#maybe because the fandom is too quiet to my taste

[meliohy]

.

[rootedinrevisions]

Five Years

SUMMARY: Five years of friendship. Years of silent longing. One night that changes everything. When Tyler Owens, a charming, rugged man with a penchant for keeping things casual, finds himself at a crossroads with the woman he's secretly loved for years, he realizes he might have waited too long. After one too many moments where you've been left wanting more, you find yourself torn between the comfort of their deep connection and the pain of being stuck in the friend zone. Tyler has one last shot to show you that he’s not just the man you turn to in the hard moments—but the man who can make you believe in love, again.

A/N: Sorry for all the angsty Tyler lately! It's just been the mood/vibe lately so I've been rolling with it! Thanks to the person who sent this request in! I hope you like it!

PROMPT: "What was he doing back there? Flirting with you like he has a fucking chance?"

WARNINGS/TAGS: Angst.

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

It’s late, the kind of quiet that comes when the night has softened everything into shadows. You and Tyler are back in the motel room, tangled together in bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His arm drapes over you, and you’re curled into his side, your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. The scent of whiskey lingers between you, mingling with the warmth of his skin, and you can still taste him faintly on your lips. Another night, another round of kisses exchanged under the dim motel lights, like something fragile and fleeting.

He stirs, his hand brushing along your back, and you wonder if he’s on the edge of sleep or just drifting in that space in between like you are. For a moment, you’re tempted to ask him the question that’s always on the tip of your tongue: What are we doing?

Instead, you stay silent, breathing in sync with him, wondering if he can feel the way your heart skips each time he holds you like this. He shifts, drawing you a little closer, and you catch a glimpse of something in his expression—something soft, maybe even vulnerable. But it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and slightly slurred. “You’re comfortable, right?” His hand rests at the curve of your hip, fingers grazing your skin in a way that sends a shiver through you.

You nod, managing a quiet, “Yeah. Always.” You know he’ll pretend he doesn’t remember this in the morning, brush it off like it’s nothing, and you’ll let him because it’s easier that way. But tonight, you can pretend a little too—that these quiet moments mean the same to him as they do to you.

You close your eyes, listening to his heartbeat beneath your ear, wondering how much longer you can keep pretending before you’re forced to admit the truth—to yourself, if not to him.

Then, out of nowhere, he says, “So… I just found out I’m being inducted into the PBR Hall of Fame.”

You blink, lifting your head from his chest to look at him. A smile lights up your face. “Tyler, that’s amazing! I mean, I knew you were a big deal, but… Hall of Fame?”

He chuckles softly, scratching the back of his head with that familiar modesty. “Yeah, kinda crazy, huh? Guess all those years getting tossed around finally paid off.”

You laugh, knowing he’s downplaying it. You’ve seen some of those old videos, clips of him taking on bulls with more force and heart than anyone you’d ever met. 

“No one deserves it more than you,” you say softly, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest. “I’m so proud of you.”

A faint blush colors his cheeks as he looks away, and then, clearing his throat, he glances back at you. 

“Thanks, means a lot,” he says, his voice softer. Then, after a moment, he adds, “Actually… I get a plus one to the induction ceremony. I was thinking maybe you’d want to come with me?”

Your heart skips at that. He doesn’t even pause to consider anyone else; he’s asking you. For a moment, you feel a surge of excitement that maybe this is more than just a friendly invite. But just as quickly, doubt seeps in. If he had a girlfriend, he’d take her, wouldn’t he? A familiar ache settles in your chest, the quiet reminder that maybe this is just about convenience for him.

“Are you sure?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, and casual. “I mean, you could take anyone.”

He glances at you with a soft smile, his eyes sincere. “Nah. Can’t think of anyone better. You’d come, right?”

The words are on the tip of your tongue—Of course, I’ll go. 

Instead, you hesitate, just for a second, wondering if this is just a placeholder invitation until he finds someone to fill the spot he’s never openly said he wants to be filled. But you can’t bear the thought of missing the moment, so you nod, managing a smile. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

He grins, pulling you back into his chest, and you settle against him, feeling the warmth of his arm around you. But even as you breathe him in, letting the steady beat of his heart calm you, a question begins to take root in your mind. Where do we really stand, Tyler?

It’s a question you keep to yourself, swallowing it down as you close your eyes and listen to the silence settle around you once again.

* * * * *

The ballroom buzzed with energy and anticipation, and you could sense the excitement radiating from Tyler beside you. The event space was elegantly decorated, with every table set with crystal glasses and gleaming silverware. But you hardly noticed any of it; all your focus was on Tyler. This was his night. And you were honored to be here with him, even if you didn’t quite know what that meant for the two of you.

You eventually found your way to your seats near the front of the room, and Tyler’s hand brushed against yours as you sat down. His fingers lingered just a moment, a subtle contact that sent a rush of warmth up your arm. 

Before you could say anything, the lights dimmed as the emcee took to the stage, announcing the start of the ceremony. The audience fell quiet, and Tyler’s hand was warm on your knee, a comforting weight that made your heart race. You glanced down at his hand, then back up to his face, wondering if he even realized the effect he had on you.

A part of you wanted to reach for his hand again, to close the gap between you both once and for all, but you stayed still, holding your breath as the ceremony began.

As the awards were announced one by one, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Tyler. He seemed to sit straighter with each name called, his eyes never leaving the stage. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the emcee announced Tyler’s name, and the room burst into applause. You clapped the loudest, your heart swelling with pride.

You watched as Tyler walked to the stage, his stride steady and confident, shoulders back with that natural charisma he carried wherever he went. When he accepted his award, he stood there with his plaque, his gaze scanning the crowd until it landed on you. The spotlight hit his face, highlighting the small, crooked smile you knew so well. And his eyes—dark, intense, focused on you—seemed to say something unspoken.

You felt your breath catch, frozen under his gaze, and for a second, it was like you were the only two people in the room.

His acceptance speech was simple and heartfelt. He thanked the people who had been there with him through the highs and lows. He spoke of long, hard days, the sacrifices he’d made, and the passion that drove him. But you could’ve sworn that when he mentioned his gratitude for “the people who kept him grounded,” his eyes found you once again.

As Tyler wrapped up his speech and made his way back to his seat, you barely had a chance to process the pride you felt for him, for everything he’d accomplished. But that brief moment when he’d looked at you on stage lingered in your mind, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Could it have meant something more?

He sat back down next to you, and you leaned over, unable to keep the smile from your face. “That was incredible, Ty. I’m so proud of you.”

He looked at you, a soft chuckle escaping as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks. I think I might’ve fumbled a little bit up there.”

“Not even close,” you replied, squeezing his arm. “You were perfect.”

The atmosphere at the afterparty was more relaxed, a contrast to the formality of the ceremony.

The room buzzes with laughter and clinking glasses, everyone here to celebrate the achievements of legends, past and present. You’re standing beside Tyler, trying to blend into the background of the room’s energy. But then, without warning, Tyler reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours before intertwining them completely. It’s such a small gesture, but it sends a rush of warmth through you. He glances at you, his eyes searching yours for a brief moment, almost as if he’s silently asking if this is okay, if you’re okay. You squeeze his hand, hoping he’ll understand that, yes, this is more than okay.

“Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet,” he says, his voice low and soft. He leads you through the crowd toward a man with a broad smile and lines etched deep around his eyes—Tyler’s old mentor. Tyler introduces you with a genuine warmth that makes you feel like you belong here, like you’re not just an accessory to his big night but someone he wants by his side.

As they begin chatting, Tyler’s hand drifts to your waist, his fingers pressing lightly into your hip as he pulls you closer, fitting you against his side. You feel a warmth blossom in your chest, and for a moment, the nagging doubts you’d been harboring vanish. His mentor jokes about old times, and Tyler laughs, giving your waist a small squeeze as if to share the moment with you. You let yourself lean into him, letting his warmth melt away the walls you’d tried to build around your heart.

But then, as the conversation comes to a close, he lets go. Just like that, his hand falls from your waist, and he takes a step back, sliding his hands into his pockets, a casual smile on his face. He glances around the room, no longer focused on you, and the sudden distance sends a chill down your spine. You’re standing side by side, but the connection feels fractured, like a missed beat. He begins walking next to you, his attention now elsewhere, no hand-holding, no gentle touches to keep you close.

Half an hour later you’re standing next to Tyler, trying to stay engaged with the conversation he’s having with an old friend he used to ride with, someone who knows a side of him you’ve only heard about in stories. Tyler’s posture is easy, his laugh warm and unguarded in a way that you rarely get to see. You watch him as he reminisces, letting yourself get lost in the sound of his laughter, in the way his eyes light up with a spark of the past. But as they continue to talk, it becomes clear that he’s in his own world, like you’re not even there.

The laughter between them grows, each memory shared drawing them further back into the years before you knew him. You shift your weight, feeling a slight ache in your chest as you realize just how separate you feel from this part of his life. A sense of loneliness creeps in, one you can’t shake, and you find yourself glancing toward the bar. Maybe a drink will help dull the sting.

You start to turn, your heart heavy, but just then, you feel Tyler’s hand reach out, his fingers wrapping gently around yours. The touch is so familiar, so comforting, and for a brief second, that hopeful warmth flickers back to life. 

You glance over your shoulder, catching his eye, a hint of something unreadable there.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice quieter, as if trying to break through to you despite the noise around.

You swallow, forcing a smile to cover the twinge of sadness that’s growing in your chest. “Yeah,” you say softly, nodding toward the bar. “Just thirsty. Thought I’d grab a drink.”

He nods, giving your hand a slight squeeze before letting go, turning back to his friend with that easy laugh that now feels like a barrier you can’t quite cross. You turn away, your heart sinking as you walk toward the bar, feeling the absence of his hand like a chill creeping over your skin. You can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment that settles heavy and cold. Just moments ago, he was intertwining your fingers, holding you close with his hand on your waist, like you were more than just a companion for the night.

How did it change so quickly? How did he go from holding you, grounding you with those intimate touches, to leaving you in this limbo of almost but not quite? You realize that, despite how much he means to you, there’s a line between you that he doesn’t seem ready to cross. And that thought hurts more than you want to admit.

You’re leaning against the bar, lost in thought, when a voice breaks through the noise, smooth and warm. “Hey there. You look like you could use some company.”

You glance up to find a guy with a charming grin and a relaxed confidence that’s instantly disarming. He extends a hand. “Eli Vastbinder,” he says. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

For a moment, you’re taken off guard, but you shake his hand and introduce yourself, motioning to where Tyler’s standing in the distance. “I’m here with Tyler Owens.”

At the mention of Tyler’s name, a flicker of something—maybe disappointment, maybe surprise—crosses Eli’s face before he recovers his smile. “Owens, huh? How do you know the Tornado Wrangler?”

You can’t help but laugh at the nickname, feeling some of the tension ease as you explain. “We work together. I help him run his YouTube channel.”

Eli’s gaze shifts from Tyler back to you, a curious glint in his eye as if he’s sizing up the situation. He doesn’t linger on it for long, though, before flashing you a daring smile. “So, just coworkers, huh? In that case, you wouldn’t mind if I bought you a drink?”

The question lingers, sparking a twist of hesitation in your chest. You glance over at Tyler, hoping for some kind of sign, some acknowledgment of what you’re feeling. Your eyes meet his, and he offers you a casual smile before turning his attention back to his friend. The moment leaves you cold—another reminder of all the times he’s pulled you close, only to leave you feeling as if you’re just out of reach.

You turn back to Eli, a decision settling in your mind. Tyler isn’t claiming you. He never has. And he’s had five years to do so.

You give Eli a small smile. “Sure, why not?”

Eli’s grin widens as he orders your drink, leaning in just slightly as he asks about your work with Tyler. He’s charming, effortlessly making you feel seen and appreciated. There’s a warm intensity in his gaze, like he’s genuinely interested in hearing about your life, in learning the pieces of you that Tyler seems to take for granted. You laugh at his jokes, leaning in as he tells stories about the crazy things he’s seen on the road. Every so often, his hand brushes yours, sending a little thrill through you—like something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in far too long.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel the weight lifting from your shoulders. There’s no ambiguity with Eli; his attention is clear, unburdened by mixed signals or unspoken boundaries. It’s refreshing, exciting, even, to be the center of someone’s focus without second-guessing their intentions.

You glance over at Tyler once more, but he’s still wrapped up in conversation, seemingly unaware of the ache you’ve carried alone. A part of you wants him to notice, to see what’s happening, to finally feel the urgency you’ve held onto for years. But there’s another part of you that’s finished waiting.

As you turn back to Eli, you find yourself smiling, the kind of smile that feels like letting go.

You’re laughing at something Eli just said, a relaxed warmth in your chest that’s been missing around Tyler lately, when you feel a familiar presence behind you. You glance back, and there he is—Tyler, wearing that easy smile that’s disarmed you a hundred times before. He leans close, his hand slipping around your waist, fingers warm and possessive against your hip. “Hey there, darlin’,” he greets, the pet name rolling off his tongue as naturally as the smirk tugging at his lips.

But Tyler doesn’t stop there. His gaze shifts to Eli, assessing him for a beat, and then extends a hand. “I see you’ve met my date,” he says, voice casual but with a certain edge, like a claim staked.

You freeze, glancing up at him, surprised and confused by his sudden assertiveness. Eli’s expression mirrors your own—slightly perplexed, eyebrows lifting as he takes Tyler’s hand and shakes it firmly. His eyes flicker back to you, questioning. “Date? I thought you two were just coworkers,” he remarks, eyes shifting meaningfully to Tyler’s hand, still resting on your hip.

Before you can answer, Tyler lets out a dismissive scoff, as if the notion of you two being “just coworkers” is absurd. “Coworkers?” he echoes, his hand tightening just a fraction. “Yeah, we’re a little closer than that.” He shoots a look at you that’s both playful and possessive.

You feel your blood simmer, heat rising in your chest at the presumption in his tone. As if you’re some claim he can lay when it’s convenient, without any real commitment. You step out of his grip, your voice firm as you say, “We are just coworkers.” The words come out sharper than you intend, but you don’t soften them.

Tyler’s smile falters, his brow furrowing, but you’ve already turned away, excusing yourself quickly to Eli before slipping out toward the exit.

Humiliation washes over you, prickling your skin as you push through the crowd, needing fresh air, needing space. You had been enjoying a perfectly nice conversation with Eli, feeling appreciated and even flattered, until Tyler decided to swoop in and turn the moment into something possessive and confusing.

As you reach the hallway, you feel a sharp sting behind your eyes. Tears blur your vision, and you blink them back, furious with yourself for letting Tyler get to you like this. You’re tired—tired of being in his orbit only when he wants you to be, of being treated as something more only when it suits him. Because heaven forbid another guy notices you.

The hallway is quiet, save for the soft murmur of voices drifting from the ballroom as you stand there, waiting for the elevator. The moment stretches, tense and thick, when you hear his footsteps behind you, his voice calling your name.

You don’t turn around. “Tyler… don’t.” The plea is barely above a whisper, but he ignores it, closing the distance between you, his face etched with frustration.

“What was he doing back there?” he asks, motioning down the hall toward the ballroom, his tone hard, possessive. “Flirting with you like he has a chance?”

Your heart twists painfully at his words. His tone says it all—like he assumes you’re his, like it’s obvious. Like you should know.

But you’re done with the assumptions. The words spill out before you can stop them, thick with months, years, of unspoken hurt. “And why would you care, Tyler?” Your voice cracks, and you feel the first tear slip down your cheek, quickly followed by another. “It’s not like we’re together, right? You said it yourself—we’ll never be anything more than friends. We’re just…” You falter, searching for the right words, but the truth tumbles out, raw and painful. “We’re just really close, and we make out sometimes. Nothing more.”

The weight of it hangs in the air, and you can see the impact of your words in the way his face falls, his expression softening, regretful. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching out, but you shake your head, a mix of anger and sadness bubbling to the surface.

“No, Tyler.” You step back, keeping the space between you. “I’m done. I’m done with this… with you.” Your voice shakes, but the conviction is there, clear and sharp. “I’m done not being good enough. Done being yours only when you want someone on your arm or in your bed. I can’t keep doing this.” You wipe a tear from your cheek, gathering whatever strength you have left. “I’m done with everything. Our friendship. The channel. All of it.”

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open with a quiet chime. You glance back at him one last time, taking in the hurt and confusion in his eyes. 

“Go back to the party, Tyler. It’s your night. You deserve it.”

You step into the elevator, pressing the button as the doors start to close. The last thing you see before they shut is him standing there, looking lost and completely, utterly alone.

Back in the quiet solitude of the hotel room, you feel the emotions from the hallway encounter with Tyler crash over you. It’s almost overwhelming, but you shake your head, determined to focus on the immediate task. You kick off your heels and reach for the zipper at the back of your dress, letting it slide down as the gown falls in a pool around your feet. You step out of it, scooping it up to drape over the chair, and head to your bag, ready to change and leave before you can overthink it.

Digging through your clothes, you pull out the first shirt, but frustration prickles at you when you realize it’s one of Tyler’s. With an annoyed huff, you toss it on the bed. You dig deeper, pulling out another… his again. Why didn’t I pack more of my own clothes? you think bitterly, remembering that his shirts have been your usual comfort, your routine.

Finally, you find one of your own t-shirts and pull it on, then slide into a pair of jeans. You run a hand over your face, taking a deep breath to keep yourself from falling apart, and open your suitcase, methodically folding the rest of your things and stowing them away. As you pack, a plan begins to form, each step sounding clearer in your mind. You’ll finish packing, get a car downstairs to a nearby hotel for the night, and fly back tomorrow. It might be an awkward plane ride home, but you’ll put in headphones, turn away, and then… you’ll walk away from Tyler James Owens for good.

With your bag nearly ready, you look around the room one last time, eyes falling on the small pile of his things on the bed. His shirts, the ones you’ve wrapped yourself in so many times, now just reminders of all the blurred lines that never became anything real. You turn away, inhaling deeply to steady yourself, willing the resolve to carry you through whatever comes next.

You reach for the handle of your suitcase, ready to walk out of Tyler’s life for good, when the hotel room door opens behind you. Your heart races, and for a second you want to pretend you don’t notice him there, but when you turn, his expression says he’s already figured out exactly what’s happening. His eyes drop to the half-packed suitcase, then back to your face. His look of confusion shifts into something desperate.

“Please,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, almost raw. “Please, stay. We can talk about this. Just… don’t leave. Not like this.”

You shake your head, fighting the tears that are already building again. “Tyler, I’m done,” you say, your voice trembling. “You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me, either. You keep me close enough to feel like there’s something between us, but it’s never anything more. It’s just not fair anymore.”

You curse under your breath, blinking hard as the tears spill over. You don’t want him to see you like this—vulnerable, broken, hurt. Swallowing back a sob, you start to walk past him, head held high even as you feel yourself shattering. Just as your hand reaches for the door, he says it. Those three words you’ve been waiting for, holding onto, for what feels like forever.

“I love you.”

It stops you cold, and you stand there, hand frozen on the doorknob, not sure if you actually heard him or if it’s just some desperate wish in your mind. But then he speaks again.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice steady, almost pleading. “And if you love me—if you can still love me—then I’m asking you to stay and just… hear me out. But if you’re done with me, really done, and I’ve already lost you… then go.”

The silence hangs between you, thick and charged. You turn slowly, meeting his gaze, and there’s a look in his eyes you’ve never seen before. Vulnerability, sincerity, something real and unguarded. He’s finally opened himself up, given you the one thing you’ve been longing to hear, but the choice to stay or leave is yours.

Your chest tightens as you search his face, feeling the weight of all the years, the almosts, the near-misses, the longing. He stands there, his hands clenched at his sides, waiting, as if he’s holding his breath.

“You… really love me?” you whisper, the words barely audible.

“Yes,” he breathes, stepping toward you, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve loved you for a long time. I just… didn’t know how to show it, and I was afraid if I did, you’d walk away. But losing you… that’s the one thing I’m really afraid of.”

You take a shaky breath, looking into his eyes, feeling every bit of his honesty, and for the first time, he’s offering you everything, without conditions, without holding back. The pain and hurt are still there, but as he waits, the tears in his own eyes now, you feel something else rising to the surface—a glimmer of hope.

The words are out before you can stop them.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Tyler steps forward, his eyes searching yours as if trying to understand the storm inside you. He reaches up, hesitantly at first, as though unsure if you’ll pull away. But when you don’t, his hands gently cup your face, his touch warm and grounding. His thumbs swipe at the tears still streaking down your cheeks, wiping them away as if he can erase all the pain he’s caused with one simple gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry. For not telling you sooner, for not making a move sooner… for making you feel like you don’t matter. For making you cry. You deserve so much more than that.”

You’re frozen, his words sinking deep into the cracks of your heart that you didn’t even know were there. His thumb brushes along your cheekbone, a silent apology that speaks louder than anything else could.

He takes a deep breath, his voice low but sincere. “I know I’ve messed up, but I’m asking… can you give me another chance? To do it right this time? To take you on a real date, to buy you flowers, to tell the world that you’re mine… to be proud to have you by my side. I want to do this right, with you. Will you give me one more chance?”

The weight of his words hangs between you, and you feel the walls you’ve built around your heart begin to crack. He’s standing there, fully exposed, offering you everything he’s held back for so long. The room feels smaller, the air thicker as you look into his eyes, where you see nothing but vulnerability and hope.

You swallow hard, emotions warring inside you. You’ve wanted this—wanted him—to say it, to fight for you. And now that he is, you’re not sure whether to run or to stay. But as you stand there, feeling the sincerity in his touch and his words, something shifts. The hurt, the confusion, the loneliness—it all starts to unravel, replaced by a flicker of something new: hope.

You take a breath, your voice barely more than a whisper, but clear enough for him to hear. “Last chance, Owens.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but it’s softer, more relieved than triumphant. He doesn’t say anything else for a moment. Instead, he just pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in a hug that’s full of promise, the kind that says he’s never letting you go. And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe him.

You stand there, still in his arms, the weight of his words sinking in. The tension that had built up over the last few days—hell, the last few years—seems to fade away in that moment. Tyler’s hands are warm on your back, his arms strong around you as if he’s holding on, not just to you, but to everything that was between you two. His breath is steady, the pulse in his chest calming yours. He doesn’t let go, not yet. You don’t want him to.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks. There’s no need to. Words were said, the hurt was aired out, and now, the only thing left is the silence between you—a silence that feels like the promise of something better, something real.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze soft, full of regret and hope. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away the last of your tears. "I meant every word," he says quietly, his voice steady but raw. "Thank you for giving me this chance."

You nod, feeling something inside you shift, finally able to let go of the heaviness that had been pulling at you for far too long. You offer him a small smile, your fingers brushing his lightly as you give him a gentle squeeze.

He exhales slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Hey…” His voice is quieter now, almost like he's considering his next words carefully. "How about we skip the rest of the party downstairs? We can grab some pizza, put on a movie, just... relax in here."

You glance at him, surprised by the suggestion, but something about the simplicity of it feels perfect. You nod, the corners of your mouth lifting into a genuine smile. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”

Tyler’s eyes light up, a grin spreading across his face. “Good. Go ahead and get comfortable. I’ll order the pizza. Whatever you want.”

You feel a sudden sense of relief wash over you. It’s not just the break from the chaos of the night, but the quiet, intimate comfort of knowing that it’s just the two of you, no expectations, no pressure. 

Tyler watches you for a moment, his smile softening as he watches you dig through your suitcase for something comfortable. You pull out a pair of sweatpants, replacing your jeans, and as you move to crawl onto the bed, he’s already a step ahead of you.

Before you can sit down, he reaches for the bottom of your t-shirt, pulling it up over your head. You freeze, giving him a confused look, about to protest. "Tyler, I’m really not in the mood—"

He cuts you off with a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Not like that," he says, his voice teasing but warm. "Trust me, I’m not asking for anything like that."

Your brow furrows slightly in confusion, but Tyler doesn’t give you a chance to dwell on it. Instead, he reaches down into your suitcase and pulls out one of the t-shirts you had tossed aside earlier—one of his shirts. He holds it out to you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Here,” he says, “put this one on instead.”

You take the shirt from him, still a little baffled. “What’s wrong with my other shirt?”

Tyler grins, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He steps closer, leaning down slightly as if he’s about to let you in on a secret. 

“Because it’s not your boyfriend’s,” he says, his voice low and almost teasing. “If you’re gonna be my girl, you wear my shirt to bed.”

A smile tugs at your lips, and you can’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. It’s the little things like this—the small gestures, the inside jokes, the way he’s already making you feel like you belong—that make the tension from earlier seem a little less heavy.

You slip the shirt on, and Tyler's eyes soften when he sees you in it, the way it fits just right, the way it looks like it belongs on you. You glance up at him as you finish adjusting it, your voice quieter now, full of warmth. “This better for you, boyfriend?”

"Yes." He grins, clearly pleased with himself. "I think you look pretty damn perfect in it."

You laugh softly, and for a moment, the weight of everything that had happened earlier melts away, leaving you with nothing but the quiet comfort of his presence. You sit down on the bed, pulling the blankets up and patting the spot beside you. "So, pizza and movies?"

Tyler nods, settling in beside you, having traded his tuxedo for sweatpants and a t-shirt. His hand finds its way to yours as he lets out a contented sigh. "Sounds like the perfect way to spend the night."

And for the first time in a long while, it feels like things are exactly where they need to be.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | first meeting (part 2)

♡ fandoms; Friday the 13th, House of Wax, Black Christmas, Scream (kinda)/ Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Jason Vorhees, Bo Sinclair, Danny Johnson, Billy Lenz, Bubba Sawyer

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; Billy Lenz, mentions of violence and general slasher activity, kidnapping, stalking

♡ notes; i didn’t include Bubba last time, so i slipped him in with the pt 2 team :v

also for ghostface i went with Danny over Billy + Stu, just because i’m more comfortable writing older characters tbh. and he’s very attractive to me. maybe i can do a college au fic of them in the future?

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Jason Vorhees

> you were lost

> utterly, hopelessly lost without a map, compass, or even your backpack

> you were out camping with a couple of new friends when you wandered off to pick flowers

> well, acquaintances more like- they weren’t particularly nice to you, but you knew one from your home town

> before you knew the sun was starting to set and you had no clue which way to go

> you’re kicking yourself for being so dumb but try to make the best of it, continuing to collect flowers and pretty rocks

> soon enough you find yourself on the edge of a lake

> that couldn’t have been good- there weren’t any lakes near the campsite at all

> maybe this was that old summer camp they’d mentioned?

> either way you turn around and try your best to retrace your steps

> but even with a full moon it’s just too dark and too dense and you’re exhausted

> holding in tears, you find a small meadow and finally sit to rest

> you’re still sniffling and rubbing your eyes when someone walks up to you

> you were so oblivious that Jason was able to get a few feet in front of you before you noticed

> he seems…perplexed to find you there

> he thought he’d gotten all of the campers

> and you didn’t really look like you belonged with those fornicators

> (or at least that’s what he told himself to justify leaving you alive)

> he’s holding his machete and soaked with your companions’ blood, but you don’t seem to notice

> “…can you take me back to my friends?”

> well he most certainly cannot do that, not if he wants you to like him- though he’s not sure why that matters

> he’s still staring so you, exhausted, do the only thing you can think to

> “…do you want a flower? I picked a lot”

> he’s delighted and takes it before finally gesturing for you to follow him

> you can’t keep up, so eventually he picks you up

> and like that you’re nearly dozing off

> you don’t even notice he’s taking you back the way you came from

> and he’s glad- he wasn’t going to give you much of an option anyway

Bo Sinclair

> single travelers are so much easier to deal with

> so when Lester gives him the call that some college kid was stuck on the road, he’s eager for an easy catch

> you take your sweet ass time getting to the station- even though Lester drove you most of the way you let him drop you off just outside of town

> the smell of the truck was really getting to you, and you’re happy to let the dog lead you

> when he strides out you’re cooing over Jonesy and giving her a belly rub for her troubles

> he’s seen his fair share of attractive victims

> men, women, and folks that didn’t fit either category

> and he’s slept with most of them

> but you… there’s something extra special about you

> he decides right there he’s not taking care of you without at least getting a taste

> you’re not too impressed by his flirting- or at least you try and act like it

> but he catches your pink cheeks and quiet giggles as he takes you on a walk

> because of course he’s got the part down the road at his place

> by the time you get there he’s decided he’s marrying you - or maybe keeping you tied up, beggars can’t be choosers

> he’s impulsive but he’s never wanted to keep anyone before

> “hey sugar-“ god your face heats up just hearing him call you that “turns out I don’t have that part you need. It should be in by tomorrow, if you can stay the night?”

> you say yes before you can think critically- he’s good at getting folks wrapped around his finger like that

> “Good. Cause I’m just dying to show you some real southern hospitality…”

Danny Johnson

> he knows you long before you know him

> he’s a natural nosy guy- he’s a journalist after all

> and a serial killer, of course stalking is on his to do list

> originally you were going to be a victim

> you’d make a good story, a young person taken tragically early

> but you were too cute to die just yet- he had to at least meet you, just once

> if you were a dick no one would say anything nice for your article, right?

> so he just happens to bump into you outside your work one day

> literally bump

> when you spill coffee all over yourself he smoothly apologizes and offers to help clean you up

> “What a mess- I’m so sorry sweets. Let me take care of all this”

> and you fall for it, hook line and sinker

> he’s a handsome guy, he’s used to that but he’s smug anyways

> he gives you a spare shirt of his, though you still skip work

> he buys you another coffee and you sit in his car chatting

> you’re innocent enough to trust him like that- to get in a vehicle with a strange man?

> a strange man that’d been stalking you, no less

> it’s adorable- if he wasn’t so attached he could kill you right there

> but you’re just so damn sweet, and genuine

> and you’re so fascinated by these Ghost Face killings…

> maybe you’re worth keeping around for a bit

> just a bit

> that’s what he says to himself anyways

> when you meet him as Ghost Face, it’s after you’ve already got him all figured out

> and he’s lucky that you like a bad boy

Billy Lenz

> it’s a given that you first meet him over the phone

> you’re renting out a spare room from Mrs Mac, not in the sorority but a good enough tenant that she keeps you around

> you get along well with the girls and cook them meals, run study sessions and help clean

> it’s almost parental at times, even if you’re not far off in age

> Billy hates you at first, for taking such good care of ‘filthy piggy whores’

> he tells you just as much over the phone, but you’re not bothered

> you never seem to be bothered by his calls

> and that pisses him off more

> but you’re so so cute… it quickly becomes an obsession

> he’s in your walls constantly, watching you

> and the calls from the moaner start coming more and more frequently at times you’re home alone

> one day you just start giggling at him, tipsy “you know, you scare the girls,”

> “good i—“

> “but your voice is sooo nice. that’s why i pick up so much”

> you didn’t mean to confess that , and you hope he takes it as an awkward joke

> when he hangs up you think that maybe he did take it that way

> its not until late that night that you realize that he knew he was sincere

> before you can register that there’s anything wrong he’s covering your mouth and pinning you to your bed

> “hi there, baby doll,”

> his grin gets huge when your still horrified face goes bright red

> he always knew you were perfect

Bubba Sawyer

> you pick up Nubbins hitchhiking one day, and he’s just dumbfounded by you

> you’re nonplussed by his rambling and you don’t squirm at his yucky pictures. you don’t even kick him out, just drop him off at the gas station.

> you’re not really his type, but you’re fascinating

> he’s gotta get you home to meet his brothers

> so he pops your tires when you go inside- all four

> when you come back out Drayton is cursing him out and smacking him upside the head

> he makes him take you back to the house to rest up while he gets you tires

> of course he intends for Bubba to kill you

> but Nubbins doesn’t pass the message along, because he’s Nubbins

> “Here Bubba! I made us a new friend!”

> you shyly greet him, but he’s an oddly calming presence

> let’s be honest you’ve gotta be okay with a lot fast to like the Sawyers

> so maybe you’re just in denial about the material

> but you tell him you like his mask- and you do

> he obviously worked really hard on getting the makeup just right- and it compliments his suit

> he stares at you a long while before taking your hand and giving you a grand tour

> well, more a tour of his favorite spots

> the chicken coup, a patch of wildflowers out back, and his room full of trinkets collected from victims

> you’re strangely enamored by this big, quiet man

> and you don’t get the sense you’re allowed to leave

> especially when Drayton comes home and goes on and on about witnesses

> but you didn’t really even have an end goal in mind on your road trip anyways

> and now you’ve got Bubba to protect you

> maybe it’s not so bad, stuck with those weirdos

[atlaswav]

ACE! ➷

INFO: 3246 words, oikawa x fem! reader, olympics au, timeskip SYNOPSIS: In the heat of the competition, you find more enemies in the Olympic dining hall, rivalling for the last infamous chocolate muffin, the social media sensation. WARNINGS: none. AUTHOR'S NOTE: i wrote this ages ago when the Olympics were still happening and just finished it so uh....... ANYWAY!!! this is my attempt at a crackfic because it makes sense. Writing quality and pacing may be off sorry BUT IT COUNTS RIGHT watch this flop because the haikyuu fandom is dead

There are few things left in this world that still hold unequivocal beauty. Few things can exist with such suffering and turmoil. Few things, too, could quell this hopelessness, and in sleepless nights, scrolling on your phone with blue light illuminating the room in eerie shadow, you’d come to see the legendary Olympic chocolate muffin as one of these beautiful things.

The night was quiet, and the dining hall was almost empty as you walked up to the dessert stand. 

There was one muffin left,  molten chocolate glowing under the warm lamplight, oozing with liquid bliss, illuminated in a halo of gold.

But where there is beauty, there is also ugliness. There was someone in the way of your pursuit of enlightenment. You could only dream of the bliss of sweet chocolate ganache dissolving on your tongue with angelic grace, only imagine the taste it would leave lingering in your mouth. But now – as womankind may always find – there was a man in your way.

“Excuse me.”

“Huh?”

As he turns around, your heart drops into your stomach. The giant of a man lays his hands on the muffin in front of you. All hope you had for humanity diminished in one touch. 

“...that was mine.” you mumble. 

The shuffling of sandals on the ground echoes through the empty dining hall. His gaze awkwardly flits between you and the muffin. 

“...Sorry? Finders keepers??” He replies in the same language – almost perfect English. He shrugs. A giant movement. He was taller than you’d have liked, towering over you as you attempted to argue for custody of the muffin.  It didn’t help that his dark brown eyes seemed to glint with challenge, and you felt yourself indignantly rise up to this unspoken provocation.

“What happened to chivalry?”

“Guess its dead, sweet heart.”

“You’re not even gonna attempt to be a gentleman?”

“You’re not ladylike, so I won’t be a gentleman.”

“So you’re admitting you’re a douche.”

“At least I’m a douche with a muffin.”

You sigh dejectedly. First, your first loss in the preliminary games – crushing, really, losing by two points – second, the massive specimen of a man standing in front of you with his hands on your consolation prize.

This was going to be your last straw.

Well, at least the asshole was handsome. The ‘Argentina’ scribed on his uniform, however, didn’t make sense. He looked Asian, and yet he spoke English fluently. He was confusing, but one thing you knew for sure was that all those guys on the Argentinian men’s team were jerks, based on the few of them that snickered at your team as you exited the stadium following your loss in the prelims. 

“Fuck you. I hope you lose your next match.”

“Oh–”

You storm away before he can get another word in.

This was your first encounter with Tōru Oikawa. Maybe an overreaction, but you really didn’t care.

The following day, your warmup is interrupted as the Argentinian men's team decide to enter your warmup stadium, raucous and impossible to miss. 

“Do they have the wrong court, or something?” your coach murmurs, tearing his attention away from the practice game. 

“Oh! It’s you!” a distinctive voice calls. 

You turn from your rally – a mistake – and see the handsome thief from the day before staring at you, carrying a sports bag, wearing a light blue jacket with a white stripe down the sleeve. So he was an Argentinian player. Why was he here, though?

“Wait! Ball!”

You turn back to your rally just in time to get hit in the face with a volleyball, nose aching, eyes bleary with tears, reality tilting on its axis as you fall on your hands.

“Hey! What are you guys doing here?” the coach yells, distinct through the cacophony.

“This is our court, isn’t it?” the thief says. His voice is smooth like honey – like a liar. 

“No, It’s ours until noon.” 

“Is it not a quarter to noon?” 

“Exactly, so get out. You’ve already injured one of my star players.” He swears in Japanese, and you hear the thief snicker, saying something back. Is he Japanese?

You don’t know what happens next, except being hoisted up, braced on someone’s arms and being sat on a bench. Someone hands you a tissue for your watering eyes, and you feel a biting cold on your nose, wincing as someone gives you an ice pack to hold to your face. 

“I always hated those Argentinian volleyball players. So cocky.” your teammate says. 

“Their captain is a handful. I wouldn’t want that bastard on the Japanese team either.” your coach echoes. 

So he was their captain. And Japanese. And an asshole.

How dare he? 

This is how you, in your head, earn the right to one of Oikawa’s apologies – how you find him in the cafeteria once again, nose lightly bandaged, lined up for dinner, and are intent on getting a “sorry” from his perpetually smiling lips. 

“Oh, you.”

His lips twitch into a half grimace, half smile. “Me.”

“Are you going to apologise?”

“I – for what?”

“Are you being stupid, or an asshole right now?”

“Neither. I don’t see what I need to apologise for.”

You mutter something under your breath about “Stupid, hot Argentinian volleyball players.” 

“What was that?”

“Move up. You’re holding up the line.”

He shuffles forward, but turns around again to continue your exchange. “It’s not my fault you were too slow.”

“Which incident are you talking about? The muffin, or today?”

“The muffin, obviously. What, like it's my fault you lost concentration?”

“Mother–”

“Hey, can you guys quit arguing and move along? You’re holding everyone up.”

You both shut up and collect your dinner, parting with scalding glances toward each other. 

“...you okay?”

“Does it look like it?”

“Is it that Argentinian captain again?”

You groan, stabbing your lukewarm mashed potatoes with your spoon. “I hate him.”

Your teammate casts you a sidelong glance. “Okay, whatever you say.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Your third encounter with the Argentinian captain is when you file into the stadium, teeming with people decked out in red and white, to watch a preliminary game of the Japanese men’s team – your competing country. You’d been scouted for their women's team, but you were never able to witness the men’s team in action, only heard about their strengths. 

“What the hell?” 

You turn, and behind you is Oikawa. He wears a cap with a sports logo on it, and sunglasses that are almost comically large. You find it within yourself to resist a howling laugh. 

“What? Why are you here?” you ask – slightly too loudly, as people cast their attention toward you. He shrinks down in his seat in embarrassment. 

“I’m scouting the enemy, of course. What, are you stalking me or something?” he mumbles, glaring at you past the rims of his sunglasses. 

You scoff. “Of course not. I’m watching my country play, obviously.”

“Really? You’re Japanese?”

“I’m a citizen. Aren’t you?”

He crosses his arms, huffing. “And I thought I’d tanned when I was in Brazil.”

You scoff at his childishness. “Brazil? Why aren’t you playing for Japan?”

“I need to crush them.”

You let out a barking laugh at his antics. “Really? You have vendettas that need fulfilling?”

“Don’t laugh, you’re drawing attention.” he sighs, leaning forward as if passing on some great generational secret. “But yes. I do.”

“I can’t begin to imagine who could ever be your enemy.”

“Well I sure can.”

This man has to be a social experiment. “That was sarcasm, captain.”

He pouts, and you turn straight ahead for the national anthems to play and the first serve. 

The first server is the Japanese setter, Kageyama. The stadium’s volume seems to drop slightly as he prepares to serve, making the impact of the ball with his hand even louder than it would’ve been. The ball hits the other team with frightening speed, ricocheting from their libero’s arms into the spectator’s stands. 

The Japanese supporters begin to cheer, and you applaud with them, before you hear a scoff from behind you. 

“What, is he one of the guys you need revenge on, or something?”

He turns away, but you see his pout. 

You laugh. “Afraid he’s better than you?”

“Of course not. I’m better.”

“Hey, you know what, why don’t we switch seats?” Oikawa’s teammate suggests from beside him. The captain looks completely betrayed at his teammate’s suggestion, but he can’t rebuke before the teammate gets up, crossing the stands. 

You decide it’d be fun to mess with him, so you comply. 

But you don’t forget that he owes you an apology. Two. You’re not growing fond of him, either. 

The crowd erupts into cheers as Japan scores another point, and you applaud with them, but Oikawa only sinks further into his seat – now beside you – narrowing his eyes and lowering his sunglasses on his nose, only to glare at the court. 

“What?”

“I hate that guy.”

“Who?”

“The one who just scored.”

“...Ushijima? Why?” 

“I hate him.”

“...sure you do. Should I ask who else you hate, or will we be here all day?”

He ends up listing every wrong Ushijima had done to him since middle school, going on an angry rant about how he failed to bring his high school team to victory because of Kageyama. You can see his inferiority complex showing by the end of this. By the end, the game had reached the second set that Japan was also about to win. 

“...Okay, wow, a lot to process.”

“So yes, I have a vendetta. Thought you should know.”

“That was a really big dump on some stranger you haven’t even known for a week.”

“You asked.”

“No, not really.”

He rolls his eyes, and you both go back to watching the game. What you don’t realise is that he’s smiling. 

And despite himself, he is clutching the edge of his seat as Japan gets to the game point in the third set, locked in a deuce with their opponents. The score climbs higher and higher, neither team willing to let up. 

“Oh my God, I’m going to throw up.” you groan, watching the next server prepare. 

“Want a throwup bag?”

“You look like you could use one too.”

“I’m not nervous, unlike you.”

“I can see the sweat on your shorts. You’re not subtle when you wipe your hands on them.”

“Damn you–”

“Shut up, they just served.”

Maybe it's the adrenaline running high from the match, or from the ceaseless energy of the spectators, but you both nearly cry in relief when Japan finally pulls away from the deuce, securing the game. Despite his grudge for the entire Japanese team, it seems, he pulls you into a side embrace as you both cheer. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be ‘scouting the enemy’?” you say through laughter. 

“I am. This is all a disguise.”

You roll your eyes, but as you begin to file out of the stadium with the rest of the stadium, he decides to linger, signalling to a man on the Japanese team – tall, muscular, handsome, spiky brown hair.

“Really? Leaving just like that?”

“I have a friend on that team.”

“You?” 

“Shut up.”

You shrug, smiling as you turn to leave. “Bye then, muffin thief.”

“That’s Toru Oikawa, to you.” 

“Muffin thief,” you call over your shoulder as you disappear into the crowd. 

“Oikawa.” 

“Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi’s eye twitches, but he grins nonetheless, pulling Oikawa into a hug. “Was that your girlfriend?”

“What? Huh? Really? Is that the first question you ask me after so many years?”

“Nah, she probably isn’t. She’s too pretty for you.”

“Mean.”

But nothing had changed, and he was grateful. 

It’s only late into the night with the fan whirring beside his bed that he can’t help but think about the prospect of you as his girlfriend. He was truly delusional. Especially since he somehow reached the conclusion that he wouldn’t mind it if you just so happened to fall to his charms and confess his love. He’d expect that much, at least.

You barely remember your fourth encounter, but it’s during your final game of the preliminary matches – the one that you have to win, else be cut from the competition. 

You could think of no moment more stressful than serving at a time when you were at game point for the fifth time, and your opponents were creeping up behind you, waiting to snatch the game from you with one mistake. 

It was deafening, the way the spectators roared as you prepared to serve. 

You wished they’d all go quiet. 

The whistle blew, and you let your serve fly, watching as it barely skimmed the net, landing in their court just short of the metre line. 

Your teammates cheer, patting you on the back, but you don’t hear them. 

This is when your coach calls a time out. 

You stand to the side, breathing deeply, the air thick with noise and sweat and air so hot it becomes suffocating around your skin. 

Distantly, the buzzer sounds for the end of time out, and you return to the service line, drowning your thoughts in the noise. 

“Don’t lose concentration!” you hear from the stands behind you. Despite it all, you turn around, searching for the heckler. 

Oikawa sits in the row closest to the front, having lost the cap and sunglasses, waving his arms like a madman. 

“What the fuck,” you mumble to yourself. 

“Look closely!”

“I’m losing concentration because of you, you absolute –”

Then the whistle blows for you to serve, and you abruptly turn back to the game, the insult dying on your tongue. 

What did he mean by ‘pay attention’? He’d just broken the laser focus you were in, and now you didn’t know where you were going to serve. 

Except, there was a massive hole in the opponent’s defence. 

They were now accustomed to your short serves that just landed within the metre line. 

You make a mental note to thank Oikawa if your serve went in, and slam your serve so hard that their defence has no time to register the change. 

Your serve lands on the line, nearly out of bounds. 

Your team sighs in relief, finally pulling ahead of the deuce, securing the match. 

“Japan takes the win! That’s their star player for you, landing service aces all across the court!”

“I told you!” you hear from behind again. 

You turn around, meeting his eyes. 

His smile is endearing. Dimples, and his nose slightly scrunched. It’s contagious. 

You smile back, waving, then become crushed underneath the weight of your team as they jump onto you, screaming and laughing and crying. 

He helped you make it to the finals, and somehow, it was better than an apology. 

The fifth time you meet – and one of the last – you’re, once again, in the cafeteria, craving molten bliss in the form of one of those chocolate muffins. You hope the Gods have heard your prayers, and that there would still be some left, even at this late hour. 

“Oh, you’re here?”

“Yeah, why are you?”

“Is that the first thing you wanna say to me?”

“...yes, why would it be any other way?”

He smiles, rubbing the back of his head. Averting your eyes. “Muffin?”

“Huh?”

“This was the last one.”

“Are you okay?”

“What?”

“What have you done with Oikawa? This isn’t the whiny, vengeful guy I know.”

“And you’ve known me for, what, a week?”

You shrug, snatching the muffin from his hands before he changes his mind. “Thanks.”

He sighs. Sits down at one of the tables. You follow suit. 

“So, why Argentina?”

“Really?”

“What? It’s awkward with silence.”

“...I looked up to Jose Blanco.”

“That’s surprisingly sweet.”

“Hey, I can be sweet.”

“I wasn’t talking about you, I was talking about the muffin.”

“..Oh.”

“Sorry. You’re alright too, I guess.”

He pouts, but you can’t care less as you bite into the muffin, savouring the chocolate as it melts onto your tongue. 

“Thanks, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“For today. Game point.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Shut up and take my thanks.”

“Alright, fine, fine.” He tilts his head, watching you with his sharp eyes. “You didn’t need my help though. You were good enough on your own.”

“Thanks.”

Quiet lapses in the empty dining hall as you sit, the rows and rows of chairs and tables almost eerie in the dark. 

“Well, I’m going to bed. Too tired after today.”

“Rest up, you deserve it.”

“Seriously, you need to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“This niceness. It’s off putting.”

“I can be nice.”

“No, you can’t. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Fine, I won’t.”

“...right. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

The night carries a chill in it, a cold bliss as the breeze brushes against your skin. Nostalgic, with the moonlight’s glow. 

Oikawa regretted many things. Many of those included not working hard enough, not being fast enough, not being strong enough, but that night, he regretted his cowardice. 

The sixth and final time you meet is after his finals game. You barely see each other after your late night encounter at the dining hall, and you’re both too busy with training now that you’d both qualified. After being knocked out of the competition in the running for second place and barely winning your third place match, your team is exhausted, and your spirits are still high. 

The air of the Olympic village is thick with lethargy and simultaneously the buzz of relief and excitement, cheering echoing across courtyards and buildings. You mill about the front entrance, watching people come and go, waiting for him. You don’t know why, but you feel obligated to congratulate him, your heart still spiralling with the spirit of the stadium. 

You vividly recall his plays, the way he moved as if the world made space for him, the efficacy of his movements and the focus in his eyes that had Japan by the neck. 

“Oh, it’s you.”

“It’s me.”

“Did you watch my game?”

“I did. Congrats.”

He smiles, and your heart melts a little. “Thanks.”

You smile back, and quiet fills the space between you once again. 

“Are you staying in Japan for a bit after the games?”

“I’m planning to.”

“That’s good.”

“Are you? I mean, you live here, but–yeah. We should play together”

“What?”

“I could set for you?”

You burst out laughing, hunching over, and don’t see as Oikawa's face flushes profusely. 

“Sure. I’d love to see you try to pick up one of my serves too.”

“Wanna bet? I could easily pick up every one of your serves.”

“Sure, pretty boy.”

“No aces, you owe me another muffin.”

“Huh? How does that work?”

“Figure it out, loser.”

You indignantly narrow your eyes, crossing your arms. “And if I do score an ace on you?”

“You get a muffin.” 

You roll your eyes at his childlike antics. “Sure. Just make sure you’re ready to go bankrupt.”

You wake the next morning to your team manager banging on your door, slamming it open, and shoving her phone in your face. You blink blearily, abruptly pulled from senseless dreams and the warmth of sleep to a grainy photo of the unmistakable tall, broad shouldered figure of Oikawa, and you beside him, laughing together. 

“Care to explain? Why are there dating rumours? What do you think you’re doing?”

You grumble, turning over. For now, you’d relish in your dreams of a certain volleyball player and glorious chocolate muffins. 

written by @atlaswav , published 28th of January 2025

[miyukisu]

Mega Masterlist .ᐟ ❤︎ | Temporary collection of all my works arranged by fandom (will organize it better once there's more content) - count : 31

Fandoms incl: Blue Lock, Bungo Stray Dogs, Jujutsu Kaisen, Haikyuu, Kaiju No. 8, Ace of Diamond, Obey Me, Wind Breaker, Tougen Anki, +

N/SFW content is marked with !!!

╰ kinktober '24 masterlist | doing trends masterlist | more to come... last updated: jan 27, 2025

HEADCANONS

Awaken, My Love - Multiple !!! ╰ Ever since you two got together, he discovered some of the things that he's actually really really into

NSFW Alphabet Karasu Tabito Edition !!!

NSFW Alphabet Sae Itoshi Edition !!!

DRABBLES

Kaiser picks off food on your plate sometimes - Michael Kaiser

Biting Karasu's Biceps - Karasu Tabito

ONE SHOTS

Take a Bite, Chew Me Up - Shidou Ryusei !!! ╰ making bets about aphrodisiacs working or not (2.7k wc)

A Trace of Body Paint - Shidou Ryusei !!! ╰ He's learning anatomy for his art class—you'll help him, right? (3.1k wc)

Between Me and You - Michael Kaiser !!! ╰ While your other friends are enjoying themselves on your little camping trip, you and Kaiser were secretly fucking around (3k wc)

On the Bridge - Karasu Tabito ╰ You and Karasu Tabito talk one morning on a long and winding bridge...

If You're Down, Boy - Karasu Tabito !!! ╰ Karasu thinks you've got quite a mouth on you—time for him to show you what he can do with his too and make you shut up (3k wc)

Breakfast in Bed - Sae Itoshi !!!╰ Trouble in paradise? Well, Sae has an early morning treat for you to fix that (2.5k wc)

ONE SHOTS

Need Your Lips On Mine - Dazai Osamu !!! ╰ You'd think he'd be more enthusiastic to get his hands on you because of the whole 'secret relationship' thing, but maybe it's time to turn the tables (2.3k wc)

ONE SHOTS

Better Bite the Bullet - Iwaizumi Hajime !!! ╰ He's just trying to be a good best friend by teaching you a useful skill in life... blowjobs (2k wc)

HEADCANONS

Doing Trends: Gym Encounters ╰ "Babe, what would you do if a girl approached you at the gym?"

ONE SHOTS

All Over Me - Toji Fushiguro !!! ╰ Amidst the cruelty of the world, he's your therapy

There Ain't No Man Like You - Toji Fushiguro !!! ╰ People normally talk it out when they have a feud with someone, but you two? You decide to bury the hatchet by showering together (2.2k wc)

Getting Hot in Here - Sukuna Ryomen !!! ╰ things get hot 'n' heavy in the sauna (1.3k wc)

Talk Like That - Hiromi Higuruma !!! ╰ Who would have thought that your quiet and stoic boss had such a dirty side to him? (2.7 wc)

Took Me For a Ride - Geto Suguru !!! ╰ It's raining pretty hard outside—good thing there are more ways than one when it comes to warming yourselves up... (1.6k wc)

ONE SHOTS

No Matter What - Umemiya Hajime ╰ If Umemiya Hajime promises you something—best believe he's keeping it (1.3k wc)

ONE SHOTS

On Camera - Narumi Gen !!! ╰ You just love teasing your best friend—even better now that he's frustrated and can only see you through a screen (2.1 wc)

I Might Bite - Hoshina Soshiro !!! ╰ Resorting to dirty measures like biting your superior during sparring usually doesn't end without you having a taste of your own medicine... (2.6k wc)

DRABBLES

Making Lucifer some Hell's Coffee... - Lucifer

HEADCANONS

Boyfriend Headcanons (Oni Agency Ver.) !!!

HEADCANONS

SFW Alphabet Miyuki Kazuya Edition

General Miyuki Headcanons (1)

DRABBLES

He doesn't realize it yet, but he's kinda clingy... - Miyuki Kazuya

Older Boyfriend Thoughts - 1 !!!

Older Boyfriend Thoughts - 2 !!!

When you buy a plushie of him...

Not-so-innocent shower time...

Phone Sex Drabble... !!!

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

[xxsycamore]

2024 WRITING SUMMARY!

Thank you for your love and support! I had an amazing writing year once again, and it wouldn't have been the same without you! ❤

First of all, here's the year in banners collage! Check last year's one here. I really like looking at all of them put together! 🥺

Total Word Count: 106,847

total works: 111

of which drabbles/headcanons: 80 (72%) of which requested: 77 (69%) of which nsft: 31 (28%) of which featuring Napoleon: 19 (17%) of which ikevamp: 30 (27%) of which ikepri: 27 (24%) of which ikevil: 18 (16%)

total characters written: 62

of which first-time: 13

new fandoms: 0

challenges hosted: 3

extra (nsft under the cut):

places where characters had sex: bed, bed, bed, beach chair, bathtub, floor, kitchen of an abandoned base of a criminal group, beach, car, icecream booth, porn set, toilet stall, bedroom chair, bed, opera house, bed, bed, bed, laboratory, bed, bed, secluded corner at a party, garden, balcony, secluded corner at a party, throne, in the air, hedge maze, floor, secluded corner at a party, bathtub, balcony, desk

And finally...

One sentence (or more) from each work (sans ficlets/headcanons) of 2024! (be warned: some of those are from NSFW fics!)

I decided to leave out the titles, but don’t hesitate to ask if any caught your attention and you want to check out the whole thing! <3

Still pouting because he's unfairly knightly as if he wasn't being a big tease just a second ago, you sink deeper into the soft embrace of the duvet, losing the inner fight too soon and letting yourself be pampered.

Scien makes a small sound of approval, a quiet purr almost, the barely visible bulge of his tongue moving from one side of his mouth to the other all but telling of how he savors the piece of chocolate.

"What are you sounding so scared for?? Are you planning to turn down my proposal? Napoleon? Napoleon???"

"I'm joking, sorry. The others said I should joke more often... something about being able to keep a straight face."

"Pancakes again? I'm starting to get tired of this. You got something else for me, Sebastian?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm your little bunny in heat. I'm beginning you to finally, finally take me."

"In case what? In case you take it a little too far in role-playing? In case you go down on me and the words mon empereur leave your lips?"

"Maybe I just ate something funny at lunch? You know how it is with Sebas and his fusion cuisine, always trying to live up to everyone's taste, haha…"

It's another beautiful day of your life in 19th century Paris, in the neat little mansion up the hill that you call home, just you and your lover and your 8 housemates who are reincarnated vampires and your sugar daddy landlord whose wealth you all live off of.

"I think you're okay, Nunuche. You can be dressed in more skimpy things around me, you know? Or you can discard them altogether if that's more comfortable for you. It's not like I haven't- Ouch!"

Your plea falls on deaf ears for the duration of the task, but the Jin Grandet you know won't just ignore an undressing request like that.

Your new tactic is silence, and it never works on him, but you're prone to making the same mistakes again and again and he likes that about you.

A show like that is best watched with a glass in hand, as much as he hates sounding like a certain information broker with a penchant for hedonism. 

At least it's not doves taking flight or anything else alive, but that doesn't make the contents of his inner pockets less bewildering as he takes the items out on the counter one by one.

After spending a good time admiring the tan line left by a thin strap and how it sealed their memory, seriously rivaling his awfully temporary in comparison lovemarks, he is no longer holding a grudge against non-nudity.

He places his hands on the steering wheel to get a better feeling of it, marine blue eyes sparkling with the wonder of a child receiving a shiny new toy on Christmas morning.

The sounds of the crowd outside are a backdrop to Ellis' soft whispers, a sharp contrast between the intimacy and the reminder of where you are. 

The last thought lingering in your mind before you orgasm is that there simply can't be any co-star of his that has ever had to fake this.

Your gaze moves from Liam's pretty lips curling in a small laughter as he conversates with Harrison, to Harrison stretching out while he listens; to Elbert's tall frame as he looks out the window next to them, to Alfons staring at him, putting one leg over the other as he stirs the steamy liquid in his cup.

Without your favorite attic slash club room, you have to make do with your…what, super comfy bed covered with many pillows and the plushies he bought you? Seems like a bargain.

No, you should be thankful for having been given this chance at all - to Elbert for agreeing, and mostly to Alfons, who put the wicked plan together.

It's like diving into the unknown; both for you and for him, almost in a manner that is special to you, to have another first together, to share the feeling of this discovery. 

"I swear, this has nothing to do with you, Harry. I too like to drink strawberry milk sometimes, okay? It's as simple as that! I wanted to drink some so I got myself some. It was my strawberry milk. It wasn't strawberry milk I left for you because I'm too shy to tell you I got you a gift! Jeez!"

The weapon entrusted to you - now that you recognize the pillow as such - has to act as a shield first, as you barely react fast enough to block an upcoming attack from your eccentric boyfriend.

A sense of belonging overcomes you, strongly, as if you can make Napoleon melt into your chest if you hold him like that just a little longer.

It's even more obscene when Roger smooths down your dress, letting it conceal the sight, before giving your ass a little pat.

Yet there it is, standing in your peripheral vision; the wooden cradle he presented you with tonight, just a couple of days after you first mentioned the peculiar piece of furniture.

"Their feet will be… about thiiis small," you lift your hand in the air just enough for Luke to see the measurement you draw using your thumb and index finger.

But knowing Victor and his penchant for dramatizing things, it's no wonder why you're readily brushing it off as nothing now, as you make your way into the dimly-lit ballroom.

More than for his country, it's dulcet et decorum to live for MC - in the same way that more than the bunch of rowdy residents downstairs', it's important to ensure MC's good time. So here he is.

[exocynraku]

13 + warrior cats for the ask game!!

13: worst blorbofication not sure if this question is asking for the worst of the fandoms blorbofication or MY worst blorboficaiton but i'm going to go with mine and its . brokenstar . hes one of the Worst-er villains in the series imo because of his whole sending children to war thing but there's something about that and his whole character thats just so interesting to me you don't know who your mom is, your adopted mom doesn't really care about you, your dad is part kittypet which means you are as well which is supposedly 'bad'. you are labelled as 'broken' even as a child. your siblings, who potentially could've been the two to save you from your future fate are dead, killed as a punishment from starclan. starclan killed them. starclan must want you dead aswell. you spend your entire childhood. you want to prove yourself to starclan, you want to prove yourself to your mysterious mother, and so you want to be strong. you want to be as strong as possible, and work your way up the ranks-- but your mentor is too 'weak' and 'pathetic' to train you, so you go to your father, the only cat you have now for training instead. your father becomes leader, with the weak little white cat as deputy. he dies, and then it's the flirty fox's turn, the one distracting your father. distracting him from training you. she dies, and then finally, it's your turn. but this isn't what you want. you want to lead, you don't want to be led. and how long it is going to take for your father to die? and what do you owe to him, why should you serve him like a pet at all? he may have trained you, but it's the least he could've done. he didn't take care of you when you were a kitten or tell you about your mother or anything like that! so you kill him, because YOU want to be the strongest and now you are. you have so, so much power. and you see starclan. you see the ones who wanted you dead, suddenly congratulating you for what you've done. and it feels good. you've proven yourself to them. though, something's happening. new kits are being born. they're playing in camp, smiling and giggling. you never did that. when was the last time you smiled? their mothers love them. yours never did. if you were never allowed to be happy, then why should they? so you train them, and maybe there's a few.... casualties... along a the way, but now they're just as strong as you are! and the weak, the old decrepit weak, just like your old mentor. why should they stay here? they never did anything for you, just as your mentor did. so you exile them. and now you are even stronger. though, there's someone getting in the way. the medicine cat. who you look... oddly similar to. but that doesn't matter. you pin a murder on her, and have her exiled. and now all of your problems are fine, yes? for a little bit, maybe, but then you go and try to attack thunderclan, and-- oh. it's that medicine cat you exiled. your surprise holds you back, allowing her the chance to, in one swipe, strip everything and anything away from you. it's quiet now. a dreary old den you lay in, guarded by cats you've never met. the wretched smell of thunderclan coats your nose. the medicine cats comes and sits with you. she feeds you something, they don't taste very good. you start to feel weaker. this isn't what you want. you want to be strong. you start to go numb, feel smaller than you were. but this isn't what you want. none of this is what you want. why can't you just what what you want? your life is being stripped from you. that's not how this was supposed to be. you were supposed to be leader, forever. leader, forever? that's a childs fantasy.

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤. 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 [𝐃𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐠]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: Dan Heng x fem!reader

Warnings: school AU, just fluff.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. Eve - 遊生夢死

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

I usually don't like to write smth like this, but I made an exception by writing this work once as a bday present for my dear friend. I still think I'm not very good at feeling this character, but I hope it's not too noticeable XD

You remember exactly when it started. You remember perfectly well when your life became so unstable and restless, but happy and saturated, as if filled with bright colors for the first time.

One look. Two words that planted a feeling in your chest that could be awakened by a man who barely decided to take the first step, which he will never regret.

✧ ✧ ✧

Thoughtlessly tracing the margins in your notebook with a pencil, you get bored, yawning quietly at the last desk in the middle row. The office is filled with the tired voice of the teacher and the quiet whisper of your classmates, who can't wait to go home. Raindrops patter softly on the windows, making you even more sleepy.

Today is your birthday. How ironic that it was on this day that the sky cried from the moment you stepped outside the school.

At least you'll be able to come home soon and get some sleep.

Your gaze lazily rose to the gray clouds. For some reason, no one around seemed to care about writing a synopsis or the raging elements outside the window. This day could have been much more intense if you had friends, right? Perhaps so. But you've always been comfortable being alone. Being alone also has its charms. You are always focused on your own thoughts, not filling your head with unnecessary meaningless chatter. Yes, from the outside, friendly communication really looked quite fun, but is it really necessary if now it seems to you that everything is in its place?

You sigh softly, about to return to your notes, when your gaze catches on another bored figure by the window. Exactly. There was always someone in the class who seemed like a kind of kindred spirit to you. For sure, Dan Heng thought about his life the same way you did. You've never seen him smiling cheerfully in the company of classmates. His gaze is just as extinguished, directed at the gloomy sky. Funny… You didn't pay much attention to him, but whenever this guy came into your field of vision, he looked like your reflection.

Although you can't even remember what his voice sounds like.

This does not mean that you never had the desire to talk to him, but you often found him reading another book or leaving school alone with headphones on. Perhaps these are just excuses for your self-doubt, but you sincerely believed that your company would be superfluous for him. Dan Heng always looks so cold, detached, but he doesn't seem to be bothered by the lack of any connection with society.

Just like you.

Hmm… if you think about it, he could have been quite popular with girls if he had been more sociable. His hair always looks so well groomed. Slightly curly short black strands gently shimmer even in the dim sunlight, barely breaking through dense clouds, contrasting against the background of bright turquoise eyes. Aristocratically pale skin and pleasant facial features. Yes, Dan Heng can definitely be called handsome. Maybe he's even your type.

Although, how do you know what your taste in guys is, because you've never fallen in love.

But when those expressive sea-green eyes meet yours, for some reason my heart feels so restless in my chest. Is it out of fear that you seem to have been staring at Dan Heng for a while so obviously that you even managed to get his attention? Yes, but… it was like there was something else.

You look away, burying your face even more in the palm of your hand propping up your head, turning back to your notebook. It was probably the first time you made eye contact with him. What is this feeling? Somehow… It's restless.

You flinch when you finally hear the loud sound of a life-saving bell, knocking you out of your embarrassing thoughts. It must have been so long since you talked to anyone but your parents that even such a small thing could throw you into confusion.

You hurriedly gather your things from the table, scooping them into a bag before heading for the exit, following the crowd that has already managed to run out into the corridor, when a strange hand of the man behind lands on your desk, enclosing you between his body and a chair.

«Wh-what?..»

You turn around uncertainly, facing the chest of a guy with an indifferent expression on his face. The fright on your face is gradually replaced by complete puzzlement.

— D-Dan Heng? Something happened? — has your voice always sounded so quiet or just this time?

— Did you bring an umbrella today?

— Huh? An umbrella? — your eyes widen with even more shock when two things put you in a stupor at once. This is a Tribute to Heng. He's talking to you right now. And asks… About the umbrella?! You're hardly sure you've ever heard his voice, but what he said now seems absolutely absurd.

— It's raining outside. I saw you looking out the window and thought you might not have brought an umbrella.

— Oh, that's right… Um… — you're nervously going over all the memories in your head up to the moment you left the house. And really…

Your thoughtful look, replaced by confusion, said more to Dan Heng than your tongue was able to utter now.

— We live not far from each other. I spend.

✧ ✧ ✧

«What's going on?!»

You awkwardly huddle with a silent classmate under an umbrella as you walk steadily in complete silence to the sound of raindrops hitting the asphalt. There are so many questions in your head that you would like to ask, but for some reason the words get stuck deep in your throat. How the hell does he know where you live? Why did I come up to you with such a strange offer in the first place? Why today?

There must have been some truth in the rumors that Dan Heng was a strange guy who didn't walk around the classroom quietly enough.

You give the guy short glances, having time to notice how calm he looks in such a situation. The same as always. You also notice how his shoulder gets wet from the incessant rain while he holds an umbrella over your figure, which is moving further away from him.

How embarrassing is this… You are gradually approaching Dan Heng, feeling the heat tingle your cheeks even under the cool breeze. It's just to avoid feeling guilty. No more than that.

The longer the silence hung over you, the more clearly your heart was throbbing somewhere in your ears, making you even more nervous. Are you so uncomfortable just because it's practically a stranger to you, or is it because it's Dan Heng?

Your eyes light up when the fence of your house is visible on the horizon. You can finally get through this stress alone.

— Um… we're here.

You both stop, and a short sigh leaves Dan Heng's chest, giving you an unreadable look from top to bottom. You've never thought about how much taller he is than you, but now it seemed like you were nothing more than a scared kitten cowering at his feet.

— Yes. Then… Till tomorrow.

Dan Heng's lips pursed up, and his gaze was blunted somewhere in the asphalt under his feet, which made you relax a little. Ah… he's probably embarrassed too, because you really look alike. It is unlikely that Dan Heng is used to communicating with anyone. He gives the impression of a man who voluntarily chose solitude, but for some reason he exudes sadness, the nature of which you cannot understand. You wanted to ask why he decided to accompany you, why today… But you just nod, grabbing the strap of your bag, hurriedly running to the door.

— Y/N!

For some reason, you were almost sure that this was not the end. Exactly… It wasn't sadness.

You turn around, meeting Dan Heng's furrowed brows, flushed cheeks and sparkling turquoise eyes as he tightens his grip on the umbrella in his hand, looking at you, seeming to carefully consider what he wants to say.

— Happy birthday…

— Huh? — it seemed to you that your heart turned over in your chest, pausing for those few moments that felt like an eternity while you stared into Dan Heng's deep eyes. In these quiet waves, which shimmer with soft ripples in his eyes, you can read tenderness, awe, which creep through your body with a tremor that you have never felt before. Your stomach is cramping with an unpleasant, but such a warm feeling that makes you even more nervous. It's all like a fever attack that will kill you if you don't hide behind your door right now.

You open your lips, whispering your answer, which probably only the rain hitting the roof of your house has heard.

— Thank you…

But Dan Heng heard you. That's probably why he hurried to turn around and head home as soon as possible, in order to hide the way the corners of his lips lifted in a soft smile under a wet umbrella.

[asgardianhobbit98]

Four for Valentine: Week 2 "The Letter"

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield / Reader

Characters: Dwalin, Thorin, Gender Neutral Reader

Important Tags: written from Dwalin's POV, romance, angst, death, alcohol consumption, grief, love, redemption, healing

Words: 1146

Summary: When Dwalin attempts to heal his grief after the Battle of Five Armies, his finds himself not just grieving Thorin but also his sibling. But in the depth of night, ghosts come to life, and Dwalin finds that the letters are more healing than he originally thought. (I really meant for this to be fluffy but then my brain made it bittersweet instead because apparently angst is all I can manage today)

Written for my "Four for Valentine" event 🩷

My dearest y/n.

They are calling it the Battle of Five Armies: a Historic event, it seems. I certainly won’t be forgetting it. And I will make damned sure no Dwarf ever forgets it either. Just like I am making sure that no Dwarf ever forgets Smaug’s taking of the Lonely Mountain. Two points of important Dwarven history… and two moments in my life I would rather forget than remember. But it is crucial I don’t forget. If people remember it feels like people also remember you. Both of you.

My brother said writing down feelings is better than cutting down Orc filth. I still disagree. But I can’t deny that it helped me greatly when I lost you. It will certainly help me greatly now that I have lost him.

I loved you. You were my sibling, how could I not? But even if you had not been my family, I think the two of us would have gotten along well. You were funny in a way I didn’t really get, but which others seemed to find endearing. Thorin certainly found it endearing. More than he dared admit.

You see, I found a letter of his in his belongings. I didn’t mean to rummage through his things. It fell out when I was moving it. So don’t come yelling at me from the rocks now! And I only read it because it was addressed to you.

I hadn’t read your name in so very long. Maybe it was the already present grief, but I suddenly grieved you once more. I had to. Because when I read his letter to you, I saw the life you could have had if I had just been quicker in getting to you. That damned dragon!

He is dead now. Smaug. Revenge didn’t taste as sweet as I thought.

You would have had a life with Thorin. I know it. Because he wrote so. He loved you. Dwarves only love once. He was more devastated than he admitted to any of us. I knew he slipped away from us for a long time after the fall of Erebor. I knew he grew quiet. Distant. I never in a million years thought it was because of you too. I thought his family, his people… And here I was grieving you in front of him, burdening him with my own shite.

Yet, he never once said a word. He simply supported me.

He loved you.

You could have been his. He could have been yours.

Maybe this is for the better after all. If you had been here, you would have had to grieve him. The loss of Thorin is one I do not know how to handle.

I wish you were here to help me.

Perhaps the two of you are there in the afterlife, living among the rocks of Erebor, reunited at last.

Stupid.

Dwalin put the pen down and crumpled the letter in his hands with a little more force than necessary. He threw it aside where he watched it land among all the other attempts. Alone in a room in Erebor, finally home, Dwalin thought he might find some solace in a successful quest. But everything felt wrong.

With a sigh, he moved over to his bed and simply… drank himself to sleep, like he usually did. It helped with the nightmares, it helped with the grief, and it put him right to sleep. It was a win win, really.

Balin hated watching him do it, but Balin wasn’t around at the moment. He was on his way to Moria to continue furthering their people’s wealth; to try and retake the mountain. Meanwhile, Dwalin was still stuck in the past, in his grief… doing nothing with his life… or so he thought, at least.

…

As the darkness engulfed him, a restless sleep devouring Dwalin, he found that the alcohol actually did very little to help him. Rather than steering him onto a path of just dark, dreamless sleep, Dwalin found himself suddenly standing in his room.

Actually, that wasn’t the best description on where Dwalin found himself. He was in his room, yes, but he was sort of… standing by his bed, watching himself sleep.

It was a weird position to be in, and for a long time, Dwalin did nothing but stare at himself.

Had he died?

Was this the afterlife?

But no, he was breathing… Snoring, actually. It was a rather pitiful sight.

There was a strange humming in the background. As if someone was singing, but it wasn’t one person. It was a vibration so loud it sounded like a thousand people humming. It was peaceful, almost recognizable. As if Dwalin had always heard it in the background whilst walking in the mountain, or out and about.

But he couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

The humming was interrupted by a little shuffle in the room behind him. He turned, finding it rather difficult and slow to do so, and watched…

You.

And Thorin.

Both of you looked ten times better than you’d ever done alive, warm peaceful looks on your faces at all times. The two of you were picking up Dwalin’s attempts at writing a letter to you, reading them with your heads held together, arms locked in a loving touch…

“Y/N?” Dwalin asked, staring at his sibling with pure… shock. And Thorin, his king… “Thorin?”

Both of you looked up at him. But it was you who answered Dwalin: “I like your letters. They make me happy.”

Dwalin must have looked quite dumb as he simply stared in shock, because suddenly you began to chuckle. That chuckle… He’d missed it.

“My dear Dwalin,” Thorin said, “you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Both of you chuckled a bit at this.

“You both are…”

“Dead,” you finished for him. “Yes, quite. But that doesn’t mean we’ve left you.”

Thorin nodded along. “We’re always with you. In the rocks that make up your home. In your memories. And we’ll be waiting. Until you’re ready.”

You smiled. Thorin smiled.

…

And far too soon did that ‘dream’ end because suddenly Dwalin woke up with a start in his bed, looking around the room, searching…

He pushed away the bottle of alcohol. His heart lighter, and went back over to the crumpled up drafts of a letter.

Okay… he thought to himself… I’ll keep writing if it makes you two so damn happy.

Chuckling for the first time in a long, long time, he wrote at least twenty long letters in the candlelight, telling the both of you everything that he wanted to. Because he missed you both, and he loved you. And if you two really did read his letters, then he was going to keep at it until he was sure you both knew just how much you meant to him.

tag list: @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @knittastically @heilith @lathalea @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @nowandthane if you'd like to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know!

reblog and comment = love and support 🥰

[le-monchou]

what once was, now is || k project

anna struggles to fill mikoto's shoes. yata and kusanagi attempt to help out. || word count: 251 words || hello gays and guys and others, im back in this hole after 8 years, i hope you like my writing. find my cringy mikoto suoh fic titled tasukete ageru on quotev and tell me it sucks lmao i wrote that in 2019 and then rewrote it in 2021.

the city outside is too vibrant for anna's tastes, but the bar inside is far too quiet for her. not right now, when mikoto's loss is still fresh and bleeding, despite the crown firmly affixed on her head. and maybe this is how mikoto felt when he was eighteen and unsure, and despite having izumo and tatara, he stood alone.

anna doesn't like the feeling of being alone. the sound of footsteps behind her makes her turn around to find yata waiting patiently, and for once, his voice is quiet. gentle, like she was seven and terrified of everyone who wasn't red like they were. "dinner time, anna."

she knows what she has to do, but her feet refuse to move, firmly affixed to the cement of the terrace, and somehow far below her, a car honks. the world continues on without the people who were her whole world. "i can't move." she whispers. "the red is too strong."

"and we're here. we'll help keep you safe." misaki responds, and somehow, anna's heart breaks further, because how have they been dealing with their youngest succeeding mikoto? how could she have been so selfish? "and you can take your time, anna. mikoto-san's right there behind you, and we're behind the both of you."

through tears resting heavily on her lashes, anna sees misaki's red shine bright for the frst time in a long time, and she sniffles as her feet finally move, and suddenly, the bar doesn't seem far too quiet anymore.

massive thanks to @kresurrectionfest for organising something like this!! im rewriting all my drafts to keep this fandom going little by little haha

[edanfig]

I will be the first to say that the Grishaverse has its flaws. There are many problems with it but my main criticism is with the fandom. Especially the ones on booktok/bookstagram that always are like “my least favorites trope is when the fem!mc loses her powers in the end” and I look in the comments and see people saying “Omg like Alina”.

It doesn’t make any sense to me, I feel like I’ve seen that trope in less than 5 books, but maybe I’m wrong. However, Alina losing her power totally makes sense in the book. She doesn’t even want the power, her whole thought process is “means justify the end”. She says multiple times after the first few chapters in the Little Palace that she doesn’t like being a Grisha. It wasn’t healthy for her and she wasn’t thriving; hell, the people there didn’t even like her. Alina gathered all the power from the amplifiers to take down the Darkling, and it was said multiple times by her mentors that the power she was gaining was unnatural.

Her gathering of the amplifiers was breaking the natural order of things and creating rifts that we later see in KoS/RoW. Alina’s powers wiping themselves out after she strained herself and fixing the problem that was breaking the natural order makes so much sense. Her powers getting rid of themselves was restoring the world to what it was supposed to be.

Also people act like Alina was upset that she lost her power, and while I think she mourned the power she’d gained in that time, she wasn’t too sad. She enjoyed it because she could live a peaceful life with Mal, doing what she wanted, free from the constraints and stress from politics and dealing with life and death.

Certain people were just completely making things up about how Alina was feeling, forgetting she was a child who liked the idea of being a Grisha. After she got a taste of what it was like, and the stress (mental and physical) that came with it, she hated it. She hated when she became a saint because people were treating her like a thing not a person. Alina did everything she did to do what was right and when she was done went to the peaceful life she craved with Mal. And for some reason people interpret this as “Leigh didn’t want Alina to be happy” when you can clearly see she’s happier living a quiet life.

[cycat-carisi]

Commitment

Pairing: Trevor x Nicky (1x06 Pete's Wife)

Summary/A/N: In 2x22 (The Heir) Trevor mentioned that he almost moved in with a woman, but that she wanted him to commit. In 1x06 (Pete's Wife), Trevor gets Sam to look up Nicky, a woman he thought could have been "the one". I said, why not make them the same person and explore the moment that T-Money bailed on his own happiness. You know, because why not sprinkle a little more angst into this fandom :)

Tags/warnings: Cussing

Words: 1094

Additional note: I kinda feel like Trevor's unfinished business has to do with his commitment, accepting that money doesn't define his worth and having someone actually love him in return. So, I kind of want to make this into an H-Money series and weave in cannon moments plus steer these two in the right direction towards each other.

AO3: link (or below the cut!)

“Why so mopey, bro?” exclaims Chet, half-drank beer in his hand.

Trevor’s frown deepens as he plunks himself down on Ari’s expensive sofa.

“Yeah, dude. Who shit in your cornflakes?” chimes David Woodstone, swigging back his own chilled can of alcohol. “Thought you were having Nicky over tonight.”

Ari pipes up next as he saunters towards his friends. “Trouble in paradise, my man?”

Trevor releases a sigh. His voice quiets. “I think it may be over, guys.”

A collective gasp resonates through the lavish apartment.

~

“You taste scrumptious, sweetheart,” Trevor coos between kisses to his girlfriend’s neck. He feels her hum with affection against him.

“Babe,” Nicky begins, her voice tender and sweet. “What are we? I mean, we’ve been on and off for the better part of a year. I love being with you, but this whole arrangement where one of us comes over, we spend time together, and then one of us leaves again just doesn’t feel right anymore. I want us to be more than that. Being with you feels right, Trev.”

Trevor’s stomach drops. His whole body freezes. Is she saying what he thinks she’s saying? He props himself up on an elbow to meet her gaze. “What do you mean, Nicky?”

She must sense his unease because Nicky’s expression drops as she answers. “I mean, I want to have a proper relationship with you. I want to take this,” her fingertips graze his bare chest before pulling back to her own, “to the next level.”

“Like move in together?” Panic begins to set in. Trevor’s voice raises an octave.

“Well, maybe,” she keeps her voice soft, “but maybe more than just that? Maybe we can make our commitment to one another clear.”

Trevor’s brain stalls. Commitment. One simple word yet so many implications. So much weight behind its meaning. He adores Nicky, but does he love her? Does Trevor even know what love feels like? Does she love him? Is that what this is about?

His silence must have gone on for just a little too long. Nicky’s shoulders droop, and a defeated frown creeps its way onto her features. “Never mind,” she sighs, moving to get up.

“Nick, wait!” exclaims Trevor. And the look of hope that lights up her face as she turns around shatters Trevor’s heart. He tries to play it cool like he always does. “You know me, babe! I...I don’t deal well with all this intimate stuff.” Somehow, those are the only words he can think of.

A tear. It appears there in the corner of her eye, but she refuses to let it slip out. Nicky puts a hand up. “Save it, Lefkowitz. I should have known better than to push you towards this. I should know that you’re not that kind of guy.”

It’s like a hot iron rod is being driven through his chest, yet Trevor does nothing as he watches her dress, gather her belongings from the drawer he lets her use, and leaves.

~

Trevor’s head hangs between his shoulders as he leans forward on the sofa. “I royally fucked up.”

“Dude,” David preaches from beside Trevor, “chicks think that they can just tell their men what to do. Take away our autonomy.”

“But I really–” Trevor shifts, reaching into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “I picked this up on the way here.” It’s then that Trevor reveals the small velvet box.

“Holy shit, bro!” gasps Chet.

“No fucking way!” shouts David.

Ari’s eyes widen into saucers.

Trevor holds the open box in his palm; its contents glitter in the afternoon light.

Sure, he gets invited to all the parties. Sure, he likes to splurge on a nice suit every once in a while. But the truth is, Trevor is not rich like Ari or David. Instead, he works hard and pays his rent, but while desperately tries to fit in with his friends’ lavish lifestyles, Trevor just isn’t really there yet.

So, the rock in his hand isn’t huge or overly expensive, but maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.

“Are you insane?!?!” Ari exclaims as if this must surely be some kind of prank.

“Bro, you are so whipped!” David gargles out a laugh, which sparks Ari to join in. Chet just stares, dumbfounded.

Trevor’s eyes dart between his friends, forcing a smile and a laugh amidst his confusion.

“You’re not serious, are you?” chides Ari, his words making a pit form in Trevor’s stomach.

When Trevor doesn’t answer, Ari just scoffs. “Trev, engagement spells the end of all fun.”

“No bro-nights. No drinking. No exclusive parties,” adds David.

Ari seizes the opportunity to continue. “You’ll just be dragged into the world of domesticity. Dinners with her friends and her family. Wedding planning. Then come the kids. Diapers. Being forced to stay home all the time. Not to mention that she won’t want you working in the city away from her. She’ll force you to take a safe job in the burbs and isolate you even more from us. I mean, we’re chick magnets, so she’d obviously be jealous all the time.”

The pit in Trevor’s stomach grows; it’s heavy and pushes acid into his throat. The question he had earlier resurfaces in his brain. Does he love Nicky? Is she the one? But would she try to change him or stop him from doing the things he enjoys? He is still young, with so much life to live and so many things to tick off his bucket list. But then, why had he just gone out and bought a ring?

“Trev, buddy,” Ari says, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder and shaking Trevor from his thoughts.

Trevor gazes upwards, finding David as the one about to speak. “She’s probably got the plans for your future already mapped out.”

“Dave’s right,” Ari interjects. “You’re blinded by shiny stones and what-ifs. You’ve only been hooking up for the last year. Are you really ready to give all this”, he gestures around the room, “up for one person who probably wants to dictate the rest of your life? You need to look out for you, pal.”

His brow furrows as Trevor glances around absently.

Trevor always felt like he was going to be something. A few more promotions, and he would be raking in the dough. Then it would be him in a penthouse like Ari’s. Him hosting parties on a yacht. Him being able to afford Nicky the life she deserves. But right now, he couldn’t stop himself from living and enjoying the life that would get him there.

Not yet at least.

Feedback is loved ♥

[faksyan]

12/16/19 :3

ooohh boyy that got really long. lots of mgs rambles under the cut. thanks for the ask!!! very slight nsfw mention in the second one, nothing major.

12) the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

I'll be honest I'm actually still familiar with some of the games only on surface-level (fake fan I know), and I don't think I have anyone like that from those I know well.

Well, Paz, but I talked about her a bit in the last ask already. She is full of rage and loneliness and gets just a glimpse of real affection and friendship and I find a lot of these themes very compelling. And I guess all the women in general, because fandom spaces usually gravitate towards men, and with mgs it's even less surprising. I really, really like Eva in Snake Eater, but that's mostly due to my own interpretation rather than the writing. I feel like her understanding of love must be really interesting as someone who was taught to pretend/actually feel on some level love on command, and I also think it's interesting that she was the one The Boss opened to. I really wish so many mgs women's traits weren't so tightly linked with romance, man. Quiet is also so cool, but she too suffers from being reduced to just that.

I really like The Boss, she's such a interesting contradiction - cold and strict, but also full of love for the while world and ready to give everything she has to make it just that much better. I would love to see in more detail things about her and Sorrow, an actual game with her as a protagonist would be awesome. Strangelove's tapes in pw are absolutely fascinating as well, the one where she's talking to Joy's ai almost made me cry, and she generally has some pretty interesting take on some things. I really liked the part where she talks about how ai would be an amalgamation of people's consciousness rather than of individual's in the future, because that put into words part of why I hate ai-generated images and text that people call art.

16) you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

Well, I can get people liking anything on account of different tastes, so this is more about popular takes I don't really get because of how different my reading of canon is, I guess? Like the idea of bbkaz being abusive to a point where Kaz was having a horrible terrible time every day at every corner. I've seen it in some fics, and kind of get where people go with it, but I think Kaz "almost blew himself up with a grenade so he wouldn't be taken prisoner" Miller would rather die than be treated like shit. He would blow up their shared tent if it ever came to it ya feel me. He is too proud and too impulsive and too much of everything. They respected and listened to each other and I'd say a lot of their issues were kind of more subtle? in a way. What they had definitely wasn't healthy in many aspects, but it was in ways where they both could ignore/didn't feel were that bad at the moment, that type of thing.

I read through almost the entirety of ocelhira tag on ao3, and i could write a whole list of stuff about them that I personally see differently as that part of the fandom. I'm very picky when it comes to them, in no way those are bad, and I've /seen/ them being executed in a way I enjoyed, I just don't really get them. The main things I don't really see are, as follows:

That they hate each other (next to zero basis of that before the ending of v, and even this can be argued about.)

They would punch each other on the first meeting or shortly after (never seen either of them as people who would resort to violence in a more business-like setting. because that's how I see them approach what they have. Ocelot mainly uses violence in specific scenarios like interrogations and is good at controlling his emotions. Kaz is impulsive but he is a businessman to the bone. Maybe he'd punch Ocelot at some point but definitely not early on. I feel like the main instigator of random CQC is Snake after all, and without him they would figure things out differently.)

They would fuck on the first meeting or shortly after (Ocelot is weird about intimacy and doesn't trust anyone and is a spy who's probably never had friends or lovers, in any meaningful sence of the words. Also he's on aroace spectrum to me. I don't think Kaz would have sex with a person he genuinely despises even if he found them appealing, out of sheer stubbornness. If he hates a person he hates them, same reason why I don't think bbkaz would work in any way past v. Even if Kaz tried to hook up with Ocelot in the beginning, he would probably kill him for a mere insinuation. Give me the intricate details of getting to know a person and figuring shit out, they had nine whole years.)

There's probably more, but this is getting like. super long sorry my bad. And sorry so much of it is about ships, the platonic tags are barren as a desert I gotta write and draw some myself✌️

19) you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

Vocelot a bit maybe (not necessarily romantic or sexual) because the whole concept of them having a close relationship could go a very fucked-up route (like a bit more than the average mgs level). Not really ashamed, that's why I like it, it has a sort of a Hannigram feel to it. Even in case where they genuinely care about each other, there are still some weird power dynamics and mind games and codependency. I just generally find ideas of brainwashing really unsettling.

Also I really like Huey as a character. am I allowed to say that. am I getting fed to the bears. I can and will elaborate at some point, I just really like characters who are unredeemable impossible hypocrites (hey, that's part of why I'm a Kaz Miller fan) and Huey is just. vastly misunderstood when it comes to what caused him to spiral, none of which helps his case but it's INTERESTING. Instead he's just being reduced to a punching bag without taking a look at what exactly led up to it all. Grantedly, I don't think Kojima thought about it that deeply at all, but it came out as a vivid critique of how society and especially military treats men who are disabled/not "masculine" enough/can't stand up for themselves. to me. and I like that.

[yeahgen]

5,10,15,20

15 questions about mun’s taste in muses.

5. who is / was your favourite muse of all time to play?

wow you can't make me choose favorites like that im gonna piss eiden off and say it's aury just because

(but all swordboys are good swordboys)

10. if you play original muses with canon roots ( like oc siblings, coworkers, etc. ) or someone who’s been either just a name or a few lines of dialogue in canon, how do you build that character? do you pick the muse first and build from there, or do you need have the muse ready in your head and only then pick the connection, or a combination of the two?

considering the only fandom OC i've played so far is a flaming chicken idk if i'm the best to answer this question lololol

but i can talk about small side characters, which are a guilty pleasure for me because i can draw inferences from their (limited) canon appearances and play with headcanons from thereon. i think that's why i like TKRB muses so much, because they give you that freedom to explore. and it's fun if they have some interaction with the main cast too because you can build off of what little you know to create potential "canons" that fit.

....on that note this just reminded me i really wanted to RP mizuiro kojima from BLEACH once

15. which muses of yours have currently very dead fandoms?

they're all kinda quiet i guess? uhhh maybe kino no tabi???

TKRB is alive and well in japan (they just celebrated their 10-year anniversary of game launch) and the rest are all OCs or doing fine

20. ___________________

gri where r my toppers >:(

[neighborlywelcome]

Hi, I saw some of your other matchups for tadc and decided to do this for myself! I will say very quickly that I'm not comfortable being paired with Jax.

Currently I'm questioning my sexuality and I'm okay with being paired with any character, my gender I'm also questioning right now but currently I use she/they! My personality is basically at first I'm very quiet maybe saying one or two things but when I open up to people I become very loud and make a lot of jokes, I try to be as kind as possible (like if I make a somewhat rude joke I almost immediately ask if it's okay after), can be very chaotic, very caring, and somewhat on the more sus side. The best way to describe my appearance is like with Ramona Flowers often I dye my hair new colors (though not as extreme with me waiting till it's faded or a few months later), I have a lot of freckles all over my body, I try to have a goth/emo look, and I have a few very small scars. I'm very creative writing fanfiction, drawing, and trying to make my own series, other then those I love learning about old fandom stuff and reading as well, I also really like learning about lore of different games but I'm not really a massive gamer, I also have a massive passion for theater! I'm an Aries as well and also have a lot of plushies that I sleep with every night!

For my partner I look for someone who can be there no matter what, someone to help remind me that I'm loved, someone who I can joke around with and just be there with. The love langue's I look for a partner are words of affirmation and physical touch, while the ones I myself have are words of affirmation and quality time. My fave date is something quiet like going to see a movie or going to eat out at a small hometown restaurant!

I hope this is good and thanks in advance! Also have an amazing day/night!

Hi and thank you for your request! I hope you have a good day/night as well!

YOUR MATCHUP IS…

GANGLE!!!

You and Gangle would be a great match! You're both compassionate and caring, and not to mention creative. You would get along well and Gangle would be enamored by your unique personality and tastes, like your cool, colorful hair (even if she has a hard time admitting this because of how shy she is)!

You're both very quiet upon first meeting each other, which Gangle finds very comforting. I don't think she'd like if someone was very loud and excited with her from the get-go. You both take your time getting to know one another to open up to each other, and afterwards you're surely inseparable!

Gangle appreciates your kindness, and once she's comfortable with you, would love your jokes! She'll even reciprocate eventually with her own humor every once and a while. And when she's more open she would likewise tell you how happy you make her and how much she loves how caring you are.

Gangle loves drawing and writing and everything in between, especially when it's related to fandoms! She would love to share her works with you and vice versa, and would love to listen to your thoughts and opinions on any kind of lore. Creativity is very important to her, so suffice it to say it's one of her favorite parts about you. (And your love for theatre is also really cute given that's Gangle's theme.)

She would also love going on quiet, romantic dates with you whether that's walks around town or eating at small restaurants. She seems like a "watch a movie with snacks on the couch" kind of gal if you ever feel like staying indoors too. But anything you want to do is fine with her as long as she's in your company... and it isn't anything too loud or scary lol.

One of her favorite activities, though, is cuddling with her ribbons all wrapped around you since she knows how much you love physical affection. Plus, with all the plushies on your bed, she thinks it makes it the perfect cozy spot to relax and hang out together!

[shytastemakerthing]

hi! I hope you're having a nice day/night! can I ask for a TWST matchup?

I have she/her pronouns. I'm about 5'2, but I look a bit older than I am. I have dark brown eyes and black hair, and I'm Hispanic [Venezuelan]. My music taste is all over, but my favorite artist is Melanie Martinez. I like writing creatively and drawing. I'm in a lot of fandoms but my main three are MPHFPC, TWST, and PJO/HOO. I have attachment anxiety, and do get anxious very easily. I have a tendency to either be tired asf and not talk that much, or have too much energy. My personality is kinda rude at first, but I'll be nice if I like you. I'm a but on the introverted side, tho. My love languages are quality time, and gifts. Ty!

Hello! Thank you so much for your request! I'm finally able to get these rolling out so hopefully by the end of the week, maybe a little into next, I'll be able to have everyone's done! I thank you all so much for your patience, it is been a very hectic time for me between work, school, hurricane, and just Overall sickness that seems to be going around!

Note: This one was a little hard because I had too many ideas but I managed to narrow it down! I also saw there was no preference for romantic or platonic so this is romantic as default, if you would like platonic, don't hesitate to message me😊

CW: None!

I match you with........

Floyd Leech

🐚 He totally understands how you go from being tired and quiet to all of a sudden being the most loud and outgoing person on campus.... that's literally him. He understands the constant changes in one's mood and all that comes along with it. Honestly, out of everyone at NRC, he supports you the absolute most.

🐚 Floyd is absolutely someone who would love some quality time. Everyone always runs away from him because of.... well, just being him. So the fact that when you see him zooming towards you at breakneck speed with open arms, honestly, he feels all warm and fuzzy inside.

🐚 There is a lot that you guys could do as far as spending time together. You could meet him for basketball practice (if you show up to games, he will be showing off), you could come and see him at work (Azul begs you to come bevaise when you're there, the moody eel actually decides to work), but he will absolutely LOVE to go swimming with you, especially if he gets to be in his merform.

🐚 Floyd is a chronic gift giver, change my mind. He sees anything and everything a gift that he could give to you, and he loves when you gift him anything back. He will show up at random times with shells that he found, pretty rocks, a random flower, maybe even a free drink. But the one he is especially proud of, was a little charm bracelet that had a little eel on it with some shells and a pearl. He sees you wearing that and you have a very happy and clingy eel.

🐚 By default, if you're with Floyd, you're bound to see Jade a lot ad well. At first, it was rather creepy, but Jade was genuinely checking to see if you truly do care for his brother. Sure, people have shown interest in the past before, but more often than not, it never ended too well. So, to see that you genuinely love his brother, it brings an actual smile to his face. You certainly have his blessing.

🐚 If you draw Floyd by any chance, prepare for him to that that picture and literally frame it in his room. It's his most prized possession at this point. And if you ever ask him to model for you? Well, just make sure he keeps his shirt on because man does not care, if you wanna draw him, you'll draw all of him. If that's not your thing, voice it real fast. But he will LOVE it if you draw him in his merform.

🐚 Speaking of merform, he would be absolutely content to just lounge in one of the pools in his natural form, you just resting on his chest as he floats around. Usually, he hates being stationary for long periods of time. He gets antsy. But with you there relaxing, so content and comfortable snuggling up to him, he doesn't feel that urge to just flop around. Jade and Azul are both surprised and impressed.

🐚 Overall, he understands you better than anyone else. Between the constant changes in your mood (he is the same and has become a pro at reading you, and vice versa), how he lives it when you draw him, or the little gifts you receive from one another, I sure hope you like the Leech name because he is determined and certain that you're going to share it with him one day.