#look I managed a shortfic

[littlekatleaf]

Fly down into the endless mysteries

So, what happens when one goes on vacation and instead of checking out Greece ends up checking out the ceiling of the hotel because one is stuck down with The 'vid for the first time ever? One finally finishes the Sandman fic they've been working on for *ahem* ever. Dreamling, with a visit from Desire. @prismaluv - Better late than never? Maybe?

Suddenly the flower Has fire-colored eyes And one of the shadows vanishes. Clearly, now, the flower is a bird. It lifts its head, It lifts the hinges Of its snowy wings, Tossing a moment of light In every direction ~ Mary Oliver, “What is it?”

It’s near enough to last orders when the bell above the pub door rings that Hob almost calls out that they’re finished serving before he looks up and it’s only luck (of some sort, he can’t say good or bad) that stops him. Someone pauses just inside the door, a burning vision of scarlet and gold. Raindrops glitter in their hair and dapple the velvet of their jacket a deeper red and Hob swallows, struck silent. 

An almost-memory teases the edge of his thoughts like a word on the tip of his tongue. Familiarity, though he can’t place why. The sensation is hazy, indistinct, maybe dream rather than memory? A fever dream? For an instant his skin flushes hot. Restlessness burns along his muscles. Longing floods him - for the savor of his father’s venison stew, the curve of Eleanor’s breast under her nightdress, the sparkling notes of Robyn’s laugh, the warm weight of his mother’s arms around him when he was very, very young. Over it all like a watercolor wash a wordless aching to be needed. It clenches his stomach, tightens his chest, snagging the softest parts of him with barbed hooks. Has anyone, ever, honestly needed him, in his particularity? Not for position or role - husband, son, soldier - but his deepest, truest self? If you have to ask… the song on the jukebox echoes his thoughts.

They slide into an open spot at the bar, which seems to have freed up just for them, and give a smile that somehow feels sharp as a knife blade. It cuts; he’s not sure where, but pain slices through him. He resists the urge to retreat, reverts to script. “What’ll you be having?” 

They look at him and their eyes spark amber, feline. “What would you suggest, Robert Gadlen?” Their tone is rich, smooth caramel. He has the unsettling sense they know this isn’t his name. 

“I’d wager you’re one who appreciates the finer things.” His fingers itch to toss back a shot. Or to reach out and touch their cheek, see if their skin is as rosepetal soft as he imagines. Ghost fingers squeeze his heart; yearning shivers through him like the echo of a struck bell. He turns away, ostensibly to pluck a bottle from the line behind him. The Glenmorangie Signet isn’t a whiskey he offers to just anyone, but the liquid is the color of their eyes and tastes as spicy sweet as he imagines their lips would. He pours out a couple drams, striving to ground himself, to focus on the clicking of billiard balls, the murmur of conversation, the movement of breath in his lungs. 

Hob slides the drink across the bar; they reach for it; fingers brush. Feverflush blooms through him again. 

A smirk hovers at the edge of their lips. “Why don’t you join me?” They raise the glass and take a long, slow draught. Hob watches their throat move as they swallow and finds himself wanting to press his lips to the hollow. 

Instead he pours himself a healthy measure of a significantly less expensive whiskey and tosses it back before he can taste it. Even so, he coughs once on the burn. 

“Better?” 

The word implies question, but Hob hears the demand in it and his body responds, muscles going loose. A pleasant blur settles over his senses. He nods and refills the glass. He’s going to need all the help he can get. 

“You don’t want to sit?” Hob could have sworn someone had been beside them just a second ago, but the chair they indicate is empty. 

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. Warning prickles the hair at his nape.  Heedless, he slides into the seat. Sounds muffle and recede, a bubble of privacy encases them. The air is heavy with the sweet scent of summer peaches.

They tilt their head, take in the room at a glance. “You have built an inviting space, Robert. A place for the lonely to find companionship; a home for those who lack one.”

Their unexpected understanding startles a laugh from him. “It’s my aim,” he says, shrugging. 

“You strike me as someone who has seen and experienced much in your years. Doubtless you understand the importance of family.” Layers of meaning in the words and Hob is off kilter, certain he’s missing nuance. After six centuries of practice he usually has a better grasp of a person. 

“I recognized the need in my first year teaching uni. So many students couldn’t go home for hols…” Kids who couldn’t be themselves; kids who had been rejected for who they were, for who they loved. “I couldn’t be what they lost, but I could create a haven, of a sort.”

“Blood kin plunge their dagger in the most secret corner of our hearts.” Their eyes go distant, shadowed with sadness, but only for a moment and they smile again, bright as sun reflecting from glass shards. “Chosen family can be suture and balm,” they add.

Their fingers brush Hob’s, then trail over his inner wrist. A shiver runs through him and he could swear they also shudder, cheekbones and nose suddenly stained with a light flush. Even as Hob notices, they raise a finger and rub their nose once, twice, then sniff delicately.

“It’s what I hope to provide,” Hob says. Don’t stare, he admonishes himself, but can’t seem to look away. 

“Excuse me.” Their voice pitches up, breath catching. They turn, pulling a linen handkerchief from an inner pocket of their jacket, fold it over their nose and mouth and wait. Hob waits too. 

They breathe in, slow, deep, their shoulders hunch and “Ht’chff! T’chh! Hih-t’shhew!” 

“Bless you.” He hopes the words sound more normal than he feels. He’s fairly certain his face has gone redder than theirs. 

They flash a look of gratitude over their still raised handkerchief and hold up a finger, their eyes losing focus again and drifting closed. Hob forces himself to look away; take another drink.  

Then they hitch a sharp breath and his attention snaps back. Their brows crumple and they stifle two sneezes. A third and fourth follow near on top, escaping their hold with small sounds, and the fifth breaches their defenses completely. “Ht’chesshiew!” They shake their head slightly on the exhale. “Pardon me.” Despite the contrite words, their expression is sly, eyes alight with teasing. 

Hob waves away the apology. “No need; are you quite alright?” They don’t know… do they? How could they? He’s told no one in lifetimes. He’s had too much to drink on an empty stomach. Firelight and shadow are playing tricks on his eyes. He’s imagining things.

“I’m afraid I seem to have come down with a chill.” As if to prove their point, their voice rasps over their words and they muffle a cough in their shoulder. In the aftermath, they suddenly look delicate, vulnerable, in need of protection and Hob wishes, somewhat desperately, for a chill of his own to douse the fire that licks along his skin. 

Then, almost as a prayer answered, a hand comes down on his shoulder, cool and steadying. “I believe this establishment is closed.” Dream’s words are frost-rimed, crackling.

“Good evening to you as well, my brother.” The knifeblade smile is back; their eyes flame. “I could be offended you have not yet introduced me to your … companion.”  They tsk tongue against teeth. “After all of these years. Could you be ashamed of something?”

“No.” Dream offers nothing more, arms crossed over his chest, face still as a carving. Even so, Hob can feel the tension in him.

“Why don’t you join us?” The invitation spills from Hob before he considers the wisdom. He really needs to stop doing that with Endless siblings in pubs. He tries to recover with another drink and he can feel Dream’s coming refusal in the set of his jaw.

Before he speaks, though, his sibling cocks a brow and their teeth glint, putting him in mind of a shark. “Yes, why don’t you?” The challenge couldn’t be clearer if they’d dropped a gauntlet on the bar.

Dream slides a chair between them and sits, stiffly. “Why are you here?”

“Come now, can’t a sibling want to meet their dear brother’s paramour? To have a drink and a friendly chat?”

“Delirium? Maybe. Death? Regularly. Even Despair, occasionally. But not you, Desire.”

Hob holds his expression carefully neutral. Desire - well, that explained things then, if their realm followed the pattern of Dream and Death.

They lean back and away, take a sip of their whiskey, and as they cast their gaze down, dampness shines along their lashes. Sadness flickers in the corner of their quirked lips. “Perhaps not me,” they admit with a sniff. “Perhaps I just needed shelter from the storm.”  Lightning flashes through the windows behind them. Thunder cracks and rolls. They shiver and Hob only stops himself from offering his coat at the last moment. They won’t actually need it, will they? 

“You bring the storm with you,” Dream says, giving no quarter.

They cough a mirthless laugh, and it’s followed instantly by a heavy sneeze, belatedly caught in their handkerchief. “I do,” they agree, blowing their nose. “You are not the only one in the family who appreciates melodrama. And I know an appreciative audience when I see them.” They dip their head to Hob, toss back the last of their whiskey and stand. “Relax, brother mine. I merely wished to see who you find more compelling than one I created. And he is, indeed, delicious. When you exhaust his patience with your eternal melancholy, I do hope you’ll send him my way. In the meantime, maybe loosen the stranglehold you have on your reins.” They lean forward, abrupt as a striking snake and press a kiss to Dream’s cheek and they are gone, only the jangle of the bell as the door closes to mark their movement.

In their absence, the pub seems darker, somehow. Colder. The rain on the windows hisses and branches tap the panes. Hob  blinks. “I… didn’t know you have other siblings,” he says, rather bemusedly. It’s the first thing that comes to mind.

Dream, seemingly equally nonplussed by their unexpected departure, doesn’t reply. 

Hob takes up the empty glasses, Desire’s stained with candyapple lipstick. He resists the urge to run his finger through the gloss as he slides it into the dishwasher. He wants to ask about Desire, ask what they meant ‘the one I created.’ But before he can figure out how to phrase it, there’s an odd squelching sound. 

He looks up to find Dream hunched forward, shoulders practically to his ears as he pinches another sneeze firmly to near silence. “Bless you?” 

“Th-thank you… ht’Gnxxt!” Neither this one or the several that follow seem to offer any relief. Even in the brief pause between contained explosions, he stays hunched into himself, as though he could hide in the middle of the room. 

Hob’s torn between wanting to offer assistance somehow, and just wanting… He compromises, presses a tissue into the hand hovering lightly curled under Dream’s nose, which has gone an endearing pink, and lets his other hand linger on Dream’s back in comfort. Not to feel the muscles tense and relax as another set seizes him. “Httnxxt! N’xxt!  Hih-N’xxtch!”

“Bless…”

“Hih…ht’Issh! Issh! Hih-Isssh!” He gasps a breath, two, and dissolves again. “It’chh!  Ishh!  Issshuhh!” At first he’s careful to keep each fit relatively contained, but as the sneezes keep coming he is gradually overcome, eyes tearing, nose running, and the last couple burst free. “Huhusssh!  Ussshuh!” 

For a long moment, in the silence following the outburst, Hob can only stare at Dream as he blinks fuzzily in the aftermath, undone. “Are you…” He’s not sure how to end the sentence. Finished? Okay? 

“It seems my dear sibling has left me a parting gift,” Dream says, consonants blurred with congestion. 

“Gift?” Hob echoes and his voice cracks like a bloke hitting puberty, before realizing Dream is being sarcastic, of course he is. Why would anyone think that was a gift.

Dream wipes the moisture from his eyes, blows his nose, and studies Hob so closely he feels uncomfortably like an insect under glass. Slowly any lingering hint of embarrassment is replaced with a different flush. His eyes go black and starry and his voice, when he speaks is deep in the way that makes Hob’s knees weak. “Only you know the answer to that, Hob.”

Hob rubs the back of his neck and grins, a little rueful. “Well, if you’re ill, you’d better come to bed.”

[starlost97]

— forgiveness.

summary: After a fight, you decided that the best way to punish Arthur was simply not talking. He couldn't, however, take it any longer after seeing you in a silk red dress.

tags: silent treatment, not really fluff but not really angst, kind of sexual, he begs, Arthur is a simp, f!reader.

characters: Arthur Leclerc.

warnings: reader wears a dress, reader is referred to as "sweet girl".

a/n: the first shortfic to a series of formula 1 one shots! me and my friend did this thing where we write things of our favorite drivers to one another and I decided to post some (a lot) of them. hope u enjoy it! this one's prompt is "wearing a revealing dress while giving them the silent treatment". also, the next one will probably be either a Jenson Button one or a Max Verstappen one!

word count: 342.

requested?: yes! by a friend.

Arthur never regretted something more in his entire life.

Sure, right after raising his voice in his argument with you he already felt like the worst boyfriend ever. You two were discussing his crappy time management skills and since he was already stressed, he ended up telling you to shut up.

And he regretted that terribly.

He had given you apology letters, perfumed them with his cologne — which you once told him was one of your favorite scents — and left them on your nightstand. But that didn’t seem to help much — even though he caught you smiling to one of them one day.

He was already hopeless by day two. He didn’t even know what to do anymore.

But when he saw you with that silky red dress, it was inevitable.

His knees failed him — thank God they did —, and soon enough he was crawling to you, putting his hands on your thighs.

“Baby, please.” He shamelessly begged. He didn’t know how long he could endure this torture anymore. “I might actually go insane without hearing your voice, mon amour.”

His eyes got lost in the way the silk hugged your body. The soft cloth moved around your waist freely, cruelly reminding him of your smooth skin underneath it, making him desperate. Desperate for your body, for your touch, for your sweet whispers against his ear.

“You know I don't mind begging you, don’t you, sweet girl?” Arthur asked, looking up at you. He grabbed your hand, kissing your palm, then wrist, then arm. Slowly, he reached your ear. “I beg you to tell me what I have to do to earn your forgiveness. I’ll do anything, darling. Anything.” He whispers. His desperation was palpable enough for you to touch. “You have me entirely to you, and that means that I’ll do as you wish. So please, baby, tell me how I can show you how much I regret saying those things.”

In the end, Arthur showed how sorry he was.

And how thankful he felt to earn your so desperately desired forgiveness.

[tanobatcher]

snowfall

hevy x bartender fem reader

summary: you and hevy have been seeing each other, temporarily putting your relationship on pause when he passes his cadet training and gets sent to rishi outpost for his first assignment. after waiting on his promised return for months, you receive the news you had been dreading.

warnings: profanity, angst, major character death, and suggestive content

this was originally a shortfic on ao3 but it made me sad so i never finished it but i was suddenly overcome with a change of heart and some new ideas. my first tumblr post ever lol so pls be kind.

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Winter is the season of death. A martyr of sacrifice. Although Coruscant manipulates its weather all year round through an artificially engineered system that controls the city’s cycle of life, its citizens experience the cold just as naturally as they will anywhere else. They don’t have to worry about slipping on icy streets or shoveling snow outside of their apartments, though. These few months of frigid temperatures cause minimal damage, only intended to maintain balance across nature’s scale. And yet, this winter is particularly dull for you. Springtime can’t seem to come any sooner, but that isn’t what you are waiting for. It isn’t a new beginning that occupies your mind as time passes like a dragging blur—it is someone from your past who you aren’t sure will remain in your present. Or, even, your future.

“No word from him yet?”

Glancing up, you look at your manager from across the bar top and shake your head. He shrugs in response, clicking his tongue with a lack of sympathy that doesn’t surprise you. Despite running a clone bar in the heart of the city, he isn’t one to attach himself to anyone. Perhaps you can learn from that.

“I told you not to get involved with any customers,” he scolds disapprovingly, “This is war, darlin’. More often than not, these clones don’t come home. That’s why they make a fuck ton of them—”

“He’ll be back,” you interrupt firmly.

Your manager rolls his eyes and saunters away, but not before getting the last word in. “The sooner you’re available again, the better. I can’t deal with any more jealous boyfriend shit when you have a job to do.”

Rather than say anything in defense of your hopeless relationship, you bite your tongue and turn your head away from this conversation. 79’s is quiet at this hour, hardly bustling with the energy that usually starts picking up after sundown. The lack of distracting noise is the last thing you need, though, because the scrambled thoughts crossing your mind are more torturous than any physical blow you can imagine this war wreaks on its soldiers. One of them is the rookie you started dating during the last few months of his cadet training. What began as casual hookups in the backroom of the bar during your night shifts became a full-fledged, committed label when he caused a scene (supposedly) in your honor. You still remember this like it was yesterday.

“What the fuck was that?” You asked him once you cornered him in the backroom after your manager separated the ridiculous brawl that resulted in broken glasses and turned tables.

“He was all over you,” Hevy retorted while towering over you with a wildly untamed glower in his eyes, “You think I was just going to sit around and let that play out?”

You shook your head in disbelief and ignored every step he was taking to come closer to you. “I work here, Hevy. It’s my job to satisfy my customers.”

“Your customers, huh? You fuck all of them, then?”

The words stung more than they should have, but you held your ground and raised your chin to meet his scowl. He was so close that you could have closed the distance by stepping up on your tip-toes just a little. Instead, though, you stared at his annoyingly arrogant face to assess the damages he retained from the fight. They were impressively minuscule, especially compared to the random brother he saw “all over you” in a cozy booth far away from most of the action. A split lip and a bruised jaw were definitely more favorable than a broken nose.

“That’s none of your business,” you eventually replied even though Hevy was the only trooper you had ever taken things this far with.

He raised his eyebrows and took another step closer, prompting you to move back until he had you against the door you locked for privacy. Maybe that was a good call, seeing where this conversation was going. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you maintained the defiance in your eyes as he leaned in so your lips were brushing over each other. This was more anticipatory than teasing, especially because you knew he would give you what you wanted if you asked nicely.

“Don’t say that,” he murmured in a lethally soft tone that didn’t change the fact that he was such a hotheaded nightmare you couldn’t stop dreaming about.

“Why? It’s true…people come here for one thing,” you said without meaning to sound bitter about it, “You wanna know what that is? It’s escape. And my job is to make sure I show everyone a good time, or else, I’ll lose it.”

Sliding a hand across your jaw to grip the back of your neck, Hevy shook his head and replied, “You’re wrong. I come here for you.”

Your insides curled and coalesced with a heat that you pushed away to focus on the matter at hand. “No, stop. I thought we weren’t going to do any of that.”

“Any of what?”

“You know…acting sweet and stuff.”

“You decided that,” he reminded you, squeezing your neck gently, “I didn’t.”

“We’re not together,” you whispered while snaking your hands around his waist to pull him closer until he was completely pressed against you, “You can’t just act like a jealous boyfriend every time someone’s a little friendly with me.”

He dipped his head and nudged your nose with his. “But I wanna be your jealous boyfriend.”

The confession made your eyes go wide before they fluttered shut as soon as he closed the distance between your parted lips. Forgetting all about your previous irritation with him, you kissed him back and didn’t protest when he lifted you up by the back of your thighs for a better angle. It wasn’t the first time you had been in this kind of situation with him, but his embrace felt different as he squeezed your ass and ravished your mouth with an angry intensity that his fist fight didn’t rectify. The words etched in every kiss exchanged were loud and clear even though they weren’t spoken aloud: You were his. It didn’t matter if you had a job to do or not—at least, it didn’t matter to him. A warm possession consumed both of you as you sank into his hold and whimpered quietly, needing to take a breath.

“I’m not supposed to date our customers,” you told him when he pulled away and rested his forehead against yours.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he growled before saying, “And stop calling me your customer.”

You licked your lips, tasting some of the blood that had seeped through his wound in the middle of the kiss. He watched you through dark, heavy-lidded eyes and pressed his thumb into your bottom lip, swiping it back and forth so slowly that you felt deprived of something he hadn’t even started.

“You hear me?” He continued when you stayed silent, “Or is that a no?”

“Hevy, it’s complicated—”

“It’s not complicated. Do you want me or not?”

“I do…I like you,” you admitted despite your racing heart, “But there’s so many reasons why we shouldn’t go further.”

“Bullshit. Name one,” he challenged you with a determined glare, “And your stupid ass manager doesn’t count. He can go fuck himself.”

Pursing your lips, you hoped said manager didn’t hear any of this. Exhaling softly, you said, “It’s also just that you’re a soldier, and…you know.”

His stare hardened as he tightened his hands around your body. “You worried about me?”

“I mean,” you sighed and averted your eyes in embarrassment, “I know you’re not done with your training, but soon…what then?”

“Nothing will change for me,” he reassured you, not even thinking about the possibility of death, “I’ll always come back as long as you’re here.”

You wrinkled your nose and pushed at his shoulder a bit with a fist. “Stop being so corny.”

“Why?” He laughed and captured your mouth in a brief kiss, “Is it working on you?”

“No,” you lied against his lips and kissed him deeper while clutching at his back if it meant never having to let go.

He pulled away again, still unsatisfied with the direction of this conversation. Searching your expression, he said, “I’m serious. I can’t keep pretending that I don’t want more from you.”

“I thought you just wanted something casual.”

“So what?”

“So, you’re going back on your word?” You pointed out, “That’s not very like you.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind, I guess,” he shrugged, “It happens.”

“Not very often. You’re the most stubborn asshole I’ve ever met.”

“Sure, but you like me. You said it yourself.”

Unable to argue with this, you smiled and circled your arms around his neck. The conversation paused as you both looked at each other in silence and just felt every crevice where your bodies were folded together like a permanent attachment nobody could rip apart. If only that were the case, though. You were still worried that committing to this relationship would eventually hurt you, but there was no denying the direction your heart tugged. Drawing your arms inward again, you cupped his face with both hands and caressed the stubble that covered his unique tattoo. He leaned into your touch with a subtle smirk, staring at you almost pleadingly. Desperately.

“Okay, fine,” you agreed, “But you can’t do whatever you pulled out there ever again.”

“No promises.”

“Hevy, I’m serious—”

He rolled his eyes and cut you off with another kiss that you melted into. Nipping at your bottom lip with a tinge of punishment, he whispered, “So am I. You think this isn’t serious to me? I’ve been trying to find a way to ask you out for ages now.”

“Like…a date?” You questioned as your face heated up with a red blush.

“Yeah, a date. Or…whatever you want,” he said carefully.

“I’d like that,” you murmured.

His rigid posture relaxed a bit with his quiet exhale of relief. Smiling slightly, with the left side of his mouth tipped higher than the right, he kissed your forehead and let his lips linger on your skin for a moment. The gentle sensation sent a cascading wave of butterflies through your chest, only subsiding when the moment did as well. The door rattled against your back, paired with your manager’s aggressive barking that commanded you to get back to work if you were done “fucking that clone in there.” Noticing the familiarly dangerous glare that infiltrated Hevy’s eyes, you smoothed your hands across his chest and said, “It’s okay. Just leave it.”

“He’s fucking awful to you,” Hevy frowned, “You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” you agreed, “But I’d say he’s more awful to you guys. I don’t know why he runs this place when he doesn’t even respect troopers.”

“Money,” was all Hevy answered, his tone laced with disgust.

To him, there was nothing more honorable than the kind of service he and his brothers provided the Republic—the galaxy, for that matter. As a clone, he felt important and empowered. Not degraded, despite common opinion regarding his controversial identity.

“I guess you’re right,” you nodded and kissed him quickly before he set you down on your feet, “I’ll see you out there?”

“Alright,” he watched you turn around and snuck a glance at your ass before asking, “So, it’s a yes, right?”

Laughing, you looked at him over his shoulder while departing. “Yes, asshole.”

He only chuckled in response as you slid through the crowd, the deep sound reverberating through your body. Even as the memory dissipated, you could still hear it in your ear like a taunting reminder of what you feared you lost…

“Hey,” a trooper’s voice interrupts your thoughts and brings you back to the present, “You’re Hevy’s girl, right?”

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest at the mention of your boyfriend’s name. Focusing your attention on the source of this question, you realize two troopers are standing in front of you across the bar top. One sports a goatee and the number “5” tattooed near his temple, while the other’s face is completely bare. It’s his armor that harbors some sort of decoration with the dark blue handprint spanning across the white plastoid material.

“Yeah,” you answer nervously, “Can I get you anything?”

The pair exchanges a glance before the one who spoke before—the one with the tattoo—shakes his head to your surprise. A gnawing anticipation chews at your stomach as you perceive the distant heaviness in their eyes, only heightening the fear you hope hadn’t already come true.

“Is he here?” You blurt out, “Hevy, I mean.”

Silence. Your vision begins to blur as tears prick your eyes, already reacting to what hasn’t been said. These troopers don’t need to tell you anything—you already know the reason for their solemn visit. Everything, from the grief in their expressions to the stiffness in their shoulders, reveals the doubt you had but ignored out of your love.

“No,” you shake your head, “It’s not true. Tell me it’s not true.”

“He asked us to tell you—” the trooper with the handprint on his armor said grimly.

“Stop,” you interrupt, swiping your falling tears away with shaky fingers, “He’s not—He’s coming back! He said he would come back—”

“He’s not,” the tattooed trooper interrupted, “He wanted you to know that he’s sorry.”

You stare at him in disbelief, unable to control the floodgates of your emotions that were now pouring over after waiting so long for an answer. That’s it? He’s sorry? Of course, you know that he probably couldn’t say anything else, but you didn’t even want to think about the circumstances of this awful turn of events. The permanence of his absence hurts more than anything else—it hurts so much that you can’t even breathe. Your chest tightens and constricts from the inside out, crushing your soul with the knowledge that Hevy is gone forever. And there is nothing you can do to change this truth.

“Okay,” you say, your voice strangely level all of a sudden as your entire body goes numb, “Thank you for telling me.”

The troopers who delivered this message look at you sympathetically, to which you can only respond with a forced smile that acknowledges their pain as well. If they knew Hevy, they must be grieving, too. Your mind is blank as you push away from the bar top and sling your thin jacket over your shoulders despite your shift that still needs to be completed. Not caring about that at the moment, you find yourself outside 79’s where a fake flurry of snow immediately meets your tear-streaked face. It feels so cold. You long for a warmer day that will engulf your shaking body and ease your sinking heart with a whisper of what you just lost. Or, what never belonged to you in the first place.

Such is the cost of war, which you knew but chose to defy. And now, you realize the cost of this ignorance. This audacity. This bravery. All of which you can find in him and that smug attitude you miss so dearly. Even though you have been thinking about him for a while, ever since he told you he was leaving for Rishi, you could hold onto the hope that he would return. Not anymore, though. This comfort is now gone, replaced by a void that swallows you whole as you fall to your knees and brace your hands against the frigid ground dotted with more snowflakes than you can count. There are so many that catch in your skin, just like there is an infinite amount of people who can fill this emptiness in your heart. Except, that isn’t true. Your soul is already searching for what is long gone—not what can come to be. Because springtime doesn’t interest you anymore. You wish to stay in this desolate winter if it means remaining close to his memory, as close as you can possibly be. But it’s not close enough. It never will be.

“You know something?” He once asked you as you both lay awake in your bed with your bare skin pressed together.

“Hm?” You replied, sliding into his arms when they beckoned for your embrace.

“I’m gonna be an ARC trooper.”

You laughed at this, knowing he was still a cadet at the time. “You haven’t even finished your basic training.”

“I know,” he dismissed, “That’s besides the point. I’m gonna be the best fuckin’ ARC trooper the Republic’s ever seen. I’m pretty much already there—just needs to be official.”

Smiling up at him in admiration, you kissed him on the cheek and replied, “I believe it.”

“Yeah?” He grinned at you and shifted his body so that you were now under him, “You believe in me?”

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded with a serious expression, “The Republic is lucky to have you.”

“Aw, you flatter me. You’re not just saying this ‘cause you want another round, right?”

Staring up at him, you pretended not to notice how his hand slid between your legs to caress your inner thighs. “Of course, not. I really do think you’ll do a lot of good, Hevy.”

“Another round would be nice, though,” you added in a hushed whisper as you tugged him down for a kiss that he gladly reciprocated with an amused chuckle that warmed your heart.

A sob wracks your body as you realize you will never hear that laugh or feel the pressure of his kiss ever again. You will never humor his dreams that he deserved to achieve but couldn’t because of the heroics he just had to pull on Rishi. That was Hevy, though. A force to be reckoned with, so powerful that you often pause and wonder what kind of fuel ignites his distinctive fire. If anyone could have become an ARC trooper, it would have been him. It would have been him.

When you lift your head and stare up at the cloudy, gray sky, more snow whitens your cheeks with a biting intensity that makes you shiver. It falls on top of you, around you, and everywhere you can imagine. Because that’s what happens when you shoot too close to the stars—you fall. And you can only hope that someone or something catches you before the darkness consumes your being and seals your fate into a lingering whisper that nobody will remember.

[yandecifi]

Convenience ☻ Chapter One

☻ masterlist

☻ cw: violence

hawks/reader, omegaverse, dystopia, psychological, wip shortfic

Cold counters, weirdly loud fluorescent lights that flicker sometimes, shitty vapes and pens and sexy magazines. Your life in a sentence.

You’re flipping through one of the aforementioned magazines. It’s got betas (not that you can smell pictures, but what else would they be) in bikinis and swim trunks, all either packing or with huge boobs, but not packing too much or with too huge boobs. Not too small or too flat, either, just at that perfect middle ground of hugeness. Perfectly beta.

“Dayummm…”

Before you ask what you’re doing ogling these poor models, occasionally glancing between yourself and those really sexy models, and actually measuring some of them with your fingers to compare to the rest of those poor, poor models (really, you should stop) at your fucking workplace, well, you work the night shift. It’s two in the morning. For you, there’s an average of one customer per night and someone came in about two hours ago, so you consider yourself safe. Safe and bored.

“Oh, shit, a bunny costume!” You sit up in your chair, both the magazine and the grin on your face spread wide. “That is so hot!”

The door squawks. You nearly fall out of your chair.

When the front door, uh, ‘squawks’ as you call it, that means somebody’s entered the store. Your manager really hates bells, so she got this weird buzzer that sounds like an angry crow. Or maybe a parrot that smokes. Basically, the door squawks.

You toss the magazine. It doesn’t go far enough, though, so you get up and kick it, but it just slides up next to the backroom door. Whatever, good enough, whoever’s here is probably going to be high off their ass anyway. It’s not like they’re going to check out your behind-the-counter space.

The door slams shut. You jump and turn around, only, it’s just a guy awkwardly re-closing it, gently, quietly, like redoing it would erase the loudness somehow. When he spots you, he raises an apologetic hand. “My bad!”

“Uh, it’s fine.” You swear you hear him wheezing. “Happens all the time.”

You don’t usually watch your customers. Your manager actively advises against it, actually, since it’s fucking creepy. However, you can’t help but peer at him from your spot at the counter.

He’s wearing the baggiest hoodie you’ve ever seen, like, it is wearing him . Beneath that is what seems to be another hoodie, though not an XXXXXL considering he’s actually wearing the hood. He’s also got one of those paper medical masks on — two, actually — and sunglasses. His shoes and sweats look like he’s waded through a swamp to get here; the shoes are literally just covered entirely by mud while his sweats have streaks and splatters up to his thigh, along with a couple of leaves, and… tire marks? What? Can alligators drive?

He shuffles up to your counter around a minute later, huffing, very noticeably not okay. You fight the urge to ask him ‘what the fuck?’ as you start checking out his beer, six king-size snickers, ten bottles of water, and — and — that — how many boxes of condoms is that — you lose.

“Hey, man?” His head jerks back to you. He keeps glancing out of the windows. You think you’ve been hearing him grinding his teeth. “You good?”

“Yeah, uh — yeah.” He peels himself off of the counter. He’s been keeling over it since he came over. It looks like he wants some distance from you, now. “Actually, uh, what time is it?”

“2:30, I think.” You just continue scanning and bagging the boxes of condoms. According to the register, there are fifteen entire fucking boxes. You’ve gotten fairly good at crunching numbers since getting this job, so… twelve condoms per box…

Your hands shake as you ring everything up. One-hundred-and-eighty individual condoms. How the fu-

“ID?” Maybe he needs them for an art project. Art, art, think art. You watch as he glances at the three bags of condoms. Fuck, now you’re both thinking about condoms. “Uh, for the beer.”

“Oh.” He lets out a breathless laugh, fidgets. “I don’t have one — like, on me. Right now.” He reaches for the beer, then thinks better of it. Was he about to rob you? “Nevermind.”

“So, no beer?”

He nods.

You go to remove it from his bags, but something about his skittish, abused puppy stance makes you unable to. You drag a hand over your face. “You outta high school?”

“Uh, I’m twenty-two.”

“Alright, cool.” You raise your hands and back off from the bags. He doesn’t seem to get it until you nudge your little card reader toward him.

“Oh, no, you don’t gotta do that—“

“It’s fine, there’s no cameras.” You mentally slap yourself. “I mean, uh, there are, just my manager doesn’t check ‘em.”

“Oh.” He looks between the card reader and you. Then, with a sigh, he gives in and starts pulling out cash. “Thanks, kiddo.”

You snort. “I’m the same age as you.”

“Huh?” He looks up. His brows furrow from behind the sunglasses, blonde and scraggly, and he cocks his head. After a moment, he smiles, or you think he does since the masks shift upwards. “You telling me you aren’t twelve?”

It takes you a moment to register he’s joking with you. When you do, you let out a mock-offended gasp, then laugh. He joins in with a low chuckle. You won’t lie, even if this guy’s totally going through some kinda withdrawal, it’s nice to have some chill human interaction. That’s hard to come by for people like you.

He hands you the wad of cash and a couple of coins. His fingers brush yours, and you can feel warmth even with the gloves he’s got on. Er, actually, not warmth — heat. Extreme, burning heat. It’s like he’s stuck himself in a microwave. You nearly drop some of the coins.

He waits by the counter as you count and put the money away. Once you’re done, you hand him his four bags (with plenty of awkward maneuvering) and, well, that's the end of that. He should be on his way.

He doesn’t move. It’s like he’s missed his cue to leave.

Is he waiting for a receipt? You’ve been out of receipt paper since, like, yesterday, though. Your manager always orders just under what you need to run the shop to keep costs low, tryna make herself look good for corporate. Unsure what else to do, you cross your arms on the counter and give him a smile.

“Need anything else?”

“Uh.” He snaps out of it, kinda takes a weird step back only to move back to the counter. “Bathroom?”

Your smile wavers. You stand up.  “Sorry man, you gotta find somewhere else to get high.”

“Woah, no, no, no!” He shakes his head, waves his hands around as well as he can with the bags in them. “I’m not… that’s not what I’m doing.”

“Look, I’m sorry, but my manager checks the bathroom with that UV stuff. I’ll get fired.”

“No, no…” It’s like he’s struggling to turn his thoughts into words. “I swear I’m not. I just — I just need… a sec, okay? Please.”

This is getting a bit into ‘call the cops’ territory, not that you ever would. Tire marks and skittish behavior, okay, weird, but you can mind your own business. Now, he’s getting pushy, leaning into the counter. Without the masks, you’re sure you’d feel his breath on your face. You swallow.

“I, uh.” He starts sniffing you. You resist flinching away at that, instead opting to press a hand against your neck — against one of your scent glands. Vaseline sticks to your trembling fingers. The drugs you’ve been taking are expensive as fuck, your guy told you they were the good ones. They’ve gotten you this far so you believe him. 

And yet, this dude seems to be able to smell you.

“Hey, man, personal space.” You watch him remember himself and flinch away. The door to your side of the counter unlocks with a click as you undo the latch. “The bathroom’s in the back, okay?”

“Thank you so much. I swear I’m not doing drugs.”

And with that, he’s barging into the back of your store, the bathroom door slamming shut soon after. You narrow your eyes after him.

He smelled like… you smelled him and your chest hurt. You smelled him and your chest swelled with him. You feel warm.

Homeless people don’t usually have cologne.

You sit back down in your dingy spinny chair, blowing a breath. Everything about him makes sense, all of a sudden; just another night for you, but not for that poor thing.

Fuck. Mind your business.

So what if there’s another omega hiding in your store’s bathroom, clearly about to go into heat and with nowhere to hide? It’s his fault for not preparing, for being so obvious. It’s only a matter of time for someone as stupid as that, anyway.

You can’t get into the porn mag again so you just settle for sweeping. There isn’t really all that much to sweep. The mud he tracked in would have to be mopped up. You kind of just mindlessly poke at corners and brush dust into piles. The ceiling lights drone on. You stop sweeping and mop up the tracks instead.

Fast food was better than this. Harder, sure, but at least you could talk to people. Not that you can afford to do that, anymore. You rest your head on the handle of your mop. Guess that’s one of the reasons you’ve lasted so long.

You see it on the news, the compounds. A dozen or so omegas found and rounded up, sent to xyz compound, hip hip hooray! They always catch the packs. Omegas just can’t resist the need to socialize and that’s what, ultimately, gets them caught. Then there’s their alpha with a bag over their head and you don’t watch much TV anymore.

There’s a bang somewhere in the back.

Your head snaps up to the noise, alert, but the store is still. Maybe you’re hallucinating. The back door stares, reproachful. You set your mop against the wall.

The back is full of rows of boxes and employee uniforms. Your jacket and tote hang on the hooks by the exit. The tablet for manager shit and taking pictures when you’re really, really bored lays on a cluttered desk. It’s just that in the back, that and the bathroom. There’s shuffling.

You press an ear against the bathroom door.

He’s pacing. There’s mutters that join it. That scent from earlier seeps through the cracks. You twist the handle open.

You put your shirt over your nose as your eyes water, screwing shut. It fucking reeks. So, this is what heat looks like from the outside.

The guy is practically naked, standing in just his underwear, eyes wide and round and horrified as he sits in a corner. His bags lay haphazardly on the floor by his clothes. Bite marks adorn his right arm, a beer in hand. His neck is red with nail marks like he’s been scratching, scratching, trying to get the scent glands off. To get the proof off.

Well, you’ve never bitten your arm like that during your heats, but everyone’s different. Probably.

“Okay man, I’m gonna need you to put your clothes back on.” You try your best to soothe him with your voice, even allowing a small, awkward purr. He stutters and gawks at you as you lock the door behind you. “I know you don’t want to, but it helps. I promise.”

“This, uh, sorry, I am doing drugs, actually —”

You toss him one of the discarded hoodies off the floor. “I already know you’re going into heat and I have the drugs. You don’t gotta get sent to the compounds, so just shut up and listen.”

“What?”

He’s lost. His heat must be getting to him, you swear you can see his eyes starting to glaze, so you just start dressing him yourself. You pull the hoodie over him and run outside to your tote, shovel through your snacks and water and earbuds for the vaseline. You’re back in the bathroom in no time, fat tub in hand, the guy swearing under his breath as he packs his things together.

“Hey, man, chill.” You shuffle closer to him. Your purring quiets him, has him staring at you with a clenched jaw. He’s dripping with sweat. “We’re the same.”

You crouch next to him and put out your wrist. His eyes flicker from your wrist to your face, apparently putting two and two together; you know omega customs.

He takes your wrist in his hand gingerly, his fingers still burning to the touch and clammy. He sniffs, furrows his brow. You know the only thing he smells is vaseline, but whatever, he’s calming down.

He lets you inch closer.

“I’m just gonna put some vaseline on your glands, ‘kay?”

Hesitantly, he nods, but he’s right up next to you as you slather the vaseline against the glands on his neck. It should help with the smell enough until you can give him the drugs at your place. His breath fans against your cheek.

“Thank you,” he pants, quietly, his smile watery. “You aren’t afraid?”

Your face scrunches up. What, does he think his soft eyes or frightened demeanor is intimidating?

“Why would I be? It’s just a heat.”

“I’m — this isn’t heat?”

“What?”

His scent is heavy with musk, so much heavier with it than your own. You stare up at him and his eyes are speckled with gold. His teeth flash. He’s so much bigger than you, he’s filling up the room.

You drop the vaseline. “Oh, shit.”

His face drops. Then, he scrambles to his feet, placing himself between you and the door before you can even try. You stumble backward, hit the floor. You’ve never seen an alpha in person before. He isn’t as bulky as they’re supposed to be.

“Yeah, okay, so we’re both stupid,” he mutters, eyeing every twitch of your fingers. He leans down towards one of his bags, towards his sweatpants, and pulls out a gun.

Your mouth hangs open as he gets back to his feet and points it at you. Okay. Okay. He looks like he’s done this before.

“Hey, man.” Your voice shakes as you lift your hands. You look anywhere but the barrel. “I’m not gonna tell anybody. I’m an omega, okay? I get it.”

The alpha takes another step back until his back hits the metal bathroom door, finger still on the trigger. Sweat beads on his forehead.

“Sure as hell don’t smell like one.”

“Because of th-”

“Because of the drugs, yeah, yeah.” The air is thick with his pheromones. He’s the same dude as earlier, face twisted in pain and dressed only in his muddy hoodie, but the glare he fixes you with reveals somebody completely different. “Never heard of drugs that work that well.”

“I mean, yeah, it’s not supposed to be heard about.” You swallow. He narrows his eyes at your sass. It’s hard to think with his scent tying knots in your stomach. Think. Think. What do you say? The door just squawked.

What.

His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows. Both of you look towards the origin of the sound, listening. Somebody shouts from the front of the store.

The guy swears under his breath. Then, his attention’s back on you.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, moving from the door, gun on you all the while. “Go out there and act normal.”

And then you’re back at the counter, three cops frowning down at you, looking far too big for the shelves that line your store.

“Hey, how can I help you?” You smile your customer service smile, hope they chalk up the dread in your voice to the usual nerves people have around them. Thank God betas can’t smell for shit, the whole store is drenched in that scent now. Your nostrils flare.

The one in the middle is the biggest. He runs through an introduction of his name and the police department he works for too fast for you to really catch. He flashes his badge. His bulletproof vest makes him even bigger. He has a gun tucked away on his hip, they all do.

“Have you seen anybody strange or out of the ordinary tonight?” 

You can’t help but think of the alpha with the bag.

“I see weird people all the time, honestly. Y’know. Night shift.” You laugh a little, lean onto the counter with your elbows. “Sorry, I know that’s not much help.”

“It’s fine. We’re looking for a man in his early twenties, blonde, about a hundred n’ seventy centimeters. Should be wearing a dark blue shirt and jeans.” He has his thumbs tucked between his vest and chest, the rest of his fingers drumming against the vest. “Probably covered in mud.”

The other two scoff, cover their smile.

“Haven’t seen anybody like that.” You glance towards the mop leaning against the far wall. “Sorry.”

“Can we check your cameras?”

“Don’t have any.”

He looks up to the black dome in the corner of the ceiling. You do your best not to sigh.

“It’s a fake, sir. I can show you, if you like.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

So you fetch a ladder from the back and climb up there, pry the black plastic from the base that’s screwed into the ceiling tile. You show him the empty inside.

He shares a glance with his partners. “Call the emergency line immediately if you see him. Have a good night.”

They leave with a squawk. The store is silent except for the lights and the ruckus you make putting the ladder away.

This isn’t what you signed up for when you took this damn job. You didn’t sign up for being robbed at gunpoint twice, either, or at hammerpoint that one time, but shit happens. Still, you’ve got an alpha in rut in your store’s bathroom, had the first conversation with a cop you’ve ever had, and been threatened with a gun by said alpha all in the same shift.

You knock on the bathroom door. “They left, so don’t shoot me when I open the door, please.”

The guy is aiming the gun at you when you enter the bathroom anyway. You don’t blame him, you’d probably be doing the same, but being on the other end of it isn’t exactly pleasant. He’s got his sweats on now, his bags piled neatly in the corner, your tub of vaseline capped and set on the sink.

“I didn’t say anything about you. Seriously.” You shut the door softly behind you. “Getting involved with the cops isn’t in my interest, either.”

“Because you’re an omega?” He’s not looking too great. His face is flushed, forehead and cheeks especially. His voice is strained, body stiff, he’s a rope pulled taut.

“Yeah.”

“I thought all of them were in the compounds.”

“And I thought all of the alphas were dead.” You can’t help but scoff. “Or better at hiding it. Seriously, I’m sure there aren’t many omegas still in hiding, but the government isn’t all knowing.”

He laughs. Like actually, his eyes twinkle with it. “Okay. Thanks for enlightening me, omega.”

“Don’t call me that, jeez. Makes me gag.”

“What, never been in a pack before?” He jokes, gun finally lowering. You just cross your arms and look away.

“No, I haven’t.” Your nose wrinkles when you catch his dumb expression. “Can you leave? I’ve got a shift to finish.”

“You’ve been doing this alone?”

You just stare at him, brows knitted, feet shifting.

“How? You’ve got to know something the rest of us don’t — shit, you even have a job —“

“Just get out, man. You’re stinking the place up.”

He chews on his lip, opens his mouth to say something just to close it. He starts pacing in little circles. He picks at his hair. Then, he stops and starts talking again, gun waving in the air as he gestures at you.

“Your drugs are expensive, yeah?”

“…that’s not your busi—“

“I can get them to you for free.”

“What?”

“Yeah, just let me stay with you for, like, two weeks.”

“Uh, hell no.”

“Uh, hell yes!” His eyes bug out, blonde, frizzy strands of hair falling in front of his eyes, overgrown. “Listen, I can’t get them to you right now, we kinda got — well, that’s not important. What you need to know is I got you if you got me.”

The fluorescent light above you flickers, the AC drones on. You shake your head and rest your forehead in your hand.

Your guy has been upping the price every month. It won’t be long before you have to choose between rent and the drugs, and he knows you’ll always choose the latter.

“One week,” you mutter, raising your head and fixing him with a glare. “And you have to lock yourself in my closet.”

“Deal.” The alpha grins despite himself. “I’d shake your hand but they’re kinda sweaty — what’s your name?”

“We’re not getting friendly. This is just out of convenience.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” His canines flash. Your eyes catch on them. “Call me Keigo.”

[mikanotes]

— hanabi

arisu x gn!reader

genre: fluff bcos i’m being nice, implied soulmates, shortfic

warnings: canon divergence and mentions of death, hospitals, injuries, blood, underage drinking and alcohol.

synopsis: It’s New Years’. You take some time to think about your closest friend and how nice fireworks are.

author’s note: happy new year! thank you for all the kindness this year again. i hope you can continue to enjoy my works as i hopefully improve even more! thank you again. enjoy the fireworks as well as this fic featuring one of the characters that bring me most comfort! arisu ryohei. cheers c:

“How long has it been since you last saw fireworks?”

“Since that day.”

You looked up as the fireworks found by a group of hopeful teenagers set off and fired into the sky. They exploded into what felt like millions of colors from this up-close, floating above the hill you laid on. The grass was cold but the breeze was light.

It was New Years’, according to someone who’d managed to keep count. In the Borderlands, you didn’t think you’d ever celebrate that. But as old habits die hard, so do traditions. So when a group of high-schoolers giddily yell about having found nice alcohol and fireworks to celebrate, you can’t really do anything about how much their anticipation rubs off on you.

“I didn’t think I would feel this happy watching fireworks.” Arisu hummed in thought, before nodding to himself with a tight-lipped smile, “In here or ever, really.”

“Did you watch them before all of this? We didn’t talk much back in high school.”

“If Karube and Chota managed to pull me out of my room, then sometimes, yeah.” he said and cracked a bright, nostalgic smile. “Did you?”

“Maybe.” you sighed, smiling to yourself.

“So vague.” Arisu chuckled, “But really. This is kind of nice.”

You hummed in agreement. “It is. Surprisingly so.”

You heard cheering from further away and watched as the lights flew closer to the stars again. Arisu’s hand slowly moved over yours, and then clung onto it like it was the most important thing in the world. Truth was sometimes it did feel this way. Maybe you were the most important thing in each other’s worlds. Maybe you cared about one another more than you did anyone else. Maybe you would never admit it alive unless you’d fear one of you would die. But sometimes even while unsaid, some truths are spoken silently— Like in this case, through the touch of your hands holding each other.

You ignored the pain of the open wound under the bandages on your finger and Arisu did the same. Blood seeped through the white fabric and you knew you’d have to redo the whole bandage soon but in this moment not a part of you could worry or care about that. Maybe the comfort of holding each other’s hand was enough to numb the pain.

A new year didn’t mean much here. Maybe it didn’t mean much at all, even in the real world. But you made a wish to the stars for things to be okay this time around— For you two to be together, always. And Arisu silently hoped for you two to survive and somehow get out of this happy, and together.

Months since the meteors. And since the hospital.

You met Arisu Ryohei again.

You two were in the same class for a few years back in high school but hadn’t really talked much since. Somehow, seeing each other again while walking outside the hospital and realizing you’d both survived what seemed like the impossible brought you back together. And as of now, he was probably your closest friend.

As his closest friend, you decided it would be nice to spend New Year’s together to watch the fireworks or maybe fall asleep before it even reached midnight. Whatever it was, Arisu seemed to be on board. He liked coming over and staying with you, anyway.

The sun had long set and the stars were bright.

“Has it been a while since you saw fireworks?”

“Logically, yes. Somehow it doesn’t feel that long.”

Arisu hummed in agreement. “Same. Weird, huh?”

You laughed. “After everything? Honestly, not that much.”

Arisu chuckled and leaned back against the couch on your apartment balcony. It was a funny feeling to be thankful something as unbelievable as meteors crashing down on Tokyo and nearly killing you happened. It was a funny thing to love someone so much you’d be alright going through all the pain again if it meant meeting them again.

Arisu felt it too. Something way longer than the minute the doctors had told him about. Something like a lifetime of suffering spent alongside someone he held dear. Someone who helped him stay alive and not give up. Someone who sat at his side, watching fireworks in comforting silence. Someone he always felt close to without knowing why.

There was something both nostalgic and comforting about the fireworks. You couldn’t tell why exactly.

When Arisu’s hand timidly reached over to hold yours, you felt like it always belonged there, telling you all the things he didn’t dare say out loud.

I think I love you.

You tightened your hand around his and took a deep breath.

This is stupid but it feels like I’ve always known you.

Maybe the stars shining alongside the light of the fireworks had been kind enough to make the two of you meet again. Or perhaps the red scars that circled around your pinkies like rings were made with fate. Either way, you were meant to be.

[blucifer08]

cupping your face in their hands and them telling you, “you. you are the one i love.”

HI i'm gonna do the thing i've been talking about and try to write a shortfic here in the ask box just at random so that I get my writing juices flowing. this may not be perfect. who knows! thats the point

-----

"Azem." Naru speaks the name of a ghost that has been haunting her as of late. She has no image of the person associated, only faded memories passed only by word of mouth from the Emissary. Sometimes his recollections of the Traveler are stronger than others. One time he recalled long black hair. He mentioned remembering fire, but that was as specific as he managed to get.

He always remarks that he knows Naru is quite different from Azem. That he sees familiarity in some ways, but they are always small.

Naru sits on the ground with her back resting against the bark of a tree. Light filters in from the canopy above and catches her eye. She squints and adjusts her position so that the light might not reach her eye so easily.

Looking down at her hands, she wonders if they are at all similar to Azem's?

"Azem..." She repeats the Traveler's title again. The mystifying entity of whom she cannot know more.

"Azem?" Another voice speaks. Elidibus steps out from amongst the trees ahead of her as if he had always belonged there. Naru doesn't even jump when his voice cuts through her thoughts, so accustomed to his intrusions. "What has you calling out that name?"

Naru is reluctant to answer at first, and even after she's found the resolve, she still can't find the words. She stares down at her palms again until she hears his footsteps come even closer.

"I..." Naru starts to speak and her resolve nearly withers. Elidibus stops just in front of her and crouches down. He gently traps her chin between two clawed fingers to ensure she has no option but to look him in the face. More accurately, to look at the emotionless mask and thin line of a mouth right under it. With no expression, she still somehow understands. Tell me.

"I wonder if I do not make you as happy as Azem once did." She can do naught else but admit her feelings with him so close.

"Is that so?" He somehow manages to look inquisitive without moving a muscle. "You're well aware I can hardly remember a thing about them, you know."

"..Yea." Naru nods. "To me, you are everything. You are what completes my sky. The sun needs the moon, but but sometimes I can't help but feel that you have no real need of me. Is it Azem's love that you seek?" Naru raises a hand to her chest and bows her head slightly. "I am not Azem."

"I did not think that you were." He moves closer, transitioning himself from merely crouching to resting on his knees in front of her. He reaches forward and brings his hands to the sides of her face. He draws his thumbs over the rough black scales of her cheeks. The edges of his lips curl into a nearly unnoticeable heartfelt smile.

"You. You are the one that I love."

Elidibus often lies, Naru is not stupid enough to believe every word from his silver tongue. Her body remains tense, her mind in suspense while she mulls over whether or not his words are true. As a measure of his sincerity, he slowly retracts one hand to pull off his mask.

"I love you." He repeats the sentiment, his pale blue eyes dazzling in the speckles of sunlight coming down from the canopy.

[matrixdragon]

Final Fantasy XIV shortfic and shenanigans under the line.

Standing outside her front gate, Nadia West considered the sight before her, feeling a headache coming on. It was not an unfamiliar experience, she had to admit. On far, far too many occasions, she’d discover that her friends (A term she used very loosely at this moment) had done some sort of redecorating, often in a bizarre manner designed to draw a reaction from her.

This time however, the ‘surprise’ couldn’t even wait until she entered the house. The moment she’d teleported to the personal aetheryte point, she’d been greeted by new fences around her property. Fences made of chocolate, with icing running along the top, and ice cream cones serving as fence posts. And beyond that… Her house was made of Gingerbread, with more icing and candy canes to complete the look. She could even see what looked like giant strawberries on the roof.

“Alice,” she sighed at last. “It has to be her. This is entirely in line with her sense of humor.” Sighing again, she went through the front gates, passed around the fountain, and approached the front door, before pausing. To her surprise, the front door was unlocked, and slightly open, and after a moment she realized she could hear voices inside. Familiar voices.

Silently, she moved closer, peeking through the gap, before her eyes widened at the two unfamiliar yet familiar Viera women in rather tight fitting underclothes, both looking over themselves. “Well, you’re still taller,” the purple-haired Viera noted idly as she turned, admiring her reflection in the mirror. “Although the difference isn’t quite as extreme as it used to be.”

“Elezen and Viera are usually similar in size, unlike Miqo’te,” her friend said with a gentle laugh, brushing a strand of green hair back, only to be reminded of how her ears had moved. “And you were always tiny even by those standards.” Satisfied her hair was at least mostly under control, she turned her attention to adjusting clothes for how her proportions had shifted. “Which at least means my clothes will require only minor tailoring. Unlike you.”

Considering the way her blouse and shorts barely managed to contain her, the woman winced. “Yeah, that’s going to be expensive, even if I do most of the work myself.” Running a hand down her waist and over her hips, she raised an eyebrow. “Still, I think the Neo-Ishgard styling will suit me very well now…”

“What in the seven hells?!” Nadia finally managed, catching both womens attention. Opening the door the rest of the way, she stepped into the room and looked between the pair in disbelief. “What did you two do?!”

To her annoyance, the smaller Viera gave her a playful smile that proved it was definitely Alice. “Oh hi Nadia,” she said in a pseudo-innocent tone of voice. “Your house is gingerbread!”

Closing her eyes for a moment, the Hyur made herself take a deep breath. “Yes, I noticed that, thank you, and yes, we’ll get to that in a moment. But I was referring to the fact that both of you are now different species than you were yesterday.”

Alice shrugged, clearly enjoying the fact that Nadia’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the motion. “It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve done this,” she pointed out.

“Ah yes, your Au Ra ‘phase’,” Rivienne laughed.

“Just… why and how? Please?” Nadia begged, feeling the limits of her patience quickly approach.

Taking pity on their friend, Riv guided Nadia to a nearby chair. “The ‘how’ of it is with Fantasia potions, obviously. Nothing else can manage this so flawlessly. It turned out you had several in storage here. As for the why?” At that, the woman couldn’t help but shrug. “After everything we’ve been through lately, it seemed like a bit of harmless fun.”

Nadia stared at her for a moment, processing the fact that the two of them had drunk rare, body-reshaping potions solely for fun. “I think I’m most worried about the fact they were potions in my storeroom,” she said at last. “I don’t remember the last time I organized that. I’m not sure I ever did… There’s crap we salvaged from Tam-tara and Aurum Vale in there! And you just drank it?!”

Folding her arms under her breasts, Alice met the dumbfounded look with a slightly unimpressed one. “Besides the fact both of us have quite a bit of alchemical expertise, the storeroom is actually very well organized. It has to be, with how often I’ve redecorated around here. Did you seriously never notice?”

“The last time I paid serious attention to the storeroom, you’d left a coffin you salvaged off the Void Ark in there!” Nadia shot back. “There was a Namazu hiding in it!”

“...Okay, that’s a fair point,” Alice admitted, blushing, while Rivienne giggled.

Leaning back in her chair, Nadia took a moment to collect her thoughts. “So you turned yourselves into bunnies. Could be worse I suppose. Could be Lopporits."

"We couldn't handle that much fluff," Alice said.

"Also, even Alice would protest being that short," Riv added.

"Oi!"

Snickering at the pout on Alice's face, Nadia looked the pair over. “So, what’s it like?”

“Mostly it’s familiar,” Riv admitted, “although my ears feel odd.”

“It’s because they moved so far,” Alice noted. “Mine don’t feel that different, just longer and I’m oddly aware of it. For me, the issue is my sense of balance is off.” Nadia looked at her friends chest with a deadpan expression. “My tail is gone now!”

The green haired Viera giggled again. “That would count as well, I admit. You were always rather endowed for a Miqo’te, but it’s much more… obvious now.”

“Meany,” Alice said, sticking her tongue out at her friend. “Soooo… Want to join us on the bunny side Nadia? There’s more potions. Come, embrace the fluff…”

“I say this with full awareness of my reputation and track record as the Limsan of the group, but no, I’m not going to drink that.” Smirking, Nadia gestured at her legs. “I’ve put far too much work into perfecting and maintaining this to resort to alchemical assistance now.” Both of the Viera laughed at that, conceding the point. “Still, while I have you here Alice, GINGERBREAD?!” she growled, glaring up at her.

Unfortunately, Alice met the glare with complete unconcern, as was usually the case when she renovated her friends house without telling her. “It looks quite good, doesn’t it?”

Riv raised a hand. “I came up with the color scheme!” she announced.

“Of course you did…”

[writebyeve]

💖 What is your primary writing goal for this year?

• To complete my shortfic, to write many oneshots and to hopefully write another fic

🛳 Are there any new ships you want to write for? (Platonic, romantic, or anything in between.)

• For TutorYim and Netjames in Middleman's love/Bedfriend's love

🤔 Are there any new characters you want to write about?

• Besides the above, also about Dean from UWMA/Between us. Could be a one shot of him and Win or something

🥸 Does anyone in IRL know you write fanfic or original fiction? If not, do you plan on telling anyone this year?

• Yes, people do know

🥵 Any plans to write steamy or spicy content this year?

• Of course, in fact, I have many tropes I wanted to explore 👀

👻 Is there a new genre you'd like to write?

• Nothing specific but I have always admired people who write horror.. I could never do this genre justice

🐌 What is one of your smallest writing goals?

• Finishing that one final chapter of Love guide

🍄 Are there any fandoms you've never written for but want to try?

• Cutiepie

🌈 What research do you plan on doing for your writing?

• Odd/Weird ways to confess that are guaranteed to not work

✨What's one area of your writing that you think needs the least amount of improvement?

• Maybe writing angst? Somehow I feel most confident in writing it, instead of fluff/smut

🥕 What's one area of your writing that you think needs the most amount of improvement?

• Writing smut

🫘 Spill the beans. What's a new project you're doing this year?

• It's for St Valentine's Day and I hope people enjoy it

🥳 How are you going to celebrate when you achieve one of your writing goals?

• By finally taking some break and relaxing

🎃 Do you plan on writing any seasonal fics?

• For next halloween and christmas, yes

🐾 Do you plan on writing for any fests or competitions?

• There are rarely any for the fandoms I write for but if any show up, sure

✍️ Which stat matters most to you (if at all!): subscriptions, kudos/favorites, comments, bookmarks, word count, or hits?

• Each of those makes me very happy but comments really bring me the most joy

👾 Do you have any "bad" writing habits you want to break?

• Being stuck at a scene and now wanting to skip it and leave it for the future while I continue writing next scenes

💥Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

• That one St Valentine's work is what I'm most excited about. It's going to be really fluffy and funny (if I manage to write it the way I want) and so, I can't wait to start working on it)

🍕Will you be making any changes to your posting schedule (if you have one)? (Or do you want to establish a posting schedule?)

• Post oneshots once monthly and a new chapter of fic per week would be nice

🛏 Is there a new trope you'd like to write this year?

• Exes to lovers

🎉 How are you going to be kind to yourself if you don't meet your goals?

• I'll try to look at the amount of effort and hard work I've put in this year despite the unaccomplished goals

💌 Are you willing to take requests or prompts for writing?

• Yes!! I believe it would be fun

Writer Goal Ask List for a New Year 🎉

These writer asks are always so fun to both ask and answer. Fanfic or original fiction writers, reblog away! These are asks based in new goals for a new year.

💖 What is your primary writing goal for this year?

🛳 Are there any new ships you want to write for? (Platonic, romantic, or anything in between.)

🤔 Are there any new characters you want to write about?

🥸 Does anyone in IRL know you write fanfic or original fiction? If not, do you plan on telling anyone this year?

🥵 Any plans to write steamy or spicy content this year?

👻 Is there a new genre you'd like to write?

🦄 Is there a new POV you'd like to try writing?

🐌 What is one of your smallest writing goals?

🦖 Are there any fandoms you wrote for in the past that you'd like to return to?

🍄 Are there any fandoms you've never written for but want to try?

🌈 What research do you plan on doing for your writing?

✨What's one area of your writing that you think needs the least amount of improvement?

🥕 What's one area of your writing that you think needs the most amount of improvement?

🫘 Spill the beans. What's a new project you're doing this year?

🥳 How are you going to celebrate when you achieve one of your writing goals?

🎃 Do you plan on writing any seasonal fics?

🐾 Do you plan on writing for any fests or competitions?

✍️ Which stat matters most to you (if at all!): subscriptions, kudos/favorites, comments, bookmarks, word count, or hits?

👾 Do you have any "bad" writing habits you want to break?

🤖 Are you looking to change your current writing setup? (Or establish one, if you don't have one?)

🦷 Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're dreading to write (but is necessary to your plot)? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

💥Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

🍕Will you be making any changes to your posting schedule (if you have one)? (Or do you want to establish a posting schedule?)

🛏 Is there a new trope you'd like to write this year?

🪩 Do you have any "good" writing habits you want to cultivate?

🎉 How are you going to be kind to yourself if you don't meet your goals?

💌 Are you willing to take requests or prompts for writing?

[primofate]

Hi there, can I request the boys seeing you got injured or being attacked, whichever is fine ^^

Hey anon! You didn’t specify how injured but I’ll just run with it hahaha :)

Shortfic

Scenario: You got injured Part 1

Part 2 with Zhongli

Part 3 with Xiao

Characters: gn! reader x Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo, Childe

Warnings: angst, injury, no character death though

Masterlist

https://primofate.tumblr.com/post/653296890583154688/masterlist-for-mobile-version-main-links

Taglist (Want to be notified when something new comes out? Sign up!):

https://forms.gle/VZmJXQssHcv7YzQc6

If you’d like to be extra sweet and donate, here’s my kofi link: 

https://ko-fi.com/primofate

Diluc

“Master Diluc, if I could just interrupt--” one of the caretakers in the winery walked up to his office and prepared for the assault of words that could be fired towards him, sure enough, Diluc interrupted. “What is it? I’m a little busy right now, make it quick,” he hadn’t turned his face to look at the grim expression weaving in and out through the caretaker. Hadn’t bothered to look up to check if there was anything amiss, but the caretaker continued quickly “It’s Y/N,” the caretaker had only paused for a moment but Diluc had already picked his head up at the mention of your name. It was here that he realises something must have gone wrong, the caretaker’s expression was not a pleasant one. He was up on his feet, eyes widening a fraction at the following words, “They came back to the mansion seconds ago and they’ve been injured past what Adelinde could fix so we called for a doctor—”

In Diluc’s hurry he had stumbled over his chair, it tripping behind him with a thud on the floor but he ignored it and fast runs towards your room. Dear Archons he should NOT have let you go on that commission by yourself. You could hold your own, yes, but things happened and he really should have thought that through first. He was berating himself for it as he swung the door open. “Y/N?!” 

The urgency in his voice tells you that he perhaps had the wrong idea of what was happening, it was really just a gash on your leg, although it was bleeding profusely, the cut must have been deeper than you thought. The maid had already placed a tourniquet to stop and slow the bleeding. You tried not to show it in your face, not wanting to alarm your lover any further, but it. hurt. like. hell. “Diluc, I’m fine, it’s just a gash,” 

The maid that was previously sitting on the chair next to your bed moves away, Diluc replacing her, his eyes didn’t tear away from the wound on your leg, his expression contorted to that of worry and nervousness, before finally turning to your face, reaching a hand out to cradle your cheek. “Stop lying. You’re pale, you’re sweating--” of course he sees through you, he knows the second you get upset, knows every crease on your forehead and every slight furrow of the brow. He had memorized every inch of his beautiful, beautiful treasure. “Your hands are trembling, you’ve lost too much blood, where’s the doctor?!” He grips your hand at the realization that you might actually be in a more dire situation than presented, and just on cue the doctor comes through the door, asking for some time alone with you to do his job. 

Diluc paces outside the door, unable to stay in one place for long. He kept thinking about how frail you looked. How, if you were unlucky, it wouldn’t have just been your leg. He shook his head at the thought. He didn’t know how he was going to let you out of his sight from then on. He knew full well it would annoy you to have him following you around everywhere but.... How could he not after this?

The doctor emerged half an hour later and explained that you just needed a bit of rest and that, with a little healing magic, you didn’t need the stitches at all. “Don’t let them use that leg for a day and they should be fine, it’s nothing life-threatening but they did lose a lot of blood and is going to need time to recuperate. They’re asleep at the moment,” 

Diluc takes note of everything and quietly slips into your room. They must have sedated you in the process and he sighs as he plops down on the chair that was still placed next to your bed. His eyes soften at the sight of you finally relaxed and less in pain, hand reaching out to brush off strands of stray hair that blocked his view of your face. “You’re the only one who can scare me this much,” he mutters under his breath, as if complaining and he swears that he sees a very small and light grin on your face, as if teasing him. He smiles a little, just happy that you’re stabilized and leans in to kiss your forehead, opting to stay by your side till you wake up.

----------

Kaeya

“What do you mean unconscious?”

“J-Just as we said, Captain. They were unconscious when we found them,” Kaeya sighs in slight exasperation. Normally he was a jolly camper but when the knight in front of him is unable to say how injured you are, Kaeya gets a little wordy. “I meant to say why were they unconscious? Were they hurt? Where are they now?”

Kaeya stands. He was in the middle of some Favonius paper work. “They were bleeding profusely from the head,” Kaeya stops as if lightning has struck him and stares pointedly at the knight. “These details should be said early on,” he thought that it had just been something less threatening. Perhaps you had somehow passed out, exhausted, on your bedroom floor. Or perhaps had just rolled from the bed and onto the floor. They said that they found you in the bedroom, and his blood froze when he realizes that someone went in there to attack you.

Kaeya doesn’t bother talking the other knight into giving better reports next time, he’d do that later. He could guess that you were probably taken into the Favonius infirmary. Sure enough, when he walks in there, face scrunched up into what could only be described as worry and anger mingling together, you were awake, head bandaged up and your eyes meet. His heart breaks at how you still smile at him despite the fact that he wasn’t there to protect you. He stands next to the infirmary bed and gingerly touches your cheek, peering into your eyes. “Y/N, what happened?” he asks, eyes scanning the bandages wrapped around you. “Who did this?” and there was that angry and cold undertone in his voice that you rarely heard, as if his cryo vision had taken over his whole being.

“I’m sorry, Kaeya, I-- I can’t quite remember,” You put a hand up to cover half of your eye, your head was still throbbing and in quick realization Kaeya eases up on you and gently pushes you on your back to rest. “It’s fine, sorry, I just--” he cuts his own speech off and takes a deep breath in. Focus on the good. He tells himself. “I’m glad you’re alright, take it easy, I’ll take care of things,” By that he means he might just slaughter whoever even had the guts to break into your house and attack you in the middle of the day. The break-in was reported by townspeople, and Kaeya was sure as hell he’d get every witness to describe that asshole’s face. 

“You’re staying with me for the moment,” he decides quite quickly, and you had no qualms with that whatsoever. Hearing that you had no protest at all, he grins and leans down to capture your lips in a soft kiss, afraid to hurt you. “No complaints? Perhaps this was your grand scheme all along to come live with me,” You can’t help but chuckle at how quick he bounces back. “Maybe, honey. Maybe,”

----------

Albedo

“Ow--” the knife clatters to the floor, as blood starts to pool around your finger. Albedo spins around at the meek sound you make, ignoring the knife on the floor and strides over to you just as you’ve turned on the sink and started running water on the small cut on your finger.

“Let me see,” You turn to him, blinking. His face was blank. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking but he was staring straight at you. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s just a small cut,” but he doesn’t waver and glances at the water running over your finger. “Let me see,” he tries again, this time rather forceful. That got you to obey. Turning the faucet off and awkwardly offering your hand to him.

He receives it and cradles it in his as if it was porcelain, upturning your hand to look at the small cut on your pointer finger. It was tiny. Really nothing compared to wounds that a knight might sustain. Albedo sighs and looks up at you, “Don’t go anywhere,” before stalking off, coming back a few seconds later with a first aid kit. “...Al, it’s alright, it’s not a big deal,” Albedo would only let one person give him a nickname. You. No one else. Frankly he thought the nickname was weird but if it danced on your lips, he didn’t mind it at all.

“Y/N, you’re mistaken if you think I’m going to take this lightly,” he takes out some ointment and a small roll of bandage, starting with the ointment. “Everything and anything that hurts you is a significant thing,” his gaze darkens, as if glowering at that microscopic cut. “Miniscule or massive, it doesn’t make a difference to me,” he starts wrapping your finger, “if it taints your skin, I cannot help but feel--” he doesn’t know the right word, but you do, judging from how his hold on your wrist tightens. 

A soft smile paints your features at how he was such a worry-wart. Sometimes he was so bad at navigating his own feelings but you could decipher them anyway, from his actions. You let him worry over you, and thank him once he’s done. He finishes his work by taking your hand, and pressing it to his lips, his eyes darting up to lock on yours. That made you blush every damn time. His green eyes were just so mesmerizing, and so was his heart.

----------

Childe

Dear mother of the Archons, perhaps whoever was responsible for your injuries had some type of death wish. Everyone should offer prayers for whoever had cut you up. Your arms and legs were littered with small scratches from trying to run away from the attackers, you thought going through the thick forest was a good idea. In essence, it had slowed the thieves down. They had managed to throw a fire bomb at you that severely burned your right hand, and the right side of your abdomen. 

Perhaps it was thanks to adrenaline running through you that you had actually managed to make it to the gates of Liyue, just before the bridge, but you’d crumpled down right then and there. The Millelith guards didn’t recognize you, but the three Fatui agents walking on the bridge did. “Someone had better tell him,” The group of Fatuis scrambled nearer to you, one of them picking you up, but glancing at the other who had just spoken up. “I’m not doing that, you do it,” it was slightly comical, seeing them pass off the duty of who was supposed to report to Childe about it. “You know how he gets when it comes to them, I’m not doing--” then one of them finally gets their bearings together.

“Shut up, get them to the healer first,” The tallest one shoves the one carrying you, urging him to go fast and off he went. Now it was just two Fatui agents looking at each other. Two Fatui agents who decided that they would just face his wrath together. “Sir,” one of them starts as Childe turns around to look at them. He actually had no tasks today and was just about to go off to find you. “About Y/N...” Childe’s eyebrows shoot up, what in the world could these agents have to say about you? “We’ve sent them to the healers, they collapsed at the entrance of Liyue, it... doesn’t look good...”

All hell descends upon Childe’s demeanor and poise. His face darkens, his eyes burning holes through the two agents and his fists closed up on his side. His bow appears and hovers behind him, the only thing that shone through his dark person. “The two of you--” he starts, “are going to find out who did it. I’m expecting a report by nightfall,”

Childe himself shows up at the healers quarters, and was told of your condition. “Their hand is going to scar,” keeps reverberating in his head. Like the sound that he imagines the skulls of those who dared touch you crunching under his feet, over and over again. Childe actually winces when he sees you. Small bandages on your arms and legs from the scratches, your right hand wrapped up adequately and, he couldn’t see it now, but he was sure your abdomen was wrapped too.

You cracked an eye open, feeling another presence in the room. Childe immediately appears next to you, leaning over the bed and watching your expression. “...It hurts, doesn’t it?” he asks, tracing over your bandaged hand. You remained quiet for a moment before nodding your head slowly. Just remembering it caused a blinding pain in your mind’s eye. You’d been given drugs to ease the pain now, but there were still traces of it lingering on your skin. “How dare they,” both your eyes snapped open at Childe’s nearly contorted voice, shadowed and overpowered by rage. 

You pick up your good hand and touch his arm with the tips of your fingers. You didn’t like it when he got like this. “Childe, it’s alright,” far from it, but it was the only reassurance you could offer. He catches your hand and brings it up to his face, pressing your hand to his cheek as if it was a lifeline. “It’s not. It’s not,” he repeats to himself, his anger also stemming from the fact that he wasn’t there to protect you. “They’ll regret even laying eyes on you,” You knew he wanted to go now, knew that he wanted to get to the bottom of it, but you yet again pull your hand away to grasp at his shirt, the fabric scrunching up under your hold. “...But stay with me for tonight? Please?” 

That got him. He would never say no. His form relaxes and he leans in to kiss your lips, gentle yet with a hidden hunger in them. “Of course,” he simply says, as if his previous agenda forgotten.

But he would never forget. He would never forget for as long as he could see that scar. 

Tomorrow, he would decimate each and every one of them.

[rebornologist]

HEHEHE LOVE YOUR WORKS SO MUCH! MY NIGHT TIME DESTRESSING TIME ;))) may i get uhhhhhh a scenario with xanxus & your favorite khr character(s) (1 or more ur choice bby) where the s/o finally calls them the nickname they've been rehearsing in their head. Like they just haven't found the right timing to use the nickname but is dying to use it so they just randomly say it and giggle or something. -YOUR NUMBER ONE FAN FROM DAY 1 XOXOXO also GOOD LUCK ON UR FINALS if you see this before u take them

Hi dear! I passed all my finals thanks to you <3 this is hilarious bc I literally can't think of a single other character to write this prompt for, so I'll sit on the part two. BUT I just penned the most whipped Xanxus I could manage lmaaooo I make myself laugh

♡ Giving Xanxus a silly nickname ✧

xanxus/gn!reader, shortfic/scenario count: 595 words warnings: established relationship, fluff, reader is generally antsy, may be ooc xan orz

༚✧⁺˳₊˚‿︵‿︵‿୨୧ · ˳ · ♡ · ˳ · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿˚₊˳⁺✧༚

Okay sooo… his emo boy raccoon tail accessory, and his obsession with trash..? You get brave and decide to come up with a silly little nickname for him. Buckle up, [y/n].

You shift nervously in your seat, once, twice… and again under the guise of getting comfortable. Unfortunately for you, your anxiety was palpable to your significant other. You eye the mafioso next to you, his dark lashes fanned over tan skin. He looks almost peaceful like this, if not for the arch of his thick brows and downturned lips. Luckily, he didn’t take your nerves to be anything pressing. You wondered if he would be mad (it’s not like he could never be mad at you, but never for something so silly, right?). You mulled over how you would say it. What if he ignores you? Would you just say it again, but louder? Oh, even the mere thought of having to repeat yourself made you cringe. ‘Raccoon.. coontail..’ you repeated in your head, and then your follow-up explanation, ‘because you’re wearing that stupid little fur tail thingy! I don’t mean it in a bad way!’ Yeah, you’ll probably make it out unscathed. Probably.

Why were you with this guy, again?

“H-hey—”

“Ah..?” His reply grunt escapes his throat before you even begin. He had been waiting for you to speak up. He wanted to know what on earth could possibly be bothering you this time. That stops you dead in your tracks for a moment, but you press on.

“…hey Raccoon.” You stifle a snort, scanning his face for a response. There was the slightest furrow in his brows. So faint, you swear it might have been his default expression before you even said anything. He crosses his arms, shifting slightly. Not a peep from him. You don’t know what you expected. Was he in a good mood today or something? Is he about to kill you in one strike?

A few moments pass. The awkward silence was making you lose it, your gaze never leaving his slightly annoyed (so, default) features.

“All that for.. this?” He stirs, opening one eye, and you immediately divert your gaze. Oh hell.

“U-um, well… you’re like..” you falter, the entire preplanned retort just fizzles from your mind. You whip your head around when you hear the chair scoot from under the man, looking back in his direction.

His gaze is unreadable as large hands find their way under your chin, smoothly but firmly tilting your head up. He towers over your seated position.

“You gonna finish your explanation..?” He squints, dark ruby eyes scan over your panicked features, mouth drawn downwards in disgust.

Oh goodness, can you even?

[e/c] eyes meet deep scarlet ones. This isn’t your first rodeo, and you have a feeling that he’s not upset at all, surprisingly… unless that was blind hope on your end.

“You’re.. the fur thing… you’re like my little trash panda,” your eyes sweep from his unamused face to the fur accessory and back up, a playful grin just clawing its way onto your face. The same face that was keeping you out of trouble, right now..

He scoffs, looking even more disgusted. You could swear he rolled his eyes, likely deciding that this wasn’t even worth being pissed about. Releasing your chin, he straightens and his eyes scan the room. He places his hand on your head for a moment, then pulls away before you can even react, leaving your hair slightly mussed. The tall man clicks his tongue, and starts to walk away.

“Hey, where are you—?”

“Don’t call me that ever again in front of anyone else, trash,” he grumbles just under his breath, “are we going to see that stupid fucking movie or what?”

after that, y'all go watch everything everywhere all at once and you cry a ton and that's the only thing that wakes him up bc he's literally not at all invested in the film and then afterwards u call him Raccooncouie DUHH enjoy ur mans xx G

[littlekatleaf]

Roll here in my ashes anyway

Needed a little soft, holiday story for the Junkerboys. It's almost Christmas, I must be feeling melancholy.

I wouldn’t know where to start Sweet music playing in the dark Be still, my foolish heart Don’t ruin this on me. ~ Hozier, Almost Sweet Music

Junkrat leans closer to the paper, rubs his eyes, but the tiny print refuses to come into focus. Damn chicken-scratch writing, hand can never keep up with his thoughts. Roadie’s voice echoes in his memory, “Gonna need glasses before you’re thirty if you keep squinting like that.” Bloke’s got a point, as always. He sighs and sits back, giving in to his aching body. When he looks up reason everything’s gone vague and blurry is abruptly clear - light’s changed. Fat clouds’d been lining the horizon now blanket the sky, winter sun too anemic to dent them. 

He glances back down at the launcher, still in pieces, screws and metal bits scattered over the workbench. Not as far as he’d like to be - Chrissie’s coming on soon. Gotta have Roadie’s prezzie ready. It’s close, but detonation speed needs tweaking - don’t want anyone else losing a limb. He scribbles down a last thought then rolls it all up, plans and gun together, and shoves them in the very back of his desk, behind old comics and skin mags, shit Roadie’d not be caught dead reading. He straightens, stretches, spine pops. Stomach rumbling too. How long’s he been at this anyway? Hungry enough likely missed lunch. Maybe dinner too?

As he crosses the threshold between work room and shared living space, he notices a tray on the coffee table. Coffee gone stone cold, same with the eggs and toast. He sticks a forkful in his mouth anyway. Can’t let it go to waste. Breakfast food. Apparently worked all night. Explains a good portion of the headache throbbing in his skull, the leaden ache of his joints getting in on the complaints. Less so the congestion and vague sense he’s gonna need to sneeze. Rubs his nose. Ignores it.

“Oi, Roadie,” he calls. No answer. He frowns. Hog hadn’t mentioned anything, had he? Wouldn’t go on a mission without him. Wouldn’t go hang with Hana or Lúcio, sick as he’s been. Might’ve been trying to downplay it, pass it off as a lingering cold, but Rat noticed. Felt the fever heat at night, heard the crackle in his lungs when he coughed, the edge of a wheeze in his deeper breaths. Bloke’d been sick for a while and didn’t seem to be improving.

Lack of caffeine’s making his thoughts feel slow, his head full of sludge. Must be why he can’t seem to figure where Roadhog might have gone. He’s still trying to puzzle it when there’s a mechanical click and the door whirs and slides open, revealing Roadie, looking somewhat abashed, with Mercy right behind in Avenging Angel mode. Sheila might be a good couple meters shorter than the Hog, and several stone lighter, but way she looks right now, Rat reckons she can take both of them, not even break a sweat, and is more than ready to do so.

“As Mr. Rutledge seems to be incapable of following the simplest of instructions, I appeal to your better judgment, Jamison.” Her tone is clipped, precise. She steers Roadie into the room with a firm hand on his shoulder.

Rat steps back, out of her way, and grins. “Breaking out the surname and suggesting I have anything approximating good judgment? What the bloody hell’d he do?”

“I explicitly told him to return to his quarters to rest. Under no circumstances was he to exert himself in any way until he completes his treatment. Not even ten minutes later, where do I find him?”

Junkrat shrugs. “Not here.” 

“Indeed not. He was outdoors. Working in the garden. With neither jacket nor hat.”

Junkrat shakes his head at Roadhog, struggling not to laugh. Least it’s someone else getting the dressing down for a change. “How very dare you.”

“Just taking care of a couple of things,” Hog protests. “Not a big deal.”

“This is not a joke.” Mercy directs a glare at Junkrat before turning back to Roadhog. She sighs, deeply. “I am not coddling you or some such foolishness,” she says. “I’m trying to save you from yourself. While the infection is relatively mild at the moment, if you don’t take care it will worsen. I would not have you risk the lung function you still have, Mako.”

Roadie ducks his head, rubs the back of his neck, looking for all the world like a child being chastised. “Yes, ma’am,” he says.

“Take all of the antibiotics. Use the inhaler.” She shoves them into his hand and pivots to leave. “And don’t call me ma’am,” she adds, over her shoulder. “Doctor, if you must.” The door whirs open and closed behind her.

Junkrat blows out a breath. “Ain’t like no doctor I ever met.” Not like he’s met many; ‘doctors’ in Junkertown more like glorified butchers, but still.  He raises a brow at Roadhog. “Sheila’s got a point. You look like shit. The fuck you doing out there? Gonna snow any minute and I can feel the fever radiating off you from here.”

“Don’t start with me, Rat,” Roadhog grumbles. “I’m fine. Just need to put the last of the garden to bed before the weather shifts. Been meaning to take care of it for days. Thought I’d be better by now.” He tosses the bottle of meds toward the coffee table and misses. It hits the floor with a rattle. 

Junkrat moves to pick it up but is stopped by Roadhog’s glare. He holds up his hands in mock surrender and backs off. Knows better than to push straight on when he’s like this. Situation needs a little more… subtlety.

Roadhog leans down to retrieve the bottle, and immediately lapses into a fit of jagged coughing.  It drags on, impressively long until finally dwindling away, stealing most of his voice with it. “Fucking hell,” he rasps, breathless. Least it’s enough that he takes a hit from the inhaler without Rat needing to say anything. Probably better he doesn’t. Bloke’s emanating as much pissed off energy as fever.

Instead Junkrat drops a bag of Lúcio’s medicinal tea into a Pachimari shaped mug and fills it at the instant hot tap. He adds a dollop of honey, enough to soothe Roadie’s throat, but woefully small to Rat’s own eyes. Somehow Hoggie lacks a reasonable appreciation for the sweeter things in life. The rising steam smells of cinnamon and clove, comforting as Lù himself. 

Roadhog’s retreated to the couch, resignation clear in the set of his shoulders. He’s taken off his boots. “Ta,” he says, voice glass on gravel, when Rat holds out the peace offering. Makes Rat’s own throat ache to hear. “Doc’s right. I was acting like a bloody idiot. Garden’s gonna be what it is. Not the end of the world.”

“Already been through that once.” Junkrat floats the admittedly sad attempt at a joke. Testing. Predictably no response. Junkrat frowns, then nods. “Ain’t a lotta people smarter than the doc.”

“Just wish I’d gotten the roses wrapped.” Aims the words into his mug and Rat barely catches them. Roadie picks up a novel and disappears behind it. Over his shoulder the trees bend and creak in the wind. A few leaves that had been clinging to the branches tug free and scatter. Above it all the clouds hang, milk white and heavy with snow.

A shiver wants to creep down Junkrat’s spine but he manages to suppress it. Hoggie’s roses ain’t just any flower. Ain’t replaceable. Little bit of home, here in this place that isn’t theirs. Nothing for it; Rat knows what he has to do.

The wind cuts straight through his jacket before the door even slides closed behind him. He grits his teeth against the chattering, squares his shoulders and heads into the garden. Watched Roadie enough times, shouldn’t have a problem. Starts with the roses. Makes sure they’re trimmed and wrapped proper. Gonna keep the roses safe. The memories safe. He’s sniffling before he gets the first one finished, nose threatening to run. Guess he knows what Jack Frost nipping at your nose feels like. Least raking warms him enough that he opens the jacket even as the first flakes of snow drift down. 

By the time he’s done, everything set and settled down to the last twig, the world’s gone dim and silent with snowfall. It’s a lonely peaceful feel, the gathering dark, the swirling flakes, the way the air is sharp but the world is blurred. He sniffs, sleeves his nose, but makes no move to go inside. 

“There you are. Been wondering where you’d got to,” Roadie says.

Junkrat startles. “Gonna kill Hanzo for givin’ you the ninja lessons.”

This time Roadhog huffs the particular laugh means he’s torn between amusement and not wanting to encourage Rat. 

Junkrat wraps his arms around himself and sleeves his nose. Still itching, but knows if he starts sneezing Roadie’ll make him go inside and he’s not ready yet. Luckily Roadhog’s smart enough to have put on more appropriate winter gear. “See ya ain’t risking Mercy’s wrath.”

Feels Roadie smile behind the mask. “Nah. Once is more than enough.” He pauses and the snow drifts down, dusting their shoulders. “Thank you for this, Jamie.” Roughness of his voice now got nothing to do with being sick. 

Junkrat looks up at him, puzzled. “Well ‘course, mate. Couldn’t exactly let them die, could I?” 

“You could.” Roadhog says, still facing the garden. “Did a good job, Rat.” He puts an arm around Junkrat. 

Rat leans into the warmth, then curls forward with a harsh sneeze, hastily muffled in his scarf. Another follows, and a third. “Shit. Jig’s up.”

This time Roadie actually laughs. “Bless you. Better get back inside before Mercy hears you sneezing.”

Later, even in a pair of Roadie’s pjs and wrapped in several of their blankets, Junkrat still shivers. “F-fuckin’ freezin’. Ain’t never gonna be warm again. Barely more’n a corpse. Heat of life already left my bones…” Plays up the whinge, because he can, and muffles a round of sneezing in the blankets.

Roadhog reaches over, palms his forehead, but gently. “Definitely has not. And don’t be disgusting.” He tosses a box of tissues at Junkrat who can’t free his hands quick enough to catch it. It bounces off his chest.

“This the way you show your appreciation? Some caretaker you are.” Tugs free a handful just in time to catch another, in triplicate. “Fucking hell.”

“Nah. This is the way I show my appreciation.” Hog shifts so Rat can lean against him and begins to knead the tension from his shoulders. Rat sighs as the aching fades, the shivering stills. Feels himself begin to thaw, to drift. As he slides into sleep, he catches the scent of roses, the heat of the sun warming him through. Not the wan halfhearted thing here, but the encompassing burn of Australian summer. Maybe someday they’d go home. Least they had a piece, even if it slept in the winter dark.

[postwarlevi]

Star Seeker

Content: shortfic, meteor shower with friends, and Captain Levi. Mainly fluff of course. Possible spoilers?

Song choice link: Dreamy song that might help set the mood.

-----

"Thanks Connie!" You say as you catch the blanket he tossed your way. Everyone was gathering outside on the lawn a short time before the meteor shower was supposed to start.

"Hey!" Jean came over with pillows as you laid out the blanket.

"You mind if I hang with Mikasa tonight? She's looking a little low." Jean said of their friend.

"Of course." You saw she was not far from you, blanket laid out, sitting by herself.

"Hey, brats." Captain Levi greeted, chair in hand. Armin had convinced him into coming out with all his talk about what the sky would look like.

"Hey Captain!" Jean smiled, happy to see him.

"Where ya sitting?" You ask.

"Over there, I guess." He nodded to a patch not as occupied.

"By yourself?"

Levi shrugged. Why not?

"Well, I'm going to keep Mikasa company, so, why don't you ditch the chair, stay here and get your boots dirty with us." Jean suggested to Levi as he wandered off.

Jean did however leave you the fluffed up pillows.

"It's okay, you don't have to." You say, knowing that wasn't his thing.

"No, it's fine. It might actually be better than this dumb chair." He said, going to leave it for someone else.

You got comfy laying on your back, knees up. Levi came back and got into the same position opposite you, heads just inches apart.

"Thanks Captain." You say, waiting to start seeing something in the sky.

"Couldn't have you being by yourself now."

"What, like you?" You joke about the chair.

"That's different." You are usually pretty sociable.

While there's chatter coming from around you, it's still quiet enough that you hear Levi sigh.

"Anything wrong?" You ask, turning to him.

"Just miss them, is all." He's still looking straight up.

"Me too. But hey, I bet you sixty shooting stars that they're all with us, right now." You heard Armin say that more than seventy would be visible.

Levi actually gave a small smile. "Bet you're right."

A few gasps from around you made you look back up, the first signs of some action.

The sight soon leaves you breathless, too many meteors to keep track of.

"You see that one?" Your hand suddenly reaches up and point to one that looks almost purple. "It's so pretty!"

"Yeah." You hear Levi say, and then you feel his hand slowly sliding up your arm until his fingers meet yours.

You're no longer wide-eyed just because of the scene and barely glance towards Levi, who is still looking up.

He's thankful for the darkness that helps hide how nervous this small move made him.

His palm rests against yours, letting you decide what to do next.

After getting over the surprise and realizing that maybe you both want the same thing, you let your fingers interlock with his.

They soon wind up back near your heads as you continue to watch the stars.

There starts to be less movement in the sky, and the night will be ending soon.

"That was nice." Levi says when it's over. All of it, he meant.

"Yeah." Is now all you can manage. Turning to look at him, you find he's already looking at you.

Your hands are still linked, and he thinks about reaching out to you with his other.

"Hey! What the hell!?" He's suddenly sitting up, hand dropped yours.

"Just do it, Captain." Connie says, pillow in hand that he just bravely whacked Levi with. He and Armin are sitting up next to you.

"Seriously, don't be such a coward." You're now turning to also find Mikasa and Jean staring at you.

"Do what?" Levi asks, annoyed.

"Kiss her!" Armin calls him out.

"Don't let my hard work go to waste." Jean includes. He was originally going to stay with you, until the group hatched this tiny plan.

You didn't know that Jean and the others had been rooting for you both for a while now.

Levi looks back down at you, unsure. How could those dumb jerks know?

You don't want Levi to do anything he doesn't want, but you REALLY want him to.

"Is it okay?" He should just do it, but wants to be respectful.

You nod, very happy. "Please do."

Levi smiles and moves to lean over you, hands on each side of your head.

Then, in this upside down position, he manages to kiss your chin.

You're giggling, the group is laughing, and he's rolling his eyes, feeling a little sheepish.

"Shut up." He mumbles after pulling back. He'd give the other four extra duty tomorrow, but knows they helped bring this about, and lets them off the hook this time. They then give you two some space.

You find it endearing that your first kiss is actually not perfect, as it feels more real this way.

"Try again, Spider-Man." You coax him, hands meeting his cheeks to help guide him.

This time, he doesn't miss.

[lilolilyr]

Opening lines tag meme

Tagged by @startrekgeorgiouery (still can't @ your main @aleksandrachaev adsfg), thanks so much! <3 without even looking at mine I already bet yours have way more variety than my sentences bc you have some short ones and I tend to use monster sentences only? XD we'll see!

Taking fic prompts, btw! Especially for shortfics I can write rn, stuck on trains all day again so I need sth to do xD

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories. (If you have less  than 20, just list them all!) See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Tag some people to play the next round!

Okay here goes

Lilolilyrae on Ao3

1. "Is this, um, Management Systems 101, right?" Andy asks, slightly breathless, as she stumbles into the seminar room on the third floor of her University.

2. Philippa laughs in delight when the shuttle makes a sharp turn.

3. Adrenaline is still running through Andy's body when she lets the stranger -- Celeste, the girl's name is Celeste, and Andromache has always thought that knowing a name and a face makes someone less of a stranger already -- stitch up her injury.

4. Madeleine giggles as she turns around, her eyes following the line of fairy lights Sam has helped Emily stick to the edge of the ceiling earlier that day.

5. Myka looks harried when she gets out of the train in London, wondering not for the first time how Helena can be so cheerful after travelling for three days already when she still feels the jetlag from when they first arrived in Europe and absolutely despised having to sit on a train all day to get to the British Isles.

(ok these are from my (posted) abandoned drafts pile, idk whether to count them or not... And I took the first actual fic-text-like sentences instead of the actual first ones as some start out with summaries or hc ideas

Andy falling for Miranda, seeing through her facade...

Phryne being loud and colourful and maybe dancing with Jack or singing or both is what attracts Mac, she's glad to see a familiar face because she already figured out the date from a newspaper and is Seriously Freaking The Fuck Out and not much has the power to freak out Elizabeth MacMillan.

Hermione was always somewhat fascinated with the Slytherins at school - Hogwarts, a History, was still one of the first books on magic she ever read, telling her about the different houses and associated personality traits.

I'll just put 3 more sentences total to get to the 20)

6. "Looks like I was not the only one who needed to get away from all that... Merriment." Jack Robinson steps onto the balcony where Doctor Elizabeth 'Mac' MacMillan is already leaning against the railing, smoking a cigarette.

7. I'm sitting in the sand, sketchbook open on my knees.

8. I'm standing by the window, staring at the pouring rain.

9. Jane Rizzoli has her eyes fixed to the screen of her partner Maura Isles's small universe signature scanner.

10. Miranda wakes feeling well rested and content.

11. Squinting down at the papers in front of her, Florence tries to focus enough to read them, but it's no use, everything turns blurred and painful again after a moment.

12. Helena is pacing between the kitchen and living room of the B&B.

13. "Good girl," Quỳnh husks into the kiss when Andromache melts against her, letting go of all tension as she lets Quỳnh dominate her, pressing her into the ground.

14. Madeleine stands in her new room in the library, staring at the walls.

15. Anna May is sitting on her living room couch, idly TV channel-surfing, but nothing quite catches her attention.

16. They were swaying together in the darkness of the late evening in Bogotá, the dancefloor only illuminated by the fairy lights hanging from the trees.

17. Madeleine notices quickly where her hand is because Florence has hair there, never shaves it

18. In the olden days on earth, soulmates used to be a thing of fairy tales, of myths – some believed in them, some even said they had found them.

19. "What, Andromache, have you gone slow in your old age?" Quynh laughs as she jumps into the circle they have designated as their fighting arena – no mat or other cushioning, just a line drawn in the dirt by the toe of Andy's boot.

20. Bernie curses under her breath when she almost slips on the frozen sidewalk, steadying herself at the last second on a lamppost.

& Bonus bc there wasn't any GOmens fic in here yet: 21. "Wha' is this?!" Crowley quickly hits the pause button and hisses at the TV screen in something between shock, dismay and admiration.

Alright to analyse: I have a lot more short opening sentences that I expected! (Tho still not half as short as some of yours, Kat xD & some monster sentences made it in as well), and I seem to have just two or three modus operandi for starting fic

- x is doing y, while z happens

- *dialogue* x says while doing y, (while z happens)

- *description of past event*

I wrote for way, Way more different ships than I thought I would in just about two dozen fics and fic ideas?

- We've got a lot of Floreleine of course, fluff, h/c and smut and some Florence character study ficlets, also librarywives ot3 but I think no other Gunpowder Milkshake ships

- several Andromaquynh and one Andy/Celeste for The Old Guard, though I think I only really got back into writing for that fandom through gift exchanges and now the big bangs (which aren't finished yet, but when I'm writing for the fandom already oneshot inspiration tends to find me)

-Mirandy (and I'm sure some of the opening sentences it's hard to tell whether it's Andrea-Andy or Andromache-Andy from TOG^

- Milippa my beloved! Just Prime though, I think? My fav Milippa so that checks out... No wait, one's polymilippa MxPxP, ot3s rule always <3

- another ot3: MacPhrack (idk whether they already have a shipname, couldn't find any, looks like I'm the only one seriously shipping Elizabeth MacMillan/Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson from Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries anyway)

- I did not expect there to be not one but Two Bering & Wells (Myka/Helena from Warehouse 13) fics in here, it's one of these fandoms I read way more for than I write

- 1 each for Cissamione, Berena, Rizzoli&Isles (and ineffable spouses)

Great tag meme, was fun having a look at this :D

Tagging, if you want to do it, @yelowjackets @cryhardanddanceharder @habrenwrites @guardianrock @bobbseynumber3 @squishmittenficfan @kaorimaxwell-blog @girlgoneangsty @ba-lailah @thefallenmutineer @i-lovefandom @petrichoraflora @purlturtle @salzundhonig @aeternumregina @onaperduamedee @tea-lizard @cookie-sheet-toboggan @daisydoctor13 @batnbreakfast @songbookff @verbumproxen @xvnot15 @lonely-night @andunetir @les-begay-together @accio-baqat @poemsingreenink and any of my other writer mutuals/friends who actually scrolled this far xDxD

For this one I don't mind if you reblog my post as it's kind of fic recs, but if you do the tagging meme, pls make your own post, don't create a giant reblog chain!

[silverynight]

Hello, can you make a story, shortfic or oneshoot or whatever, where when rengoku fought with akaza, tanjiro also tried to help him. when akaza attacked rengoku, tanjiro protected him so that he himself was seriously injured. The sun then appeared and Akaza retreated. tanjiro was dying, but his will to stay alive with the others managed to save him

The scene before them is heartbreaking to watch: the flame hashira is running his fingers through dark red hair and the kakushi notice he has a demon slayer in his arms.

The boy is bleeding, he doesn't look good, the injury on his stomach is open, although the Pillar holding him gently is applying pressure to the wound. Another boy is crying while he hugs a wooden box in his arms, then someone with a boar head falls to his knees.

"Tanjirou!" The blond sobs uncontrollably. "Why did you jumped in the middle of that fight? You knew that demon with those tattoos was stronger than you!"

A fiery eye glances in his direction; the kakushi notice that the Pillar is in no much better condition, there's blood all over the left side of his face and by the way his eyelid is closed they know he won't be able to use that eye ever again.

He makes a gesture to shut the blond boy up and the other immediately presses his lips together in a tight line.

"Tanjirou, focus on your breathing technique," the flame hashira says softly as the kakushi rush towards them, trying not to get distracted by the destroyed train on the ground.

There must've been a horrible battle.

"Rengoku-san..." The boy can barely speak, but tries to do as he's told.

When the two kakushi manage to kneel next to them, they notice the way the Pillar tenses like he's ready to kill anyone who approaches the demon slayer in his arms. When he realizes who they are, what they do, he relaxes, just a little bit.

The girl tries to bow in front of him, but Rengoku looks a little bit irritated for a moment.

"No time for formalities, just save him," it's barely a whisper, which is even more alarming because the kakushi know that Pillar, he's loud and full of energy and the fact that his voice sounds almost like a whisper at the moment is not a good sign.

As they start cleaning the boy's wound, they notice that the Pillar is doing his best to appear calm, but there's something in his eye, like a shadow, something almost painful to look at.

His heart is aching for the boy in his arms.

When they finish patching him up and they're about to take him with them, Rengoku tenses so the kakushi boy freezes for a moment; the Pillars are terrifying in his opinion and the flame hashira is no exception.

"He'll... survive, but we need to take him to the butterfly m-mansion," the kakushi girl stammers, trying not to tremble.

"I know," Rengoku nods; he looks like he doesn't want to let the boy go... ever.

"But... S-Sir, you're hurt... We can carry him for you, you shouldn't–"

The Pillar shakes his head; there's a determined glimmer in his eye, shining like fire.

"I can do it." He says, but it means I'm not going give him to you, I'll carry him from now on. I'm not going to leave him again.

They see him get up with the boy named Tanjirou in his arms; his expression softens in such a way, the kakushi girl is sure she and her fellow kakushi are prying on a very intimate moment... Or at least it feels like it.

"Rengoku-san? Where are we going?"

"We'll pay a visit to Shinobu again," the Pillar says again, softly, almost like he's afraid of breaking the demon slayer.

"But your eye–"

"Don't worry about it, my boy," the flame hashira smiles, nuzzling Tanjirou's head.

***

The next time the kakushi see them, Tanjirou looks a lot better, he's standing on his feet inside the butterfly mansion, but he only takes a few steps before strong arms grab him by the middle.

"Rengoku-san!" Tanjirou giggles; the kakushi feel relieved to see him like that, so full of energy and hope. "You don't have to carry me around all the time! I feel fine now!"

"I'm doing this for myself, my boy!" The Pillar says, face lighting up, even if the half of it is covered by an eye patch. "I like to have you in my arms!"

Oh... The kakushi look at each other after Tanjirou's cheeks turn slightly pink.

"So he's..." The kakushi boy mumbles, staring in shock as the flame hashira nuzzles Tanjirou's red cheek lovingly.

"That's what a Pillar in love looks like," the girl mumbles next to the boy.

"I hope they get married soon. They look good together."

"You're right, they'll make a great couple."

***

Patreon

[solarstellarstar]

Purin for Comfort | dialovers oc shortfic

summary: Solar sobs and cries while scooping purin into her mouth for comfort... look okay I literally don't know what else this fic is character: solar fumika (OC) warnings: none? (not sure if this is angst since the reason for her sorrow is unclear) word count: 462 author's notes: if u even bother reading this.... I'm sorry

"I have nothing else but you."

Placing the plastic bag from the convenience store onto her bed, Solar carefully unravels the pack of purin from it. She delicately takes one out and peels the lid off.

No plate or anything. Straight from the plastic cup. The girl slouches down onto her bed and begins to spoon the pieces of pudding into her mouth.

----------

For Solar, it had been a long day and night for her: training with non-stop intense practice and workouts during the day to prepare for her grand debut stage that everyone around the globe had been highly anticipating + attending school to keep up with the academics at night.

Once she finally got time to herself, she made the extra effort to go to the convenience store and buy the dreamy and pleasant dessert that seemingly was bestowed upon the world by the divine gods. After that, she ambled from there all the way to her apartment which was on the second floor.

As a high school student living alone, the apartment was not very lavish for someone expected to be in the industry of showbiz. Nonetheless, it was a cosy place. There wasn't too much to complain about... other than the fact that the water would randomly turn off for hours (this would happen despite having paid the bill in full amount). And the fact that the neighbours would blast rowdy, disturbingly loud music that no one would take the extra effort just to tell them to shut up.

Upon reaching her door, she headed straight for her bedroom- not even bothering to turn on the ceiling lights. Not even bothering to change out of the Ryoutei Academy uniform. The only other thing she bothered to do was leave her strap heels at the front door.

-----------

Barely managing to keep her eyes open, the sweet flavour of purin dissolved into her mouth. It was the same every time. And she loved every instance of it.

Absorbing the taste that was similar to honey, Solar shut her eyes to savour the moment. That was the exact moment that the emotions of every event that had led up until this moment set in.

Sniffing, downing every hiccup and struggling to swallow her still-beating human heart: Solar let her tears rain upon her face.

Despite this predicament, she continued to eat... but still allowed to let some sobs escape her in the moments she paused her feast.

Why was she crying? Was she, perhaps, bullied? Had her bottled up feelings of dread, stress and grief finally burst out? Even the girl herself didn't know.

"Ue... this is so good..."

Finally mustering the courage to open up her misty eyes again, she saw that the clock on her nightstand read 4:50 AM.

[mikanotes]

— vent it out.

hyunsu x gn!reader | shortfic

genre: vent

warnings: swearing, suicidal ideation, implied attempted suicide, mental breakdown, this takes place before he even moves into green home.

author’s note: i miss hyunsu a lot and im similar to him so this is self indulgent and i think it’s enough to know why reader doesn’t speak much in this

“It hurts so much when I actually feel something.”

Hyunsu was sobbing. Tears were running down his cheek and his word felt distorted by his crying. He rubbed the back of his hand on his cheek and shook his head.

“I managed to stop it. Feeling. But when you say I’m so important to you it happens again.” he ended the sentence with a sob, “And it’s annoying. I want to kill myself, for fuck’s sake, but— Why’d you have to care for me?”

“I just do.”

Hyunsu was sitting down against the edge of the rooftop, now having both hands covering his eyes as he tilted his head back. “Fuck.”

“I know.”

“I know you know, it’s annoying. If you didn’t care I could’ve just jumped, and it would all finally end but now… Now you’re here. Now you’re telling me not to kill myself. Now you’re saying I’m so important to you that you’d want to follow suit if I did. And I don’t even want to imagine you shedding a single tear so how can I kill myself after hearing you say that? It’s unfair, I hate it, I just— I just don’t want to live, but you’re making it hard! Why?!”

You sat across from him, arms wrapped around your legs as you nodded. He hadn’t spoke this much in literal months. He wiped his tears and looked away.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I’m just overwhelmed.” he gasped out, before swallowing thickly, “Because it hurts to have someone care after so long.”

“… I know, Hyunsu.”

“And I really want to die.”

“I know, Hyunsu.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He started crying again, teeth clenching and hands covering his face. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize.”

It was a sunny day, ironically. One people would call a good one. A nice weather, a clear sunny sky, and a gentle breeze. And while people enjoyed this little happiness in the school, you and Hyunsu sat on the rooftop, tears on your cheeks as you tried to calm down from the crying.