#they’re doing such a good job being a tiny fish

[pteryx-pets]

A Child

[darling-renyuu]

can this be a real thing? can it?

fic summary: living with kuni has been quite the experience. he still carries the attitude he developed as the balladeer, ordering you to do various stuff he can’t exactly do by himself. (in between therapy sessions with nahida, his schoolwork, and his part-time job as a barista, you’re often the one left at home with your “work-from-home” job.)

so you surprise him by finishing everything before he asks for it.

“[Name], can’t you throw out the trash? I’m leaving in a minute.”

“[Name], the dishes. My shift starts in an hour.”

“[Name].”

These are just some of the many statements you got used to at the start of your… cohabitation. Needless to say, Kuni has been stacked with things to do. Leaving some of the work to you.

“Ugh, they’re wasting my time. How hard is it to send your parts on time?” He clutches his temples, groaning. You set down a steaming cup of tea and a snack on his desk. Kissing his hair, you whisper.

“Take a break, Kuni. Starving yourself won’t make them move any faster.”

He turns to you slowly. Kuni scans your face, raising an eyebrow. “What’s gotten into you?”

You smile.

“Nothing,” you say, kissing his cheek next, “I love you.”

You feel his cheek warm slightly under your lips. Chuckling, you step away. Kuni stares at you as you exit his study, frowning with a flushed face. He shrugs it off as you being weird again.

He’s had a long damn day. Most of the customers ordered outrageous drinks again, and his head hurt thinking about how sweet the drinks would be. Add the cherry on top, their loud voices disturbing the cafe he works in. Once out of sight, he had rolled his eyes.

You all will get diabetes, idiots.

He approaches your apartment door, fishing his bag pocket for his keys. Kuni stares emptily into the door as he unlocks it. Ugh. I left the dishes unwashed before leaving. Guess I’ll have to-

His eyes widen at the empty sink, the plates placed neatly on the rack. The cups are all washed as well, turned upside down. He hangs his coat on a hanger, a warmth growing in his chest.

Rolling up his sleeves, he calls out. “[Name]? What do you want for dinner?”

Nahida walks with him, out of her apartment. “I think there’s been a very good improvement in your mental state, Kuni. I believe in you, and I know your partner does too.”

Kuni blushes hard, ready to refute when Nahida raises a brow. He snaps his mouth shut and grumbles. Nahida gasps, remembering something.

”Oh, I can’t drive tou back home today. Kaveh borrowed my car, so how do you plan on getting home?” She asks, her brows furrowed in concern.

He waved it off. “I’ll just get a taxi-”

A beep sounded behind them, and once Nahida caught sight of the vehicle, she smiled and waved. Kuni turned around, meeting the familiar sight of his love’s car.

You rolled down the window, grinning. “Hey, Nahida. How was Kuni today?”

Kuni stared at you, while Nahida’s smile grew softer. “He’s doing well! I think you’re helping him a whole lot, [Name].”

You smile sheepishly. “Aw, well. I’m doing my best.”

Kuni turns to Nahida, breaking out of his shocked stupor.

“I guess I’ll go home now. See you on Friday?” At that, Nahida nods.

“Yes. Stay safe, the both of you.”

He nodded, and got in your car. You waved goodbye to Nahida, before driving off to your house.

Somehow, you can feel Kuni boring a hole into your head with his eyes. You glance at him. “What’s up, love?”

“…Why are you doing this?” He asks, cautious. Your heart clenches, and you reach out to caress his hand.

“I was free today, and I figured you’d be tired. Is it okay that I picked you up, Kuni?” You asked, fully looking at him once you got to a stop light.

Kuni just stared at you, but then he gives a tiny smile. “…Thanks.”

You can’t help but lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you.”

“…I love you too.” Kuni whispers, not quite ready to look you in the eyes today.

At home, you both end up cuddling, telling each other about your day.

”Did you know, Kuni? My coworker accidentally sent a meme to our official company page. It was hilarious, seeing the boss send confused messages about the pic.” You laughed.

Kuni snorts, pulling your head closer to his chest. He pauses, and grabs your face in his hands. “But tell me, what’s the real reason behind all this?”

“What is… this?” You ask, curious.

He bites his lip. “Making me tea, doing the dishes, driving me home, hell. The house is spotless. Why?”

Your smile turns shy. “Well, I saw how tired you were getting. Between your work, your schoolwork, and your much needed sessions with Nahida, I know how busy you are. I don’t want you to feel obliged to do everything yourself. I’m your partner, baby. I want to make it easier for you, even in the little things.”

Kuni’s eyes widen as you speak, his gaze getting softer. He sighs.

”I’ll admit. This… this whole thing is new to me. So I was freaked out. I really thought, at first, that you were just doing all that because you needed something. But… knowing your intentions now,” he says, caressing your cheek. “I-Thank you.”

You turn your head and kiss his palm. “No worries, honey. I’ll be sure to make you feel loved and cared for, just as much as you make me feel the same.”

Kuni allows himself a soft smile, holding you closer.

“Stop being sappy.”

“Make me, darling.”

“Just…Stop giving me a new petname every second, [Name]!”

“Oh, I’ve got a lot more in store, sweetheart.”

Kuni pinches your cheek, and you let out a string of “ah, ow, ow, baby! ‘M sorry!”

He snorts, kissing your sore cheek. “Just go to sleep now.”

“Yes sir.” You smile, turning your head to meet his lips.

written by @/darling-renyuu. please do not repost.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Video Games Part 11

Alien: So what is this one about? Human: Vampires in the wild west. Alien: Sounds interesting. Human: You’d think so, but when the main characters are as animated as the undead monsters they fight it’s pretty hard to take them seriously. Alien: From your own admission they are fighting vampire cowboys…..how serious were you expecting it to be? Human: ……. Touché. ---------------------

Alien: What is “The Quarry”? Human: Murder porn and sadness. Alien: ……………… ------------------------

Alien: “Boltgun”? Human: A man too angry to die because of what a sassy bitch he is. Alien: How does being sassy make you avoid death? Human: Because even death is afraid of being mocked so hard. ---------------------

Alien: Why would anyone want to play an aquatic predator? Human: You ever just look at someone and wonder what they’d taste like? Alien: I believe that is called cannibalism. Human: Not unless you’re a giant fish. ---------------------

Alien: Why does the tiny creature have a machine gun? Human: To stop you from eating it. Alien: Most effective. ---------------------

Alien: I heard this one is a popular game. Human: Eh, I guess. Alien: What do you mean “eh”? Alien: There have been five of them made. Human: It’s mostly made for people that like to watch a slow mo shot of a bullet going through a man’s balls over and over. Alien: What sadistic beings are you?!? Human: You should let me tell you about Meat Boy sometime for more context. ---------------------

Alien: This one looks cute. Alien: It’s about a brother in sister in your primitive era. Human: And a shit load of rats. Alien: What? Human: Yeah, you can make the rats devour a man whole as he screams and begs for his life. Alien: I…..but…..just….why? ----------------------

Alien: Why on florps name would someone want to play a game about manual labor? Alien: is not the point of your entertainment games to seek enjoyment? Human: Some people feel pleasure from a job well done. Alien: That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Human: Didn’t your people worship a rock a couple centuries back because when the light hit it the thing sparkled? Alien: ………touché. -------------------------

Alien: I wish to escape this bunker. Human: You just need to find some dynamite and a plunger to trigger it. Alien: Sounds easy enough. Human: And avoid the ancient giant rat god stalking the halls of the bunker. Alien: What is with your people and rats?!!?!?!? ----------------------

Alien: What is this “Crackdown 3” about? Human: A cops fantasy about how they view themselves. Alien: How so? Human: They see themselves fighting crime when more often they help prop up a totalitarian regime. Alien: Did not the second one have monsters in it? Human: That’s how they see poor people. Alien: Holy gargle…..that’s messed up. --------------------

Alien: What is this one? Human: Designing overly elaborate death machines to murder guys in metal suits with swords. Alien: Is that not what we did to your people during the third age of your species? Human: Come again? ------------------

Alien: Is this game about zombies? Human: More a social experiment. Alien: How so? Human: It has no set rules or goal in a zombie apocalypse, but more often you find people choosing the worst things to do to each other for shits and giggles. Alien: It can’t be all that bad. Human: I watched a group of high level players capture a new player, strip them of their gear, and force them to drink bleach under pain of death for a meme. Alien: ……………….. ----------------------

Human: How’s the new game goin- Alien: *Grabs human friend and sprays them with foam Alien: Good…you’re not one of them. Human: spits out foam One of what? Alien: A shape shifter! Alien: They were everywhere on the station and that made me wonder if those bastards are here in the home as well! Human: Wouldn’t say they’re all bastards. Table: Yeah, some of us are actually nice fellows. *Alien and Human both scream*

[intervalart]

Hey, it‘s that same anon again! *is gripped by you* oh wow okay haha 😅 do you…do you also wanna talk about Mad’s headcanons? I have ONE about him, that he’s from San Francisco (and i guess also that he’s Spanish 😅) you can talk about these guys as much as you want. They’re in my head too 😁

SORRY ANON, I HAVE BEEN FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE IRL, YOU DON’T EVEN WANNA KNOW HOW DUMB ITS BEEN.

But here I am! It’s now! So here’s some Mad Dog Headcanons!

I also hc that he’s from San Francisco actually! But I Go a bout it slightly different. xD For one thing, I hc that he’s at least half Chinese (possibly half so that he’s at least Passing so he doesn’t get slurs heaved upon him immediately upon entering a room), so he knows Some Cantonese™, but his family wanted him to speak English whenever possible, so he's kinda rusty on it. (He probably knows some Spanish too, but isn’t as fluent as Sundown)

But let’s start from the top;

(Some stupid pictures of the stupid dummy to break up the cut)

His mom used to be… well, a prostitute. If you called her that to his face he’d probably kill you though. (She wasn’t the nicest or gentlest lady since she’d had a hard life, but she still instilled “respect women” into him since she’d seen all kinds of shit in her old job.) Because of this, Mad Dog never knew his dad, lived with his mom, aunt, and probably an uncle (a large family overall), and had to live down jeers from other kids about his mom being a “woman of the night”.

He was driven to prove himself though, cuz he couldn't stand to inherit the fish shop or be around his stifling family, he wanted to do more with his life and make it his own. So he basically worked his ass off to be anything but blue collar. Refined, educated, wealthy, etc. (if anything to distance himself from his past as much as possible)

Eventually, he got himself a gig in the theater, sometimes acting on stage with his troupe members, other times working backstage with all the fly system. (Which is why he’s both a total fruit cake [theater kid], and why he’s good at traps and technical stuff when helping set the traps). He was basically living out his dreams… until the theater was foreclosed and shut down. (I want to write a comic about this someday, but drawing backgrounds gives me agita)

He hit the booze, coping from the perceived failure of his career, but he was too proud to go back to his family’s fish shop (cuz remember, he's the most stubborn guy ever, and I don’t think his relationship with the family is Great™), so in an act of desperation (despite protests from his theater pals), he picked himself up by the bootstraps and started bounty hunting to pay the bills.

He was crafty with it, so it worked in his favor for a while… But there’s a distinct point in time where he hasn't had to kill a man yet, and a tiny part of him wonders if he can. Like… he’s acted it out on stage, and he’s stood up for himself multiple times in fights, but he’s never been directly responsible for killing anyone. (yet)

This goes out the window pretty quick though, cuz quickly proves he can kill a man when it's in self defense. (his trip to the bounty board in Texas was not uneventful, and his dandy-ass is painting a target on himself with how he dresses lmaoooo)

After that, he quickly builds his reputation and, it kinda goes from there lol. So now time for bullet points.

Mad Dog wants you to think he got his name because of his stubborn personality and unwillingness to let go of his target (It is, partly), but he actually got his name because in one of his first bar fights in Texas, he absolutely 100% bit a guy. (He doesn’t talk about that part as much.)

He’s is a pretty good cook! Since the family had a fish shop, he learned how to cook them, but he expanded on his own culinary vocabulary himself.

However, he’s not very good at sewing. His mom or his aunt would usually fix his clothes for him, the theater had a seamstress/costumer, and he always paid for tailors to make his suits for him. He just never had a reason to learn.

Also, his taste in food can make him a bit of a food snob. He always insists that he do the cooking, cuz he is… Not impressed by Sundown’s cooking.

He is also a good dancer, but instead of from dodging bullets like Sundown regularly does, it’s for fun and fancy purposes (see also Texas Jitterbug).

I have actually previously discussed this, but I actually think that Mad Dog miiiiiight not be the most accurate shooter on his own, so he relies on the longer barrel of the Buntline Special to improve his accuracy. (Even though trying to use it for quickdraw is really REALLY stupid, but that’s another post).

Tying into stupid things…. ugh. -holding my head-. He’s clever. He’s crafty. He’s tactical. He can come up with some of the smartest and ingenuitive things you’ve ever seen. And he is the stupidest motherfucker on the planet. Bro ABSOLUTELY has high INT and low WIS. He wears a BLACK SUIT IN THE DESERT FOR FUCK’S SAKE. AND EYELINER. IN THE DESERT.

Anyways, that’s all I’ve got for now, and again, this is not tying into AU iterations, where things will be slightly different (especially in BBFF and Roleswap… And Duende AU, but that requires knowing OC lore)

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk, now I’m gonna go throw MD in the wood chipper, bye.

[hazelkjt]

8) What hobbies does your OC have? What do they do to unwind?

Since I got so many asks for this prompt I’m just gonna put answers for all my characters, answers below the read more!

(Thank you also to @lilbittymonster and @fairygodpiggy for sending in an ask!!)

—————

OC Ask List!

- Hazel has quite a few hobbies, but the one that helps her calm down or unwind the most is settling down with a new book to read. She’s loved reading ever since she was little, her mother reading stories to her almost every night for years. A good portion of the floor in her Ishgard apartment is covered with her collection of novels and history books.

- Claire is someone who tries to say she doesn’t have hobbies, mostly to try and get people off her back and not get too friendly with her. In reality she does have a few, such as collecting precious gemstones. She doesn’t use them for jewelry or anything, just to have a nice rock collection. She lost her original collection when she ran away from home, her late friend Denrick providing the beginnings of it from his job.

- Derrinall lost touch with a lot of his old life before coming to live in Ishgard, but he’s been making the most of it. Currently he’s been occupying his free time with learning wood sculpture carving. He’s not that great at it currently but that’s why he’s so invested in it. Having something that he can work hard to become better at helps pass the time more than something he already is good at, like his harp playing.

- Fish has a junk pile in his quarters on The Enduring Deeds. None of the parts are rusted or unusable, but the pieces of scrap metal and bits of broken magitek are seen by others as not worth finding a new use for. Fish takes them and, when he has free time, tinkers around making little nothings with them. Tiny flying drones or a little remote control carriage, small toys essentially. When they make landfall he sets up a small stall to sell these magitek toys for cheap to kids.

- E’venna loves to play Triple Triad. She can’t read the names of the cards but she does recognize the numbers on them, which is all she needs really. All of her cards are ones she found either thrown away by others or bought for very little Gil off other players who didn’t want the cards for their own decks. They aren’t the best cards but they’re enough to let E’venna and her siblings play a few games, each with their own unique decks.

- Perseverance has all but claimed Hazel’s portable Orchestrion player for herself at this point. She loves listening to music, being caught on multiple occasions singing or humming along to whatever the current track is. Percy’s been asking Hazel to get her one for herself so she doesn’t need to keep borrowing her mother’s, to which she was told “maybe for your Nameday.”

[majimasleftasscheek]

I was wondering if you had any nsfw headcanons re: tigerfish? mostly asking cause i was thinking about the idea of nishiki doing his little hair-slick-back thing whenever he’s feeling Spicy (more dominant, regardless of position) so if/when he does that when they’re making out or whatever saejima knows what’s coming hehe

hope this isn’t too uncomfy to ask or anything! thanks for making me a fan of this tiny little ship lmao <3

not uncomfy at all! I'm always happy to talk about nsfw 😏

*as usual, even tho I talk about em as cis dudes, yall are welcome to imagine them however 😌

so prolly an uncommon take but Saejima's always sorta sat on the ace spectrum for me personally like he's into people but not in a way that's like something he'd go out and seek nor really need to be happy. not into being touchy feely with people he's just met and needs a bit of emotional bonding to let that happen *insert some joke about him making everyone he meets his kyoudai lol*. so when it comes to Nishiki, he feels a lot more comfy being openly intimate since they've gotten plenty of time to know each other in jail. Nishiki on the other hand, gives me casual guy™ vibes so he's into slapping the salmon whenever however but not in a wildin' type of way. he's into trying new things but also enjoys comfortable patterns that don't necessarily have to change anything up.

so when they're first shooting the shit about getting their freak on, I can see Nishiki being kinda surprised at first by Saejima's preferences but totally gets it too. he's used to Kiryu being a loner type who isn't exactly going out of his way for the ultimate boner experience. where they differ tho is Saejima is experienced while Kiryu just sorta bumbles through it. Saejima on the other hand, sees Nishiki who was a prominent crime boss and conventionally very pretty so he's thinking oh yeah Nishiki's prolly some kind of sex pest but is pleasantly surprised when Nishiki's more than considerate and patient.

now, Nishiki's been with people of all sorts so he knows his shit while Saejima is more like yeah I know my stuff but I ain't into it enough to really know if I'm performing up to the standards for my partner. he has a good bit of anxiety about that sorta thing and Nishiki didn't really believe him at first cuz like, just look at him. Saejima doesn't look like he'd have anxieties about anything so that's a hurdle they'd have to cross. Nishiki ends up being the lead in most cases, if anything to show the types of things he likes and to give Saejima confidence that he's doing a good job.

when Nishiki leads, he's either topping or power bottoming which defo pumps up the fish ego. but when tiger tops, it's more of a service top thing - he wants to see Nishiki pass the FUCK out lol. he wants to see toes CURL, he wants that ex patriarch to BEG for more. it makes him happy, knowing he can bring Nishiki down a peg for all the pride he's got in him. for Nishiki, it's a nice balance of leaving the work to Saejima while still being in control, even more so when he's going evil mode and gets a mad kick out of having such an imposing man at his beck and call hohohehe.

Saejima's very much not horny ever so Nishiki's gotta be the one to get him in the mood which is perfectly fine for the two of em. it's part of their foreplay, lots of talking and touching and even if it doesn't pan out to anything, they still enjoy just being around each other.

when Nishiki tops he's real sweet about it, very handsy and slick, doing everything you'd expect out of a well choreographed movie tbh. it's a very ideal time and Saejima just sorta gets lost in it, unused to being treated well and gentle. he's definitely prone to being a bit more emotional during these times and not afraid to show it which shocked Nishiki for a time until he got used to it and has come to really enjoy bringing such feelings out of him.

EVIL MODE so there's occasions where Nishiki's into the rougher stuff *insert whatever your heart desires here* and it's a lil bit embarrassing for him cuz there's been occasions with past partners where it's not exactly been the most enjoyable experience for either party, due to inexperience or going too far, etc. he's a lil too eager and too aggressive for his own good, especially back then cuz he had some aha issues to work out and ended up unintentionally taking it out on others.

so insert Saejima who proposes hey let's try out whatever the hell that maybe other people couldn't handle and Nishiki's hesitant, thinking, oh nah you already have anxieties and I can't do that to you but it's in the back of his mind like I want to tho. a big component of nsfw tigerfish to me is that they have a theme of taking time to get to things with a certain gentleness unlike my kazumaji hcs where they have a very intense, impulsiveness to them. so it takes a hot minute for Nishiki to open up this more aggressive side of him that for a long time he's suppressed cuz he felt that there's no place for it even tho it's very much a part of him.

so when Nishiki does eventually start to tip toe into his more perverse kinks, Saejima gives him comfort in that nothing really shocks him about what he wants and he's more than ready to handle it physically. with Nishiki leading, it's a good time for the two of em; Saejima can be of service while Nishiki can feel freer to explore this part of himself without judgment or so much worry.

after all that, aftercare! very important. it's usually Saejima who takes care of Nishiki, wrapping him up and massaging out the jitters. sometimes, one or both of them can experience some mixed emotions from a variety of things, performance worries, trauma, etc so they spend a lotta time just talking to each other. there's a lot of reassurances but also just a lot of wanting someone to listen.

random shit

Saejima loves some good head and body worship. he knows he's got a fine bod so complimenting him is the good shit 👌

Nishiki's all about smooches whether they be deep ones or just lil pecks here and there. ever since post y1, he's been one for enjoying simpler affections, especially when he knows his partner means it.

Saejima's a handsy drunk with people he's close to, but it's all cuddles and kissing and then passing the fuck out.

as a material girl in a material world, Nishiki gets off to gift giving lol. definitely has a praise kink but you gotta be a bit careful. be too dick sucky and he starts to feel like you're just patronizing him.

both of em are into overstimulation for different reasons: Saejima likes the intenseness and Nishiki likes inflicting it (receiving it ain't so bad either). Nishiki doesn't exactly have Saejima's stamina so they got a lotta toys just for the occasion 👀 there's been many a time where Saejima gets into it more than Nishiki can handle and he's then down for the count.

Nishiki tends to keep his prosthetic arm on and doesn't particularly like bringing attention to his disfigurement in general so when he's being intimate, he wants to be treated as if his body is like anyone else's. in that way, he's not into body worship at all, as he sort of warps it into pity he doesn't want.

Nishiki's possessive - not to the same extent Majima is @ Kiryu but it's there in the sense of like, look at this guy, he's mine.

bonus monster AU stuff 👀

as a literal tiger man, Saejima's got a lot of cat characteristics including loving pets and pats. Nishiki's learned very quickly which spots are best to get Saejima riled up and fiesty ;)

that being said, he's got a spikey dick lol. the spines aren't harmful, they more or less lock his partner to him which can end up being inconvenient if they're in a hurry.

big claws = lots of big scratches all up Nishiki's back. Saejima gets nervous he's hurting him but Nishiki think it's pretty hot to be marked up.

[hitlikehammers]

PART ONE: Fail-Pirate!Eddie/Castaway!Steve (Pirate AU)

🌊Under the Water (Our Hearts Will Dream Again)🌊

Chapter One: Man Overboard

You’ve gotta understand: the truth about Eddie?

He’s shit as a pirate. Like: an absolute disgrace. Of all the bad names associated with the trade, if trade is what it can be called?

He might just give it the worst.

So, y’know. That’s nice.

Like, he knows his knots, he is excellent with his hands thank you kindly, and he ties those motherfuckers like a pro, too! So what if he just sometimes confuses his hitch for his stopper, they’re both knots, they both do the job of knotting.

(Mostly. They only lost a boat the one time.)

(As in lost-lost, not the ones that were retrieved in time but landed Eddie on scut anyway.)

Which doesn’t touch on his absolutely abysmal record at the looting end of things. He doesn’t mind taking from the well-off, but he does mind adding it to the ship’s take every time they make land; he maybe lies about how bad he is at the stealing, the all-important plundering of the job, because he ends up finding the people outside the center of town at every port, the ones who line the edges and he drops what he takes with the ones who need it there, where they can’t escape on the water, can’t live in motion on the whims of the waves and find their needs in the flux of a life unanchored.

So he’s not the worst thief, for the right victim. But his spoils never make it back to the ship so: it probably makes him pretty shit at the job to hand, in the end, either way. Add a mark to the tally.

And then, gods: don’t get him started on the taking of…other things. Who aren’t things, they’re fucking people and they deserve respect not…what the other people sailing under his colors seem to believe them useful for instead.

Eddie’s been sick over the edge of the stern, hidden by shadow even if it’s unnecessary because fuck, the rest of the crew is full-occupied with their plundering, and that’s the reason he spews over in the sea, the waves always feeling a little extra angry for his pollution of their waters and that’s fitting. It’s fitting that he’s defiling something sacred with the weakness of his stomach—but not his soul, not his morals or his sense of humanity, fuck’s sake, so: at least there’s that.

He guesses.

Admittedly, though: Eddie doesn’t care so much that he’s a shitty fucking pirate. It’s not piracy that led him here, that charted this course for his life.

It’s the Ocean.

Which, sure, that may strike either cliche or obvious, too soft and poetic or else just downright pointless to underscore because he made a conscious choice to live at Sea, especially given the laundry list of reasons he’s absolutely abysmal at the life-on-the-water thing. But it is the truth. The best and biggest truth he’s ever known, rooted deep enough to fuel his steps and guide his path to here, right here, being exceptionally bad at luring fucking fish in a tiny little dinghy that the crew who hates him decided was perfectly fitting for the anticipated catch and okay, fine, if you were going to base expectations off of prior performance then maybe, and also, also maybe being here, ending up precisely right here—laughingstock of his profession, maligned by his crew, foisted upon barely-a-boat to catch barely-a-fish because y’know what, he’d have become a goddamn fisherman in the fucking first place if he was any good at that—but maybe right here, like this would look like failure to anyone else, to everyoneelse but, y’see—

Eddie Munson was a boy, once.

And he remembers, crystal clear, from the touch of his mother’s hand on his shoulder to the smooth slide of the menacing-but-magical looking shell, with its pointy end for tiny hands to grasp and hold to, and it’s big spiky cone of a head to hold to his own, up against his ear as his mother guided his elbow up and whispered just listen, you’ll hear the ocean tell you its secrets—and he loved the ocean, loved the feeling of the soft foam of the tide on the hidden sands far from the harbor, loved the little creatures that scuttled in and out of the water when the waves crept up, loved the hint of a big fin, maybe real or maybe just imagined something that big, that dangerous, that beautiful breaching the horizon: Eddie wanted to know all the ocean’s secrets.

And when he’d held the shell of his ear, he’d heard them: whispered close and roared fierce alike and he’d felt weightless, giddy; just just floating.

Magic, like the shell in his hands.

And it didn’t matter when his father found him years later, stumbling drunk from the tavern where he spent money they couldn’t afford, finding Eddie with the conch pressed tight to his ear, almost too small now as he’d grown but still desperate for the secrets, the sound of the waves that seemed to reach out and know when they needed to break louder, faster to drown our the shouting, to wash over the way his father had hauled him up and thrown the shell to break a window and sneered your idiot secrets, boy, there’s no ocean in that fucking shell, s’the echo of your own coward heart that you hide in, there, stupid fucking—

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, not because Eddie got knocked to the floor much like his shell, after; not because it made a kind of sense, because if the secrets of the ocean were the mirror of his heartbeat then of course they were faster and louder when his father came home drunk, sometimes he chest got sore over how his heart raced on those nights; and not because when he finally gets his feet back under him, when his father’s wood-sawing snores signal the coast is clear and he can creep out and search in the dark for his shell and find it, cracked from the spin of the handle-like bit so he just has to cradle the wide bell careful in his palm and ignore the slice of the spires into his skin, ignore it for the sake of finding, finding—

The waves. The secrets. His own heartbeat like the thunder in a storm and it doesn’t matter because if that sound is his own heart, then, then it’s like the ocean’s secrets are in his own chest, a little.

Like if the ocean had a heartbeat, there’s something of it pressed inside his own.

And for all that his father tried to whip that wonder away from him, straight out of his hands? That reality is somehow more magical. And Eddie’s been drawn to the pulsebeat of the sea—devoted, even, almost like a lovesick longing—ever since, so.

Failing at pirating, including the fishing part? Isn’t a failure.

Because he’s on the Sea. And that’s all he’s ever really wanted.

It’d help his pride if he got like, one fucking fish, though. Even a tiny one. Though they’d probably mock him worse for a minnow than for nothing so: small mercies, maybe, that he’s pulling up untouched bait.

Still he sighs, and takes a moment, rakes his gaze over the setting sun on the water—they’re far enough out now that there’s no sight of land, just the ripples nearby that smooth into pure water stretching aft and aft further out and Eddie doesn’t have a shell but if he presses his hand to his chest and over his ear at once it’s almost, almost—

He both hears and feels his pulse jump, like the secret is a warning, and he believesthat’s it’s both because it’s the only explanation for the way he turns, at that precise moment that the water moves uncannily agitated, and lifts up something weighty, a heavy shadow, and—

“Man overboard!” Eddie’s voice cracks as his hands reach for the oars and he rows before he thinks because the Ocean told him to look—and maybe it’s childish, and foolhardy, and a silly winsome fantasy he should have left behind ashore long again but…

He can’t tell if the man—because it’s a man, indeed, he can tell now that the water has calmed, and how else to explain its sudden surge to command Eddie’s attention, to call him in close and then ease the way to the waterlogged body—but Eddie can’t tell if the body moves at all save at the water’s own whim, can’t see yet if the flesh is too pale or worse, too blue, and—

“Man overboard!” he cries out with feeling, now; he’s far from the ship but not so much that no one will hear screaming if not yet discern the words and he just needs them to know, needs them to be ready, especially if it’s somehow one of their own and he just repeats it, too of his lungs, shrieks it to the sky as he reaches the man’s form, facedown in the water, and that alone seizes in Eddie’s chest—why tell him a secret if it’s only a heartbreaking one, yet he cannot, will not be picky, he will never reject the confidences of the Ocean no matter how it chooses to disclose its mysteries, even its tragedies; he curses his crewmates for the pitiful size of his little vessel, a joke upon his lacking hauls but now he has need for size and sturdiness as he reaches for the body—broad and leant further mass by the water itself and far more precious than a hundred fish for feeding and for trading, this is a life and he strains to balance the boat and heave the man aboard so not to capsize them both and leave the circumstances worse for his help—

“Man,” he manages to screech before he tumbles back, but with the man in his arms to drag along into the dinghy and he knocks his own breath a little for the fall but the man’s here, and they’re upright, and Eddie scrambles on his knees toward his new charge and he—

Should not have wasted time trying to steady his lungs, really, because this man, on his boat, dragged from the waters, he, he is—

He’s absolutely breathtaking.

Eddie gapes at him, at the play of the sunset on his soaked hair, his skin—pale, but not blue, not dead yet—he is stunning even like this, what unimaginable beauty must be possess when he’s not—

Oh hells, yes, right; he—

Eddie probably needs to fucking check if the breathtaking man is breathing, before he contributes to losing something at sea far more precious than an improperly-knotted boat.

>>>CHAPTER TWO

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme

divider credits here & here & here

🌊ao3 link here

[snaillamp]

Angry Kitten and Mumma Cat

Leader was standing at attention, their team being spoken too by Big Boss. He was rambling on about what a good job they had all done last mission and what not, his usual spiel. Leader’s head was pounding as they swayed slightly, bumping into Youngest’s shoulder, causing them to look over at them.

“Leader?” They whispered, frowning in concern. “You good?” Leader’s eyes fluttered as their head began pounding even more than it already had been, “Shh, pay attention” They murmured back. They stood straighter, their head protesting as they forced their eyes to focus on the words coming from Big Boss’ mouth.

Their head was pounding more now, they could hear their heart beating in their ears as a tiny moan escaped them, the blood draining from their face as their eyes rolled back, and they crumpled to the ground. The last thing they remembered was someone gasping and hands trying to grab them as they fell, before the green carpet rushed up to meet their face with a thud.

~~

Everyone in the room stared at Leader, collapsed on the floor. Big Boss opened and closed his mouth like a fish, unsure of what to do. Breaking formation, Medic and Right-hand rushed over to Leader, rolling them over and checking them out. “Damn, they have a fever, they’re burning up.” Medic mumbled as they checked for a pulse. It was racing.

“We need to get them to a doctor, now!” Medic ordered, their voice firm and controlled. Within minutes, paramedics had rushed in, scooping up Leader and carting them away to hospital. Everyone stood in awkward silence, before Big Boss nodded and dismissed them, mumbling something about a good job and getting back to work. The team members all looked at each other, they knew they weren’t going back to any work until they knew Leader was okay. Cramming themselves into a car, they drove to the hospital and were soon by Leader’s side, waiting for them to wake up.

~~

When Leader opened their eyes, they could see a light shining directly in them. “Ah, and you’ve finally awoken. How are you Leader?” A chipper voice asked them as they tried to remember what happened. All they could manage was a weak whine. “It’s alright, don’t speak if you can’t. Now, Leader, I’m Doctor Cass, and I want you to know you’re in hospital. You collapsed at work, okay?” Leader nodded, barely taking in anything Dr Cass said. Their head was still pounding.

“You’ve come down with a pretty bad case of the flu, but I’ll just observe you for a bit and then let you go home. There isn’t much we can do for you here, I’m afraid. Your friends will look after you.” Leader nodded, the movement making their head hurt as they shut their eyes again, trying to sleep. They lay like that for a while but they couldn’t do it, their head hurt too much.

“Hey Leader…” A quiet voice spoke up, making them open their eyes. “How you feeling?” Right-hand asked, leaning close so Leader could hear them. All Leader could manage was a groan in reply. It was all starting to come together for them, their team had all caught a light case of the flu a few weeks ago, after a mission.

Leader hadn’t been affected by it, so they had spent their time looking after everyone as they battled the light fever. It seemed like all that work had finally caught up with them. “I’ll let you rest, Leader. I’ll tell everyone you’re doing okay.” Right-hand patted their shoulder before leaving them to rest.

~~

A couple days later, Leader was feeling better. They still felt like death, but felt well enough that Dr Cass let them go home. They felt cold and shivery as they checked out of the hospital, held up between two teammates and then bundled into the car. When they got home, they were practically carried to their bed, tucked in and left alone to rest.

That was fine for the first couple of days, Leader lay there, delirious as their team took it in turns looking after them, but when they finally came back to themself, all they wanted to do was get back to work. They were almost a week behind in paperwork and they felt even sicker thinking about the late nights they’d need to do to catch up. Lying there, they felt fine, so they sat up.

Big mistake.

They moaned, falling back hard against their bed. Their head was pounding as they rested arm on their forehead, moaning in pain. Medic rushed in, looking worried as they went to Leader’s side. “You okay?” They asked checking Leader over in a rush. “Just… I wanna… get up ’n… work…” Leader moaned, trying to sit again. The world spun around as they lifted their head. “Stay there Leader. You need rest.”

Leader sighed, “But I have so much to do…” Medic rolled their eyes. “You and your damn work. It’s not going anywhere.” They sighed, looking around. “If I bring you your laptop, will you promise to stay in bed?” Leader nodded, feeling their head ache as they did.

“And early to bed tonight.”

“Wait, that wasn’t part of the deal!” Leader argued, only for Medic to smirk. “I know what you’re like, but I’m afraid it’s my rules or no laptop.” Leader frowned, agreeing with a grumble.

~~

The next few days they perked up a little more, able to sit up without feeling like they were going to faint and their sinuses clearing up a little. They still felt like road kill, but at least they were on the mend. Sighing, they heard their team laughing as they came back from the gym, presumably from training. “I wanna train…” They stared at the report they had been typing. Paperwork was always so dry, but this report was torture to try and write, especially with their mind the way it was right now.

Groaning, they pushed the laptop aside and stood, swaying a little, before shuffling toward the door. They... they just had to get out of this damn bedroom. They felt so isolated in there.

Leader stumbled down the hallway, making it half way before they looked up at the feet that had appeared in front of them. Medic pointed at the direction Leader had come, "Bed." they ordered firmly.

"I have the flu, I’m not dying.” Leader mumbled, turning and shuffling to back to their room. Crawling into bed and lying there until they passed out again, their body was heavy as the depression started to weigh on their chest.

~~

The next day they were able to think clearly again. The worst of the fever seemed to be over and they were almost back on their feet, so they decided to slip into their office when their team was out to get some stuff done.

After a couple hours of sitting at their desk, they began to feel the chills return and the headache start again. Groaning, they lay back, rubbing their eyes and trying to breathe through their blocked nose.

“I thought I’d find you here.” An accusatory tone came from their doorway. Medic was leaning on the door frame, looking smug. “You should be in bed Leader. You’ll only slow your recovery by working right now.” Leader shot them a look, but that only seemed to encourage Medic, who waltzed into the room and slung their arm under Leader’s own. “Come on, up we go.” They grunted, pulling Leader to their feet. “Home time, champ.”

Leader tried to pull away. “No, I’m fine. Just gimme a minute. I was about to take a break anyway.” They pulled out of Medic’s grip, only to stagger and fall against their desk. “Right.” Medic answered, definitely convinced. “And how long was this… “break” going to last?”

Leader sighed as Medic picked them up. “You’re coming home and resting. I won’t hear another peep about it from you.” Leader glared at them, but let them take them home. It was nice just to be in the presence of another person right now.

Leader lay in bed that afternoon, sniffing and spluttering. Their recovery had taken a nose dive due to their ‘escapade’ as Medic had called it, and now were under strict orders to stay in bed until they were 100% better. Leader rolled their eyes, half expecting Medic to try and spoon feed them chicken soup next. They didn’t even like soup! So instead, they stared at their laptop, watching a shitty rom-com, which was neither particularly romantic or funny. They looked up at the sound of their door creaking.

“Hey…” Right-hand murmured. “You awake?” Leader groaned, looking at the silhouette of Right-hand’s huge frame in the doorway.

Leader was short, even by short people standards, but they made up for it with strength, skill and personality. Right-hand on the other hand, was a huge, cuddly bear. Leader wouldn’t be surprised if Right-hand could actually beat a bear in a fight, they’d be pretty evenly matched, but for a huge, loud, scary looking person, they were softer than butter.

Coming over to Leader, they sat by the bed. “Whatcha watching?” They asked looking at the laptop screen. “Some movie… I haven’t really been watching to be honest…” Leader mumbled, turning to look at Right-hand, who scoffed. “I see. Hey, so you want dinner?” Leader shook their head, they couldn't stomach the thought of food. “Okay, call if you need anything.” Leader nodded, watching Right-hand leave.

At that moment, all they wanted was for them to stay.

The next morning they pushed themself out of bed, staggering into the main room, everyone was gone. Sighing in relief, Leader grabbed some shoes. They could sneak into work and get more done, they were feeling a bit better again, and if they could spend a few hours in their office, they could finally catch up and relax, like Medic wanted.

Big, strong arms wrap around their torso. “And where do you think you’re going?” Right-hand asked, scooping them up and cradling them. “Put me down!” Leader struggled weakly in Right-hand’s grasp. “Nope. Not until you tell me where you’re planning on going.” Leader glared at Right-hand as they began to carry them back to their room.

“No. I don’t have to explain myself to you! Right-hand put me down! I am your superior, I order you to let me fucking go!” They clawed and pushed at Right-hand’s chest as hard as they could, which wasn’t hard at all, before they gave up, letting their arm dangle limply by their side. Right-hand cradled them close as they hung floppy in their arms, rapidly losing energy.

“Medic told me where you went yesterday. I figured I’d stick around in case you tried to pull that shit again, Leader. And look who was right.” Leader huffed, crossing their arms, before trying to wiggle free. “You’re gloating.”

Right-hand smirked, “Yeah. And? You’re the idiot trying to sneak out.” Leader gave up trying to wiggle out of Right-hand’s grip as they got back into the room. They found themself leaning against Right-hand’s chest, listening to their heart. Right-hand sat on the bed, noticing Leader clinging to them. “You okay?” Leader was silent, pressing their body harder into Right-hand’s. “I don’t know…” They whispered, listening to the heart beat quicken a little. “Leader, what’s wrong?” Right-hand sat them on their lap and held them tight, feeling Leader’s fever wracked body start to shake.

“I just hate feeling like this…” Leader whispered through shuddering breaths, “So weak and… and…” A sob wracked their body. Being held like this felt so nice... They could stay like that forever.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t cry, Leader. It’s okay. You just need to chill out and get better. You’ll be fine in a couple days.” Leader shook their head.

“No…”

Right-hand sighed, lifting Leader up and tucking them into bed. “I’ll go get you something to eat, you need strength if you’re gonna heal up.” Leader whined, grabbing at their hand. “Can you stay? I don’t want to be alone…” Their whispering voice wavered.

It all came crashing into Right-hand like a bus. “Oh, oh Leader… I had no idea you felt like that…” Leader pulled the blankets up higher, trying to stop their rising sobs. “I-I’m just sick of being so… so useless. I want to work, I want to be with you guys… I feel so isolated... so forgotten…”

Right-hand sat beside Leader, brushing some of their hair off their face. “I had no idea… Leader… I’m so sorry. Come on, I’ll set you up on the couch, you can hang with us tonight.” Leader looked up at them, shaking their head with teary eyes. “I just need someone right now. Here.” Right-hand nodded, climbing onto the bed and laying beside Leader, hugging them close.

They listened as Leader’s ragged, warm breaths began to slow, their body relaxing as they fell asleep. They knew Leader needed it. Leaving quickly, they set up a blanket nest on the couch outside, before carrying Leader 's limp form from the bed. Tucking them in, Leader coughed a little, stirring and making a sleepy sound before settling into their new sleeping spot.

One by one, the team came home after a long day of work and training, finding Right-hand sitting by Leader, watching them sleep. They would all frown, before nodding and going about their afternoons, quietly so they didn't disturb Leader.

~~

Leader woke to the smell of dinner cooking, the first thing they smelled in days. They suddenly realised how hungry they were.

Sitting up, bleary eyed, they looked around confused at the room they had woken up in. “This isn’t where I fell asleep…” They mumbled, rubbing their eyes. “Leader, you woke up! How you feeling?” Medic walked over, checking Leader’s forehead with the back of their hand. “Temp’s gone down. I think you’re finally on the mend.” They grinned as Right-hand came over with a plate. Perched on it was a small serving of lasagna. “Do you think you can manage this?” They asked as Leader eyed the food greedily, before they nodded, smiling.

With a little help, they made it to the table with the others, managing to eat half of their serving before losing their appetite. “Good start, Leader. Keep at it and you’ll be better in no time.” Medic patted Leader’s back as they gathered the plates up. “Wait…” Leader asked, reaching for Medic's arm to stop them. “Can you save it for later? I might have more in a while.” Medic gleamed. “It’ll go straight in the fridge, Leader!”

Leader frowned, “Why are you all acting so weird and... happy?” Their voice was rough and congested as they coughed, a large glop of goo coming loose in their sinuses and dripping down their throat. Leader swallowed it, wincing. “Right-hand said you missed us… We all felt a little bad about leaving you alone for days so we thought we’d hang out.” Youngest piped up, beaming. “Wanna watch a movie later?” Leader wiped their nose before looking up, “Sure…”

When everyone was finished, they all crowded onto the sofa, Leader sandwiched between Right-hand and Medic, wrapped in blankets as they watched Jaws.

Half way through, Right-hand felt something hot rest on their shoulder. Leader had fallen asleep against it, cheek smooshed into their shoulder, their warm breath dancing across it. “They seem to have been hit pretty hard by this flu…” Medic gestured with their eyes at Right-hand who looked up at them and nodded.

“They spent days looking after all of us at once, I don’t think they slept… Must have made them worse when they finally got it. You know what they’re like, they won’t say anything is wrong even if they’re bleeding out in front of you. I guess it finally just caught up to them.”

Medic nodded in agreeance, “We should probably move them to their room.” they murmured.

Right-hand picked up Leader, bundled in blankets, and took them to their room. They noticed Leader's face looked better, more peaceful and rested as they coughed lighty in their sleep. They mumbled something as Right-hand tucked them in, rolling over and smiling in their sleep.

"Get well soon, Leader." Right-hand whispered.

✨TAGLIST✨

@fj-is-a-dumbass

[rainmustfallts4]

Project Pisces ◇ Wu G1, Part 4

⊶⊰Information⊱⊷ ⊶⊰Chronological (all)⊱⊷ ⊶⊰Chronological (Wu)⊱⊷

─────────────⊶⊰⊱⊷─────────────

The Wu children are unbelievably spoiled. They’re used to wanting things and getting them immediately. So when Jolene decided she wanted a tiny goat and a tiny sheep on a whim… well, Jolene always gets her way.

‘Her brother is going to kill her. Oh my Grim, am I going to witness a murder?!’

They are very cute omg so tiny!

Runt came over to bark at them, ordering them to leave the property before the eldest Wu found them. They ignored him, sleeping soundly as if Runt did not exist.

Yeah you better hug her now because you’re gonna be pissed when you find out, Todd…

Look at him goooooo. He’s getting so much air!

Oh my Grim, he’s a stealth goat 🤣 he managed to jump by while Todd was in the pool and he never saw them! Also, apparently mini goats/sheeps cannot climb stairs??

Oh… I guess they weren’t as stealthy as I thought.

“You bought goats?!”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Then why are there goats in our yard?!”

“There’s not.”

“I just saw them, Jolene!”

“You need your eyes checked, bro. There is only ONE goat. The other is a sheep, idiot.”

“Are you kidding me right now? You can’t just do whatever you want, brat.”

“Watch me!”

“Take them back now!”

“I refuse! You’re not my dad, you can’t tell me what I can and can’t do!”

I think Jolene is still processing the loss of their parents. Or maybe she just doesn’t like being looked after by her brother. Either way, she’s taking out most of her frustrations on him. Granted, he’s not the best father figure in the world, but at least he’s trying.

Before the accident, he planned on moving to San Myshuno for a year before moving to Sulani and marrying a cute local. He put those plans on hold to raise his siblings!

“Hey, baby, whatcha up to?”

“I am preparing a meal, sir.” She didn’t like the pet names he used, but she liked her job more than she disliked this. The pay was great!

“Oh, cool. Don’t forget to remove the bones from the fish for Jolene. She hates them. Oh and the bread should have garlic added to it because it’s Darnell’s favorite. Wait, why are you doing that? You’re doing it wrong. I can show you if -“

“That won’t be necessary sir,” she cut him off sharply, trying to keep her annoyance in check. “I have a degree in the culinary arts. I assure you, I know what I’m doing!”

“Aw, don’t be like that! I was just trying to help. Cooking together is a great way to get closer, you know.” He winked at her, completely missing the way she gritted her teeth.

“Of course, sir.”

After harassing the butler, as one does, Todd headed back to Sulani to buy some equipment he would need for work. After doing so, he got in some swimming to pass the time.

Wait… why does he swim like that lol He literally forms a triangle with his body before propelling himself forward… who swims like this?? Is this a rich thing

Oh… oh my… that doesn’t seem good…

oh well, what’s life without a little risk?

[photo1030]

Hello, lovely!

I’m here with a request, but first I gotta profess my love for your story again (perhaps you lust for what you cannot have). Oh, it has stuck to my mind like glue ever since I first read it. The story is so good and your writing skills are excellent! I’m in great need of those fantastic writing skills of yours please. 🥰

Could you give me some good ol’ sweet fluff with F!Reader watching Arthur Morgan play/snuggle with a cat. Maybe you can add in there that he didn’t want any pets in the beginning, but immediately fell in love with the cute little guy/girl. I can picture Arthur writing in his journal with the cat laying in his lap. OMG. Imagine him drawing the cat in his journal?? 😭

Thank you in advance and please take all the time you may want or need 💚.

Thank you so much for this "ask"! This is my first request ever, so I hope I did it justice. I didn't do a "x female reader" but Arthur and Jack with this kitten. Hope that is OK? Still Arthur being adorable, so can't go wrong, right? But if you'd prefer the f!reader prompt, I can tweak it. This is the clearest image that came to my mind, so I went with it.

*I had my good friend @rivetingrosie4 beta-read this for me, so I kinda feel like its co-authored, too.

Tag: @misspearly1

ARTHUR'S SHADOW

Summary: Arthur finds an unlikely companion.

*This image is not mine. This comes from greyswan618 on fanpop.

By the time Arthur drags his latest bounty score into the sheriff's office, it's late in the day. And this one, although not necessarily hard to catch, took him a while to track down. This job was good money, but it has left Arthur exhausted. The sun is already hanging low in the sky outside of town and preparing to descend behind the mountains for the day. Since the bounty paid well, Arthur decides to treat himself with a stay at the hotel before returning home. After securing his room, he pays the hotel owner to keep his horse stabled overnight as well. May as well treat his horse too.

After walking back outside, Arthur takes Buck by the reins and leads him around to the back of the hotel to where the stable is. When he finds the stable empty, Arthur leads him to one of the larger stalls, since Buck is a rather large horse. He gets him bedded down for the night, taking off his saddle and brushing him down.

With Buck cleaned up, Arthur walks over to the rain barrel just outside the main door of the stable to fill the water trough in the stall. As he stands at the barrel, a sudden rustling catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. Turning to his left, he notices two pairs of shining eyes staring back at him from under the workbench that lines the wall. Curious, Arthur tilts his head to get a better look. He slowly puts down the bucket that is in his hands.

When he crouches down closer to the barn floor, he sees two tiny kittens hiding there. Even with the encroaching darkness of the evening, with the help of the glow of the lamplight, he can tell they’re still very young. Their fur is just growing out of that baby-fuzz stage, the gray color of rain clouds, and they're awfully skinny. Arthur looks around to see if he can see any signs of the momma anywhere, but there's nothing nearby. Either she is out hunting for food for her babies, or she's abandoned them here.

The fatigue in Arthur’s body is no longer his focus, now that he’s found these little ones.

“Well, look at you,” he chuckles quietly. He reaches into his satchel at his side and pulls out a piece of dried fish that he has tucked away. "Bet you're hungry," he says, his voice rumbly, but soft to keep from frightening them.

He holds out the piece of meat, but the two kittens do not move and only stare back at him with scared, vacant eyes.

"Alright, then," he says with a smile and tosses the meat over to them, so they don’t have to leave the security of their hiding place.

The kittens both spring backwards, tripping over each other clumsily, as the projectile hurtles towards them and lands just in front of their tiny faces. But it only takes a second before curiosity and hunger gets the better of them. Once they get a whiff of the aroma of the meat, the kittens pounce on it and begin to devour the morsel.

Satisfied, Arthur stands up, wiping his hands together. He goes back to getting Buck watered and fed for the night, humming peacefully to himself as he does. Every now and then, he glances over his shoulder to watch the kittens, who are feasting on the fish.

With his task with Buck now complete, Arthur heads back to the barn door to return to his room for the night, his boots scraping across the dirt as he moves. The kittens pause momentarily in their feast to cautiously watch him, their little heads bobbing up and down, before returning their attention to the food.

The next morning, Arthur is early to rise from his hotel room and heads out to the stable. But as he approaches the big stable door, he slows his pace as he is met with a gruesome sight. In the tall grasses just outside the door, he finds the body of one of the baby kittens. Judging by the way the carcass is torn open, it looks like a raccoon or hawk got to it.

"Ah, damn…" sighs Arthur as a slight pang of disappointment hits him. They were cute little things, and it’s a real shame that something happened to them. But such is the way of things, he supposes. He then looks around for the second one. Having some small hope that the other kitten may still be alive, Arthur makes a clicking sound with his tongue, trying to coax it out of hiding. After a few moments, he sees a flash of gray fur under a beam in the stable. He bends down and pats his hand on the ground, and the second kitten slowly creeps out towards him.

"Looks like you're an orphan, now," Arthur says to the kitten, slightly tilting his head to the side and assessing the situation. "Ain't we a pair, then?" he chuckles softly.

Arthur slowly reaches over and picks up the kitten by the scruff, the little one giving a soft and pathetic "meow" as it's hoisted up. He holds the kitten up before his face to get a better look. It seems alright, no fleas or other parasites that are noticeable. It appears to be a male cat, too. Arthur places him in the palm of his other hand. The kitten is so tiny to begin with, and with Arthur's large hands, the babe sits perfectly within his palm. He twists his wrist back and forth, pivoting his hand, so he can continue looking over the kitten, trying to decide what to do with it now. The kitten simply stares back at Arthur with tiny smokey blue-gray eyes, blinking innocently, an occasional "meow" squeaking out of its petite mouth.

Arthur sighs with resignation. "Alright, little one. Better come back with me. You won't make it out here on your own, that's for sure."

Arthur pauses another moment, looking at the kitten in his hand, second-guessing whether he's making the right decision to take this cat with him. He's never particularly cared for cats. They always seem so temperamental and judgmental. He gets enough of that bullshit from people. Dogs. Arthur is a dog-person, with Copper being his pride and joy and best friend as a kid growing up with Hosea and Dutch. And, of course, there's always been his horses as his constant companions.

Sighing again with a shrug, he adds, "Well, maybe you can keep Jack company."

Arthur carefully sets the kitten back down and gives him another piece of fish out of his satchel to keep the kitten occupied while he gets Buck saddled and ready to head out and start for home. It's another day's ride, so Arthur is anxious to get going. By the time the kitten has gobbled up the food Arthur gave him, Arthur is ready to go and gently scoops up the kitten again and mounts his horse to begin the journey home.

As they ride out of town, Arthur protectively holds the kitten in his arm, close to his chest. The kitten doesn't move or fuss, but simply lifts its tiny face, turning about to look around at what's around him. After a while of riding, though, Arthur's arm begins to tire, and the kitten's fur up against him is making him start to sweat a bit. He needs to decide what to do with this cat so they can comfortably ride home. He considers putting him in his satchel, but quickly decides against it, worried the kitten would either suffocate inside the leather bag, or, get into all of the contents of the bag itself.

Noting how calm the kitten has been so far, Arthur simply decides to set the kitten down in front of him in the saddle. He's small enough to sit there between Arthur's thick thighs, and his burly forearms keep the kitten contained in the space pretty well. The kitten instantly sinks its claws into the leather of the saddle, bracing itself in a slight panic at being released from Arthur's protective grasp. But although the horse beneath them is walking at a brisk pace, his gait is smooth, so Arthur doesn't worry too much about the kitten getting jostled about.

And soon enough, the kitten finds its bravery and relaxes to release its claws from the soft material and sits up a bit. Arthur doesn't say anything, or hinder the kitten in any way, but watches the little one, amused at its quest for discovery. It doesn't take long for the kitten to gain more confidence, and he eventually climbs up to stand, putting his front paws up on the saddle horn. Like a tiny lion sentinel, the kitten observes the new world around himself.

After a long day's ride, Arthur decides to stop and make a small camp and settle in for the night. Once he finds a quiet, out-of-the-way spot, he halts Buck. Arthur wearily climbs down from his saddle, kitten in-hand, and sets the baby down on the ground to wander about in the cool grass while he sets up his temporary camp.

"Stick close. Don't be goin' and wanderin' off and gettin' into trouble," he warns the kitten with a pointed finger, as if scolding a child.

The furry face simply stares back at him, offering Arthur a quick "meow" in response.

Arthur goes about setting himself up for the evening, getting a small fire going first. Next, he pulls a can of food out of his saddlebag and proceeds to open it. He casually watches the kitten out of the corner of his eye, constantly keeping watch over him as he works. He sets the can next to the fire to heat up while he continues with his task at hand.

Arthur gets his bedroll set out and sets Buck's saddle atop it to use as a pillow to sleep against later. And all the while Arthur works, the gray kitten putters about his feet, following him around continuously as he moves. With every item that Arthur sets down, the kitten eagerly saunters over to sniff and investigate it. He constantly follows and lingers about Arthur's footsteps, poking at everything in innocent interest, to the point that Arthur has to watch his step so the kitten doesn't come under one of his massive footfalls and gets stepped on.

With camp finally set up, Arthur returns his attention to the can that has been warming by the fire as tonight's dinner. He grabs the can, pulls a fork from his bag, and settles down on his bedroll, leaning back against his saddle to get comfortable. Arthur lifts his eyes from the food in his hand to see the kitten slowly approach him. Now that the man has finally stopped moving long enough, the kitten can get up close to him again. The aroma of the food intrigues the little one and he lifts his tiny head, hungrily sniffing the air.

Raising an eyebrow, Arthur spears a few of the beans with the time-worn tines of the fork and extends his arm out to the kitten. "Ya like beans?" he asks the ball of fur.

The kitten cautiously sniffs the food, but turns its nose up at it, backing away.

"Come on now, you eat what's offered or you don't eat at all," he scolds the kitten. "At least that's what my momma used to say." Arthur waves the fork out in front of the kitten again to try to coax it to eat. "Come on…gotta at least try it."

The kitten comes back to him, sniffing again and reluctantly extends its neck out and licks the morsel with its tiny pink sandpaper tongue. After a few licks, the kitten decides it's edible and grabs the piece off of the end of the utensil.

"Atta, boy," Arthur says approvingly. He smirks to himself, realizing how ridiculous he sounds having a conversation with a cat. But then again, he talks to Buck all of the time, so he supposes that this really isn't all that different.

After Arthur and the kitten finish the can of beans, Arthur lays back against the saddle again to relax, his heavy frame melting into the bedroll beneath him, and lights a cigarette. He lets out a long, tired sigh as his eyes land on the kitten once more. As Arthur shuffles his foot a bit to get comfortable, the kitten takes great interest in the movement of his boot and decides to test his bravery.

His little butt rises in the air, tiny tail like an arrow straight up and at attention. The kitten crawls along the ground on his belly, attempting to be stealth-like. Arthur sees this and with a grin, he slowly waves his foot a bit again in temptation. And when he does, the kitten pounces on his boot, attacking it playfully and bites on the leather of the sole. The gruff outlaw lets out a soft laugh of amusement through his nose and begins to slowly wave his foot back and forth at the ankle, causing the kitten, who has wrapped himself around the boot, to sway back and forth above the ground. After a few more gnawing bites, the kitten plops down to the ground, confident in its own victory.

Fully invested in this as his entertainment for the evening, Arthur reaches over to his gambler's hat that is set off to the side, leans forward and drops it overtop of the kitten, trapping it underneath. There is no further movement, but Arthur can hear its little meows from under it. Smirking with his cigarette dangling from his chapped lips, he carefully picks up just the brim of the hat and tilts his head to peer under it.

He sees the kitten's little nose and a thin little paw swipe out at him, causing Arthur to chuckle.

"Fighter, ain't ya?" When Arthur lifts the hat up a bit more, the kitten quickly hops out from under it, grabs ahold of Arthur's forearm, and starts grappling with it, biting and digging its needle-like claws into Arthur's shirt and leather gloves.

Amused, Arthur rests his arm on the ground, carefully pinning the playful kitten underneath. He playfully growls at the kitten and uses his hand to roll the ball of fur over and over again, wrestling and playing with him.

When the kitten finally wears out, Arthur pauses to give him a break. The kitten stands up and gives itself a full-body shake, causing little pieces of grass and dirt to fly through the air. He's a scrappy little thing. Arthur will give him credit for that, at least. Arthur slowly pulls his black leather gloves off of his hands and reaches over to tuck them into his saddlebag, as he is truly getting settled in for the evening now.

The kitten sits on the bedroll next to his thigh, innocently watching Arthur as he moves. Arthur rolls back to lie flat and glances at the kitten for a moment before he extends his large fingertip out to rub along the top of the kitten's head, right between its ears. The kitten's eyes slowly close as it gives into the heavenly feeling, and it eagerly pushes its head up into Arthur's hand. Arthur can hear the kitten purring happily, the soft sound almost hypnotic.

"Ya like that, do ya?" Arthur's low voice rumbles in the quiet night. It's funny how such a small gesture can be so impactful on another living soul. The campfire crackles and pops softly next to them, being the only background noise to be heard in the night; its heat radiating and keeping the two of them cozy and warm.

Arthur eventually ceases petting the kitten and returns his hands to his lap. At the abrupt end to its massage, the kitten looks at Arthur again expectantly, and springs up to stand atop Arthur's chest. Inquisitive as ever, it crouches a bit and crawls towards Arthur's face, its head bobbing up and down, as cats are want to do when stalking their object of interest.

Just as the kitten gets close to Arthur's face, Arthur purses his lips together and blows a short burst of air into its face, causing it to jump back in surprise. It then suddenly leaps forward again in challenge and starts to chew on Arthur's beard. This causes Arthur to bark out a laugh a bit in spite of himself. To see such an innocent creature, so full of energy, warms his bitter old heart. He brings his hands up to start to pet the kitten again, running his large hands along its diminutive and skeletal body. After just a brief moment, the kitten seems placated with this as an "apology" and switches from biting at the man's beard to the occasional lick to his nose instead. And even though it is meant to comfort the kitten, Arthur has to admit that stroking the soft fur is oddly calming to himself as well.

"Alright, then, that's enough of that," Arthur grunts out as he picks up the kitten with one hand and sets him off to the side of him again and reaches over to grab his journal. Arthur rolls himself to sit up with an exaggerated groan, and sets the precious book onto his folded legs, opening the pages to the next blank ivory-colored page. He hasn't even set his pencil to the paper yet, when the curious kitten jumps up to perch itself on his knee.

The small face peers down to inspect the latest object of focus. Before Arthur can even stop him, the kitten hops down onto the book itself and starts walking around in circles on the pages, sniffing and inspecting it, chewing the corner just briefly, before plopping down to lay himself right across the smooth, open surface. The kitten innocently looks up at Arthur, wanting his undivided attention yet again.

"No, now, come on, fuzz-butt, get outta here now," he gruffly chides, but with only a slight annoyance in his voice as he playfully sweeps the kitten to the side with his forearm. The kitten meows in protest, lifting its paw to swat at Arthur's hand. "Hey, don't sass me, now. We're done playin' for the night."

And by this time, exhaustion has finally caught up to both Arthur and the little gray kitten, so Arthur only takes a few minutes to capture some brief thoughts in the journal before turning in for the night. He notes the job he completed, the money brought in for it, and then jots a few lines about this kitten that he'd found. He even takes a moment to quickly sketch the little one onto the paper, the strokes of the graphite tip skipping fluidly across the paper. Every time Arthur looks over at the furry ball for a perspective to assist in his drawing, the tiny face peers back at him, watching the pencil move in Arthur's hand, but obediently staying put.

When he's done, Arthur carefully closes his journal and tucks it back into its rightful place in his satchel. Taking a deep breath and stretching his tired arms over his head for a brief moment, Arthur then takes his hat and scoops the kitten into it in an effort to keep him safe and warm overnight while they sleep. He's hoping the little adventurer stays put and doesn't wander off in the night.

"There, now," peering down at the babe. "You stay there tonight, and then we'll get you home to Jack tomorrow." Arthur rubs his fingertips along the kitten's head again, gently scratching its scalp with his jagged fingernails, and then sets the hat right next to him, protectively along his side, before lying back and closing his eyes for the night.

The next morning, as the warm sunlight breaks over the horizon, consciousness slowly grabs ahold of the outlaw. He can feel the chill of the morning dew clinging to his clothing. With his eyes still sealed shut, reluctant to release the bliss of sleep just yet, Arthur stretches his body, hearing the familiar popping sound of his joints. He's getting too old to be sleeping on the cold, hard ground anymore.

Suddenly, he is aware of a slight weight on his abdomen. He peels open his eyes and sees the kitten curled up into a tight ball on his stomach, fast asleep, with its nose buried into the fur of its tail. It obviously crawled out of the make-shift bed of Arthur's hat and climbed up on top of the man at some point in the night. Whether it was seeking protection or warmth, Arthur's own body heat and the slow rise and fall of his chest kept the tiny animal comforted while it slept. The corners of Arthur's lips involuntarily pull up and a whispered "aww" escapes before he can even stop it.

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

When he gets back to camp, Arthur dismounts his horse and walks through the collection of tents and tables with the kitten tucked in his hand. He heads straight over to Dutch's tent to drop off the bounty payment. Dutch is sitting outside his tent, reading a book with a cigar clenched between his teeth, and as he gets closer, Arthur eventually sets the kitten down on the ground to walk so that his hands are free to dig into his satchel for the bounty money. The kitten continues to follow him as he heads over to the cash box and ledger in Dutch's tent. Dutch lifts his head as he notices Arthur's approach, but quickly tilts his head in confusion as he glances down at the little bundle of gray fur at Arthur's feet.

"What you got there, Arthur?" asks Dutch, pointing at the new arrival.

"Hmm? Oh. Found him. Thought he'd be a good playmate for Jack," says Arthur dismissively, focusing more on his scribbling into the job ledger.

"Well, ain't you the soft-hearted one?" Dutch muses with a slightly mocking grin before he leans over to get a good look at the kitten, reaching his ringed-fingers out to briefly pet him.

"Oh my goodness, look at that little face!" squeals Mary-Beth suddenly when she catches sight of the kitten while walking past the men. In a moment, she rushes over. She bends down and scoops up the kitten into her slender hands and snuggles him into her face. "Tilly! Come quick! Look what Arthur brought home!" she hollers over to her friend who is doing some stitching at one of the tables.

Tilly is quick to her feet and rushes over to join them, eager to see what the excitement is all about. Soon enough, a small group has started to gather around Dutch's tent to see the baby kitten.

"Awww, isn't he just the cutest!" exclaims Tilly, running her fingers over the kitten's fur. "Arthur, are we gonna keep him?" she asks him excitedly.

"Don't matter to me, but I thought Jack might like 'em," replies Arthur, crossing his arms over his chest as he stands back and watches them fawn all over the kitten.

"Jack, come here and see the kitten!" Tilly calls to Jack and Abigail and waves them over.

Jack runs over to them at the invitation, excited to see what they have for him. The second his eyes land on the tiny bundle of fur, Jack gasps with excitement and wonder, his pudgy little hands waving slightly in anticipation as he runs. Mary-Beth sets the kitten down in the grass again as Jack approaches so that the boy can play with him. And thankfully, rather than being timid and frightened by the commotion, the kitten is all too excited to play as well, absolutely loving the attention. Jack gets down on his knees and immediately starts to pet the kitten, talking and cooing to it.

"Momma! He's so soft!" he giggles.

"He sure is," agrees Abigail as she too kneels down next to Jack and reaches over to run her fingers along the tiny feline. "Be careful, though, Jack," she gently tells him. "Be gentle with him so he doesn't bite or scratch you."

"I will, Momma, I promise!" the little boy squeaks in excitement.

Standing back a few feet from the girls and Jack, Dutch and Arthur watch the happy sight.

"Good work, son," says Dutch quietly, patting Arthur on the shoulder and giving him an approving grin.

Arthur casts his eyes over at Dutch with a nod of acceptance in return. And upon seeing that his new traveling companion is in good hands now, Arthur turns and decides to head over to the fire to sit and relax his tired self.

Suddenly, despite the attention he's getting, the kitten notices Arthur moving again and instantly becomes alarmed, his little head poking up to attention. At the sight of the burly outlaw leaving him, the kitten darts away from Jack and the girls, squeezing his way between their legs, and quickly catches up to Arthur's boot-heels. Surprised, Arthur halts and looks down at the kitten.

"Now what are you doin'?" he asks the kitten. "Go on, go play with Jack," as he lowers his hand down to sweep the cat towards Jack again. He stands upright and moves on, walking over to grab a beer bottle from one of the crates. He ungracefully plunks himself down next to John on one of the logs by the fire where other gang members currently reside.

Of course, the kitten is right back behind Arthur with every step. And, of course, Jack is right behind the kitten, giggling excitedly, trying to keep up. The sight of the three of them walking about is really quite sweet; like a duck and her two ducklings tailing behind. Abigail's fingers hover gracefully over her mouth as she smiles, watching them. Arthur has always been good to both her and Jack, and Abigail is quite grateful for it. And right now, her son is just over-the-moon about his new present from his grumpy uncle. She casually walks over to the fire to join everyone, and stands behind her boy.

Sean is already sitting by the fire with Karen in his lap and notices the commotion. "Aww, would ya look at Arthur Morgan, there! The most wanted man in da tri-county area, carrin' on wit a little pussy cat," jokes Sean, "I thought you were supposed ta be da mean one 'round here, Arthur!"

"Shut it, Sean," huffs Arthur, as he reaches down and absentmindedly pats the kitten along its side when it takes a seat on the ground at his feet. "I brought him home for Jack."

"That was mighty nice of you, Arthur. Thank you," praises Abigail as she beams brightly at her son. Jack is currently crouched on the ground right next to the kitten and talking to it as if they are already the best of friends.

Arthur says nothing in response, but simply nods to her as a "you're welcome" while taking a big gulp from his beer bottle.

"Well, Jack, what are you gonna name him?" asks Hosea, his face pulling into a huge smile at the sound of the boy's laughter.

The kitten begins to playfully explore again, taking a real liking to Jack, as it climbs all over him. Its nose sniffs all about the boy's face, the softness of the fur dragging delightfully across his rosy cheeks with a ticklish effect.

"What about 'Milo'?" suggests Mary-beth, who has come to take her place by the fire as well, choosing a spot on the ground close to Jack so that she too can play with the kitten.

"Nah, he don't look like a 'Milo'" says Jack, his eyes still glued to the little cat.

"How 'bout 'Oliver'?" Abigail offers.

But Jack only scrunches his little face up even more in displeasure as he continues to think of the perfect name for his new companion.

"I suppose 'Fluffy' is out of the question, then?" jokes John as he too reaches over to wiggle his fingers in front of the kitten in an effort to join his son and play.

"No!" laughs Jack. "That's not right, either!"

The boy sits quietly, his eyebrows knit in deep thought, as if this is the most important decision he has to make in his young life. And he is quick to notice that the kitten springs into motion every time Arthur moves a muscle. When Arthur stands up to get a log for the fire, the kitten hops up and follows him. When Arthur sits, the kitten is right at his heels again.

"I'm gonna name him 'Shadow'," says Jack definitively, reaching over to pet his kitten, which is still perched at the large man's feet.

"Oh, that's a good one, Jack," his mother encourages. "'Cause he's gray?"

"No! Because he's Uncle Arthur's shadow!" says Jack emphatically at the obvious conclusion.

This observation causes Arthur to pause for a moment. His chest tightens just a bit, flattered by Jack's choice. He looks down at the kitten sitting by his boot, its little face and beautiful eyes peering back at him.

Arthur reaches down and rubs his rough and calloused fingers over Shadow's head, curling the pads of his fingertips around his velvety ears. He grins, but just ever so slightly, a softness settling there that rarely shows. "Huh…'Shadow'…I rather like that."

[miintsprigz]

Dancing in the Dark (Thatcher and Ruth)

Note: I have heard that both the creator and the actors who played both characters have said they’re okay with this ship. If I hear otherwise, I’ll gladly take this down.

Ship: Thatcher Davis x Ruth Weaver from The Mandela Catalog.

Fic Type: fluff with angst towards the end. SFW.

Warnings: alcohol mention, smoking, mourning.

Description: in the darkness of his apartment, Thatcher recalls a treasured memory of his: a date night gone awry… An old jacket. An old song. An old pair of eyes, despite everything, still gazing up at him in the back of his mind.

Things had not gone according to plan tonight at all. The original idea’s simplicity still stood out as better, for sure. Go out to get some dinner, have some drinks, talk awhile…head home. It had been a while since Thatcher had spent time with Ruth that involved…actual free time. With the invasion of these strange, demonic alternates spreading like a wildfire, work never stopped, and places closed down left and right. This one bar kept itself open though, and they figured they might as well go…while they still could.

That…was not what happened though.

Weaver had come barging in through Davis’ door, basically mowing him down in the process. After recovering his footing (thereby peeling himself off of the rug), he saw a distorted face charging towards the door. He had immediately slammed the door again by practically slapping himself against it, and held it shut tight.

Weaver, meanwhile, shoved various pieces of his apartment furniture in front of the doors and windows just in case the thing tried to break in. Luckily, this seemed to be one of the alternates that…did its job rather poorly. However, what it lacked in intelligence, it made up for with great persistence. It stayed. And it could probably still kill them.

And so, Davis and Weaver had sat on the kitchen counter in the dark, near the tiny, slightly open window, with the shades drawn. Waiting.

Thatcher sighed, pulse finally slowing.

Well. Date’s off. Sucks.

Weaver cracked a joke to break the silence, now that her own heart had stopped pounding in her ears.

“What were you gonna get anyways, Thatch?”

Immediately, a glare from those tired eyes hit her, laser-focused. She quipped,

“My guess is a beer, with that face.”

“You’d be right. Lemme guess…a screwdriver for you?”

“You know me so well!”

“I sure do…”

Chuckling dryly, he reached into his pocket, fishing around inside. Muttering a curse under his breath, he gave the pocket he’d dug around in an audible slap.

“What happened?” Weaver piped up, concern tinting her voice.

“I wanna smoke…meant to get more earlier. Forgot.”

His coworker reached into her shirt pocket. Buried amongst the pens, she had hidden two cigarettes.

“I was gonna go out on the deck when we got our drinks.”

“Weaver, I knew there was a reason I liked ya.”

A soft chuckle met the compliment.

“Oh please. I knew you’d forget. Told you to write it down.”

“Nobody’s got time for that, baby—“

The corner of Thatcher’s mouth lilted upwards as he poked the cigarette between his lips and flicked his lighter open, leaning in the direction of the window.

“Hey, uh…hit me quick-“

“Oh, here—“

The Lieutenant got the lighter going again and his partner moved in a bit closer. They’d done this before. As he lit the other end for her, he watched her eyes. She’d always said they were plain, but he loved them. The way they shone when she smiled, as she was now. That little hint of red beneath the deep brown.

“Uhhh, Thatch? I think that’s good.”

He snapped out of it.

“Huh… Oh!! Yeah, yeah; sure.”

Nearly dropping his own cigarette, he cleared his throat, scooting away from her.

“What? I don’t have cooties or anything.”

He blew some air out of his nose, snickering.

“You sure ‘bout that?”

“Take a chance on me.”

Truthfully, he’d always so much hated how he couldn’t seem to stay serious around her for long. Had a reputation for being one of the toughest on the force, but every time they’d driven around together, any seriousness about him went totally sideways. She always teased him for it. He’d snap back, but he’d tolerate anything for that laugh.

Some frightening whispers slowly came from outside. They’d been there a while, but they’d stayed in the background. Now though…they almost started to take effect. Almost. Immediately, every hair stood on its end. They shared a stare. With a vigorous shake of his head, blowing smoke everywhere, Thatcher hopped off the counter.

“Nope. Nuh-uh. No.”

Moving at a breakneck pace, he slid to the cassette player that rested on the opposite countertop, getting it going at max volume. He nearly slipped back, forgetting he wasn’t wearing his boots.

“Shhh—“

Weaver swung forward, giggling.

“You’re gonna break your face, idiot.”

Thatcher blew smoke rings at her, smirking.

“Yeah, okay; and then you’ll have to drive me to the hospital with that thing on your—“

“Hey!”

It was his turn to laugh, grabbing an empty coffee can he’d fished out of the trash as an ashtray.

“This’ll do, I think.”

Wrinkling up her nose, she grinned, sneering.

“No no, that won’t do. How dare you not have a proper ashtray, Davis, I say! I’m ashamed to call you my partner.”

“Didn’t know my partner was a snob. Learn somethin’ new every day, huh Ruth?”

The two of them just laughed, finishing their cigarettes and dropping them into the can.

For a while, Davis swung his feet back and forth, looking down at the floor. Well, this was kind of awkward. Ruth drummed her fingers to the beat of the music.

The track changed.

It took her a moment to recognize the song. Once she did, she snapped her fingers, letting out one of those famous laughs.

“Ha! Thatch, I didn’t know you listened to this kinda stuff!”

Thatcher met her with a raised brow.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“Oh, nothing’s wrong with it. Just didn’t picture you listening to it.”

He made a very flamboyant gesture with both hands, flourishing them out in a fan shape.

“Well, now you can not only picture, but behold.”

Ruth laughed again, swaying her head from side to side to the beat.

“Hope you’ve got more cassettes around here.”

“I got dozens.”

“Good. At the rate this thing is going, we’ll have listened to them all.”

Thatcher watched with fascination as Ruth jumped down from the counter.

“Hey, I got an idea.”

“Mmm?”

Extending her hand, she smiled sheepishly.

“…dance with me?”

The Lieutenant blinked rapidly, his eyebrows arching.

“…Ruth, really?”

He feigned disinterest. She’d laugh at how overeager he was otherwise. They’d warned him that she was pretty as a picture before he met her. They were sadly correct. Jokes had circulated the whole department for months now.

“Yes, really. Big stick in the mud over here.”

In a way that was almost cartoonish, she plunked her unextended hand down on her hip, harrumphing.

“Look, I don’t care if you have two left feet. I don’t even care that you’re not wearing shoes! I just figure…”

A little smile broke through the pout she put on.

“…we might as well have some fun, if we’re stuck.”

Rolling his eyes in her direction, he raked his hair out of his face.

“Fine, I’ll bite. No need to throw a fit.”

“I’m not! Lighten up already…”

Sliding off the counter, he clasped her hand, resting the other one against her shoulder. Suddenly aware of his heartbeat racing again.

Deep breaths, Davis. Deep breaths.

Why on earth did she make him feel so nervous? He pondered it as the two of them looked down at their feet, lining up their movements. Like a mirror image.

Ruth was a great dancer. He’d seen her at a company party. It wasn’t the alcohol steering her either. She just loved to dance. Even back then, she’d extended her hand, and adamantly, he’d refused, much to her greatly dramatized disappointment. Truthfully, he was just afraid to make a fool of himself in front of her…and of course, the rest of the precinct.

Everyone else seemed to disappear when he was with Ruth.

“You shoulda said yes!”, Dave had kept telling him. He’d bemoaned the constant nagging, and insisted heatedly that if he ever got the chance again, he’d say yes.

Like that would ever happen.

But here they were, gliding across the living room floor. His hand in hers.

“Hey, guess you’re not a total square after all, Thatch. You’re pretty good!”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“Yeah. You sure look it. Take a compliment, baby.”

…baby?

It hit like a ton of bricks.

Thatcher, though he was hesitant, gave her a spin. Dark hair fluttering behind her as she twirled, resting against him briefly, looking up at him.

He hoped she couldn’t feel how warm he’d become. Half of it was breaking a sweat from dancing…the other part, well…

“What’s the matter?”

“Uh…oh, nothing. Just wasn’t expecting to go dancing tonight is all.”

“Well, we can stop if you’re tired—“

“No!! …no, Ruth, I-I’m good.”

She squinted at him, giving him a wry smile.

“Whatever you say, Fred Astaire…”

A slower song followed. Weaver stared at him, surprised.

“Geez…hopeless romantic, huh?”

Ouch. Felt like a knife to the gut.

“Sure, you keep thinkin’ that—“

“Oh, don’t bail on me now—“

Without warning, she swept him into the typical slow dance posture.

Thatcher had quite literally had a dream about this. Dave had known something was up that morning, but like he’d ever tell him something so embarrassing. It was especially weird to see her after the fact.

His mind kept racing.

Oh she’s going that way. No no, slow down. Just be careful…oh gosh, I’m squeezing her hand—aaaand, I’m on her foot.

Ruth looked up at him snidely.

Say something, idiot.

“I’ve got something underfoot.”

Brilliant.

“Yeah, it’s me, you big oaf.”

Thatcher snorted. The remark caught him off guard.

“Awww, the little piggy’s out again!”

“Oh, shut up—“

“Okay, then pick your foot up and keep going, before I kick you with mine.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Weaver…”

With a quieter laugh, he began to sway her gently again. This was beginning to feel more natural. The steps becoming more put-together and less clumsy.

Again, why did everything else disappear with her there?

That thing could have come in through the window and they’d both be dead in the water…why didn’t he care?

If that freak doesn’t kill me, the embarrassment of having to explain this to Dave will.

“We should do this more often,” she chirped.

“…I don’t know when we’d get the time for that, though.”

“Good point. Maybe once this blows over?”

“…you got it, baby.”

Her eyes practically disappeared as she beamed.

The song wound down at the worst time.

“Ah. And you were just starting to figure out the rhythm!”

He teased Ruth, poking his tongue out at her.

“Well, who’s to say I can’t pick this one up a little quicker?”

A thought suddenly dawned on Thatcher. A thought he couldn’t ignore.

We’re not smoking. We’re close together. Maybe…

“…maybe. First though…would you let me try something? Just for a sec.”

This could be the end for me. She’ll want a different partner after this.

Ignorant to his panic, Ruth grinned boldly.

“…try me.”

Slowly, he unwrapped his fingers from around her hand, cupping the side of her face. His fingers were trembling, he hoped desperately that she couldn’t tell. Resting his thumb on her chin, he moved a little bit closer.

She’s gonna pull away…now.

But she didn’t. Ruth just looked up at him, eyes slightly wider, but actually starting to move her head forward too.

Clumsily, their teeth clacked together.

“Ow—“

“Ouch—!”

No, we’re doing this—

“Take two-“

He pressed forwards, setting his mouth in the correct shape this time. Just like that, his lips were on hers. He closed his eyes as she kissed him back. Thatcher felt like he was melting.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed someone. Probably high school, he guessed. He hoped he’d somehow improved since then, despite having no practice.

She didn’t pull back at all, he broke it off. To come up for air, mostly.

His heart was leaping out of his chest, he was sure she could hear it. It physically pained him to open his eyes.

Wonder what snarky comment I’ll hear from this. Surely I’ll get one. She always comes up with something.

But Ruth was silent. Gazing up at him, starry-eyed. Her cheeks were rosy. He could feel his own face burning up, must have been burgundy.

“…whoa.”

He screwed his eyes shut and popped them open again.

“Um…Ruth?”

“Yeah?”

“You have any idea how long I wanted to do that?”

“No. But I wish you did it sooner.”

Another hard blink.

“Get out.”

“I uh…I can’t…”

“Pffshh—“

That broke him out of it. Suddenly he was laughing, nearly doubling over. He couldn’t stop giggling. This felt like finally talking to the girl in homeroom. Ruth chuckled right along with him, redder than ever.

“What?”

“You actually…”

He stood up straight again.

“You wanted…this?”

“…I could write ‘oblivious’ on my forehead and you wouldn’t see it.”

Thatcher just rolled his eyes.

“We both have some ridiculous ways of saying ‘I like you’, I guess.”

Silence hung for a moment. It was a gentle silence, like a soft breeze.

“Hey.”

“Mm?”

“Can I try?”

“Wha—“

Her hand caressed his cheek, and he understood fine.

“O—oh!!! Yes, yes—please~”

She drew him close, leaning into him as she kissed him. He could have floated right off the ground.

After a while, Ruth pulled back.

“…you’re good, Davis. You are good.”

His face broke out in a grin, leading her back in with his arm, rocking them both to the new song.

“You’re still better.”

________________

That same song played from that same tape recorder. Scratchy and weathered by now, after so many times of playing it again and again.

Thatcher laid face down. He’d lost the tape behind his bed somewhere about a year ago, and had absentmindedly popped it in as he tried…and failed, to sleep.

He’d completely forgotten this one. Had thrown it in a fit of anger a few days after the worst night of his life.

He pulled Weaver’s jacket in closer, practically burrowing into it. Taking a deep breath.

Thatcher had always found it strange how she wore such a sickly-sweet fragrance. He always kind of hated it. Sugary things made his stomach turn. But it was her scent, so he’d never tell her to stop.

He was glad he hadn’t. The day this didn’t have that scent on it anymore…that was the day he’d really lose it all.

Thatcher could feel the eyes of the thing that occasionally took up residence in his closet. Her eyes.

No.

No, those were not her eyes.

They were the plastic button eyes on a sick taxidermy of his former best friend, and love of his life.

Dead. Because he was too afraid.

Another fit of ragged, uncontrollable sobbing seized him, tears soaking the flannel lining of the jacket. He cried over her every day since she’d been taken from him.

My girl. They took my girl.

What he wouldn’t give to see her holding out her hand, and asking him to dance, with that coy little smile again.

The jacket was practically smothering him at this point, but he didn’t care. It was like he was burying himself in her. That was the ideal. At this point, he wasn’t sure of what truly happened to those who died, but he prayed, to whomever would listen, that Ruth could forgive him, and give him the strength to make it to the end of this.

No matter what that looked like.

I’ll dance with you again one day. If you still want me, after what I let happen to you. Then it’ll all be worth it.

Wrapping the jacket sleeves around himself, he whimpered through his teeth. How he wished to feel those fingers running through his hair again.

The thought of seeing her in the future wasn’t enough to remedy the pain that worked its way into every part of him. Rolling onto his back, he looked up towards the ceiling, gasping hard for breath.

One way or another. We’ll be together again…one day. I’d fight a billion of these myself if it meant you were here in my arms again.

Sweat and tears ran down the sides of his face, he was sure he looked horrible. But all he could think about was her.

I love you, Ruth. I’ll love you until the day I die…and beyond that.

Someday, baby…

Someday…

[hausofmamadas]

Hell, lately whenever Angel showed up your door had not only been closed, but also locked.

The way I cackled so much at this bc just likefksjla angel’s disbelief that someone would lock their doors like that being a surprising thing to him is just absolutely the type of beautiful-tropical-fish behavior we pay to see heresksk

The sudden nature of both your appearances had you both cursing in surprise. You hugged the box in your hands tighter to your chest as your half-yell turned into a sigh of relief mixed with exhaustion.

SKJFSKJKJNOOOOOO BUT YOU DON’T EVEN UNDERSTANDFKSJDFLKJ THE WAY I WENT FROM 0 TO 1000 BC I WAS EXPECTING THIS TOGET IMMEDIATELY DARK AND HE WAS GONNA ACCIDENTALLY FRIENDLY FIRE AND FATALLY SHOOT READER SKKSKS THAT’S THE TORTURE I THOUGHT YOU DECIDED TO SUBJECT HIM TO

Your gaze dropped to the box you were holding, the seams of cardboard and tape suddenly more interesting than you would’ve ever imagined they’d be.

The seams of cardboard tape????????okay????????we’re getting fuckin descriptive and literary asf here straight away, i see you

Clearing your throat, you gave a shrug that accomplished nothing in terms of softening the blow of, “I’m leaving.”

OHHHH BUT YOU KNOW I LOVEEELKFSJDLSJD THIS when an action is used as almost like an adjective to describe a line of dialogue, like it really does such a good job of evoking exactly what the dialogue is supposed to sound like also lowkey I do that all the time and I’m 99.99999999999% sure I stole it from you ngl

He backpedaled out your doorway and back onto your front step. “Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that, like I fuckin’ matter to you.”

DONTSAYMYNAMELIKETHATLIKEIFUCKINMATTERTOYOU IMEANNNASLDKFJSDJTHEWAYYYI CAN FULLY JUST HEAR IN MY MINDS EYE bc it is so fucking angel, it is crystal clear, it could be ripped from an actual script that’s how angel-fucking-reyes this is

It was an argument you’d been planning to have over the phone, an argument you were hoping would happen when there were more than a few area codes between you.

When there were more than a few area codes between you … i can even explain why???? I’m obsessed with this. It's just the coolest, most inspired way to say far away that I would never think of myself. Like cue me with my tiny glasses? ✓On✓. Tiny, detective pad? ✓Out✓. Scribbling notes furiously until my wrist hurts so bad I have to start screaming “my hand, my hand is CRAMPING MRS PUFF MAKE IT STOPPPPPP " ??

✓✓✓you betcha yes✓✓✓. 

His brows came together, offended and confused. “What’re you talkin’ about? It’s always been us.” 

Nosdflksjl bc I was about to rant about hwo there’s no way that’s true, unless he’s saying it to EZ or someone in the club which Reader is evidently notttttttt but then I don’t even have to bc Reader does for meskdjfls

It’s been you, chasing around every girl who stumbles into that clubhouse and then running back to me when you get bored of them. It’s been you going out being reckless with the club and then coming to me when you need someone to patch you up, someone to tell you that you’re right and they’re all wrong. It’s been you coming to me whenever it’s fucking convenient for you … And it’s been me fucking letting you.

When i tell you half the time it took to write this screamblog was devoted just to me going back and forth about which sentence to choose from this until i realized i couldn’t decide and just yolo-pasted the whole thing insteaddfjslksdkfjskdj and the reason for the struggle is bc this is such a fantastic rant that I wish someone had actually said on the show. Bc it just speaks to so many things, it speaks to angel's childishness, his himbo tendencies, his inability to view relationships beyond the physical and emotional caretaking he gets from his partner no matter how temporary that partner is .. BUT!!!!!! OKAY !!!!! BUT!!!!!!the most gutting part is, “it’s me fucking letting you,” bc my, it is A Rood Awakening when you get however many years into a relationship, tally teh ways in which you feel you may be taken for granted, and realize not only have you not been supported the same way you support your partner, but you’ve perpetuated the dynamic to the point taht you’ve lost yourself until you wake up one day feeling totally, existentially disassociated like, “i am an actual stranger, wow.” And like, it’s not wild to assume that I’m projecting here, but likeslfkja; let’s just say you captured the feeling well and it’s almost worse than being mad at the other person bc it’s like, “why tf have I been accepting this, how have i wasted so much time?” without realizing, it might've never occurred to you to leave bc you prob knew on some level that this would be the outcome: just angel wahwah-boo-hoo-ing on your front porch 

He’d set you loose in the scrapyard when your anger bubbled up so much that you needed to break something because it was the only alternative you had to hurting yourself or someone else

OMGOMKASJDFKS THIS DETAIL isquealed at bc it’s so unexpectedly romantic, him inviting Reader to go nuts when they’re homicidally angry to fling around scrap metal. It’s such a unique little… god idk even wtf to call it, relationship ritual? Whatever it is, it’s a true stroke of genius. Side note: breaking something when you’re really mad is one of the most cathartic thingsever. Back in my early 20s, I was in this gnarly on-and-off relationship for a year and a half where homeboy would do some infuriatingly trifling shit about every 3 mos. And I had a friend at the time who remodeled old computer towers, and every once in a while would find one that was too fargone. So when The Boy would pull his fucked-ass emotional shenanigans, we’d take the computer towers to a scrapyard like 5mins from my house, and pound that shit to smithereenssdkfjl with a baseball bat. 10/10 do recommend

He had his arms wrapped around you in such a way that you couldn’t even effectively hug him back. You just pressed your cheek against his hoodie, helpless to do anything else.

Once again on another fucking LEVELLLLLLLL with the descriptiveness here, like I know exactly what this looks like, okay. It’s that kind of like Tall-Man Bear Hug, where youre the little brother in A Christmas Story, walking in the snow, complaining bc his winter clothes are too thick and he can’t put his arms down. Only in this case, instead of winter clothes, it’s like Tall-Man Biceps™️ that make it so you can't put your arms down. And combined with the fact that he’s also lifting you off the ground bc again, Tall Man Tings you prob look like a starfish that got railroaded by a coral reef, which I realize sounds like a euphemism for some strange kink no one’s ever heard ofskdfjskskjf like so:

You scoffed, more tears spilling down your cheeks. “I’m sure that’s what EZ told Gaby, too.”

OOFTHISCLAPBACK which yes, i recognize isn’t really a clapback, it’s just honest, like that is absolutely what EZ told Gaby way back in the day i know i’m not the only one with the gif receipts to prove it but you bet your bottom dollar that shit bit like a clapback. If I felt it like i got metaphorically punched in the dick, you know Angel felt like he actually got punched in the dick. 

Angel was carrying around all that guilt but he hadn’t been the one who pulled the trigger. That was all EZ. That was all the guy who had promised to keep Gaby safe.

THE GUY WHO HAD PROMISED TO KEEP GABY SAFE ONCEMOREFORTHEPPLINTHEBACK CUZEZREYESISBEYONDTRASH IMTALKINGRAWSEWAGEATTHISPOINT 

He sniffled, trying to stuff his emotions back down where he used to keep them so comfortably.

Ughhhhsildfj;alksjd;fskdfkskdfjksksksks this is such an incredible way of phrasing this and I can so see him liek it’s giving very, “no, eye’m not crying, YOU’RE CRYING. *wipes nose with sleeve of flannel*”

He tried to get his expression to harden, give that tough, neutral gaze, but he couldn’t get it quite right. “I shouldn’t’a come here.” He shook his head. “Should’a let you run off with no goodbye the way you wanted.”

GODDILOVETHIS BC IT’S SO ANGEL, AND HOW DO I KNOW THAT?????????????BC IT MAKES ME WANT TO GRAB HIM BY THE EAR AND DRAG HIM TO THE TIMEOUT CORNER, IT MAKES ME WANT TO GRAB HIS SHOULDERS AND SHAKE HIM SO HARD, IT KNOCKS A FEW EXTRA BRAINCELLS LOOSE BC HE’S BEING SO CHILDISH. The only thing that's missing is a full “*sticks tongue out* oh noo, no, you’re not breaking up with me, eye already broke up with YOU, so HA!!!!!!!!!! IN YOUR FACE.” The way he’s managed to turn this back around on Reader is very much the The Reyes Bros' brand. And as much as I was screaming, “DO IT!” into my phone when Reader said come with me, it also hit me like, in order to have the maturity/common sense/understanding to leave, he would’ve had the maturity/common sense/understanding of why Reader made the decision in the first place and that's not what he comes to this conversation with, okay, like he did not come correct skfjsk so ofc he flips the script bc it's way easier than admitting Reader might be right about his (in)ability to keep them safe. Like acceptance of his limitations is equivalent to confirmation of The One Thing he’s always feared which is not being good enough even tho accepting your limitations and doing what you can to improve and/or mediate them is actually the thing that makes you a more capable person but itsfineitsfineitsfine wtf do I know

Then it got quieter the farther he rode. Then it was silent again. And all you could do was walk back inside to get the next box, leaving the door open behind you.

Mannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn, now I’m just sitting here like GODDAMMMIT ANGEL, GET YOUR FUCKEN SHIT TOGETHERSKSKJDKSJ but also if you can’t get your shit together, atleast kill your brother bc he’s legit a rabid dog at this point and should prob be euthanized but sssssshghhhhhh

Never Been Us

Angel Reyes x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, angst, mentions of character death

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: the way i've been so blocked up and unable to finish fics and somehow i finished 2 in the last 2 days. no idea where it came from but I'm not questioning it. i started and finished this tonight. throwing it out there before i can second-guess myself lmao

When Angel rolled into your driveway and saw your front door open, the first thing that went through him was panic. You’d never been the type that was stupid or reckless enough to leave your front door open. And with the way that things had been going in Santo Padre, what with the club and the cartels and Border Patrol moving in, you were less likely than ever to leave yourself so vulnerable. Hell, lately whenever Angel showed up your door had not only been closed, but also locked.

Putting the stand down on his bike, he left his helmet hanging off the handlebar and started making his way towards your front door. He’d pulled his gun from his kutte before he even had one foot on your front step. He kept his breath trapped in the back of his throat as he clutched his gun tight. He kept it pointed down towards the ground for now, but he was ready for that to change.

He stepped through the threshold, one boot hitting the paper-thin throw rug just inside your door. It hardly muffled the sound. Before he could bring the other half of his body into your house, though, you popped up, quickly coming around the corner.

The sudden nature of both your appearances had you both cursing in surprise. You hugged the box in your hands tighter to your chest as your half-yell turned into a sigh of relief mixed with exhaustion. All of the emotions that just shot through you were evident as ever as you said, “What the fuck, Angel?”

His eyebrows were still practically in his hairline as he tucked his gun back away again. “The fuck you got your door open for? Had me thinkin’ someone fuckin’ broke—” He cut his own sentence off as he really took in the sight of you, the box in your hands that was hastily labeled BEDROOM. “What…?”

The confusion on his face made you unable to keep meeting his eyes. Your gaze dropped to the box you were holding, the seams of cardboard and tape suddenly more interesting than you would’ve ever imagined they’d be.  Even though you weren’t looking directly at him, you heard the way he was shifting in the doorway, looking back at your pickup truck. You knew he’d see the other boxes you’d already stacked in the bed of it. You weren’t quite done loading up yet, but you were getting there.

He waited for you to look at him again before asking, “What’s going on?”

There was only one answer to his question, and it was an obvious one. But you knew that if the shoe was on the other foot you’d be doing the same thing—you’d need to hear him say it. Clearing your throat, you gave a shrug that accomplished nothing in terms of softening the blow of, “I’m leaving.”

His frown deepened, confusion transforming into hurt that almost had you rethinking your decision to get the hell out of Santo Padre. “L-leaving? You can’t…you can’t just leave.”

“Angel—”

“Nah,” he shook his head, “nah you don’t get to do that. You can’t just leave. You didn’t even—were you even gonna tell me?”

The lump in the back of your throat felt like it was on the brink of choking you. “Yeah.”

“Before you crossed fuckin’ county lines?”

Tears stung your eyes. “Angel, please.”

He backpedaled out your doorway and back onto your front step. “Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that, like I fuckin’ matter to you.”

“You do—”

“You’re leaving me. You can’t stand there with your shit all boxed up,” he gestured to you and the bed of your truck, “and try to tell me I fuckin’ matter to you.”

There was no getting out of this argument now. It was an argument you’d been planning to have over the phone, an argument you were hoping would happen when there were more than a few area codes between you. You didn’t want it to be like this—not because he didn’t matter, but because he mattered too much. And you knew that if you had to look into those sad, puppy-dog eyes and tell him that you were leaving, and if you had to tell him why, you just might hang it all up and not leave at all. You couldn’t afford that.

There was no avoiding the argument but you didn’t want to do it while standing there holding a box that had books and trinkets from your bookshelf packed inside it.  You slipped past him without a word and walked down to your truck. Angel didn’t follow, hanging back and watching as you set the box on the tailgate and gave it a strong push to send it sliding and landing right alongside the others.

When you walked back past him and into your house, that was when he decided to follow you. He shut the door behind the two of you, following you through your now essentially empty home. It was strange for him to walk through your living room and not see all of your picture frames and plants, the art prints that had covered your walls. You stopped in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter and facing him. You watched him look around, take in the fridge that was no longer covered in magnets and photographs and takeout menus. No more dishes in the sink or drainboard, no more succulents on the windowsill. Seeing it all empty made him remember that you were just renting this place anyway, that you could pack up and leave whenever you wanted. And now you were. Then the hurt and anger swelled up in his chest again.

“Why?” he asked.

You let out a hollow laugh, raking your fingernails along your scalp before letting your arms fall back to your sides again. “You’re really asking me that? This…this town is fucked, Angel. You know that. I know you’ve been waist-deep in your shit with the club but…but that’s the exact type of shit I’m talking about.”

“This town’s always been fucked, querida,” he tried to argue, tried to pepper in a pet name like it would change anything. “What’s so different now?”

The answer to that question made bile creep up your throat. You didn’t think that you could say it to him. Not the real answer, the raw unedited cut of it. “Everything,” you answered, a shake to your voice that was never there when you talked to him.

“C’mon,” he said, tone softer than it had been this entire time as he stepped in towards you. “Don’t leave me like this. Don’t do this to me.”

“This isn’t just about you.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. He put his hands on your hips, pulling himself closer to you. His voice dropped to something just above a whisper. “After all the shit we—”

“We?” you cut him off, not yelling but your tone cutting nonetheless. “We? You’re choosing now to start throwing that word around?”

His brows came together, offended and confused. “What’re you talkin’ about? It’s always been us.”

You laughed, a cruel sound as tears prickled along your waterline again. “Oh, has it? It’s always been us?”

“Yeah, what’re you—”

“It’s never been us, Angel. Never. It’s been you, chasing around every girl who stumbles into that clubhouse and then running back to me when you get bored of them. It’s been you going out being reckless with the club and then coming to me when you need someone to patch you up, someone to tell you that you’re right and they’re all wrong. It’s been you coming to me whenever it’s fucking convenient for you.” You pushed him away, a half-hearted shove. “And it’s been me fucking letting you.”

“I—”

“And I would’ve been fine still doing that. You know that? Fucking sad, but I would’ve done it. Would’ve just kept right on pretending that it was enough, or that it was going to change. But then—” you stopped short, still not able to spit the words out. “I just can’t do it anymore, Angel.”

Despite Angel’s lack of ability to really commit, to really let himself be with you in the way that you really wanted, he’d always done his best with what little he had for you. Over the years he’d been your shoulder to cry on, his flannels becoming tissues for you. He’d set you loose in the scrapyard when your anger bubbled up so much that you needed to break something because it was the only alternative you had to hurting yourself or someone else—even gave you the gloves and safety glasses to do it the right way. He’d kept the other side of your bed warm when you were both feeling lonely, making the lines defining what you two were really start to blur.

He’d been there with you through all of that and yet he hadn’t ever seen the emotion saturating your expression now. He’d never seen you so afraid. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, fists clenched as tightly as you could manage. Your leg bounced no matter how much you tried to will it to stop. He’d never seen you like this. How had it gotten so bad?

He stepped in close to you again. Placing his hands on the outsides of your arms, he gave you a light, reassuring squeeze. “What’s got you so scared?”

You shook your head, staring down at the floor because you couldn’t make yourself look at him. “I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t stay here. I can’t be comfortable here. I’m not…I’m not safe here.”

He brought one hand up to cup the side of your face. His thumb traced gently along your cheek in a way that made your bottom lip tremble. “I’ll always keep you safe, querida. You know that.”

He sounded so earnest but you knew too much now to be able to believe it. You’d tried. God, you had tried so hard to buy into that the last few weeks but you just couldn’t fool yourself. “I don’t.”

“What the fuck happened?”

Tears finally made their way to your cheeks, racing along the lines of Angel’s hand as it remained holding your face. You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t even want to think about it, but it’s all that was playing through your mind. Truthfully, it was the thing that had been playing through your mind every day since it had happened.

You could still hear it so vividly, the sound of him pounding on the door to your house. It hadn’t been his bike engine that woke you up, it was his aggressively frantic knocking on your front door. Looking back you were surprised that he hadn’t slammed it clean off its hinges. You were also surprised that you hadn’t tripped and fallen half a dozen times on your way to the front door from your bedroom because your eyes weren’t fully open and you weren’t anywhere close to fully awake.

“Alright, alright!” you half-shouted from your side of the door. You dumbly fiddled with the locks until they came undone.

Angel practically threw himself through the door. He was haphazardly grabbing for you, leaving for you to try and untangle yourself from his long limbs just to be able to close and lock the door again. You’d hardly heard the click of the lock and he was pulling you tight to him. He had his arms wrapped around you in such a way that you couldn’t even effectively hug him back. You just pressed your cheek against his hoodie, helpless to do anything else.

“Talk to me,” you said, managing to free one of your arms so that you could do your best to return his embrace.

He mumbled something into your shoulder, words that you couldn’t make out. He finally pulled back away from you, far enough so that you could see his face, the smears of blood that disappeared into the coarse hairs of his beard.

“It’s all my fault,” the words fell from his lips, raspy and choked as he repeated the sentence over and over again. “It’s all my fault. I, it’s all my fuckin’ fault.”

“What’s your fault, Angel?”

The sound of you saying his name got him to look at you, tears in his eyes and worry creasing his brow deeper than you thought was possible. His stare was so sad, so intense it had you pinned to the spot. Even when he pulled away from you, you felt like you couldn’t step in close to him again, feet glued to the floor. That was when you saw it, though, all the blood standing his palms and fingers.

You swallowed hard, what little exhaustion had still been clinging to you completely froze away. “Angel, talk to me. What happened?”

He looked down at his hands and then back at you. he knew what you were seeing, could only imagine what you were thinking. “I didn’t—it wasn’t supposed to go down like that. I tried to save her but I couldn’t…”

You finally forced yourself to move. You collapsed the distance he’d put between you. “Who?”

“Gaby,” he forced out, shaking his head in disbelief as he did.

Fear shot down your spine. “What?”

“It’s all my fault,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have—I tried to—fuck,” his voice cracked and he gave up on trying to say anything else.

You had wanted more answers in the moment, but back then you hadn’t been able to ask for them. Instead you cleaned him up. You threw his clothes in the wash. You let him slip underneath the covers next to you and keep you wrapped up so tightly for what little was left of the night that you couldn’t even fall back to sleep. The next morning he was still there, eyes hollow as he made a pot of coffee in your kitchen. That morning he was standing almost exactly where he was standing right in front of you now.

Forcing yourself to stay in the present, you finally said, “You know what happened.”

He shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Everyone’s fuckin’ dying, Angel. I, I don’t wanna be next.”

“Hey, come on now. You know I’d never let that shit happen to you.”

You scoffed, more tears spilling down your cheeks. “I’m sure that’s what EZ told Gaby, too.”

Angel flinched at that, immediately deflating. You had never brought it up again after that night. Neither did he. Weeks went by and the two of you seemingly went back to normal, like that entire night had never happened. But it did happen. Gaby was dead—that part you knew. What you didn’t know, what Angel hadn’t told you, was that EZ was the one who had killed her. Angel blamed himself, especially after EZ had told him what his final conversation with Gaby had been, why he had decided it was the only thing to do. Angel was carrying around all that guilt but he hadn’t been the one who pulled the trigger. That was all EZ. That was all the guy who had promised to keep Gaby safe.

His voice was a whisper as he spoke, like he didn’t even fully believe himself. “This ain’t like that, though.”

“But it is,” you said, voice shaking. “Or it will be. That’s what this town, this world,” you rested your hand on the flash stitched into his kutte as you said it, “does. I can’t keep feeling like I’m on borrowed time.”

He sniffled, trying to stuff his emotions back down where he used to keep them so comfortably. “So you’re just gonna leave, then? Run away?”

You knew he wanted an argument. Being angry was so fucking easy. You didn’t want to give into it. “If it keeps me alive, then yes. I lo—” you stopped and switched course, “I care about you, Angel. But I’m not looking to die for anyone. I’m not…I’m not made for this.”

He was holding your face with both hands now, palms that just a few weeks before had been coated with blood. “Don’t leave me like this. Please.”

“Come with me.” It was your final offer, one you hadn’t planned on extending until the words were tumbling out.

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

“Come with me.” You rested your hands on top of his. “Get out and away from all this shit. We’ll start over.”

“It ain’t that simple.”

You threaded your fingers with his. “It is. Pack up your shit and throw it in my truck. And we’ll leave. That simple.”

He pulled his hands away from yours, stepping back from you again. Shaking his head, he brushed his hand quickly across his eyes—erasing any hint of tears and emotion that had been there until then. “I’m not running just ‘cause you are.”

“Maybe you should. Or maybe,” you shrugged helplessly, “maybe it was never about me—not for you, anyway.”

That gave him pause. He tried to get his expression to harden, give that tough, neutral gaze, but he couldn’t get it quite right. “I shouldn’t’a come here.” He shook his head. “Should’a let you run off with no goodbye the way you wanted.”

“Angel—”

He took another step back, getting himself closer and closer to your front door one stride at a time. “Go ahead, then. Get the fuck out—away from this town, away from me. Fuckin’…fuckin’ go.”

He turned on his heel and kept walking. It took a few seconds to will your feet to move, to go after him. Even with his long strides you were able to catch up before he reached the door.

“Angel.” You stepped in front of him. “Stop.”

You saw the mist in his eyes. Still, he tried to keep his voice sharp. “You’re leaving. No point in me staying here to watch you pack up the rest of your shit.”

You opened your mouth to try and say something else, try to conjure up something that would get him to change his mind. He didn’t let you. Pushing past you, he ripped open your door and stormed out of the house. Maybe it was just as well—it wasn’t as though you were going to come up with a magical string of words to get him to leave with you. Still, the impact of his shoulder slamming against yours hurt far more on an emotional level than it did on a physical one.

Turning, you went out onto the step. Your lip began to quiver as you watched him throw his leg over his bike and get ready to peel off. The sound of the engine seemed deafening, and you wonder how it hadn’t woken you on that night weeks ago. Then it got quieter the farther he rode. Then it was silent again. And all you could do was walk back inside to get the next box, leaving the door open behind you.

Angel Reyes Taglist (If you want to be added to any of my taglits, please let me know!): @withmyteeth @garbinge @darqchilddaydreamz @narcolini @justreblogginfics

@winchestershiresauce @rosieposie0624 @kelpies-shed @beardburnsupersoldiers @proceduralpassion

@artemiseamoon @fanfic-n-tabulous @justazzi @danzer8705 @camelia35

@cositapreciosa @choochoo284 @crowfootwrites

[and-so-he-rambled]

Current Martinez headcannons

(I’ll keep updating these as I remember/ think of them)

- He’s good with kids, freaky good. He was a softness to his voice and three younger siblings, and now has a ton of nieces and nephews.

- He can cook! He mostly cooks the dishes his mama taught him, but he tried to learn others. They never turn out like his traditional cooking however and he can only really cook about six dishes properly. They’re amazing dishes, but he struggles learning new recipes.

- He loves animals. Much like with kids he sees them as eternally innocent and to be protected. He pets every animal he can and carries treats. He will punch an animal abuser. He’s been bitten many times by strays and his local walk in knows him by name.

- He definitely volunteered after the flood to help rebuild. The physical stuff was easy, but fishing the dead out was something that still keeps him up at night. He’d seen the dead many times, killed a man during a shootout and shot plenty more, but the flood deaths were a special horror, especially the ones it took a week to find. (He feels a slight guilt for not mentioning the tucker earlier, since he had known it immediately even if he didn’t know the significance.)

- He stayed in temp housing because he let his extended family stay in his apartment. His cousin had too many kids to deal with the stress of shelters, so he decides to deal with them until his cousin can go back home.

- Martinez was a wild child growing up. He was largely unmanaged and always wanted to be heard, which meant causing trouble. It was little things, but he was escalating slowly before he eventually realized the path he was on. His brother was a career criminal and currently serving, he didn’t want to end up like that.

- He had a cop in his life that he respected, and he works every day to emulate that man in his job. Officer Bradshaw, an older cop who cared about the community and had an awesome mustache.

- He didn’t have a father growing up, just a stepdad who he didn’t quite connect with. (His oldest two brothers shared a dad, he and his older sister and younger brother shared a dad, and then the youngest two were that man’s kids.)

- He is genuinely a ray of sunshine, but he also is a very empathetic man. People being hurt makes him hurt, and he hates criminals whose only purpose is to cause pain. He can’t understand that mindset in the slightest, who anyone could just cause misery and enjoy it.

- My man’s would try and throw hands with supervillains regularly.

- Batman is sick of it but it’s always to try and save a life and he knows Martinez is going to keep doing it. He gives him a transmitter and makes him promise to press it before trying to fight another villains. He does, most of the time.

- Martinez can and will verbally castrate. He has the tongue and rage of an angry Latino grandmother and the sass of a teenager. It’s gotten him shot once, Gordon is so tired of this shit.

- The station loves him? He’s a good man and they know it, and he brings in food sometimes. He’s a ray of sunshine and while they regularly tease him and yank his chain, anyone who hurts Martinez will not have a fun time at the station. Martinez is completely unaware of this favoritism.

- His name is Daniel Antonio Montoya Martinez.

- His father was Italian, so he’s half Latino half Italian, but his father sucked and he doesn’t embrace that side of his culture.

- He’s one of those figures that everyone in the community has a story about. “He helped me plant my garden.” “He walked my dog while I was sick.” “He baked cookies for my charity fundraiser.” It baffles Bruce.

- He’s far from perfect. He can be an asshole but he has a big heart, he loves his city. He’d be completely willing to throw down with Batman if it meant protecting the city, even though he’s a tiny bit relived he won’t have to.

- I feel like he has piercings. Daniel had a club phase, and still loves the atmosphere though he mostly is too busy now. I say a belly button piercing, twin surface hip piercings, and maybe a nipple piercing. He wears a retainer for the stomach and hasn’t had the nipple piercing since his late teens. He considers it a fond memory and Bruce chokes on his coffee when he first hears about it.

- He has a sleeve, mostly to cover up the dumb ass tattoos he got as a teen.

- Daniel is a lonely man, so he focuses on the people around him.

- He had an older sister named Katie, she died when he was fifteen. She had been stabbed in a mugging gone wrong and died of sepsis in the hospital a week later. She was sixteen. It broke his family and their faith in Gotham.

- Each year all the siblings pool money to donate in her name to the hospital she died in, specifically their maternity ward. She loved babies, always wanted a ton of them. Mama says she watches over them all now. The hospital established the Katie Martinez fund after the third donation, gave Katie a plaque.

- He understands why his family hates the city, but he can’t leave. He knows there’s more Katie’s out there, more scared kids who need an authority figure to care for them.

- After telling Bruce this story there’s an anonymous donation to the Katie Martinez fund. Daniel is embarrassed but thankful, it’s a sweet gesture and he definitely doesn’t cry shut up.

- Bruce donated to all the charities Daniel gushes to him about. He is involved in a surprising amount. Daniel knows and is careful to choose lesser known charities to talk about that need the funding.

- He knows Selena. She volunteers at the shelter he helps out at. He thinks there something shifty about her and they argue about cats vs dogs funding constantly. (He thinks that the canine program needs more funding because they are bigger animals who have more needs, Selena thinks the feline program needs more because they are higher maintenance and tend to stay longer)

- He loves hearing Bruce’s stories and Bruce is always very interested in his. He shows him each tattoo, what they cover up and why he got them, tells stories of clubs and the hubris of youth.

- Bruce’s stories are more violent and sad, and instead of tattoos he had scars, so many more than Daniel. He maps them all out and learned their stories, pays special attention to the ones in dangerous places because they were so close and it hurts to think too much. He knows there will be more for both of them, they both know, and every day they return to each other in one piece is a good day.

——

@waynebat @wixiany @1n-bl0om I blame you three fuckers for this hyperfixation. I already have three fic drafts and I only watched the movie two days ago.

[kingsansa]

Yesss Jon pov let me soak up some wifeguy vibes

Jon’s never necessarily had real parents before, but he imagines that if he did, listening to them fight would be a lot like listening to Jeyne and Robb fight.

They’re really going at it. Outside, thank god. And all of her sisters are not do discreetly listening in the kitchen, where all the windows happen to be facing the backyard. Arya and Gendry are arguing over who caught the best fish. Rickon is mysteriously missing, and so are the mini bottles of liquor on the coffee table. Bran is passed out on the carpet, hat covering his face. All of the other girls are asleep.

Not his.

She’s wearing her pajamas, but she’s wide awake. She slouches into the living room from the kitchen with a plate and a bottle of water, her jerky little steps a side effect of her drinking or her wearing heels for a majority of the night. She falls into the couch more than she sits on it; right next to him. Her bare thigh brushes against his jeans, and so do her tiny shorts. Dove gray. These ones are his favorite.

She smiles at him almost shyly, and he really, really wants her to hold his hand again.

“Do you want pizza?” She holds up the plate a little. There’s enough there for both of them. Even drunk, she thinks about his possible needs.

He’s very certain she’s at least extremely tipsy, now. She’d done a good job at fooling him earlier, but that probably wasn’t her intention. She’s probably the most well coordinated drunk person that he’s ever met, which fits, to be fair.

What isn’t she good at?

“No,” He says, then adds, “thank you.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

She presses her hand against his stomach, as if she’s trying to anticipate whether he’s telling the truth or not. He would laugh, but then she starts rubbing it in circles, and he likes that more than he expects to.

“Three hours ago.” He swallows as he drags her hand up a little, because it’s slipping just below his navel—a dangerous, dangerous area. “I had fish.”

Sansa giggles at that, and she holds her water bottle in front of her mouth, as if she doesn’t want him to see it.

He wants to pull it away so that he can, but he doesn’t. Asks, “What?”

“Nothing.” She answers, the very picture of innocence. She unscrews the cap of her water bottle and sips.

She drinks for awhile, until the bottle is half gone, and his eyes narrow.

“Is that all the water you’ve had tonight?”

Sansa hiccups slightly, and for a moment, she looks sheepish. Then she caps her water bottle and pivots so that she can fall into him, head into his lap, plate of pizza on her stomach.

“If I say yes, are you gonna be mad at me?”

He sighs, irritable. “Sansa—”

A slender hand covers his mouth.

“No, Pumpkin.” She says. “That’s what you’re supposed to say.”

He cant be mad at her.

He couldn’t be mad at her earlier, when she was wearing that black outfit and he can’t be mad at her now. Her makeup is off and her face is completely bare and a little shiny and her hair is still curly and she looks so sweet that it makes his breath catch. That he wants to take her in his arms and hold her close forever.

But it doesn’t stop him from being irritated, because if that’s the only water she’s had all night, he doesn’t even know what she’s had to eat besides this pizza.

“Sit up and eat, or you’re gonna choke.” He says instead.

Sansa pouts a little at that, but she does as she’s told. Except she stays in his lap, which is more than fine with him. She picks up a slice of pizza and holds it to his mouth. Frowns when he doesn’t open.

“You like pizza.” She says.

“I like your pizza.” He corrects.

She beams at that, snuggling deep into his chest with a sigh as she eats.

Jon thinks she’ll probably get sauce on his shirt, but he doesn’t really care.

[enderwoah]

AYUP, ORIGINSMP HEADCANONS ‘ERE BECAUSE I LOVE THEM!:

Ranboo

any seven-footers in chat??

literally is cared for by everyone

wilbur warning him that it’s raining up on the surface when he’s in a cave? phil telling him not to mlg water bucket?? the entire server collectively decided “this. this we must protect.”

mans makes the little vwoopy noises when he’s excited

he messes with the particles a lot, waving his hand through them and making them swirl

determined to make his and niki’s forbidden friendship work

has sworn that one day he’ll figure out how to visit niki’s house

oh yeah phil low-key adopted him

it just be like that sometimes

Jack

mans is LOuD, ANGRY, AND ON! FIRE!!

yes his hair WILL explode into flames like disney!hades when he gets super mad no i dont take critisism

he doesn’t actually get cold when he gets sad as one would expect

he just gets hotter and hotter as emotions grow

only time you’d ever find him cold is if he just didn’t care anymore.

but he’d be a broken, broken man before that happend!

often hides under trees with ranboo when it rains

(if anyone on the smp ever needs wood, they go to one of those two. they have literally every kind. in excess.)

similarly, they make fun of wilbur and niki (lightheartedly and jokingly, of course) being in the water when it’s daytime

which is fair because they make fun of those two in the rain

Niki

glub glub mfer

sis is somehow useless with a bow and arrow but will absolutely murk you if you give her a trident

basically kins ariel

has a collection of above sea-level stuff wilbur has given her

uses them to decorate

determined to visit jack someday

GETS A TAIL IN WATER NO I DON’T TAKE CRITISISM

has fins and gills

the whole shebang

and just for funsies -- is an angler fish hybrid

has the cool light thing coming from her hair and her teeth are super sharp

watch out!! she’s always armed and always dangerous!!!

Tommy

oh he is so salty about the tiny wings

CONSTANTLY bugs phil about how to make his wings bigger

“you cant mate that’s just how you were born”

“I’LL FIND A WAY, MARK MY WORDS.”

(he won’t find a way)

phil’s son

obviously

glides instead of flies and is really good at it

could probably beat an elytra course better than phil tbh

can actually hold his breath underwater for a helluva long time

mans has to sleep super high up and the atmosphere is suuuper thin so he’s used to not having a ton of oxygen

visits niki and “pollutes” her pond a lot

(he always cleans up afterwards and brings her cool stuff)

EDIT: I FORGOT TO ADD

HE SQUAWKS!!!

IF YOU SCARE HIM HE WILL GO BIRD MODE

I WAS GONNA SAY “DONT TEST HIM” BUT ACTUALLY DO IT’S VERY FUNNY

and he gets super embarrassed abt it afterwards

Tubbo

hard man

has funky fresh purple scale things that he can grow in combat to cover more of him

can manifest items out of thin air

just

no inventory pull up, they just appear

offers himself as a punching bag to people a lot to blow off steam

it doesn’t hurt

ever

it hurts their knuckles more than him

even playfully punching him is a pain, good lord

Wilbur

ghostbur is very happy to be alive again! :)

wilbur has been dead, dead for quite a bit now

he genuinely is just a phantom

the phantoms that come at night are just people that have been dead for over 500 years

thankfully, wil only died a few months ago, so he still has some time left!

slightly forgetful

not the smartest boy in the bunch

didn’t think to build his house underground when he is literally burned by sunlight

still loves his father and his brother(s) dearly!

niki and him bond underwater a lot during the day

(he’s a ghost, he doesn’t need oxygen!!)

they are literally best friends man

wilbur goes on expeditions purely to get niki things she’s never seen before since she’s water-bound most of the time

t,,,the,,,m,,

Phil

somehow has the most playfully malicious intent when he’s literally more than half the server’s father figure

LITERALLY 4/7

(ranboo, tommy, tubbo, wilbur)

PHIL.

plays pranks on ranboo with the pumpkin heads all the time

much to ranboo’s chagrin

but would literally fight a world for his kids

adopted or not

his wings make his hugs g r e at

he bonds with tubbo and ranboo over this inexplicable feeling of longing

(hint hint: they’re all connected to the end!!)

homesickness for a place they’ve never been...

anyways he also stops everyone from doing stupid stuff

“no ranboo, you can’t mlg water bucket”

“no tommy, yes i know you can jump off of giant towers, no, it’s not a good idea”

“NO tubbo, you CAN’T try and fight an entire raid armourless”

“no, wilbur, stop trying to see if walking in the sun around while wet will stop you from catching on fire, you’ll still melt.”

“i swear to god niki, don’t see how long you can hold your breath outside of the water”

‘NO JACK, STANDING IN THE RAIN DOES NOT MAKE YOU STRONGER”

it’s a 25/8 job, being the collective server’s dad.

[kafka-ish]

the drunken words you spoke last night (1) | b.d.

one thing leads to another and before she knows it, y/n's longtime crush becomes a casual fuck.

word count: 2,893

warnings/included: nsfw (explicit smut -- male x female, pretty vanilla), fem!reader, angst(?), also a lot of this is written in italics cuz of flashbacks

a/n: sorry it's been so long since i've written anything!!

-

It was never supposed to end up like this. Just one quick fuck was all it was supposed to be; which lead to another one, then another one, then another one…

y/n watches as Bill scurries around the room, searching for his shirt. She’s noiseless and he doesn’t know she’s awake yet. He does a good job at being quiet, making sure not to disturb what he thinks is a sleeping y/n. The grey baseball tee he wore to her place last night turned out to be underneath her bed—how it got there was a different story. The silence is broken when Bill opens the door and is met with a large creaking sound.

Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look—

He regrets it immediately when he sees y/n, her back against her bedframe. She’s wide-eyed from watching him with such intent.

“Hu-hey.” Bill swallows the saliva gathering in the back of his throat. “I, uh, I didn’t nuh-know—”

“It’s fine.” y/n says her words with such ease and for a moment Bill’s jealous. He wants to know a life without speech therapy, a life without the nickname Stuttering Bill. And most of all, he wants to know a life without loving someone who won’t love you back.

“So, you’re not staying?” y/n does her best to conceal the insecurity in her voice but it’s hard. She doesn’t want to come off as needy or clingy, but she wants a response she already knows the answer to.

“I duh-didn’t want t-to wake you.” Bill shrugs as he says this. Half of it was true—he really didn’t want to wake y/n but seeing as she was already up his excuse fell flat.

“Right.” It takes everything for y/n to not roll her eyes as she replies through gritted teeth.

“So…” Bill’s left foot is digging into the carpet and his fingers find themselves intertwined together.

“So.” y/n herself is picking at loose strings from her worn-out comforter. Her eyes avert from their previous lock on his figure and she doesn’t know what to do with the lump in the back of her throat. She’s annoyed—no—furious.

It was never supposed to end up like this.

“Hey,” Bill answered the door in low-rise sweats and shirtless. “What’s u—”

He’s cut off and taken aback with a messy kiss. It’s bold, breathtaking, and smelled like vodka—nothing he’d ever expect from y/n. Once the shock had passed, he felt his eyes flutter shut and he became lax under her touch.

“I need you,” y/n mumbled helplessly in between kisses. Her fingers which had previously been confidently intertwined around his neck were now reaching for the ends of her shirt.

“W-Wait—what?” Bill’s still hazy from the blunt he smoked earlier and everything’s going so fast.

“You heard me.” Uh, not really. She pressed another kiss to his already swollen lips and the feeling of his skin on hers feels a hundred times better than what she imagined it to be. “Fuck.” Her hips press up to his, but Bill can’t revel in the delicious spark their jeans create every time her hips meet his.

The Denbrough’s front door is still open.

“y/n,” Bill spoke. He tried to say it firmly, but it came out as more of a breath than an assertion.

“Hmm?” The noises coming from her are downright pornographic, which only made Bill wonder what the rest of the night will be like.

“I have to shut the door,” he whispered. His breath tickled her neck and y/n felt her face grow hotter—if that was even possible. Reluctantly, y/n relieved Bill of her possessive grip so he could shut the door. But, immediately, he noticed he’s cold—freezing, even. But how can Bill be cold in the middle of July—Maine’s hottest month?

y/n’s quick to reassume her previous position—arms swung around his tanned neck, hips bucked up desperately to meet his.

“Wuh-we should take this somewhere more comfortable. Sh-shouldn’t we?” Bill only stuttered when he’s nervous now. It’s cute.

She pressed a quick kiss onto his jawline. If there weren’t remnants of her lipstick on his skin, he’d assume he was dreaming. “Okay,” she hummed into the spot her lips had just previously grazed over. Bill shivers.

He led the two of them up the stairs and into his room. The trip is slow. Bill’s careful to make sure y/n didn’t trip or snag her top on the railing. What a gentleman.

“Bill,” she whined.

That night, Bill decided his favorite sound was her voice calling his name. He’s always loved the sound of y/n’s voice and the way his name rolled off her tongue (“Bill, watch!” “Bill are you coming?”). But this was different. Tonight was different.

“Bill, I need you.” He turned to y/n who wore a pout as she followed Bill closely into his room. It’s pitch black but Bill doesn’t need to turn on a light to know his way around.

The back of y/n’s calves hit his bed with a light thump followed by another whimper.

“Shh,” Bill cooed into her hair…

y/n awoke that morning with her too-tight tank top and faded denim shorts replaced with one of Bill’s graphic tees that drape over her figure like a dress. She finds half of her eyeliner and lipstick-stained on Bill’s grey pillowcase and there’s an empty space next to her where Bill once lay.

“Fuck,” y/n whispered to herself. She can’t remember the events that happened last night, and the pounding in her head doesn’t make it any better. But the way the sheets around her creased and wrinkled, and the way her collarbone peaked out of Bill’s Led Zeppelin tee made her skin crawl and her stomach turn.

“Hey.”

Bill’s scratchy morning voice startled y/n. His perfect tall and slender figure slanted against the doorframe and y/n had to compose herself under his sheets the way she’s done all her life.

“Hi,” she swallowed thickly. Her breathing started to pick up along with her pulse and when did it get so hot in here?

“Do you want breakfast?” Bill made a motion towards the kitchen downstairs. “My parents aren’t home still. I guh-guess they’re still out.” Bill’s parents were always “out”.

y/n only nodded.

“Look, about last night—”

“Whatever happened last night, I can—”

“Did you mean it?” Bill cut her off, not even listening to the word vomit spilling from y/n’s splotchy lips.

“Mean what?” y/n’s ungroomed eyebrows furrowed together inquisitively because what the fuck? What on earth happened last night that could have left Bill Denbrough wondering for answers in the morning?

“Wuh-when you said that stuff about needing me.” From the flushed cheeks and timid words, y/n could tell Bill felt awkward saying to her what he’d just said.

Mortification took the form of y/n y/l/n that morning. The tiny hairs on her neck started to rise and goosebumps shot a trail down her forearms.

Bill crept forward after he didn’t receive a response. His face was only a few inches away from y/n’s. The swoosh of his I-just-woke-up hair framed his hairline like an auburn halo. To make matters worse, the morning sun shone directly on his skin, giving him a god-like glow.

“Did you?” His minty breath hit her face. Colgate.

Instead of watching his swimmingly blue eyes—swimming for answers, an indication, anything—she watched his lips. She admired how rosy they were even in the morning. She admired the curl of his cupid’s bow. She admired how soft they looked and felt as she bit the bullet and shoved herself forward to kiss him.

This kiss is different from last night. It’s daring, yet nervous; sweet, but awkward. It’s not the same as her desperate kisses from when she was wasted. This kiss is slow, thoughtful—

Bill pulled away. His breaths grew heavy, and his eyesight got hazy. The only thing he could think to do was go in for another kiss. So, he did. He’s quick to capture her bottom lip with his and cup her jawline in the palm of his hand.

Bill’s impatient now. His parents were gone, and he had a beautiful girl in his bed. What else was a teenage boy to do? In a flash of flesh, Bill’s shirt was gone.

“Do-do you want this?” He asked before he made the effort to remove any other articles of clothing and possibly embarrass himself further. Of course, Bill would be perfectly fine with getting off in the other room with just his bruised ego and bare chest to keep him company.

But y/n was fast to reply “yes” and press yet another kiss on Bill’s swollen lips. Their flesh pinned against each other’s elicited a feeling inside the two that both y/n and Bill had never felt before.

“You smell good,” Bill murmured against her shoulder. The words slipped out of his mouth like a hockey puck on ice. “I bet you taste even better.”

y/n grew flustered at the sudden statement. It wasn’t like Bill to confess something like that—at least not to her. Before another moan, like the ones from last night, could claw its way out of her throat, y/n caught Bill sliding the elastic of his grey sweats down his long legs.

He’s in his boxers. y/n could only catch glimpses of streaks of greens and yellows but didn’t get a chance to look at them for long as her attention was redirected to taking off her—Bill’s—shirt.

Although he knew it wasn’t gentlemanly, Bill could only stare at y/n’s bra-clad chest. It’s just black, simple, classic. But it hugged y/n’s figure effortlessly and contorted her shape perfectly.

“Bill?” y/n wondered aloud. His silence worried her, but she has nothing to worry about—she’s got Bill hooked like a fish.

Her meek words snapped Bill out of his trance, which allowed him to press another kiss onto her lips before he trailed down to her neck. Each graze of his lips turned her into a moaning mess. Bill wished he could say he was surprised, but he wasn’t, not from when he remembered the events from last night so vividly.

His lips lingered a little longer on a certain spot just above her collarbone that made y/n’s lips part so erotic-like, Bill thought he might cum at the sight.

But he wouldn’t allow himself to release just mere seconds in of making out with his dream girl—even if it pained him.

He released his lips from her skin, leaving a bruise. Bill chuckled to himself. At least, if he can’t have her, he can pretend he does for these few moments until she leaves for home and covers his mark with her trusty concealer.

Their lips clashed again. It was hard and rough—y/n’s more dominant than she let on and before either of them realized, she was on top: legs straddled Bill’s torso, nimble fingers gripped at his skin where a shirt used to be, and her lips viscously stained his red with what was left of her lipstick from last night.

Bill’s the one to moan this time. The sound was throaty and gruff, which sent shocks straight to y/n’s core. She bucked up, causing Bill to moan again and the cycle repeats.

“Fuck, y/n, I need you.” y/n liked this side of Bill: the bolder, dominant side; the speak-your-mind side. But most of all, y/n liked Bill.

She giggled at his words. She loved the way his voice cracked with desperation and the way his fingers began to clutch her skin tighter—like she was his.

The delicate sound of y/n’s voice only made Bill want her more. The tent in his boxers grew impossibly harder—a contradicting feeling of pain and desire at the same time.

“Please.” It wasn’t long until Bill’s groans turned into pleads. The rough palms of his hands coast across her bare skin, causing goosebumps to form and hair to raise. “Please.” The fast movements of y/n’s clothed clit on his plaid-covered dick matched the fast beats of y/n’s pounding heart.

Ba-dumb. Ba-dumb. Ba-dumb.

“Plu-“

“Tell me what you want,” Bill’s voice easily sliced through y/n’s pathetic whines, “using your words,” he instructed clearly.

“I wah—” Another whine. “I want you.”

At that, the rough pad of Bill’s thumb started to massage the sharp edge of y/n’s jaw. “I need you to be more specific, baby.”

Baby? Bill’s never called her that before. Actually, Bill’s never had a girl as beautiful as y/n on top of his lap before but here he was, the tent in his boxers being barely relieved by the girl by his dreams.

“I—” The sensation of the fabric against skin felt too much to bear but she wanted more. “I want your—your cock in me. Please.” She said this through lazy lips and heavy lids.

“F-f-fuck.” Bill groaned at the vulgarity of her words. Never in his life would he expect y/n to utter something as filthy as that. But never in his life would Bill Denbrough ever expect to be offered the chance to fuck her. “Okay, baby, hold on.” His calloused palm slowly slipped its way down from the slope of her jaw to her neck where fingerprints were left and then down to the clasp of her bra.

The damn thing. As hard as his hand grasped and as hard as his fingers twisted, the clip wouldn’t budge.

“Need some help?” y/n giggled, as she noticed Bill’s pained expression. Effortlessly, she unhooked the cursed contraption. It was as effortless as how the piece of fabric once made her look so perfect. But perfection didn’t change once the garment left her skin. Bill then realized that it wasn’t the strawberry-stained lips or the dramatic smokey eye or the tempting clothing that made y/n perfect. y/n was already perfect on her own; everything else was just a prop.

Bill’s once furrowed brows softened when y/n began to take the lead. His bare back pressed further into the mattress in the same motion y/n’s chest leaned into his.

Her crotch just barely brushed his and Bill couldn’t take the ‘almost there’ feeling anymore. “I hate these,” he bit. His hand swooped down to peel off the lacy string of fabric in one harsh motion.

“This is a little unfair, isn’t it?” y/n posed. Her eyebrow raised a little the way it always did when she asked a question. Her hands were cold when they made a trail down his chest and to his boxers. “Now we’re even,” she giggled when she finally released him from his confinements.

In an instant, Bill’s erection had slapped his stomach and y/n found herself near salivating at the sight. Her thumb just barely brushed the tip, letting out a hiss from Bill.

“Baby—”

“Shh…” Before Bill could get another word out through choked moans and deep breaths, y/n led his cock to her heat. Immediately, she let out a whine at the stretch of Bill which he chuckled at. “Bill..”

“Yes?” Bill couldn’t help but smirk at the fact that he was making her feel this way. He was the one whose name she was moaning. He was the one she was fucking.

“Bill…harder…” Her moans were like a record Bill would never get tired of hearing. His right hand moved to brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear before his fingers gripped her scalp while his left hand moved just below her butt, allowing him to thrust deeper.

Moans turned into whines and whines turned into screams as Bill set the pace faster and harder. Each thrust hit deeper each time, hitting a spot no boy had ever found before. “Bill, I’m—” But y/n’s words were cut off when Bill’s lips captured hers in a kiss. His hand still found itself tangled in her morning hair. His other hand still tightly gripped on her ass which would surely leave a bruise. His hips bucked up once more, leaving y/n in a moaning mess, unable to hold herself above him anymore. With shaky arms, y/n allowed herself to collapse on Bill’s chest. Their breaths mixed and their pants synced.

Tenaciously, Bill pressed a kiss upon y/n’s sweat-slicked forehead. The feeling of his lips was gentle and tickled as they dragged down to her cheekbone.

It was never supposed to end up like this, y/n could only think to herself now as she watched Bill walk out of her room and presumably out the front door. Of course, he’d be back the next night. Ever since their first drunken encounter with each other, casual sex had become second nature to y/n and Bill—like learning how to tie your shoes or riding your bike. But it was at this moment when y/n realized how she wanted more.

Hickies and torn shirts would never be enough to satisfy the aching need for something deeper; the feeling that made her stomach drop every time she caught Bill looking at her; the feeling that made her throat dry up every time she tried to speak to him outside of moans and cries; the feeling that made her heart skip a beat at the thought of him; the feeling of want—and only want—for Bill Denbrough.