you, that could act as his fix of you until you were in his arms again. He needed to take your jacket. How could he not? It would be perfect. It smelled exactly like you. It was about the size of your torso, too. It wouldn't give the real thing justice, but holding it at night might be some sort of reprieve for the older man. It could keep his bed warm when you couldn't. It was just a little reminder to him that you were his now. Your jacket was a way to prove it when you weren't around, along with those hickeys he gave you the other day.

And is that so bad? Wanting something to remind him of you? When he gave you something of your own to have?

He didn't think so. And he knew you wouldn't mind, either. You were a good bunny for him. You knew how he thought and operated. Just like he knew how you thought and operated. The two of you were soulmates.

So surely you'd forgive him for keeping a little memento of you.

But, of course, Michael had to ruin it all. William thought the dryer would be the perfect place to keep your jacket so that it didn't lose your smell. And now it was out. It was losing everything William was trying to preserve. And Mike was throwing it around like it was nothing. Like it was just a jacket. Like it wasn't yours.

William couldn't help but let a small glare slip through his calm, collected façade.

How dare Michael. How dare he treat your belongings like this. This wasn't just any old piece of clothing, it was yours. It was something William's bunny left him. It was his jacket now. Not Michaels. That fucking idiot. That piece of shit. William hated him. He hated him more than ever. He should've fucking left this goddamned family when he had the chance.

The brit needed to keep is cool as best he could. Not just for his sake, but for yours too. If the secret of his relationship with you got out this early, it would be much more difficult to manage.

For you, bunny. He'd keep his cool for you.

"What is this?" William asked, trying to sound as non-chalant as possible. This only appeared to make his son even angrier.

"You know exactly what the fuck that is!!" Michael shouted, "What the hell did you do?"

"Michael, I don't-"

"(Y/N)!" Michael exclaimed as he cut his father off, "Why the fuck do you have their jacket?! What the hell did you do to them?!"

God, how can one boy be so annoying? Could he just move out already? All he ever was these days was a headache. He was an obstacle. He was the reason why William couldn't have his sweet bunny in his arms right now.

Idiot.

"Please, Michael," William said calmly, rubbing the bridge of his nose in his fingers, "You're being ridiculous. (Y/N) comes over all the time."

"I'm not being ridiculous!" Michael spat back, pointing his finger at his father, "You did something to them! I know you fucking did!"

William couldn't help but raise his voice just a hair, "Just because you found (Y/N)'s jacket doesn't mean-"

"It was with your fucking clothes, dad! Why else would it be there?!"

Worthless.

"I don't know, I probably just saw it in the house and threw it in the wash."

Michael laughed, "Oh, bullshit! Don't think I don't remember all those fucking times you asked about (Y/N). All the times you didn't let me fucking sleep until I told you about them! Where you practically made me write fucking essays about every little detail of their life?!"

William rubbed his temples next.

Pathetic.

"I just wanted to know more about your friends-"

"How about the time you picked me up from class, huh? Even when I drove my damn self?! We were in the parking lot for an hour and a damned half while you talked to them!"

Waste of space.

"Michael-"

"Or how about the time you told me to invite them over, hm? And then when you did it again the next day? Then the next? Then the next?! And you kept asking for a fucking month straight?! Does that fucking ring a bell?!"

Shut up.

"I just-"

"I don't know what kind of fucking game you're playing here, old man, but you need to leave both me and (Y/N) the hell alone!"

William felt his jaw tighten.

Shut up.

"I've never-"

"All my entire goddamned life, all you've ever done is fuck shit up! And I've fucking had it! I finally have one normal friendship with someone who gets me, and all you wanna do is fuck it up!"

Shut up.

"I'm not trying to-"

"Whatever goddamned game you're playing here needs to fucking stop right GODDAMN now you sick piece of shit! You already fucked up my life, and I won't let you fuck up (Y/N)'s!"

The heat was starting to creep down William's neck.

SHUT UP.

"Mike-"

"Because guess fucking what?! (Y/N) is my friend! Not yours! (Y/N) isn't yours to-"

William's body moved on auto-pilot as he sprung up from his chair, the cheer force sending it rolling across the basement on its wheels. Pure, red-hot rage filling William's veins, he quickly marched over to his eldest son and grabbed him by his collar, a look of fear flashing over his freckled face as his father nearly slammed him back against the wall. The brit leaned in close with a glare, looking right into his son's eyes as he snarled through his teeth.

That little fucker. How dare he. Who is he to decide what belonged to William and what didn't. You were his. His. Not Michael's.

His.

"Listen here you little shit," William rasped, "I am fucking tired of you and this fucking attitude you've got, and all this bullshit you're making up. You do not come down here and start shit like this when you don't pay any goddamned bills, over these fucking fantasies you got in that thick skull of yours. When all I've done is try and be kind to you. I am your father, goddamn it! And you will respect that, you ungrateful brat."

Michal struggled in William's hold, giving the older man a glare right back, trying to put on a brave face, "Maybe if you were fucking honest I could respect you more, you narcissistic fuck."

"I am being fucking honest! Do I need to take a bloody polygraph for you?! Would that be sufficient for you, hm? Would it?!"

Michael continued to struggle in William's grip, but William was far stronger than Michael was. It was pointless.

Just like Michael.

"Answer me!" William spat at his son, pushing him further against the wall.

Michael gripped onto William's scarred wrist, trying to pull him off, his glare deepening as he looked into his grey eyes.

"(Y/N) doesn't like liars. Or demented twats like you!" Michael spat back, "How do you think they'd react if they saw you now?"

William's grip on his son's collar tightened at his words, the brit's back teeth gnawing together in his fury. Michael couldn't even fathom the level of which William knew you. He knew your soul. Your heart. Your mind. Your body. All of you. Michael was somehow your friend, but he didn't even know you. Oh, no. Not like William did. The older man knew everything about you. You were his sweet bunny. You were his soulmate. Michael was none of that. He was so beneath you, he couldn't even begin to understand such a wonderful, beautiful creature like you. Not even if he had spent every living, breathing moment of his pitiful life basking in the glory that was your presence. Michael would never understand.

No. Not at all. Not like William could.

William was your man. Your other half. Your mind and his was one in the same, and you were his.

He knew if you were here right now, you'd understand. You'd understand his rage. His anger towards his son. Because that was just who you were. You loved William. You loved him for him, the real him. Even the ugliest parts of him, that he had to keep hidden for so long, until he found you.

And who was Michael to challenge that?

No one. No one at all.

Michael was just fucking with William. Like he always was. Playing these little games to try and make the brit's life a living hell.

Two can play those fucking games, Michael.

Without warning, William let go of Michael's collar, sending the young man falling to the ground as he coughed and sputtered. The older man didn't even realize that he'd been gripping on to him so tightly, nor that he had even lifted him off the ground so high. Whatever. It didn't matter. He didn't care.

His brow stull furrowed, William marched back over to his workbench and picked up the phone that laid on its surface. The long chord dragging behind him, he marched over to the hunched-over Michael on the ground, holding out the phone and its receiver out to the young man with a stern expression.

"Here." William said flatly as Michael looked him up and down.

"What?" Mike asked, making William roll his eyes out of annoyance. God, how can someone be so fucking stupid? Especially someone he unfortunately shared DNA with.

"If you're so bloody sure of your little theory," William explained, slowly so that the idiot hopefully understood, "Why don't you ask (Y/N) yourself, hm? Or do you want to admit you made all this shit up now?"

Michael furrowed his brow, "It's 11 at night, they're gonna be-"

"I didn't fucking ask what the fucking time is!" William shouted, "Do I need to spell it out for you?! Are you that idiotic?! Call. (Y/N). And. Ask. Or go upstairs and leave me the hell alone, selfish brat."

Michael's gaze flickered from the phone, up to William, to the phone again, and then back up to his father. After what seemed like an eternity, Michael shifted his weight to lean against the wall as he sat on the floor, picking up the phone. William tossed the receiver down by his feet over to Mike, making the young man flinch with the sudden crash. As Mike rotated the phone's digits to your number, William walked back over to his chair, pulling it up closer to his son and sitting down in it backwards.

As he heard the phone ring, and William continued eye contact with his son, he couldn't help but feel a little nervous. You and him had talked about keeping your relationship a secret. You understood why the two of you had to, and you did promise him that you could keep a secret. But Mike was your only friend. You trusted him. You were a good bunny too. You'd never just straight up lie, wouldn't you?

But that was the thing. You were a good bunny. You'd listen to William and what he told you to do. What he said, went. No matter what.

This was your ultimate test, bunny.

You'd better not disappoint him. He'd hate to have to punish you so early on, and clean up the mess your honest lips got the two of you in to. He'd do it, of course. So he got to keep you. But he'd rather keep things how they are right now. Where he had time to plan things out, and judge things carefully and slowly.

Be good now, little one.

Be good.

William kept on his stern expression as the phone continued to ring, maintaining eye-contact with Mike in the heavy silence between them as they waited. Mike originally had his ear to the phone, but decided to point it out into the room so that both he and his father could hear.

The tension was thick. But your little voice cut through it all.

"Hello?"

William could feel his shoulders relax slightly at the sound of your voice. He couldn't help but think back to his little phone call with you, when he first invited you over a few days prior. The happiest day of his life. God damn it. He missed you so much.

Michael and William sat in silence for a moment. Mike was seemingly nervous to say anything, wetting his lips and taking a few silent deep breaths to steady his voice.

"H-Hey, (Y/N)." Michael said to you, clearly trying to sound as normal as possible.

Pathetic.

"Oh, hey Michael!" you responded, "What's up? Is everything okay? You normally don't call this late."

William and his son locked eyes again, another brief pause hanging in the air. The brit shifted in his seat.

Come on, bunny. Be good. Be good.

Michael bit the inside of his cheek before responding, "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just..."

Michael trailed off in his own thoughts, and William rolled his eyes again, gesturing for Michael to keep going.

"Jusssst, what?" You asked.

"It's just... I-I was just wondering if you had came to my place over the weekend? I found some of your things, and..."

William felt the grip on the back of the chair tighten, his mouth going dry. Fucking hell. He thought he might just shit a brick.

Silence hung over the room as you paused.

The brit could feel the sweat starting to form on the back of his scarred neck.

Please, bunny. Please be good for William. He loves you so much. Please be the good bunny he knows you are.

For him.

"Um, no?" you eventually said, "You never invited me over, Mike."

His lips parting, William breathed out a silent sigh of relief, feeling cool, crisp waves of euphoria washing over him. Oh, bunny. Oh his sweet precious bunny. So good for him. So so perfect. You did so well for William. You did exactly what he told you to. You took your orders so well, little one. William loved you so so so very much. You were so good. So precious. So smart and kind and beautiful. This is why you were his bunny. You understood your role, and understood what William was all about. What he was to you. He loved you so much. His precious darling. His soulmate.

His.

Leaning forward a tad in his seat, William had to fight back the smirk that threatened to dawn his handsome features as he looked at his son's shocked, defeated expression.

William could hardly contain himself. He won. He fucking won against that ungrateful piece of shit. Finally humbled that stupid idiot and his fucking superiority complex.

Oh, bunny. You were so perfect.

William just had to reward you now, didn't he? The next time he saw you. How could he not? After you were so well behaved for him? Hell, with the amount of excitement pumping through his body, William doubted he could wait until next weekend.

He missed you. He wanted you. Needed you.

His body yearned for yours even more now. Not just his body, but his soul and heart too. Precious little one. You were made for him, you were. How did he even function before without you in his life? He wished that you were here right now. He wished he could pull you close right here and kiss those sweet lips of yours, showing to his son that you were his now. Not Michaels. HIS.

Perfect bunny. His sweet, precious treasure. His sun and stars. William should give you an extra special reward next time he sees you now, shouldn't he? He's missed you so so much. And you were so very good for him, weren't you? Maybe William will buy you a special outfit to fit the occasion. Or perhaps you'd like something more classy? A nice date? Something new and expensive for you to show off? Or do you just want him? Think about it, bunny. Whatever it is, sir is perfectly happy to give it to you.

Thoughts of you swirling around inside his head over and over again, William watched as Michael opened and closed his mouth like a dying fish as he struggled with what to say. The shock of your little fib was still in his grey, widened eyes. The brit had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing.

"Michael?" You asked, "Are you still there?"

The young man had to swallow before he responded, "Y-Yeah, (Y/N)... I'm still here."

"Are you sure everything's okay? Did something happen?"

"No, (Y/N)... It's all fine. I just... I got mixed up. I'll see you in class tomorrow, okay?"

"Alright, if you say so. See you tomorrow, Mike. Goodnight."

"Night."

Silence filling the room again, Michael slowly slipped the phone back on the receiver, hanging it up. William continued to look at his son as he stared ahead with a shocked, defeated, and bewildered look on his freckled face. It was hard for him to keep from grinning like a damn fool. Michael finally got just a taste of what he deserved. How dare he come in here like that? Tossing around your jacket like it was nothing? Screaming his ugly head off at his own father? Throwing around insults? Over nothing? Over something he couldn't even begin to understand?

It was pathetic. But William couldn't even pity his son, no. All he felt towards him was disgust. Disgust and disappointment. And he was sure to make that known to the young man. As he got up from his seat, William gathered a few thing from off his workbench and pushed his chair back in. Straightening his tie and slicking back the few loose strands of his hair, William didn't even bother to pick the phone back up and put it on the workbench. He stepped over his son to go up the stairs without a spare glance.

"Goodnight, Michael." He said to the young man on the floor.

It was only when he closed the basement door behind him did William allow himself to smile.

~~~

Defeat.

It was an old friend to the eldest Afton son. Throughout his entire life, the young man never seemed to win anything. Never in any sports, never anything against his siblings, and certainly never anything in academics. Michael was more-so smart with his heart rather than his brain. Could never find his foot-hold in books and papers and essays.

He took after his mother when it came to Michael's heart. He knew this. Even though he was cursed with resembling his father, he took pride in his nature.

He tried to be kind to everyone. Give everyone an equal opportunity, and even playing field. Perhaps because he was never given one of his own.

Michael hated his father. He hated that man more than anything anyone's ever hated before. Whenever Michael would think he finally got a win over that evil bastard, the boy was brought back to his knees.

Quiet. Complacent. Fading into the background.

That's all that Michael's father wanted him to be. From very early on, Michael recognized it. But, of course, Michael was smart. He knew that if he simply became like what his father wanted him to be, that would be the old man's real victory. How many times had that psycho told him he was an accident now? Michael had lost track. But it was plenty to get the point across

Michael wasn't wanted. Michael wasn't needed. And William was more than happy to make that known every. Single. Day.

That's how Michael met his old friend defeat. As much as he knew defeat, no matter how many times it came to visit him, he couldn't help but feel the sting. The feeling of knowing that he got so close, only for everything to fall apart in the end. Like when you spend hours on a sandcastle, only for it to be washed away by the sea.

Michael was the sand. And his father was the sea.

Sitting on that cold, unforgiving floor, Michael couldn't move. All he could do was stare ahead into nothingness, his only company his defeat, and the quiet whirr of the water-heater in the background.

How. That was all that Michael wondered. How did it all go wrong? Michael's instincts never failed him like that. When he suspected something was astray, he knew that something was. He knew his father was up to something. He could see it, hear it in the way the old man spoke, and saw it again in that fucking smirk of his. But Michael's father did many things. Many things that Michael didn't like, considered to be cruel. But this...

Michael found his gaze slipping to your jacket, which had long since fallen to the ground.

You were Michael's best friend. Hell, in some ways, his only friend. Was that all that drew his father to you? Because you were easy to access? And that by doing shit to you, it would get a reaction out of Michael? Maybe.

But, then again... no.

No, it had to be more than that. Mike's father wasn't like that. At least, not like that in the sense that he'd go to such lengths if it was only for the purposes of tormenting the young man. He could do that in other ways, and other ways that were safer. Ways in which didn't involve others, that William could use to easily cover his tracks. Getting another person involved was risky. People talk. People suck at keeping secrets. People aren't easy to hide.

There had to be more to it. There had to be.

But, Michael was at an impasse.

You weren't a liar. You hated liars. You never ever lied maliciously. Even if it wasn't what Michael wanted to hear, you always told him the truth. That's what made you a good friend. So why? If you really hadn't come over that weekend for William to do shit to you, why would you lie about it?

Michael felt his lips part.

Unless you were told to lie. Unless...

You were in on it too.

Oh, god. No. No. What the fuck did his father do to you? What kind of sick game was this? William was trying to turn you against Mike, little by little. Step one was to make it to that you didn't believe Michael was ever telling the truth. This was step one. That whole phone call was step one. What did he do to you, (Y/N)? What kinds of things did William tell you?

None of them were true. Whatever they were, they were lies. Michael was sure of it.

But Michael knew the game all too well. And he knew that it was one he would never win.

Not unless he had an ally. That knew the game just as well as he did.

His father was not gonna take you away from Mike. No matter what.

Picking up the phone that sat next to him again, Michael held it up to his ear as he turned the dial, punching in a few numbers. He stared ahead again as he waited for it to finish ringing, his eyes fixed on your jacket.

Defeat said its goodbyes as Michael heard the other person pick up.

"Mum? I think I need a favor..."

~~~

tags: @guinea-pig16 @the-official-memester @randomwriteralan @mrsrogerwaters @laylaaftonshit @cherry-slushee @insert-memical-username @mrssafton @horrorking2000 @artist-anon08 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @jamiethenerdymonster @kimyona-san @purplewolfcoffee

apologies to any blogs tumblr wont let me tag!

[jamiesfootball]

Another piece of the leverage au I'm not fucking writing, damnit.

Under the cut for violence and Leverage-esque shenanigans:

At the first kick to the solar plexus, a shocked noise spilled out of Jamie's mouth. He hadn't been prepared.

"You don't fucking listen," Roy growled, winding his leg back for another kick. "What did I say? What did I fucking tell you when we first started?"

Jamie was ready for the second kick -- got his arms up in front of him just in time to intercept Roy's boot. He grunted, a sound too high and reedy to his own ears, and he tried to push aside the reflexive embarrassment at how loud it was, echoing off the walls as Bartlett and his cronies laughed and laughed.

On the third kick, he acted. He caught Roy's boot, wrapping his shivering body around it while the other man cursed. Roy kicked again, and Jamie's freezing hands scrambled for purchase against the leather, his nails digging into the collar.

"Come on," Roy scoffed under his breath, the same way he had when Jamie had held them up at the elevator. He didn't need to look up to know Roy was shaking his head.

Jamie bit his lip against the sudden, fierce wave of emotion building up in his chest.

His grip slackened, and Roy tugged his foot away with a violent grunt. He spat at the ground, missing Jamie by centimeters.

Bartlett tittered. His goons spread easily for Roy, welcoming him into the pack as the hitter rejoined their group. One of them fetched him a beer.

"Feel better then, Royo?"

Jamie closed his eyes; he didn't need to see this. His arms pressed protectively against his stomach. Hopefully they'd forget he was there.

"You don't know the half of it," Roy said, his rough timber carrying easily through the barren warehouse. A bottle fizzed open, followed by an audibly slurpy gulp and a relieved sigh. "The amount of headache's that prick's given me -- you wouldn't believe."

"No respect for their betters, these young ones." There was the tap of glass on glass- a toast. "Well, I've got good news for you. When we're done here, I plan to make a couple phone calls. You ain't the only one with a bone to pick with that little upstart. I know a few names who'd pay good money just to take a turn at him the way you did."

A beat of silence.

"Really?" Roy's voice stayed carefully neutrally, but even an idiot could hear that he was interested.

"What'd I tell you lads? Do I know this man or what?" Bartlett bragged. His men agreed, making all the appropriate noises for a goon chorus.

"So I do all the hard work, and you cash the check?"

Just as easily as flipping off a light, a threatening quiet smothered the warehouse.

Bartlett, the idiot, tried to backtrack fast. "Course I'd cut you in! A finder's fee. Hell, you could watch, if you're into that."

Another beat of silence, and then a low, dark chuckle that sent the hairs on the back of Jamie's neck to standing.

"You know me, don't you?" Roy remarked, sounding like a lion before the pounce. "Relax, Bartlett, I already got what I came for. You have your men wire over a cut of the haul, and that'll be the end of our business. The sooner I see the back of this place, the better."

Bartlett snapped at one of his men to initiate the wire. Roy rattled off the numbers.

When they were done, Bartlett laughed. "Roy Kent. A man of reason."

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it?"

"Yes it does."

Another clink of glasses echoed cheerily in the warehouse. Then-

"Woah, take it easy there, Kent. No need to rush when there's still the cleanup to..."

Bartlett trailed off and the goon chorus piped down. In the shivering silence, the sound of someone chugging a beer echoed disturbingly loud, like some sort of criminal underworld ASMR.

Jamie focused on not tensing his body; he didn't want to draw their attention.

Finally, smacking lips. A content sight. "Thanks for the beer, Bartlett. Would've been a shame for it to go to waste."

"What--"

At the sound of a glass smashing over someone's head, Jamie flexed his grip on the knife he'd snatched out of Roy's boot and sprung to his feet.

Roy had told him to wait for his cue, after all -- and it was his time to shine.

The little prick wouldn't stop grinning.

Roy ignored him. He dumped goon number five into the stolen ambulance.

"Check their pockets. If they've got anything that looks like a burner, Beard wants it back. We've got to make sure to wipe any traces of contact they might've had with Keeley--"

"You like me," Jamie sing-songed.

"It was a bit," Roy said through gritted teeth. "Hand me the body."

Jamie hauled over the unconscious man -- easily twice his size -- like it was nothing. The joys of youth.

With five other deadweights already filling up the vehicle, it was awkward angle to fit in a sixth. Jamie stumbled a bit, and Roy braced him upright. Together they maneuvered the body into the van.

"You can just admit it, you know. I won't ruin your reputation by telling everyone that Roy Kent's a softy."

Prick.

Jamie's usually styled pompadour was a flat mess from the fall in the Thames, and rolling around on the floor of an abandoned warehouse had lint-rolled a questionable layer of gunk onto his stylish clothes. He looked like a twit, leaning against the door of the ambulance while Roy did all the work tying the feet together.

Prick.

With his hair dripping into his eyes and a look of open fascination on his face, he looked like a kid who'd run through a sprinkler. There was far too much delight there for someone who'd been roughed up by a wannabe gangster. Fuck, and they still needed to check his ribs.

"He made us the second we walked in the door," Roy tried to explain again. "I needed to get him to trust me, to make him think I'd switched sides--"

"By making him think you kicked like an octogenarian?" quipped Jamie. "You barely made contact. If I'd been acting any harder, Rebecca would be out a job."

"I can kick you harder next time," Roy bit out, but even he could feel how toothless the words sat in his mouth.

"Sure, Grandad." Jamie beamed, smug and practically bouncing on his toes. "I'd like to see you try."

If Roy had less to deal with on his mind, he might worry about how sure Jamie seemed by the notion Roy wouldn't hit him.

"It wasn't a life or death situation. I knew we'd make it out."

Sure, Bartlett and his men had been armed, but Roy had dealt with worse. If it had been life or death, it'd be different. Roy would do whatever he needed to in those circumstances.

He would.

"You keep telling yourself that, mate."

[madpencil]

Febuwhump 2024

Day 2: Solitary Confinement

Words: 597

Characters: Crosshair, other mentioned clones (The Bad Batch)

Description: Crosshair got put in solitary confinement on Tantiss. It goes about as well as you could guess.

At the least the walls weren't bleach white like Kamino. Crosshair thinks they would've hurt his eyes if they were. Instead, the walls were a bleak grey. The same bleak grey he'd seen everywhere around this dreadful place.

However, unlike everywhere else, Crosshair was truly alone here.

Solitary confinement. He had landed himself in solitary confinement. It wasn't a long, complicated story really. He had tried to figure out where exactly they held Omega. She had told him a general area during a vent visit, but hadn't been able to find her before being caught. If only there was a vent down here she could climb through.

It was lonely, to say the least. He slouched with his legs over the end of a metal cot. At least Cross could deny his loneliness when there were people around. Using his own logic, it was hard to be lonely with useless chatter around him it was flawed logic and he knew it, but it helped a little. With a lack of people there was no useless chatter. There was nothing to distract himself with so he could hide from his loneliness. There was nowhere to hide from anything really.

No sound except for his own breathing. Nothing but four cold walls, a cold metal cot, and a cold ex-imperial. He started to figit with his hands, the slight shake of them becoming apparent. How could he shoot if his hands shook? He was a sniper, without steady hands he was useless.

He shouldn't let his mind wander. If he did he'd loose it in here. Abruptly, Crosshair stood up and began to pace. They hadn't told him how long he'd be in for.

"One, two, three, four..." The man started to count. To him it was idiotic, but it was also the only way he could think of keeping his mind from wandering. He kept pacing throughout the small room, counting aloud to himself.

"Forty-six, forty-seven , forty-eight..." Plan forty-seven was a plan Crosshair and Hunter had created. It's purpose was to surround a group and either capture or eliminate them. It didn't matter now, did it? Keep counting.

"Eighty, eighty-one, eighty-two..." Eighty-two was "the shockwave." It was one of Wrecker's personal favorites.

"Eighty-seven, eighty-eight..." He started to slow and shake at eighty-eight. The seeker. The last plan he called on their old comm channel. Whatever. It's fine.

"Ninety-eight-" The man didn't want to say it. Why had he decided to count?

"Nine... nighty-nine..." Plan ninety-nine. A plan involving the member who called it to sacrifice themselves for the good of their brothers. The plan that Tech had carried out. The one that killed him.

"One.. one.. oh whatever! What's the point?!" Crosshair stopped in the middle of the room with a huff. He tried to breathe.

Tech was dead, Mayday was dead, both Omega and him were trapped, and he had no idea if anyone was coming for them. There was nowhere to hide from this. No war, no missions, no useless chatter, and no one could save him from finally confronting the truth. He wasn't ready.

Cross lowered to the floor gently. His breath catching in his throat as the beginning of tears stung his eyes. Soft sobs panged off the walls of the room. He brought a knee up and slid to the closest wall. Once upon a time the cool metal on his back would've brought a sense of comfort, but there was no comfort here. There was only a prison with four grey walls, a metal cot, and a brother with an aching heart

--------------------------------------------------

@febuwhump

[kivaember]

Not sure if you're still taking prompts, but maybe something about how Walter would feel after "Intercept the Redguns"?

i'm always taking prompts! i may not get round to them quickly, but i'll always endeavour to write something for them! but anyways yes, it's some angst time... hrngh

"...our work here is done. Return to the garage, 621."

Walter barely paid attention to his Hound's acknowledgement flashing across his screen. He muted his mic and leaned back in his seat, hearing it creak loudly from his shifting weight, and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling.

Unlike their garage back in Belius, the forward garage near Watchpoint Alpha was just a hastily repurposed old hangar that had a tiny concrete room stashed in the very corner of it. It was frigidly cold, even when Walter was surrounded by four portable heaters aimed directly at his rickety desk, and there was a large crack that ran from one corner of the room to the other across the ceiling.

Someone fifty years ago had tried to paint it over, but time and the relentless winter that gripped the ice fields had forced the paint to flex and warp, exposing the gaping crack for the dangerous structural flaw that it was. There wasn't anything above the ceiling, at least. It wasn't supporting any part of the hangar's metal frame, and there weren't any piping or machinery parts resting across it. If it caved in, it'd be due to its own weight, and if it held for fifty years, it could hold for the few days Walter needed to see the rest of this mission through.

A few days.

Michigan would've died in a few days anyway, Walter told himself. In a few days, his Hound would find the Coral Convergence, painting a giant target on where he and Carla needed to point the Xylem for the next stage of their plan. It was crude, maybe, but the Xylem was a colony unto itself. Even if the Convergence was mildly dispersed in an underground pocket, the explosive force of the Xylem's Coral reactors detonating on impact would cause a catastrophic chain reaction.

Walter had vague memories, of his father explaining the startling stability yet votility of Coral. It acted a little like flour, really. In open air, a spark did nothing. In condensed environments, where the particles were forced to pack tighter than their nature wanted, then a spark could cause a catastrophic chain reaction: the Xylem would be the spark for that chain reaction.

Michigan wouldn't have survived that, if he lived past this day. Knowing that idiot, he would've been fistfighting Snail on top of the Convergence itself, vying for control even as a literal colony drop was aimed right for him. Either way, now or then, Michigan would've gone down fighting - this way was probably more satisfying for him, though.

Died of a bad fall. Even with his AC exploding around him, Michigan trotted out a bad joke.

Walter made a quiet, frustrated noise, rubbing a hand over his face as he squashed down that- feeling swelling up behind his diaphragm like an immovable object. It wasn't grief, because Walter had stepped onto this planet knowing one way or another Michigan would die due to him. Michigan had been nothing more than an asset or an obstacle, depending on who was paying his Hound to point his gun where, and Walter had emotionally prepped himself for this eventuality.

What they had on Ganymede... that was the past. It didn't exist anymore. That Walter hadn't even been real, a fake fantasy while he selfishly put off his mission for a few years. It was better Michigan died now, actually. Better for Michigan to go out cracking a stupid joke in a blaze of pointless glory, oblivious to the fact that his old friend had been planning his death just a few days later anyways.

He'd always been a fool.

(Michigan? Walter? Both?)

A blinking light on his screen drew his attention, and Walter reluctantly looked to see what his Hound had sent. He'd half-expected 621 to report some remnants ambushing him and requesting direction, but instead-

"Should I have picked the other job?"

Walter stared at those words for a long moment, baffled on where the question was coming from, before he realised that 621 was more perceptive than he'd initially thought.

"...one way another, Michigan would've met his end here," Walter said. By V.IV Rusty, or by the Second Fires, it didn't matter. "There's no point dwelling on it. Our mission comes first, anyways."

"But wasn't he your friend?"

"No." Walter's voice was harsh. "Business associate. That's it."

His Hound didn't say anything else, and Walter let the conversation - short as it was - die there. He must be slipping, if a brain fried merc like 621 could pick up on his complicated feelings over Michigan. Walter always slipped whenever that idiot was concerned though. Michigan had a way of getting under his skin.

not anymore, a traitorous voice whispered in the back of his mind. Walter ruthlessly crushed it.

It didn't matter.

It won't matter.

Not in a few days. Just a few days...

...and nothing else will matter to him, ever again.

[icallhimjoey]

She’s everything I aspire to be, confident in her own skin, a ray of sunshine a bit awkward who isn’t intimidated by people’s opinions. I was just like her, but most of my peers didn’t like me. I was a messy bundle of cheerfulness, my laugh loud and ungraceful. I wasn’t cool because I loved too much, with an intensity that people struggled to understand. I really appreciate the fact that you managed to go from an almost introspective story, full of the uncertainties and perplexities of our main characters to a very cute and flirty banter that is absolutely amazing. This is what I needed, I’m so happy that is making me feel all warm and fuzzy, it’s adorable ♡‧₊˚

i love her, need her in my life, make ME blush and shit. Wordcount: 2.6K

---

Sunshine Blend Dark Roast

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

The first day Joe didn't show up after having done so for eight consecutive days, you didn't even notice until your coworker asked what name he used that day.

"Oh, he hasn't been in today," you said as your coworker rinsed out blenders and you wiped down counters.

"Then he's just Joe today," he said, and you grinned. Yea, Joe could be just Joe today. A comforting thought, although, you were bad at lying to yourself and acknowledged the small tinge of sadness. You really would've liked to make him scratch his face all nervously. Oh well, there's always tomorrow, you thought.

Except Joe didn't come in the next day. Or the next one. You weren't stupid. Joe had work things. Film things. Press things. You had no idea what being an actor entailed, but you could imagine Joe didn't have a set schedule that left wiggle room to get a coffee every day. And there were other customers to annoy, to get smiles and chuckles from. To sing at, to joke with, to ridicule just slightly, never enough to offend, never enough to not be able to fix things with a giggle, but always just enough to surprise them. Find that weird border to dance on. It was always so much fun to play.

But none of them were quite as fun to play with as Joe was.

Yes, other people would blush.

Yes, other people would awkwardly chuckle.

Yes, other people would stumble over their words. Would raise surprised brows when you asked them if they were sure they made the right choice. Would try to look away and pretend they weren't tickled at your attempt at a tap dance as you made iced drinks, rinsed out blenders, and scooped ice into large plastic cups.

They would all do all of those things.

But none of them made your stomach flutter like Joe did. And none of them made your chest swell like Joe did. And none of them got your throat to strain with back-held giggles like Joe did.

You didn't know if Joe was aware of the effect he had on you, so you made a mental note to tell him the next time you saw him. See if that would turn his ears red, too.

You just hadn't expected that the next time you'd see Joe, it wouldn't be in the coffee shop.

The next time you saw Joe, a couple more days had passed and you were on your way home after your shift, late afternoon on a Wednesday. You were on your phone, reading texts you'd missed throughout the day when you spotted him in your peripheral vision. You hadn't even been able to focus on much else but your phone and your blurred feet taking steps below it, but you somehow saw him and unconsciously glanced his way. Then did a double take. Yep, it was him. Joe. Staring right back at you. Frozen. In shock, a little, maybe?

Joe was sat in the window of a Starbucks.

A fucking Starbucks.

White paper cup in hand that you eyes immediately checked and it read Patrick.

Patrick.

Starbucks didn't know how to play. Idiots.

You halted, stopped right in the middle of the pavement, and had people bump into you from the abrupt standstill. They apologised grumpily, you apologised with a giggle, it was all fine. Then, you pointed an accusing finger at Joe and you tried to hide your smile. You saw Joe was still sat frozen, big eyes aimed at you. No way around those. He'd definitely seen you. But you pointed at him and then you got no reaction.

You let your eyes find the door, looked back at Joe, then back at the door, then back at Joe again to see he was also looking at the door, and you thought, fuck it, let's go. You saw how Joe followed you with his eyes and how panic rapidly built. Oh, fun. This was going to be fun.

"I can't believe it, Patrick," Loud. Right in the middle of the doorway, not even fully inside, you were immediately attention demanding. You didn't care. You'd be out of there in a second and would likely never see any of the other people in there.

"H-hi," was all Joe managed to stammer, and behind him, sat next to him in the window, someone stopped talking and leant back to see what was going on.

"Mingling with the enemy, are we?" you gestured into the store wildly. Windmill arms, almost.

Joe said nothing.

"If that's anything other than a large, oh wait, sorry, a venti americano, you've got some serious explaining to do," you smirked, let your eyes crinkle and waited for a reaction.

You got one. Finally. Non-verbal, though. You got stutters, and fingers fidgeting with rings, and nervous eye-contact with his friend and, oh my God!

That was Jamie Campbell Bower. Jamie Campbell fucking Bower, drinking a Matcha Crème Frappuccino. You let your shock from seeing Jamie Campbell Bower's face travel to his drink, your big eyes aimed at what he was holding now, instead of his face.

"That's a Matcha Crème Frappuccino."

It was bright green, not hard to guess. You knew your shit.

He laughed. "Yes, it is."

And like you'd known Joe your whole life, you reached out, grabbed Joe's forearm, wrapped strong fingers around and squeezed as tightly as you could. Used your hand that was still holding your phone to twist his cup until you could read its contents, said, "I fucking knew it." way too close to his face as you stood on your tippy toes.

A grande - not venti, Joe wasn't insane - caffè americano.

You felt Joe's tensed arm, but saw his shoulders relax as he let out a breath he'd been holding in a laugh. Joe saw your phone. You were holding your phone. Had it ready. Out. You weren't working now, and had walked up to him with your phone ready and out.

You were a girl.

You'd walked up to him.

With your phone ready.

And out.

Of course.

"Do you want a picture?" Joe's arm moved, and it made you lessen your grip on him. You blinked in confusion for a second, but Joe's arm was quick to find your back and a large palm placed itself on one of your shoulder blades.

Joe was lining himself up for a selfie with you.

A misstep. A grand one that was going to make him stumble when he'd realise. Like he hadn’t seen the last step when walking down a long winding staircase, and it'd make him run, big steps, in a bid to save himself from letting his knees scrape the floor.

"Ew, gross," you muttered, grimaced as you stepped aside, back towards the glass door, bumping into yet another person as you recklessly weren't paying any attention to your surroundings.

"Boring, and gross," you said softly before you nodded at the two men staring at you.

Everything about this interaction had been confusing to you, let alone to Joe, let alone to Jamie. It held so much potential to have been a quick little fun chat, but it left you with a bad taste in your mouth.

"You better take him with you next time," you pointed at Jamie, made big eyes at Joe who looked at you like you were speaking a different language, arm still hovering in place where it had been on your back second ago. "Patrick."

And out you went.

You knew then that, if you hadn't scared him off entirely before all of that, you certainly had scared him off now. There wasn't going to be a next time. You just knew it.

These weren't new feelings. These feelings didn't fester, didn't take you in a chokehold. They were familiar pains that no longer felt sharp, were more of a dull ache instead, easy to shove aside, because you'd been shoving them aside since childhood. You were an expert now, and you knew to let yourself feel it for a minute, and then you'd carry on. Never dwelled too long, because, who did that help?

What a way to make you dislike him. Did Joe honestly think that you were just after a picture with him? You shuddered. Gross. So gross.

But Joe didn't understand.

Had he ever understood anything about his interactions with you? He thought he was starting to get it. Starting to be able to predict you a little bit. Recognise what type of songs you would dance a little too. He could be waiting for his coffee, hear a beat, and know if he'd look up, he'd see you bounce. And he'd be right, too. He could see a girl walk in with large earrings, and he'd just know that you were going to mention them. Compliment. And then you would, "Look at them hoops, girlie! What can I get you?"

And then, you'd walked up to him with your phone out and confirmed everything that had been whispered to him from the dark corner of his mind. A photo. Of course you wanted to get a photo with him. Because, why wouldn't you? Didn't they all want a photo? He thought he was starting to get it.

But then you said, ew gross, to his face after he offered - he offered - and Joe wished the floor would've opened up beneath him. He wished to fall into black nothingness. He could just exist in that void for eternity, no problem.

Joe cringed.

Outwardly.

Where everyone could see.

"What the fuck was that?" Jamie asked, but couldn't help his face-splitting grin.

"I... I don't..." Joe saw Jamie's face. "Oh, fuck off," Joe winced, able to awkwardly chuckle at himself outwardly, but inwardly, died a little.

Joe didn't come in the next day. You knew he wouldn't, and you'd only given yourself a second to think about him, be a little disappointed, aw, woe is me, before you forced yourself to get over it. Let it go. There were other people that needed serving, and they were fun to play with too. You could make it fun, like you had made it fun for so many days before Joe had stepped foot into the coffee shop.

But then the next day, you'd seen him outside, on the other side of the street. You saw him, and he was with Jamie, and they were walking towards the shop. You saw them, grey and black coats billowing behind them as they walked, looking down at their feet, Jamie talking, Joe listening. You used both hands to hastily push your hair back from your forehead, slapping yourself in the face as you did, then clasped onto your coworker and said, "Suck in your stomach, Joe's coming," and made him laugh.

They walked in, and Joe looked up at the menu whilst Jamie made direct eye contact immediately, raised eyebrows, friendly face, ready to politely greet.

"Please, get a stupid latte," No good mornings. No hellos. You pleaded, hands clasped in front of your chest, eyebrows knitted, eyes as questioningly cute as you could manage them.

Jamie laughed, shrugged, said, "Sure," and communicated with his whole body that this was bizarre, but he was absolutely going to go with it.

You clapped your hands together excitedly, bent at the knees as if you were going to jump, but then didn't, because you weren't six years old. If you had been? That's what you would've done.

"We've got a bunch to choose from," you gestured at the menu behind you, let Jamie's eyes roam and then looked at Joe.

"Hi," he smiled.

You'd called him gross and boring to his face, made him uncomfortable in a public place, and he had come back. Brought Jamie with him. Said hi. Smiled.

What an idiot.

"Oh, can I get the Maple Matcha Green Tea Latte?"

"Yes, perfect. So fun. Not at all boring."

You asked for his name, wrote down Johanna because you were an annoying bitch and had had a weird Sweeney Todd phase years ago, and then turned to Joe.

"A large Am-"

"Americano. God." you interrupted and finished for him, like you despised it. Squeezed your eyes shut like it was the worst news Joe could've possibly given you. It wasn't, but it was a bit you were committed to, and it was fun to play with Joe. "Yes. Of course," you rolled your eyes, asked for Joe's name - Tim, today - wrote down Joe and then didn't let him pay.

"This one's on the house."

Joe frowned. Was about to sputter some polite rejections to a free drink, but you held a hand up. Joe was going to get this coffee free of charge.

You switched places with your coworker. Standard practice now. You always made Joe's drinks. But today, you got to make Jamie's too. Maple Matcha Green Tea Latte. A latte. This meant you got to do latte art. Latte art for Jamie.

"Look," you said, letting Jamie see inside before you were going to place the lid on.

"That's..." Jamie let his jaw drop a little.

"It's a penis!" you said it so proudly, it left no room for anything but acceptance of what he was staring at.

"That's a penis." he confirmed, and you saw Joe close his eyes as he shook with silent laughter next to him.

You placed the lid on, smiled at Jamie and before handing it over, you shouted, "A penis maple matcha green tea latte for Johanna," as if Jamie wasn't stood right by the counter, making direct eye contact with you.

At the mention of Johanna, he raised a curious eyebrow.

"I feel you, Johanna," you sang, and it was enough to make Joe burst out into giggles. Jamie soon followed, side eyed his friend for laughing at him, and then took his drink from you.

"Thanks, I love it."

Joe came in the next day by himself. Jude. You wrote down Joe. Didn't let him pay.

The next morning he walked in too. Jacob. You wrote down Joe. Didn't let him pay.

This kept going for a while.

You kept making Joe large americano's and kept not letting him pay for a single one. It was a new way to make Joe blush. Make him smile bashfully. Make him say thank you through squinty eyes. And if Joe thought that you weren't going to get straight back into trying your best to see his ears turn bright red, he was wrong.

You would compliment his outfits, said they were horribly mismatched, which offended him a little, but then said that he'd look good in fucking anything.

You would try to make him sing again, several times, and you upped volume each time. Upped the ridiculousness of the songs each time. Played fucking Johanna once, just to see his grin.

And Joe kept coming in.

And you kept not letting him pay.

Your colleague had made a comment about it. You told him to not interfere. Mind his business. This was a game you and Joe played, and you were winning. You played games to win, and you were winning.

You were giving Joe free drinks and in return you got so much more. Soft giggles, blushing cheeks, red ears, clumsy fumbly fingers, slow scruff scratches, bashful smiles, shy eye fluttering, stuttered words and wild butterflies in your stomach.

Until one morning, Joe stepped inside and was greeted by two people behind the counter, neither of whom were you.

You weren't there.

The music was set to a sensible volume. The shop was busy, but quiet. Calm. Odd. Joe'd never seen the place like this. Total different vibes in there now.

"Hi," Joe said to your coworker, the one he recognised, when it was his turn.

"Large americano?" he asked Joe, blank faced. Looked a little... bored.

"Yes, please. Is um... is she not in, today?" Joe asked carefully, and fished for his wallet in his coat pocket.

"No, shift switch. Helped him out," your colleague nodded at the other guy behind him.

"Great," Joe said, "Because I've got about 47 coffees I still need to pay for. Ring me up."

Joe didn't mind you playing weird games with him, even if he didn't understand, but Joe could play too, and Joe played games not to lose.

---

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[elysianstars]

While we only see a few dragonstones in Engage, the differences between those which do appear are significant, I think, and there's some nice symbolism to dig into. And hey, it's been a whole five minutes since I last talked about Fell Dragons.

Alear's dragonstone, the one held by Veyle. It's chipped and battered-looking, almost broken, because that's the state Alear has been reduced to. Something that's seen far too many battles already (once the stone is in Veyle's care, it's kept wrapped in a cloth for safekeeping, so I'm fairly sure it was damaged before it came to her, not afterwards). A crimson teardrop shape, with the crest of Gradlon branded into it. With Veyle it's hidden, since Alear doesn't need to use it anymore; it's a private symbol of reassurance for her. It could also be dangerous if she let other people see it, and they recognised it was a mark of connection to a Fell Dragon. That's what killed her mother, after all. But she couldn't bring herself to part with it, despite that. Alear kept the gesture a secret from Sombron, who would definitely have disapproved, since Alear was just a tool to him, and why make a tool less useful?

Nel's dragonstone, the one held by Nil and then Rafal. It's pristine and unchipped, because although Nel is as much of a warrior as Alear, she handed her stone to a sibling much earlier. She's always tried to protect her brothers from the harshest battles, and its condition reflects that. It's also crimson, branded with Gradlon's crest, and shaped with one flat side to fit on Nil/Rafal's chest. Unlike Veyle, he keeps the stone on prominent display. Possibly for practicality's sake, so Nel can continue accessing it, but it's also a warning to the siblings or anyone else who might want to hurt him – mess with this one, and you'll have a powerful transformed dragon to answer to. It provides a different, less passive type of reassurance than Veyle's gifted stone, to fit their circumstances, but both times it was a gesture of love. Xenologue Sombron obviously knew what Nel did, and let her get away with it...but then later used it as a catalyst for his curse, to make her intentions backfire horribly.

Rafal's and Nel's post-Xenologue dragonstones, the fragments of the Great Fell stone. The standard versions are red, but others are black, white, blue or green – I'm not sure if that means anything, or if it's just a game mechanic so you can easily see what type a unit is equipped with. But it's interesting they don't have to be red, since you'd expect colours like blue and white to be restricted to Divine Dragons, wouldn't you? They're asymmetrical, and wrapped with golden wire. That could be to show they were broken from a larger piece (and reminding us the twins are 'two halves of a whole'), and/or the wire could be to demonstrate how the original evil of the stone is sealed. These stones don't appear to contain Gradlon's crest. Because when Nel and Rafal transform now, it's not to do Sombron's bidding or wage war on his behalf, but for a cause of their own choice.

Also. I wonder what idiot supplied Sombron with a new dragonstone after his revival (since it tracks that his original would have shattered, when Alear killed him first time around). Wonder if it was Hyacinth. Wouldn't that be ironic. If you hadn't given him that thing, it would've been a lot harder for him to DEVOUR YOU IN A SINGLE BITE. The king of playing stupid games and winning stupid prizes. ...But anyway I think it's a shame we never got to see Sombron's or Lumera's stones, it'd be interesting to compare them to the others.

[atarathegreat]

Present mic fic?

Of course! Present Mic is one of my favorites so I absolutely don't mind doing one for him!

I've also got a whole story that I had written for Present Mic, if that's something anyone is interested in?

Present Mic/Hizashi Yamada

Ridiculous, getting stood up by some over-the-top hero! Who did I think I was? I'm not some hot actress that could just pull any man she wanted, let alone some decent-looking lady that could get an equally decent-looking man. Hell, I was a disheveled office worker that just so happened to be the closest hostage to the villain trying to get...well shit what was he trying to get? Crunched numbers on the debt my boss was in? Maybe the papers I had stuffed in the back file cabinet that proved my boss was cheating on his wife? Fuck, maybe he wanted the numbers on how many clients have now been fucked over by the company.

God, I should've left that hellhole earlier. I wouldn't have ended up in the position to get stood up by the same damn hero that asked me out. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, after all, why would a hero want to go out with some stupid civilian? Idiot, I should've thought it through before actually showing up that day.

"Hey, this seat taken?" A nonchalant voice asked from above my head, a blonde standing with donuts and coffee in hand, "I know this ain't a coffee shop, but I figured you could use a cappuccino. You look rough." I scoffed but accepted the drink, I was proud but not proud enough, "Rough is putting it lightly, actually. I look like shit and haven't brushed my hair in weeks." The man laughed, taking the seat across from me and sliding a donut to me. It was a lame pickup line on his part, but he did secure a seat at my table, and that was enough to be dubbed successful. "So, can I ask why a roughed-up businesswoman is sitting all alone in the middle of a restaurant? Hopefully not getting stood up by some lame ass?" He chuckled, "Your date popped in a few minutes before you did, dipped with another woman." I laughed, seemingly catching the guy off guard in my mania, "And you know what? I'm not even shocked! I was held hostage for a few minutes and tossed across the whole floor, why could I handle that and not handle being stood up?"

Without realizing it I had started to cry. My boss was a shitty human and I'd been working there for years and then a villain breaks in wanting heavens knows what, I guess it really is the lightest straws that break the camel's back.

"Oh! I didn't mean to upset you, miss. I was actually hoping to get you out of here, maybe go see a movie to make up for it? My name's Hizashi Yamada," The man was a fast talker, genuine in his words but stupid in tongue, "I guess this is the worst timing but I just thought you were really beautiful and didn't see the harm in shooting my shot." His candy-apple eyes were huge with worry, amplified only by the eccentric way he was leaning over the table to offer me a napkin. I thanked him, saying maybe another time would be more appropriate, and swapped numbers with him. I barely had time to leave the restaurant when he texted, a simple "I hope tomorrow is better for you." that would've made me cry if I wasn't already. Hizashi smiled as I waved to him through the window, a darker-haired male rolling his eyes at him.

With the whole rest of the day at my disposal, I decided it was wisest to find another place of work. By midday, I'd put in three applications to two different coffee shops and a lower-ranking hero's agency. It was exciting, like moving to another country and restarting from nothing. Or, basically nothing since I was paid dirt and didn't even have a proper mattress, and trust me when I say that sleeping on an air mattress did horrible things to the spine. But my feet skipped all the way home, in the elevator, and up to my apartment door. I hadn't been that happy since I had actually moved countries and started with nothing, I even pulled out the oldest bottle of wine I had. My neighbor had gifted it to me when I moved in, I barely understood Japanese at that point and only grasped at "Welcome, neighbors here sweet, sleep easy." And it was still entirely possible I heard him wrong because, well, I'm incompetent and extremely non-fluent. My parents and siblings would often send letters, but I rarely replied to them, mostly because I didn't have the money to be able to send them overseas. It upset them, rightfully so, but they understood that things were hard enough without them getting angry and berating me for having a shit job with a shit boss.

I pulled up my phone and texted the number Hizashi gave me, telling him that whenever he was available I would be more than happy to go somewhere with him and gave him a brief rundown of what my day held. He congratulated me, giving me an address and a date along with the dress code. I chose to wear some high-waisted jeans and a frumpy tank top, meeting him at what turned out to be a public park. A small wooden stage had been set up, a band setting up while other people hung decorations, Hizashi holding up a little girl so she could tie a cardboard cut out from the string lights. It was cute. "Hey, there you are!" He noticed me, walking over with the little girl still on his shoulder, "If you want, you can help us finish decorating. One of my classes is playing a huge gig tonight and I thought they were perfect for you to see." I nodded, picking up a nearby box of streamers, dropping it just as quickly. Not only had it just clicked that he was a teacher, but the streamers also had the UA logo on them. He was a teacher at a prestigious school, a hero school. He was a hero! "Eri, could you go help the others while I see what she and I can do over here?" Hizashi set the girl down and returned to me, picking up the box I dropped. "You're a hero?" I whispered, not sure what to think. On the one hand, he wasn't the one who ditched me, but on the other hand, most heroes were assholes. Did I want to risk getting embarrassed again? Now at an overly crowded park where tens more people can see me crying.

"Just stay for a little while, if I don't pay enough attention to you then you can leave and I'll lose your number." Hizashi sighed, picking up the box. It was his eyes, the way they conveyed each and every emotion of his as overtly as he was tall, that made me sigh and follow him to the stage. We each nailed the border up, a single nail every two feet to have the perfect rounding as the string fell, looping small fairy lights around it right after. The students that made up the band were rushing around to get everyone in the right outfits, they were adorable kids.

"Up we go!" Hizashi lifted me up to the tree branch, "This is where that All Might cutout is going." I wrapped the thicker string around the bark before tying it securely, though Hizashi didn't let me down from his shoulders. He walked around with me perched around his neck as though I wasn't even there, occasionally handing my things that belonged higher up. All the decorations were put up by the time the sun began to set, and by that point a whole crowd had gathered and the band was ready to play. And they were perfect in every aspect, from guitar to the girl singing. I grabbed Hizashi's hand and pulled him to the side so we had room to dance, "This song reminds me of one I heard when I first moved here." My date smiled, his teeth shining just as brightly as he was, "So it's a good date, then?" I nodded, resting my head easily on his arm, "Probably the best date I've ever been on. Sure as hell beats being ditched for some other guy to pick up."