#why’s it gotta be so complicated HUH

[emmyrosee]

Sukuna hates how petty you can get when you’re fighting.

There is a part of him that loves your stubbornness, sure, like when you huff at him and make him work for your affection, but right now, you’re on day three of the silent treatment, and he’s losing it.

You enter a room and he’s already in it, you leave. You’re talking to yuuji and he comes in, you stop talking immediately. You haven’t been staying the night anymore, and you haven’t given him a kiss goodbye any time you’ve left. Even his ma is questioning what he did wrong, and he can’t give her a concrete answer.

He’s losing it.

Hes spammed texted you, he’s been trapping you in rooms by leaning in the doorframe, he’s been trying to get yuuji to be his messenger, but nothings working. You’re not biting.

“You’re over complicating this,” yuuji shakes his head and thumbing through channels. “Literally just apologize.”

“At this point I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for!”

“Well they’re on their way over, thinking you’re going to apologize, so you’d better figure it out.”

“You’ve been an immense help, thank you, asshole.”

As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door, and when Sukuna takes a deep breath and answers it, you nearly spin on your heel to leave.

“Oh I don’t think so,” he snips, grabbing your hand and pulling you in the house and trying not to focus on how you’re not even fighting against him, and that’s how indifferent you are to him. “We’re talking. Like it.”

“Hey dawg!” Yuuji cheers, clicking off the tv and waving. You wave back, your streak of not talking in front of Sukuna continuing. The younger chuckles, “I’ll let the adults duke it out. See ya!”

The room fills with silence as yuuji leaves, making Sukuna immensely uncomfortable. The way you’re looking at him has him uncomfortable, you’re making him so uncomfortable, and he just wishes you’d toss your pride to the side and talk to him and cuss him out or something.

“You look… good.”

Nothing.

“I’ve missed you.”

Nada.

“I made out with someone else because I got sick of you ignoring me.”

You scowl at him.

“Okay, I was lying. I was hoping you’d cuss me out.”

No dice.

“You’re acting like a fucking child!” He takes a deep breath in to try and ground himself, and you merely watch him with a hurt expression.

Okay. That didn’t help his situation.

“Fucks sake,” he grumbles, making a move to guide you backwards. He’s got you backed into a wall, hands on your shoulders while your arms stay nonchalantly crossed.

“I don’t get why you’re so mad at me; what did I even do?” He snaps, leaning close to your face threateningly.

You blink unamused.

Oh.

You’re gonna speak alright. He’s gonna make sure of it.

“Speak.”

You merely look him up and down and turn your head.

“Talk! Now!”

You let a tired exhale through your nose pass.

“I said i was sorry, and i know you know that was hard for me, why am i still being punished by you?” It’s bait to make you mad and talk, he knows he hasn’t apologized to the most sincere of his ability, but he hasn’t done anything wrong.

“Maybe I’ll tickle ya, how about that?”

That, does, have your eyes widening but you still don’t spare him a breath. He smirks, “I’d bet you’d hate that, huh? Holding in all that laughter and begs for me to stop, knowing I’m not going to until you talk to me… and I’ll do it too. You know that.”

You merely cross your arms over your chest tighter.

He shrugs, “you asked for it.”

And he’s gotta say, he’s impressed with how little you’re fighting back from him scooping you in his arms and tossing you on the couch, straddling you, even taking your two wrists in his massive paw and holding them above your head. Your lips wobble in anticipation, and he’s got you booked now. “Any last words? A quick ‘I hate you,’ maybe?”

You blink, bored, almost calling his bluff, and he comes up to smack his face in frustration. He wasn’t actually bluffing, he did have full intentions of making you scream, but he was so sure you’d crack under his gaze, even a quick kick to him as he was adjusting your body.

No dice.

With a shrug, hands come down quickly to tickle the meat of your ribs, settling in the dips and scratching at the bones maddeningly. He sees your lip become wobblier, and he smirks down at you. “Nothing? Not even a giggle? You must be pissed at me.”

You screw your eyes shut to ignore him and he clicks his tongue, “now you can’t even look at me? That sucks.”

He leans down to nibble at your neck and ear, whispering little words against your skin to make you squeak. But it isn’t until he cheats and uses his mouth to blow a raspberry on your sensitive neck, an area he’s so used to pressing loving kisses to, that you finally crack.

“YOURE SO CHEAP!” You scream, followed by a flurry of laughter and struggling from his tight hold. Your laugh is whiny and desperate, feet digging into the couch while his fingers merely slither up and under your arms.

He smirks against your skin, “gotcha.”

“Fuck off!” You squeal, tugging as hard as you can in his grasp. “Stohop it!”

“Are you gonna keep ignoring me?” He asks. You shake your head back and forth, but he cocks a brow. “Is that a no? Are we going to talk about your issues with me, or am I going to have to tickle you for the next few hours?”

“HOURS?!” You howl.

He shrugs, “you ignored me for three days, least I deserve is to tickle you until you sob.”

“I wasn’t-“ you’re cut off by a flurry of your own giggles. “This isn’t-“ a few more yowls of your laughter when he digs in more. “FUCK OFF!”

“Nah,” he snickers. “This is more fun.” He does, however, stop his torment and pulls back, but he does look down at you impatiently. “Speak,” he echos from earlier.

You let out a few more titters slip past your lips, but you do sober up slightly, “you don’t even care that I was mad at you.”

“Uh, I was about to tickle you until you died, I think I cared too much-“

“No, Sukuna. You just didn’t want me to be mad. You never apologized and you never even bothered to try and make it better…”

This, oddly, has Sukuna’s heart twisting, squeezed with emotions and realization that he did mess up, pride couldn’t save him now and if he wanted to fix this, he’d have to prove it.

He sighs in truce, “I’m sorry, babe.”

“….”

“What?”

“That’s it?”

He rolls his eyes, “what else do you want me to say?”

“I want you to care that I was hurt!” You whine, raising on your elbows. “I want you to understand I was hurt, that you messed up! Not be so prideful and not admit it!”

“Alright, alright, jeez,” he groans. He locks eyes with you, and he knows you’re not going to like it, but he leans down to kiss you, using his two hands to cup your jaw, letting his thumbs stroke your bone lovingly. “I’m sorry. It must’ve sucked having to deal with my shitty ass apologies before. I never should’ve pulled that shit, and I hated not having you by my side.”

This, has you softening.

He presses another kiss to you, “I missed your laughter. I missed you scolding me. I missed you being sarcastic… don’t pull that silent treatment shit again, will ya?”

You hum happily, “don’t piss me off and I won’t have to.”

He blinks unamused, and as the thought of tickling you again crosses his mind, you lean up to kiss his lips giggling softly in the warmth. “I’m kidding. You and I both know you’re not going to stop pissing me off.”

“Love when you answer your own demands,” he chuckles.

The tightness in his soul loosens as you submit to his affections, and he does make a mental note to never piss you off so bad again where you go back to happy to never talk to him again. He hates it more than even he knows, drags him down and he feels like he’s missing a crucial part of himself.

But it is good to know he can get you back out of that funk.

#sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #sukuna x gn!reader #sukuna x reader fluff #sukuna imagine #sukuna jjk #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen fluff #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader fluff #sukuna ryomen x gn!reader #sukuna ryomen imagine #sukuna ryomen jjk #jjk #jjk fluff #jjk imagine #jjk x reader #jjk x reader fluff #jjk x gn!reader #jjk x gender neutral reader #jjk x yn #jjk x y/n #jjk x you

[dinosnaurnuggets]

Feeling weird atm

#tbh I think it’s like. longing? or yearning? #idk #I really like talking to this guy #but I wish he was more available sometimes #idk I know this week is weird cause he’s out of town for a training #I just. idk #I wanna be able to see him in person #which like. I might see him at swing dance next week #and we’re planning to get coffee next weekend (I’m out of town this weekend) #ugh #what is up with all this? huh? #why do emotions and people and life gotta be so complicated 😔 #anywho I’m just gonna go to sleep #I really home I don’t get woken up again tonight. I think I’ll lose it if I do

[thefreakandthehair]

"Hey," Steve says, voice both firm and gentle as he holds both of Eddie's hands in his own. "Why are you panicking about this?"

"I'm not panicking, I'm just being realistic." Eddie shakes his head and avoids making eye contact, looking at the ground as though a complicated puzzle that requires solving has sprung up on in the patterned tiles of the record shop's floor.

Steve knows what this is about, but he also knows that calling Eddie out when he's dealing with Tornado Brain gets him nothing but more Tornado Brain and a brick wall. So instead, he just keeps Eddie's hands warm and still and waits. His boyfriend isn't one for silence, so it shouldn't take too long--

"How are you not freaking out right now? Our profits were like, half what we've been pulling since we opened."

There it is.

"Because it's Thanksgiving and the holiday rush is coming. Because I actually did pretty well in those stupid accounting classes at the community college and know that we have plenty banked up to balance out the slower months now and then. Ed," he squeezes Eddie's hands until Eddie finally meets his eyes, wide with eyebrows knitted between them. "It's gonna be okay, I promise."

"Guess I can't do anything but trust you, huh?" Eddie shrugs and the hint of a smirk ghosts his lips. "It's growing up poor, man. Makes you a little... obsessive? About money? Or, about not having enough? This shop was my idea and God, if it fails, you're in it with me now. I can't drag you down with a sinking ship--"

Steve pulls one of Eddie's hands up to his lips and kisses the back of it. Eddie quiets.

"I'd rather be on a sinking ship with you than land with anyone else, okay? And it's not gonna fail. No matter what, we're gonna be alright."

"Okay, fine. I'll believe you." Eddie's shoulders fall away from ears and an actual grin blossoms across his face. One of Steve's many favorite sights. "Fancy numbers guy."

Steve rolls his eyes and smiles, releasing Eddie's hands and leaning against the back of the counter. "And you love it."

"Mhm," Eddie hums, leaning forward to kiss him, soft and chaste. "Sure do. I'm gonna flip the sign to open but when we flip it closed tonight, I'll show you how much."

sometimes, you've gotta take your own freak outs and complexes and project them onto your favorite blorbos, right?

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #st fic #myblurbs

[arctrooper69]

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Beta-read by @dragonrider9905

Chapter 10:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Miscommunication, angst.

A/N: Sorry this one is so short! I promise the action and excitement will be back next chapter! 😁

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

“Wait!” Hunter called out, standing up to follow you down the ramp, “I can explain!”

He rushed to the door, determined to follow you down the ramp, but he paused, feeling Echo’s hand on his shoulder.

“I’d give her a bit,” he advised. Hunter sighed and sat back down.

“Well that went well.” Tech clapped a hand to Hunter’s shoulder, then pushed his goggles further up on his face as he turned back to the cockpit to finish up the project he’d been working on.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Wrecker got off his bunk, “Hunter and Tara?”

Hunter sighed. “No! It’s not like that! I mean…”

Echo put his hand on Omega’s shoulder, attempting to direct her back to her room.

“Then what is it like, Hunter?” Omega asked, pushing Echo’s hand from her.

Hunter felt his chest tighten as he saw the hurt on her face. “It’s nothing, Omega. Go to your room.”

Omega crossed her arms, making no move to obey the command. “No! It’s not nothing! She obviously likes you and…” she paused to take a breath, looking down, “...and I thought you liked her too!”

“I do like her Omega… it’s just complicated. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Omega frowned at him. “I’m old enough.” she said defiantly. “You taught me that communication with your squad is important.”

Hunter didn’t respond, he knew she was right.

Omega sighed in frustration. “This is why we talk to each other, Hunter! You should’ve told her!”

“I know, Omega. I messed up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not all your fault, you know.” she said softer, putting a hand on his knee.

“She’s right,” Echo chimed in, “We all need to do better at communicating with each other.”

“Yeah…” agreed Wrecker, and turned back to Hunter.

“Really? Tara? Huh… gotta say I didn't expect that.”

Hunter glared. “I told you it wasn't like that. I was putting away some supplies and she came onto me, okay? She had a few too many drinks after the mission on Dantooine. She came onto me, started feeling me up and kissing me. Caught me by surprise and I pushed her away, told her I wasn't interested.”

Wrecker whistled “Damn, you're a popular man these days.” He chuckled, “I totally woulda let Tara kiss me.”

Echo elbowed him, “Not helping, Wrecker…”

“Oh. Sorry, Hunter.”

“It’s fine, Wreck.”

Echo gave Hunter a sympathetic look before retreating to the cockpit as well to help with repairs. The last mission had been hard on the Marauder as well as the mood of the team.

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

@zoeykallus @ttzamara @nahoney22 @merkitty49 @viva-la-whump @agenteliix @dumpsters-little-matchbook @nekotaetae @ladykatakuri @loverofclones @heyitsaloy @padawancat97 @jambolska-grozdova @flyingkangaroo @melymigo @the-rain-on-kamino @jiabae @my-own-oracle @dragonrider9905 @queenofspades6 @ordinarylokix @jupitersaturnapollo @queencousland101 @vampire-rogue @southernbaguette @staycalmandhugaclone @dalu-grantkylo @dangraccoon @aconstructofamind @sev-on-kamino @sol-the-otter @pb-jellybeans @atomickidsoul @caitnotfound @ghostlyembassy @skellymom @freesia-writes @trixie2023 @jedipoodoo @reader6898 @all-mights-babygirl @arcsimper5 @red-robin-yum08 @wintersnnowie @whore-of-many-hot-men @theeyesofasoldier @griffedeloup @starswhores @totallyunidentified @waytooldforthis78

If you want to be on my taglist, feel free to send me a message! Also, asks are open! Reblogging is very much encouraged and it makes me do a happy dance every time any of my writing gets reblogged 😂❤️

#as iron sharpens iron #hunter #hunter x you #hunter x reader #tbb hunter #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter x you #the bad batch hunter #the bad batch hunter x reader #the bad batch hunter x you #hunter tbb #hunter tbb x reader #hunter tbb x you #sergeant hunter #sergeant hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x you #star wars #star wars the clone wars #the bad batch #clone wars #swtcw #sw tcw #sw tbb #tbb crosshair #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #tbb omega #bad batch #bad batch hunter

[thechekhov]

Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts

Ch.26 (Red Dragon)

THEY'RE. SO. DANG. CUTE.

Damn these kids. I also love the fact that Falin has different hair as a child. Kids never changing their hairstyle as they grow into adults is such a storytelling pet peeve of mine.

Also: Laios at his most rambunctious? You mean now? Currently?

This man saw his son and daughter outside for half a second and already somehow knew they were up to shenanigans.

Oh no, he grabbed the wrong hand! How embarrassing. Hate it when that happens.

Bro, he's like 10, you need to find a better person to yell at.

That was solid. A konk on the head that came straight from the heart. The kind only a sibling can give.

.....th-thank you, pokedex junior...?

I would be thrilled if my kid knew how to ward off the undead! Well... I guess maybe thrilled is the wrong word for it.... There are certainly some complications to consider.

He's so cute. He's such a good brother!

HEY, THAT'S ILLEGAL.

Now that you mention it, healing magic stitching entire wounds closed so quickly would probably generate not only a lot of strain, but also heat, and also an insane amount of... well, if not pain, then at least itching on par with pain. That's SO MUCH REGROWTH.

Gotta give it to Marcille, she ain't bitching about things being weird now. Girl's FOCUSED.

Horrifyingly simple. I love it.

He really is just going to CoolAid man his way in there, huh.

But seriously, they're just walking on it! How are they slicing so cleanly? What about bones? They can just... what... cut between the ribs? What about the peritoneum or whatever? If they cut enough of that, wouldn't the innards start spilling out?

So Falin either wasn't eaten or... was already digested......but why would it be COMPLETELY empty?

It's not rested in THAT long... AND it fried up a bunch of Worgs and didn't eat them, now that I think of it. What's the use of killing prey and not consuming it, for a creature that has such a high caloric need?

Laios, mate, you good? Marcille is having an understandably stronger reaction to losing Falin but you're just... coping I guess?

You know, as someone familiar with ttrpgs this line of reasoning is solid. Resurrection spells need materials from the body to be effective. But to anyone else, this MUST be creepy as hell, right? Or am I overthinking?

................how do you even begin to come to terms with a death if there's nothing too big to come back from?

How is it that it's only NOW that I'm thinking of it?

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi quick reacts #chekhov reads dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi liveblog

[meiiie]

dave lizewski, i’m so into you. (pt. 2)

summary: you say something unexpected about Kick-Ass while discussing with your friends which hero you prefer the most.. Kick-Ass? Or Red Mist? little did Dave know or so you thought, you knew it was him all along..

a/n: i have an OC named Melilah who will be your best friend in this imagine, this only has fluff and comedy, there are some inappropriate jokes, and thats it i think! i also didn't proofread this so like... yeah happy reading :)

(pairing: dave lizewski x fem!reader) link to pt. 1

word count: 1.6k

now playing: boyfriend (with Social House)

♫ 'Cause I know we be so complicated But we be so smitten, it's crazy I can't have what I want, but neither can you ♫

the lyrics echoing throughout the store,

“well- for one i think Kickass is wayy cuter, i’d fuck his brains out if i got the chance.” you say out of your thoughts completely regretting saying the said statement- “Really?” Dave says out of nowhere, observing the conversation from behind your booth.

♫ But you ain't my boyfriend (Boyfriend) And I ain't your girlfriend (Girlfriend) But you don't want me to touch nobody else (Nobody) Baby, we ain't gotta tell nobody ♫

“okay wrap it up you two.” Todd interrupts

you really didn't know what to do at that point, i mean- what else would you do?

Dave takes a seat beside you—you think to yourself, 'ah, so this is what Todd and Marty were planning…' ...not knowing your best friend was in on it too

Melilah was rambling something about Red Mist to Todd and Marty, you couldn't care less since it wasn't about Kick-Ass “what you said, did you mean it?” Dave asking you, you almost break your neck by looking at him “wait- what yes what no, huh?”

Dave tilts his head looking confused at your reply, chuckling a bit “well, maybe, i guess? i mean, who wouldn't want to…?” you say nervously, your palms and toes are practically sweating at his question

“so, uh is that why you've been avoiding me these past few days? because you find Kick-Ass more attractive than me?” smirking in attempt to tease you, but you didn't take the hint, and instead you fumble on your words by saying “no- you are very attractiv- i mean, Kick-Ass is very attractive, well- not really? i keep my options open” you sigh trying to catch your breath, but Dave doesn't look the slightest upset. instead he was just looking at you in amusement, recalling the previous days.

4 days earlier

“how come nobody has ever tried to be a superhero?” Dave asks Todd and Marty sitting at the same booth spot, “boy.. i dunno! probably because it's fucking impossible, dipshit!” Marty says while Todd just laughs “what? putting a mask and helping people, how's that impossible?” Dave says trying to defend his question

“that's not superhero, though. how's that super? super's like being stronger than everybody and flying and shit. that's just hero” Todd explains

“no, it's not even hero. it's just fucking psycho.”

Dave Lizewski knew at that moment that his goal was to become the first real life superhero. as soon as Dave opened his parcel for his Kick-Ass 'superhero suit', he goes to find his first mission as a superhero, which was to fight bad guys right? haaah.... that actually didn't turn out so well- *PUNCH*

“AHHHHH” Dave screams after making 4 guys faint that were trying to beat up a guy in front of the convenience store, “what the fuck just happened.” he says assessing the situation he was just in. he looks around his surroundings and realize the amount of people recording the fight “holy shit, I DID IT!” he shouts at the top of his lungs, he just felt so unstoppab- “AHHHHHHHH” Dave screams, again but IN TERROR. he was just about to fall off a ledge, barely hanging on. who knew saving a cat would be this hard? "FUCK YOU MR. BITEY!" *THUD*

Dave hits the ground, HARD. “aggghh.. FUCK.” he checks whether his back was okay-then if his phone was fine or not. looking at his screen & it was ALMOST 7PM. “shit, it's almost past my curfew! i cannot STAND pretending to be like i'm some sort of superhero anymore.” he stomps on the ground walking fast into a dark alleyway, he notices there was someone standing beside the lamp pole but who cares. all he could think of was giving up, what kind of superhero would be able to beat up 4 guys but can't even save a CAT? he removes his mask out of frustration, partially still angry at Mr. Bitey, but then a faint gasp is heard—his eyes darting towards the pole. it was you. sounds of quick footsteps tip-tap-tip-tap quickly fading away. "WAIT!-" Dave shouts, “i- oh god..”

it was the next day in school, he already saw how the videos from the convenience store was spreading in the news, but most importantly was what did you think? "hey y/n-" you quickly pass by him in the halls, his heart stung at the sight of you trying to ignore him. during classes, he would be staring at you- like, FULL BLOWN staring at you with such sadness in his eyes. what he felt for you was different, he didn't know what it was. before you both became friends, he would always notice the little details about you during class.

you were always fidgeting with your pencil, or doodling on your notebook, the way you squint your eyes at the white board when you couldn't see what the teacher wrote, he found you so endearing. after being paired up to work on a major project for one of your classes, it was like he won the entire universe. so now seeing you ignore him made it feel like his life just crumbled apart

"are you sure this is going to work? i don't think y/n is going to fall for this, you always come to the hangouts its going to be obvious that we're lying…"

"dude, you should just talk to her and ask her whats up? what'd you even do to make her avoid you man??"

"stop it- it's, privat-"

"oh my god. they probably kissed and she ran away because Dave was a shitty kisser ohhhhh GOD. i can envision it! why did you have to do that????"

"first of all, we did not kiss. AND I AM A GOOD KISSER! i just need Melilah to convince y/n to hang out with you guys in Comic Atomics but tell her that i'm not coming, then i'll hide behind the booth then just ask her what she thinks about Kick-Ass-"

"why does it have to be specifically Kick-Ass though..?" the three of them look at Dave expecting an answer, Dave really wanted to know what you thought about him- well, about his alter ego, Kick-Ass, but you couldn't just tell your friends that was the reason

"guys... just do this... for me... as a friend.. I swear i'll pay you guys back- ANYTHING."

"anything?"

"anything."

Dave slowly watches the conversation unfold in front of him, “guys what do you think of Kickass?” Melilah asks subtly looking at Dave behind you to wonder if she's following the plan right. Todd and Marty then expressed who they liked more, which was Red Mist which lowkey made Dave sad but once he heard your reply his eyes saw stars, the whole world, the universe, his whole life was lifted- “well- for one i think Kickass is wayy cuter, i’d fuck his brains out if i got the chance.” you say, your words were ECHOING IN HIS BRAIN.... 'she... thinks... i'm cute...wait...SHE'DFUCKME?'

"Really?" he says, trying to keep his cool when in reality he was screaming internally.

during the whole hangout you could feel Dave's stares at you, grinning like he was the luckiest man alive yet you both weren't even together "jeez man stop glaring at her, you're going to make her run away again!" Melilah pointed out keeping the rest of the time there light, and your worries were all gone.

it was almost 5pm when you all said your goodbyes, "can I walk you home?" Dave asked, hoping for you to say yes "yeah, i'd like that." the walk home was silent but the silence was, comforting. "you know about it, don't you?" you pretend to look confused at his question "oh don't pretend now.." he said, you both started giggling

"well what do i know Mr. Lizewski?"

"maybe the fact that you saw me falling from a height in attempt to save a cat, perhaps?"

"oh that was you?" you jokingly say, he stopped walking in his tracks- baffled

"PFFT i was just kidding- come here" you both walk towards your house, walking at the same footstep rate. still laughing, reminiscing what happened. "for what its worth, i think it was cool that you tried saving... what's the name? Mr. Bitey? that was very brave of you" you chuckled. you both finally arrived at your front yard "well, why thank you y/n. i think it was very brave of you as well to follow the green stranger"

your laughs died down while you both looked into each other's eyes, he's admiring your features and you're admiring his. it was silent for a few seconds until he asked, "why'd you runaway? why'd you avoid me?" you didn't know what to say, while avoiding his eyes you say "i was scared, i was contemplating my.." you sigh while he looks at you with hopeful eyes. "i discovered that i like yo-" he cuts you off, feeling the warmth of his lips while he hugs your waist. you both begin to laugh again, his hands still around your waist. "i liked you ever since-" he says until you both hear your name being shouted from your house

"Y/N I KNEW IT!!! I KNEW YOU WERE ALWAYS WITH THAT PRETTY BOY!!!"

"MOM I SWEAR ITS NOT WHAT YOU THINK IT IS!!!" you peck his cheek, you whisper a quick 'i’msointoyo- imeantalktoyoutomorrowbye' winking back at him while running back into your house "moooommm let me explain wait-"

Dave turns around, starstruck, walks away feeling fulfilled. he didn't need to become a superhero, you were already one to him

a/n: ok i kinda cringed typing the last part but i ran out of ideas 🫠 thanks for reading!

#meiiie imagines #kick-ass #dave lizewski #dave lizewski x reader #aaron taylor johnson #dave lizewski imagine #dave lizewski x you #dave lizewski x fem! reader #atj x reader #kick ass 2 #dave lizewski fic #dave lizewski fanfic #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson imagine #Spotify

[2hoothoots]

new comic is done!! this one was a DOOZY and i changed my workflow like six times, but in the end i think it came together really nice! it's, uh, probably the last longer one i'm gonna do for a while, though :P

i'll probably add a little step-by-step in a reblog tomorrow. for now, catch the transcript under the cut!

Vanishing Act, over the intercom: So sorry I can't stay and watch you be devoured by pyro-sharks, but I've got my curtain call to make... and the audience are simply dying to see me. Ciao, agents! Or should I say... CHOW! AHAHAHAHAHA!

(Caught in one of Vanishing Act's villainous death traps, agents Zanotto and Aquato find themselves hanging by a thread in... "LOVE BITES!")

(sfx: Clink, clink)

Lili: Welp. At least now you've got an excuse to miss Franke and Kitty's wedding.

Raz: Oh, my GOD. I can't believe you're still going on about that.

Lili: I don't get why you're being so stubborn about it!

Raz: Because Kitty's a jerk and I hate her.

Lili: That's not true.

Raz: Yes it is! That cruise ship mission we went on, she left me to barf my guts out for like two hours!

Lili: Well maybe you shouldn't have eaten all that shrimp!

Raz: Well MAYBE I didn't know it was POISONED!

(sfx: clink, clink)

Lili: ...c'mon, Raz. That's not the only reason, is it?

Raz: I guess I just... I feel weird about it, y'know? It makes me think about us.

Lili: Wow. Way to make things all about you.

Raz: Oh, c'mon, you know that's not what I meant.

Lili: Well what do you mean?

Raz: It just... sometimes, I...

Raz: Relationships are - complicated, right? I'm happy for them, but it makes me think about our own relationship. And how there are... milestones, and - and certain expectations, and... and marriage is... well, it's...

(He sighs)

Raz: Ow.

(sfx: BONK)

Raz: There's give on my right wrist.

Lili: Can you pass it under?

Raz: One second...

Lili: Alright. Just gotta get my legs free...

Lili: Hey. D'you... want to get married?

Raz: ...no. No, and I feel - terrible about it.

Raz: Because I - because we don't have a traditional relationship. And I don't want to have that with you. I like how we are now. But then I see other people our age getting married, and it makes me worry that... that I'm letting you down, or not doing enough as your boyfriend, and that - that maybe you deserve someone who...

Lili: Raz?

Raz: Yeah?

Lili: I love you.

Raz: I love you too.

Lili: You're being stupid.

Raz: I know.

(sfx: paf)

Lili: ...listen. We should talk about this. But, uh, maybe not in the pyro shark death trap.

Raz: ...huh. Y'know, these are great whites. You can't keep them in a tank. They need the space of open water.

Raz: Which means I'll bet anything that this... leads to the ocean.

Lili: Then let's get a move on. We've got a party to crash.

#psychonauts #pyro-sharks lovingly plagiarised from one of caligraphunky's fics #because it's such a perfectly goofy mental image and i couldn't get it out of my head #future superstar agents au #fsau raz #fsau lili #comic #polish #and now. i sleep. goodnight all

[piscespixiewastaken]

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Technoblade discovers that Dream is living in the prison

~~ @sixteenth-day-event Prompt: Technoblade discovers that Dream is living in the prison

~~ Technoblade didn’t usually think of his rival as an idiot. Usually. But this had to take the cake.

“So uh, why are you here?” he asked, trying to keep the confusion out of his tone. 

He and Dream both stood in the prison’s entry hall, just in front of the portal that lead to the outside world. The stack of TNT in Techno’s inventory was starting to weight a little heavier with the realization that was staring him in the snout.

The green teletubby, who was apparently no longer homeless, scoffed.

“What? You asked if I had a house and then have the nerve to ask what I’m doing here?” Dream countered.

Techno could feel the glare coming from underneath the cracked mask on his rival’s face. Looks couldn’t kill, but he was sure Dream was trying. Too bad Technoblade never dies, especially to such a pathetic attempt.

L

L

loser living in his old prison

L

L

Even chat agreed.

“I’m just saying, but living in the same place you were, you know, tortured for several months is not an ideal coping mechanism, I gotta be honest,” Techno replied.

Dream visibly bristled at the comment. “Well, well then you can leave if-if you dislike it that much!” His voice cracked at the end. It would have been funny under other circumstances.

“Look, if you’re that desperate for a home, I can see about sneaking you into my cabin. You can hide from Phil and everyone else. But this place can’t be good for you.” Techno gestured to the stone walls around them.

Dream was definitely glaring at him. Techno was surprised the mask hadn’t disintegrated from the intensity of said glare.

“Just… what are you even doing here?” Dream asked, exasperation in his tone.

Techno sighed. He could tell the truth and have his rival really hate his guts. Or he could lie and say a concerned citizen spotted Dream in the prison area. But he was pretty sure that wouldn’t get Dream to trust him. And considering how tense and closed off Dream looked, that trust was waning by the minute.

“Look, the prison when Sam was Warden was a place of abuse of authority. And Sam isn’t here anymore because Phil and Ranboo saw him walking around as a free man. So I was here to take the prison down as a part of the Syndicate.” Techno retrieved a piece of TNT from his inventory and held it out. “You being here instead makes that a little more complicated. You’re not holding anyone inside, are you?”

Dream’s shoulders relaxed. “No. No one’s here but me. And I intend to keep it that way.”

Techno’s eyebrow rose up his forehead. “But why here? You’re free, Sam was in prison, Quackity has fewer allies. You could have gone anywhere.” He gestured to walls around them. “Why come back here?”

“It’s a fortress, Techno. Completely secure, with all the things I need to stay safe. What better place to be, huh?”

For a moment, Techno could see just barely see the kid he’d dueled before coming to the server. And that image was replaced with the scared young man he’d comforted in that horrid cell. 

“Why do you need a fortress, Dream?”

What had this place, this server done to Dream? To Quackity? To Techno? To all of them. Techno would probably never know.

“You… you wouldn’t understand, Tech. There’s so much…. It’s too important. You wouldn’t understand,” Dream responded, but didn’t quite meet Techno’s eyes. It was almost like he couldn’t.

Techno sighed. “All right. All right, I won’t blow up your house, Dream. Can’t leave you homeless again.” He heard Dream scoff again and grinned at the green teletubby before schooling his expression. “But if you need help, talk to me. Gotta be honest, this is making me a little worried about you.”

He had to suppress a wince as chat exploded.

Technosoft

Technosoft

Technosoft

Technsodt

lol typo

typo L

typo L

typo L

L

Dream’s shoulders hunched before he visibly forced himself to relax. 

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Well, I’ll be off. See ya, nerd,” Techno called as he stepped back through the portal.

As Techno left the prison behind, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding come over him. He ignored it. Dream was an adult. A young and stupid one, but still an adult. He was responsible for his own actions. Techno just hoped it wouldn’t lead to disaster.

#sixteenthdayevent #c!dream #c!technoblade #dsmp prison

[a-shoebox-named-meap]

aight. have some nimona canon divergence AU fic ideas because i’m no writer but i AM going insane

as a huge fan of canon divergence AUs where One Small Decision Changes Everything™ i can’t stop thinking about little bits and pieces from the nimona movie like:

what if the squire had shown ambrosius the video (ohh a fic like this would be Delicious) (mm ambrosius x squire tag team) (ballister’s two biggest fans) (this might be one of my favorite ideas so far) (lots of potential here i feel like)

now there have been a lot of people asking “let’s feel some ANGST what if real ambrosius had walked into the director’s office before nimona” but i will take that and raise you: what if ambrosius had walked in while nimona was doing her thing in the director’s office. perhaps around the time when the director stabbed fake!ambrosius. please consider. may the chaos ensue

ballister had noticed his sword-laser-cannon powering up and moved it away from the queen but it hit something else! or someOne else! (or it killed the queen anyway but still hit somebody else in the process) (oh gods what if it took off his own arm) (or even ambrosius’s—) (can you imagine the kinda twist that would occur if he took off ambrosius’s arm by accident and ballister not resting until he found out who the real culprit is skdjdjdjdjddj) (oh but wait let me make this WORSE what if he hit ambrosius instead of the queen ((don’t worry ambrosius is wearing armor, he doesn’t die he’s just,,, gravely injured?)) and ballister, even if he still gets framed for it, will stop at nothing to find out who did this to ambrosius) (now incorporate nimona into that storyline and hoohoohoo) (i’m rubbing my hands together like a maniacal fruit fly right now)

what if they had uploaded the squire’s video when they got it huh. what then. back it up to the cloud. or just TEXT it to ambrosius you Fool. you absolute Buffoon. (but perhaps this seemingly obvious course of action results in some unexpectedly dire consequences oh no—)

“ooh… nemesis.” “nemesis?” at which point nimona and ballister get stuck in the closet, nimona reveals her shapeshifting abilities, and oh, screw it, if ballister’s situation with his arm-chopping nemesis is really so cOmPLiCAteD then maybe since they’re breaking out of jail anyway they might as well kidnap ambrosius while they’re at it. aka the au where nimona breaks ballister out of jail and she takes ambrosius with them. (i am FEASTING on the possibilities of this one)

let’s take todd’s suspicion and blame directed towards ambrosius (“why didn’t you tell us ballister was working with whales?”) and dial that up to 100. slowly, though, not too fast, it’s gotta build momentum. let’s breed some mistrust in ambrosius. let’s see people refusing to let ambrosius lead the manhunt for ballister on account of their close relationship. let’s see people turn their backs on him thinking he was a conspirator. let’s see ambrosius losing the public’s favor. let’s see ambrosius starting to feel some doubt when he’s alone in his room — let’s see ambrosius wondering what if people are actually as wrong about ballister as he knows they are about ambrosius himself. (what if everybody hates ambrosius too—)

this one is not nearly as straightforward a canon divergence but ponder this: the director noticed the squire was there in the locker room (?) that day and swapped out the swords after the squire had left. or maybe she swapped it out before the squire was ever there. the squire never knew the director had been there. there was no video evidence. now what? up to you >:)

ok hear me out. the squire is a #1 ballister fan right. the squire is probably very careful with the swords and armor he handles. the squire is probably intimately familiar with the swords and other various weaponry and armaments of the institution. the squire is probably very familiar with ballister’s in particular. when ballister first picked up his swapped-out sword he noticed something was off about it, but what if — WHAT IF — the squire had noticed something was off about it first. now of course there’s Possibility #1 where he sees the director swap the sword, and then he checks out the sword and feels that something is wrong with it etc etc (or maybe he mistakes the sword change for an equipment upgrade) BUT now let’s combine this with the previous bullet point for Possibility #2 where the squire DIDN’T see the director swap the sword but he DID notice something was off about the sword before ballister did and actually investigated it. would he discover the hidden weapon, or not? if he did would he bring it to ballister’s attention? ambrosius’s? the director’s? what if he caught the hidden weapon but didn’t mention it and then the queen died and the squire was left fully believing ballister killed the queen (ballister knows mechanics, you’ve seen his arm, it’s plausible he built the weapon into his sword himself) and then ballister and nimona kidnapped him and interrogated him and ballister and the squire were left spiderman meme-ing each other like *points* “i thought YOU were behind all this!” and now the squire is an unwilling sidekick dragged into this by nimona and ballister to figure out who the real culprit is and there’s ACTION and ADVENTURE and COMEDY and it’s absolutely metal—

the squire really feels like a lynchpin in this story is all i’m sayin

if you can’t tell i’m also a fan of happy endings. in my brain most of these canon divergences result in a similar happy ending as the movie. except maybe faster (not always). which i enjoy because i’m sappy and silly anyway thank you and goodnight

#nimona #nimona fanfic #nimona fic #nimona netflix #nimona au #ballister boldheart #ballister blackheart #ambrosius goldenloin #nimona spoilers #nimona squire #nimona director #i don’t write fic but for the fic writers out there (i appreciate you all dearly) pls accept my humble offerings #i’m sure i’ll have more ideas later #my head is spinning #meap posts #nimona stuff

[a-twistedheartslonging]

Floyd/Reader Mafia AU

Injuries, masochism on Floyd's end, stitching wounds, mentions of violence, no sex but Floyd is weird and busts a nut.

They/Them used for the reader.

Floyd is going to get himself killed…young too.

They couldn't help but think it as they kneeled between the needlessly long legs of said man, seated on a well-worn leather stool. The make shift surgery room was quiet save for the sound of their shared breaths and the dripping of the near by sink's leaky faucet. 

From what they heard from the others the job was supposed to be something simple. “Just in and out.”

I really shouldn't be surprised. It made sense Floyd would be the one to complicate things…again. He’s a smart and clever person, they knew this well but…boredom can be dangerous when it comes to certain people.

They couldn't help but let out a tired sigh.

Of course, he would be the one to turn it into a shoot-out.

And now they are picking buckshot and glass of out Floyd's bleeding side. His face would tighten up in pain for a moment, showing off sharp teeth, before relaxing slightly and letting out a giggle.

Floyd always did seem to enjoy the strangest things. 

They look from their work for a moment and into his eyes, they see that manic spark that always seemed to glow brighter whenever he saw them.

Floyd…wanted them, they knew that. Why he did? They really didn't know. They weren't self sure like like him or the others, not strong, or particularly interesting. Hell they weren't even a real doctor, just a medical school dropout. 

Not breaking eye contact he spoke. “Fuck Doc, it hurts.” He let out a groan before a grin becgain to spread on his face.“I gotta make sure to kill that fella next time.”

They quickly looked away, bringing their eyes back to their work. 

Aaah I really hope I don’t have to see when it happens.

Nervously they picked out another piece of glass, being as gentle as they could with the jagged tear in his flesh. 

They heard a hiss coming from him when removing this shard before dropping it into a metal container with the others. A large hand suddenly gripped their shoulder and pulled them up some, causing them to let out a startled noise.

“Eh, Doc, can't ya be more careful? It might leave a scar.”

They tried to keep neutral it but couldnt help but make a face at that.

Oh please. They knew full well he liked his scars, he even thought they made him look cool. They lost count of how many times he would show them off and insisted they touch them and…he keeps calling them that. He must really like making fun of them.

“Stop…stop calling me that.” 

“Huh? Nah, don't think so. You're my cute little Doctor Shrimp, always patching me up.”

They look over his shoulder to stare at the wall as he speaks, eye contact would be too much. Especially with their position. Being between a grown man's legs certainly wasn't helping with their anxiety, nor did they make it a habit to be around men in such a way.

“You ignoring me Doc? That aint very nice.” Floyd muttered.

They shook their head, they weren't. 

“Then why don't you-”

The interrupted “I, uhm, I need to stitch your wounds now Floyd.” They spoke quickly. Whatever Floyd wanted them to do, they really shouldn't. Best to finish this as soon as they can.

And so they stuck the needle into him.

Floyd yelped. His body twitched and he squeezed his eyes shut as the needle moved through his flesh. In and out it went, sewing his skin together. 

“Worst pain I've ever felt, Doc.” He said, but he was lying through his teeth. How could this be worse than everything else he's been through? Shot, stabbed, and even suffered through broken bones for god's sake…all things they took care of for him.

They pulled at the thread and Floyed trembled, high spots of red rising in his cheeks. With each stab of the needle, his body shivered. 

As they dragged the wound shut, a different kind of groan tumbled out. 

They stopped at hearing the sound, heat rushing to their face. Without meaning to, they brushed against his thigh, and Floyd went stiff.

They looked down and saw the state of Floyd's pants. He was hard.

The pain. Jeez, he was getting…off on the pain. It was either the pain, the attention, or both. Jade had the weirdest reactions to everything. 

The air around them turned hot. They were sweating, but their hands were cold and clammy under thier surgical gloves. Whatever Floyd thought this was, whatever he was feeling, they really shouldn’t encourage it.

“Go on, Doc, finish the job.” Floyd said, his tone taunting. When they looked at him, his expression was heated and almost…desperate. He looked so wrecked.

The sight of Floyd, his sounds, how pathetic he was right now…a wave of arousal went through them, followed by shame and further anxiety. They felt like thier were going to pass out.

I need to leave and soon.

They pulled the final stitch closed, finishing it.

With shaky hands they fumbled for the rubbing alcohol, letting the cap fall to the ground. Staring at the blood they hwsitated for a moment before carefully emptying the entire bottle onto the wound.

They poured it until the bottle was empty and tossed it away to be cleaned later, the plastic bottle bouncing off the floor. 

They didn't truly want to hurt Floyd but they needed that heated expression to go away.

Floyd made a choked noise, sounding almost pathetic, and arched off the examination table. Rivulets of alcohol flowed down his skin, mixing with his blood. It dripped down his side, his stomach, and past the vee of his hips, soaking into his blood-stained pants.

He threw his head back, convulsing with pain. His mouth opened to utter a broken cry before falling backward, back hitting the examination table and body going limp.

They let out a gasp. “Oh…oh god.” Eye's locking onto a new wet patch at the front of his pants. 

They...really shouldn’t have expected anything different. Floyd had made his…want of them clear. In his strange mind pain was just another outstretched hand to him. Part of them knew nothing they could do would dissuade him. It scared them but also…made them feel something else they really... shouldn't. 

Floyd's mismatched eyes found them again, looking up at them half-lidded. With a smile, he licked his lips with a long inhuman tongue.

With a trembling hand, they reached for the door and quickly left the room.

#Inspired from a visual novel i played a long while ago. #floyd/reader #twst #twisted wonderland #floyd x reader #floyd leech #suggestive #twst x reader #mafia au

[cecilysass]

Shine On (4/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 4: The Art of Profiling

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 20, 2015

The pizza that Fox Mulder ordered isn’t from a pizza place Jackson has ever heard of, like Domino’s or Pizza Hut, but it’s really good anyway. Or at least it tastes good to someone who hasn’t eaten all day. Jackson eats the first piece really quickly, then he grabs for a second without thinking, forgetting his manners. When he realizes what he’s done, he hesitates.

“Go for it,” the older man says, his eyes darting sharply back and forth between the pizza and Jackson’s face. “Eat as much as you want.”

Fox Mulder has been acting much more intense ever since Jackson told him about the red-headed lady.

Jackson’s tired, and he has only barely skimmed the surface of the man’s difficult mind, but he can tell that the guy’s stunned by the news. Fox Mulder’s mind is channeling down a dozen different paths right now: fast, mazelike thoughts, like bobsleds going down tracks. A current of sharp worry running through like a winter chill.

It’s honestly exhausting to try to figure out. Jackson closes off the shine for now, takes another big bite of pizza. This sausage is a little spicy, which is exactly how he likes it.

“I have a lot of questions for you,” Fox Mulder says, his voice low. “I don’t want to overwhelm you. But I … gotta ask some of them.”

Jackson nods reluctantly, his mouth full. He doesn’t feel like answering questions at all. Still, he supposes the more he gets out of the way, the better.

“You said you have visions,” the man says, setting his own piece of pizza down. “Do you have other … abilities?”

Jackson studies him cautiously as he finishes chewing his bite of pizza. He’s not in the habit of discussing what he can do. It’s only really ever been trouble when he has, so he’s almost instinctively secretive about it. But things are different now. And Fox Mulder, well, he seems to know all about this kind of thing.

“Yeah,” Jackson says carefully. “I do.”

The man runs his hand over his mouth. Jackson notices he’s only eaten half of his slice of pizza. Either he’s not hungry, or he’s too distracted.

“You can read thoughts,” Fox Mulder guesses, leaning back, speaking with certainty. He folds his hands in front of him. “You can focus on other people’s thoughts. Not just one person, but several at once.”

Jackson sets his slice of pizza down in shock. “How did you know that?”

“You can move objects, too.”

Jackson blinks at him. “I have been able to do that. Some. I could do it easier when I was little.”

“What else?”

“I can, like, change people’s perceptions. What they see. Not for forever, just for a little while. So, if I, like, need a distraction in class or something, I can make the teacher think someone opened the door and mooned us. Stupid stuff like that.”

Fox Mulder looks undeniably fascinated. “Wow,” he says. “Interesting.” He taps his fingers on the table. Jackson doesn’t have to use his shine to see that the man is thinking this over. “So does that mean you could effectively shapeshift? If you wanted to?”

“Yeah,” admits Jackson. “At least I can make other people think I look like someone else.”

“Huh,” the man says, squinting thoughtfully. He tilts his head, looking at Jackson again. “Are you reading my mind right now?”

“No,” Jackson says honestly.

“Why not?”

“I’m tired,” Jackson says. “It’s work, sometimes. And no offense, but you’re kind of complicated and hard.”

Fox Mulder chuckles. “I don’t know if I should take offense at that or not.”

“I did read your mind earlier,” Jackson confesses. “And the red-haired lady …. she was really easy. I hardly had to try with her at all. It was like her thoughts just flew at me. I was wondering if that was because she was my birth mom. Do you think that could be right?”

The man stares at him blankly, not directly answering. “Her name is Dana Scully.”

“Dana Scully,” repeats Jackson.

“Have you ever heard that name before?”

“No,” Jackson says. “I don’t think so.”

“Did your parents tell you anything about your birth parents? Who they were, where you were from?”

“I don’t think they knew anything about them,” Jackson says. “It was a closed adoption.”

Fox Mulder nods, scratching his chin. “Yeah,” he says. It’s like a cloud of sadness has fallen over him. “Yeah, it would have been.” He fixes Jackson with a curious look. “Do you … have any questions for me? About any of this?”

“Uh. Sure.” Jackson looks around the room, slowly, as if the best question to ask might be scrawled on the walls. The faces peering out of the framed photos draw his attention again, but it’s all so much. He looks away, back at the box of pizza in front of them instead. “Is it… okay if I have another slice, Mr. Mulder?”

The man laughs a little, crossing his arms. “You can just call me Mulder.”

“I think I’m eating more than you, Mulder,” Jackson points out seriously. “It doesn’t seem fair. It’s your pizza.”

“I told you, eat as much as you want.”

Jackson feels like he has been polite enough. He shrugs. “Thanks,” Jackson says, taking another slice.

“Jackson,” Mulder says, watching him eat, his voice suddenly too casual. “Do you have any idea who your birth father is?”

Jackson picks up his piece of pizza and studies it, pulling off a particularly delicious-looking piece of sausage and sampling it. “Well,” he says, through a mouthful, “I’ve got a guess. Based on certain clues. But I don’t know for sure.”

“Clues you’ve read in people’s minds? Or clues you’ve noticed?”

Jackson shrugs again. “Both, I guess.” He gives Mulder a look, raising his eyebrows.

There’s a pause.

“What clues?”

“Well, I’m not stupid,” Jackson says matter-of-factly. “That woman, Dana Scully, was here, fighting with you. Lots of big feelings. Then, the way you’re acting now. Like you think I’m a brand new iPhone and you can’t stop looking at me. And how you seem to know things about me. That’s a bunch of clues.”

Mulder has been sitting with his arms crossed, and he hasn’t moved the entire time Jackson’s been talking. But now Jackson can see a tear sprouting in his eye. It surprises him. Wayne Van De Kamp, his father, would never have cried in front of him. Mulder blots it with his sleeve, and Jackson sees his hands are shaking, too.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that so carelessly, kind of flippantly. It’s obviously a big deal to Mulder. Really, truthfully, it’s a big deal to Jackson, too—something he’s wondered about his whole life. But right now he just can’t have everything feel like a big deal all at once. Or he’ll explode or something.

He meets the man’s damp eyes.

“Yeah,” Mulder says roughly, trying to smile. “Okay. A lot of clues.” He pauses, uncrosses his arms, places his hands on the table. “I get the sense you can’t handle a lot more emotional drama right now, Jackson, and I get that, I really do. Believe it or not, I’ve been in that place myself.”

Jackson’s speechless. It’s like the man read his mind, but that’s not possible.

“I just want to say, we can talk about it whenever you want to,” Mulder adds. “No pressure.”

Jackson nods his head up and down, licking his lips nervously.

***

After dinner, they go back into the part of the room with the couch, which is surrounded by all the messy piles of books. Jackson sits on the floor and starts picking up volumes curiously. “The Art of Profiling?” he says. “Is that an art book?”

“No,” Mulder says with a smile, trying to kick piles out of the way. “It’s psychological profiling. Like for criminals.”

“Oh,” Jackson says, making a connection. “Like on Criminal Minds.”

“What’s that? A TV show?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “My parents love it. It’s about a team of FBI agents who profile dangerous criminals.” An exciting thought occurs to him. “Wait, is that what you did?”

“Yes,” Mulder says. “No. Kind of. I was a profiler, years and years ago. But then I was put on the X-files, where I investigated cases that had unexplainable, supernatural associations.”

“That’s why you have books like this,” Jackson says. He lifts the book Sasquatch: Diverse Perspectives. “Or this?” Extraterrestrial Abductions Beyond the Media.

“Yeah,” Mulder says, a self-deprecating shrug. “That’s right.”

“That’s badass,” Jackson says, a root of an idea occurring to him. He belatedly realizes his mistake. “I mean, that’s cool. Very cool,” he corrects himself.

“It was badass,” Mulder agrees, seemingly unaffected by Jackson’s profanity. “Although… it could be difficult. We went through a lot, working on the X-files. Scully and me.”

Jackson absorbs this information. “So you and Dana Scully worked together on the X-files. In the F.B.I.. That’s how you knew one another?”

“We were partners,” Mulder says with quiet precision, like this sentence is very important.

They’re just three words—we were partners—but Jackson can tell they tell an entire complicated story the length of a book or more. His shine cries out to be used, but Jackson pushes it aside.

“Mulder,” Jackson says slowly. “Is it a coincidence that you and my birth mom worked on these X-files … and that I have these abilities?”

“No, Jackson,” Mulder says, sighing heavily. “It’s probably not a coincidence.” He sits on the couch, looking down at Jackson still sitting on the floor. “There are things that both of us were exposed to that could have … caused the abilities.”

“But you guys don’t have them yourselves, right?”

“No. Not like you.”

It’s a frustrating answer. “Not like me? Or not at all?”

“Some things I want to wait to talk to you about,” Mulder replies. “Until we’ve had a chance to talk to your mother, too.”

Your mother.

Jackson inhales sharply, the words sending an unexpected shock through him.

“I meant Scully, of course,” Mulder says quickly, noticing his reaction. “I’m sorry.”

“Dana Scully isn’t my mother,” Jackson says with emphasis. “I have a mother.”

“I know.” Mulder’s eyes look impossibly sad. “I’m sorry, Jackson. I know.”

“I’m not looking to replace my parents,” Jackson says tightly. “That’s not why I’m here or what this is about. They’ll always be my parents. I love them.”

Mulder appears to sink further into the couch. “Yeah,” he says. “I can tell you do.”

Jackson looks down quickly at the stack of books again, playing silently with the cover of Criminology Through The Ages. He knows he shouldn’t have gotten angry. He knows Mulder didn’t mean anything by it, and he’s having to struggle with his shine now to keep from sensing any bad feelings or thoughts coming off of Mulder.

It’s just Jackson feels almost disloyal, sitting here talking to this man, learning this information about his birth parents’ lives, when his parents just died. When they probably died because of him.

“Jackson.” Mulder’s voice is kind. “What were they like? Your parents. Do you want to … tell me about them? I don’t know anything about them.”

Jackson pauses, still staring at the book in his hand. “Yeah,” he says. He tries to find the right words. He has to be the person who remembers them, who speaks for them to the world now. “They were … they weren’t anything like me. But they were great.”

Mulder waits patiently, his soft eyes on Jackson. Jackson puts the book back carefully on top of a pile.

“My dad was the shop teacher at Rawlins High School. He was good at woodworking, cabinetry. He was always trying to teach me.”

“Were you good at it, too?”

“No,” Jackson says with a tiny smile. “I was really, really bad at it.”

“Oh yeah?” Mulder echoes the tiny smile.

“I couldn’t cut straight. I forgot to measure,” Jackson says, shaking his head. “I was always disappointing him.”

“Not really,” Mulder guesses softly.

“No,” Jackson agrees, just as softly. “Not really.” He’s quiet, thinking more about his goofy, sweater-vested dad. “He was always cheerful. He thought you should look on the positive side of things, you know? Really into baseball. He coached my Little League team for a while.”

“That’s good,” Mulder says encouragingly. “It’s good to play sports.” He’s quiet, too. “And your mom?”

“Her job was running the church preschool,” Jackson says. “She was always singing. She loved holiday decorations, and to cook and bake.” He feels tears threatening. “She is just … she was a really good mom to me. Like, she hugged me all the time. I acted like I didn’t like it, but I did.”

“I’m glad she did that,” Mulder whispers. “I’m so glad.”

“She was really Christian. Really into church. They both were.”

“You were raised religious?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “Lutheran.” He glances at Mulder wryly. “But I was really bad at that, too.”

Mulder returns the look. “I’m not very good at that myself,” he says. “Scully’s religious, in her own way. But I’ve never been … that kind of believer. It’s just never made sense to me”

Something warm blooms in Jackson at being understood in this way. It’s never made sense to him, either.

“What are you good at?” Mulder asks. His tone is gentle, but Jackson’s shine is suddenly alert, suddenly aware of what’s underneath the man’s exterior. Mulder is hungry to know more about him, desperate for any detail. His need is so overwhelming, Jackson closes the door on it quickly.

“I don’t know,” Jackson says casually. “I’m good at math, I guess. Math comes easy to me.”

Mulder’s face lights up. “Scully’s amazing at math.” Looking over at Jackson, he seems to regret his words. His scolding to himself shines through. —stop making everything he says about me and Scully. “Sorry. You’re telling me about yourself.”

“I like to run,” Jackson continues. “I’m pretty fast, and I think I’m a good distance runner. I was thinking maybe I’d try out for the track team in high school.” He pauses. “But I guess I’m not going to high school now.”

“Come on,” Mulder says. “Of course you’re going to high school. Your life isn’t over.”

“I’m most likely going to prison,” Jackson mumbles darkly.

“Nah. Not going to happen.”

“I don’t even know where I’m going to live,” Jackson adds. “Where I’m going to stay tonight.”

“You’re obviously going to stay here tonight,” Mulder insists. “After that, we’ll figure it out.”

The lightning-fast image of a school building with a sign— Farrs Corner High School—and then another fast image, the two of them, Mulder and Jackson, running side by side on a country road, a road that looks a lot like the road right outside the farmhouse. Then almost instantly, more scolding in Mulder’s mind: Way ahead of yourself. Stop it. Haven’t even told Scully. Need to confirm.

“How will we confirm?” Jackson asks quickly. “What does that mean?”

Mulder’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

“Sorry,” Jackson says. “That was kind of rude of me, probably.”

“I have to remind myself you’re listening,” Mulder says with a small smile.

“I normally try to hide it more,” Jackson says. He stands up, stepping around the books to sit next to Mulder on the couch. “But I mean … what’s the point if you already know, right?”

“I was just thinking that before we introduce you to Scully, we should run DNA,” Mulder says. “Yours against mine. To confirm it.”

“Why?” Jackson says, frowning. “You don’t believe me?”

“Can’t you tell that I believe you?”

Jackson sighs. “Yeah, I think you do.” He kicks out his long legs and leans his head back against the back of the couch. “But like I said, you’re not the easiest.”

“The people that Scully and I used to be involved with,” Mulder says, “were the kind of people who would go to extremes. Even extremes like convincing a kid his birth mother was someone she wasn’t. Like planting ideas into people’s heads. I don’t think you’re lying, but I think it would be smart to know for sure.”

Jackson swings his head to look at Mulder. “Who were these people?”

Mulder regards him with a troubled expression. “I’ll answer that, Jackson. But I think you need to answer this, too: who drove you here? To Virginia?”

“I told you,” Jackson says, folding his arms defensively, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?” Mulder’s eyebrows draw together in concern. “It worries me a little. Did the person who drove you ask you not to tell me?”

“Yeah, they did,” Jackson admits. “But I don’t think they’re one of these bad people you’re talking about. They were just trying to help me.”

“But Jackson,” Mulder says urgently, “you need to understand that—”

“You’re just going to have to trust me,” Jackson insists, and his voice sounds younger than he intends. “Please. Just trust me.”

Mulder rubs his temple with one finger. “Okay,” he says simply. “I can do trust.” He leans forward on his forearms. “But still, Jackson, I think we gotta do the DNA test. If you’re not … the person we think you are—and who Scully thinks you are, it would be too hard for her.”

“She’s been wanting to see me that bad?”

Mulder is surprised. “Of course she has. Of course.”

“But it was a closed adoption. Her choice.”

Mulder opens and closes his mouth, again seeming not to know what to say. “Since the second she let you go,” he says, his voice strained, “she’s been wanting to see you again.”

Jackson’s shine pulls in an image then of a baby in a crib, crying, and then the woman Mulder calls Scully, younger, crying and crying, inconsolable.

It’s all too sad, and Jackson is sad already.

“Okay. DNA test tomorrow then,” Jackson says, shrugging. “No big deal.”

“Great,” Mulder says, standing up. “Now I thought I’d show you where you’ll be sleeping if you want. I’ll have to put sheets on the guest bed first. Maybe you can help me. This place used to be a little more organized when Scully lived here.”

“You have a guest room, huh?” Jackson says. “Fancy.”

“Yeah,” Mulder says in a strange voice. “It’s just an extra bedroom. Small. Not too fancy.”

It was supposed to be your room. In case we got you back somehow. Mulder’s thoughts are suddenly and unexpectedly clear.

“Then I guess I better sleep in it,” Jackson responds flatly, following along behind him.

***

#xfiles fanfic #the x files #x files fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #x files #xf fanfic #msr #jackson van de kamp

[rebouks]

Previous | Next

Transcript:

Oscar: You can have a drink if you-… Courtney: It’s already hard enough, isn’t it? Oscar: That’s what she said.

Courtney: [snickers] I bet-.. I’m serious though, are you good? Oscar: Watching everyone make the most of an open bar n’ get wasted is super fun, of course; but I’m doing okay. Courtney: We could always-…

Oscar: What kinda wedding do you want-.. still fancy eloping in a forest somewhere? Courtney: I don’t know. After everything we’ve been through, maybe it’d be nice to celebrate together.. y’know? Besides, you haven’t even asked me properly yet!

Oscar: [gasps] Asking whilst drunk n’ puking my guts up doesn’t count?! Courtney: I was only fucking with you, but when you say it like that… Oscar: Well, I can’t exactly ask you here.

Courtney: Why not? Oscar: You know I live for your impulsiveness, but you can’t propose at someone else’s wedding without asking them. Courtney: So, let’s go somewhere else.

…

Oscar: I’m scared I’m gonna rip these pants. Courtney: That’d be terrible. Oscar: Hah-.. oof, okay.

[Courtney snorts, devolving into a fit of laughter] Oscar: Excuse me-… Courtney: Sorry, sorry! I didn’t expect you to actually get down on one knee.

Oscar: Psh.. you know I don’t have a ring, right? Courtney: I don’t want one. Oscar: I don’t have a plan either…

Courtney: [grins] Duh, spontaneity is our thing.

Oscar: I think your reckless abandon is one of my favourite things about you-.. your sense of humour, your creativity, messiness, positivity, obsession with complicated plant names; it’s all perfect. I’m amazed that you ever gave me the time of day. It meant everything to me back then, that you saw through my bullshit-.. it still does, and I’m sorry it wasn’t enough. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for the way things turned out, but I’d like to spend the rest of my days trying to make it up to you-.. making sure you’re happy.

Courtney: Awh.. you’re gonna make me cry. Oscar: Not doing so hot on the happy front so far, huh?

Courtney: [laughs thickly] I’m good, carry on. Oscar: You’ve felt like home to me from the moment I laid eyes on you, Cookie; I genuinely can’t imagine not marrying you… So, will you marry me?

Courtney: No. Oscar: [cackles] No?! For fuck’s sake! Courtney: I just wanted you to get all gooey-.. and rip your pants.

Oscar: Shame they’re still intact. Courtney: Mmh, I want another baby. Oscar: You’ve gotta say yes first.

Courtney: In what reality would I say no? Oscar: Aha, true.. but we definitely can’t make one here. Courtney: We definitely could.

[Oscar ponders for less than a millisecond before dropping Courtney from his knee, catching her by the small of her back] Courtney: Wh-.. ah! Oscar: [chuckles] You better keep it down.

Courtney: Pfft, no one’s gonna come round here. Oscar: No? Courtney: [giggles] Well…

#somnium #sims 4 #storytelling #ts4 story #sims story #simblr #oscar finch #courtney mcmahan #😭🥺 #ma babies got engaged for realsies ;-; #oh and ig cole and sara got married but who cares abt that?!!? #ahahhksdjskdj

[ganondoodle]

so its part of a way longer post i made some days ago but i want to highlight this part of it:

"i cant stop thinking about the devs saying sth like "after botw zelda wondered if the kingdom of hyrule needed to keep existing the way it had been before the calamity, but then totk happens" bc it just feels like they realized too late that botw naturally led into questioning the status quo and they scrambled to fit it back into a flat and boring road we have seen so many times before (or even worse really) with totk zeldas character naturally leads into her questioning and reexamine their history and set of rules? we gotta teach her a lesson of why she is importante god given monarchy girl that has to keep it bc what if evil brown man shows up again for no reason maybe im grasping at straws here but looking at it this way the sonau .. make more "sense"; the shiekah were a group that was under the rule of the royal family, and misstreated before (oh no look soemthing interesting) so they dont lend themselves well to be used for teaching zelda that lesson- the sonau however are tailored really to be just that; they are a supposedly godly race from the literal sky that founded this version of hyrule, that had tech even more advanced and better than the shiekah, she gets put in the past to meet the perfect god king of goodness personally, also his very fridgy wifey that zelda later replaces in a way, shes put there and treated like family and then gets to see just how evil that evil big man from the desert is, sonia is falcon-punched to death solely so zelda can feel obligated to take over her role, have her new, better 'family' hurt by gan; similarly so raurus sacrifice, look what a noble and good king he is, he payed the ultimate price to lock that evil man away, now zelda you cannot let their sacrifice go to waste, rebuild that divinely good kingdom like it was!!"

bc it feels like i finally "cracked the code" of why the sonau feel both like a reskinned version of the shikeah .. while also not at all to me, so shoved into every single corner of the game and its history (not even the forgotten temple being safe from them sure is .... also something, like them being spread all over hyrule, not just the undergound, but the surface AND sky as well isnt weird enough, the shiekah at least were integrated into the world and by far not as idolized as the sonau)

seeing the sonau like this ""better"" and more """perfect"" version of the shiekah bc they are untainted by any possible complicated relationships with especially the royal family (the sonau ARE the prefect, idyllic royal family of the past after all) makes them make so much more "sense" to me, they are a bad mix of OOTs and botws structure, sure, but the way they were done in the game i cannot for the life of me see it as that being their sole problem

(also looking at how shiekah tech was downgraded to some side gimick of purah ... idk if they ever even call it shiekah at all anymore, and if "all sheikah tech just vanished" like the devs said then ... how does any of that still exist huh? it doesnt add up at all except if you see it as the sonau being the ""better"" version of the shiekah with none of the "problematic" parts or history or conenctions (which would be .. interesting) bc they are supposed to represent that idyllic past zelda should feel obligated to recreate now, to uphold that sweet status quo ..

sidenote: someone on the post i talked about his before said its also dumbo that there is supposedly no connection at all between the shiekah and sonau, and yes! that was something i ranted about while i was still playing the game back in may even (most of my later gameplay at some point devolves into a rant about how stupid it is that there is no connection and instead its all just ... gone) bc its just ... so dumb

its also how i chose to integrate the sonau better into the world in my totk rewrite stuff, that they were once there aand had high tech but its by now only crumbs left with nothing funtcioning anymore but you discover that at the time of the ancient shiekah finding it it was still researchable and they build their tech based on the sonau ruins even if the sonau stuff is nothing but dust anymore- which i find a super ... obvious way to give the sonau a better connection to the existing world, keep the shiekah, expand upon their mystery while also still keepign them as such-

.... anyway, there beign no connection at all somehow also fits even more into my theory of the sonau, again, being there solely to represent the idyllic, perfect past zelda needs to feel obligated to rebuild while the shiekah are nothign but a funney gimick of purah now while everything else "just vanished" somehow bc we dont wanna deal with the shiekahs imperfect past so they really should be just a a helpful helper of the rocals (and the yiga a side note as a little threat to be different from the usual monsters but thats all that there is :)))) -

this is getting too long again .. feel free to add your two cents on it and if seeign the sonau like this makes them make more 'sense' to you too

#ganondoodles talks #ganondoodles rants #zelda #totk #there was a super neat thing i wanted to write out but then got distracted and forgot #aynway #maybe im overthinking it #but given how the game and its story goes #.............. doesnt feel like im reaching tbh

[sleepy-gee]

more of Sejanus corrupting innocent Coriolanus, please! *begs on my knees* You are so talented.

aw thank you <3 and of course!! loving this dynamic tbh it's so interesting

sooo let's say this is a sequel to my previous drabble.. the two have a weird friends with benefits situation that they kinda refuse to label because that'd just complicate things and they just wanna get their dicks wet.

coriolanus.. is fucking obsessed unfortunately. now he understands why his other male peers talk about sex so much. it does feel fucking incredible. sure, they're talking about fucking girls and his only experience is getting absolutely railed by his best friend.. but it's still sex, so...

they're back at sejanus' place for the night. sleepovers have gotten a lot more common between the two.. wonder why. sejanus' parents are out on some business trip, leaving the two boys alone.. you already see where i'm going with this.

they've already fucked once and are now just kinda lazily making out, tracing each others bodies. coriolanus is a very, very quick learner, they've come to find out. so, naturally, it comes up in conversation.

"i want you to ride me." sejanus blurted out. coriolanus pulled away from him, obviously caught off guard by the sudden request. "i think you'd be good at it.. based on everything else i've seen."

"i– that's, uh.." coriolanus laughed nervously, trying to ignore the ball of fire building up in his stomach. ".. i mean i can try.."

"i'd like for you to.." sejanus kissed his shoulder. "think you'd look so pretty on top of me.." another kiss. "so goddamn pretty." praise was a weak spot of coriolanus', something the brunette knew all too well and took advantage of whenever he could.

"mm.. fine.. but you're gonna have to show me how.." coriolanus sighed.

"always do." sejanus kissed the tip of his nose before laying back. carefully, he grabbed coriolanus by his waist and brought him on top of him. "still feeling ready from earlier?" coriolanus nodded.

"alright.. quite simple really.. first, we gotta get you down.." slowly, he guided his legs to the side. "then you just– ah, like that, yeah.." coriolanus sank down onto him with a breathy sigh, eyes already half lidded. "you're a fucking natural.."

"then..?"

"then.. comes the riding.. you need me to help or-?"

"no, no.. think i.. i should be able to do it.." coriolanus gave a tentative shift of his hips, groaning when he felt just how damn deep he had sejanus inside of him. he gave another shift.. then another..

his rhythm was a little uncalculated and clumsy, but it felt good.. that's all that mattered, right? he tried to focus on that, anyway.

and sejanus just had to open his big fat mouth. "look at you.. bouncing on me like a whore." he managed between grunts. "i've really ruined you, haven't i..?"

"you– you love to hear yourself talk, huh?" coriolanus shot back, earning a sharp thrust from the other. fair.

"don't act like you don't love it." sejanus dug his nails into coriolanus' thighs, leaving angry red marks in his pale skin. "you know i'm right.. turned you into a little whore, huh? just can't get enough of this.."

he'd never let sejanus get the satisfaction of hearing him say it, but.. he was right. he was hooked. coriolanus felt his legs begin to ache from all of the bouncing and reshifting, the pleasant ball of heat in his stomach beginning to extinguish. sejanus noticed too. "something wrong, baby?"

coriolanus shook his head no, sucking down a deep breath. ".. 'm fine."

"you don't look fine.. you're all red. need me to take over?"

".. you can if you want." was all he'd give him.

"only if you admit how much you love this."

touché. ".. and if i don't?"

"this is all you'll be getting, then."

coriolanus groaned. ".. fine. i love this. happy?"

sejanus grinned, giving another sharp thrust upwards of his hips, eliciting a whimper from the other. "what was that? i didn't hear you."

"sej-! shit– i love this-! that what you want?" he whined. thank god they were home alone.. his voice was at an embarrassing octave now.

"good boy. that wasn't so hard now, was it?"

and within seconds, sejanus had coriolanus laying on his stomach, face down with his back arched in just the right way to hit all of the right spots. it was nearly pitiful how easily coriolanus was reduced to a sobbing mess, begging just for the sake of it.

"getting dicked down by the district boy.. what would the others think?" sejanus taunted him when all was said and done.

"don't act like you don't love this." coriolanus shot right back.

dude i wrote this while listening to sex metal barbie by in this moment and holy fuckkk it was an experience. also sorry if the.. anatomical proportions, so to speak, are a little iffy? again i have no idea what im doing.. used other fics as reference lolol

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosbas #thg #the hunger games #snowjanus #coriolanus x sejanus #coriolanus snow #sejanus plinth #sub!coriolanus snow #softdom!sej

[inkstainedhandswithrings]

TBB S3 Ep 12 Thoughts!!

Gotta remember to look up what the title means

But starting off with rainy Tantiss and dark music

Setting the tone and I’m here for it!!

Ah yes

There he is

hemcock

I guess this joke is getting old but at this point I refuse to spell his name correctly

Yanno bitch really showed up with an undercut and an eyebrow slit right from the get go, like some well payed criminal

I never noticed that tbh

Ey yo Tech don’t shove your sister like that

The eye contact between omega and Emerie right of the bat got me like 👀

Girls are cooking

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re save.”

Right.

Damn occupied pabu hurts my heart

But hey batcher and hunter are okay

Crosshairs hand tremor acting up in a stressful convo with his bros

🥺🥺🥺🥺

my heart

Crosshair having potential info on Tantiss and not sharing it is… complicated. On the one hand he had the option to save his brothers and actively chose not to. On the other hand it is very clear that Crosshair suffers from PTSD as a result of the trauma he sustained there. Trauma is rarely something that allows you to act based on logic or even your own morals. It puts you in survival mode, not because you’re not strong enough to withstand it, but because it’s necessary. That’s why it’s called survival mode. Very likely every instinct within him told him not to return there and that can be hard to overcome. But he’s willing to take that step for Omega. Severe and unyielding, indeed.

Also, Omega not having that issue, not being scared to return to Tantiss isn’t a show of her strength or Crosshair’s weakness. They had different experiences and have different brains, therefore they process and deal differently. Crosshair is not the weaker link because he was unable to muster up the courage to return before now. He’s simply in a different place than she is.

PHEE AND AZI!!!

“Tech told me all about your sparkeling personality.”

PARDONNE MOI???

I BEG YOUR BIGGEST PARDON

JUST TECH???

NOT “YOUR BROTHERS TOLD ME ALL ABOUT…”???

NO JUST TECH HUH??

SPENT SOME ALONE TIME WITH HIM DID YA PHEE???

Also Phee and Cross bickering hihihehe

They have good sibling energy already (sister in law vibes huh)

Why did Hunter sound like Rex during the briefing?

Like he just put his “man in charge” hat on for the first time

Phee just straight up turning the ship off to get in undetected is such a Tech thing tbh

Obsessed

Gotta watch that again

Beautiful

Oh wait fuck RAMPART is WORKING THERE???

Serves him right

I love seeing this trio work together tbh

Hunter, Cross and Wrecker bring such a different vibe without Echo, Tech and/or Omega there and idk why or how to describe it but I am here for it

“Anything?”

“Yup.” *clocks him* “Clear.”

Baby <3

“You remembered. How touching.”

Queen💅😪✨

“Are you here to kill me?”

“Tempting. But, no.”

FUCK ME.

KING SHIT 👑

Rampart is still a whore then, huh?

“Oh, please. You’re not going to kill me.”

“Not yet.”

GO OFF

“We’re in this together.”

Yo buddy saying shit like that seems like a nice way to loose some teeth

“This is your new home.”

The fact that they left us on THAT line

OW

Fr most of my thoughts on this are Crosshair brain rot and if I wasn’t so busy today you’d get to read it. (No u probably PROBABLY won’t get it another time bc I am adhd and I either forget or don’t have the motivation later so… lots of good thoughts get lost in the void unfortunately)

#cross is really making a run for the pedestal I put rex on huh #still low-key disappointed that he and echo weren’t there today but seeing as this is headed to an attack on Tantiss I can’t imagine we’re #far from that happening #star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #tbb omega #tbb echo #captain rex #tbb spoilers #tbb s3 #tbb s3 spoilers #star wars the bad batch

[phyrestartr]

Your Godly Path Leads Back To Him | Miguel O'hara x Male!Reader

#NSFW, Male Reader, Western/Cowboys, Miguel O'hara is a sheriff, complicated emotions, reunion trope, mentions of abuse, mentions of drinking, mentions of past trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, religious themes, men working through their shit, sad old men being sad, one-shot(?)

Notes: Dude this is so long lol I'm EXHAUSTED after powering through this, but it had to be done!! Had this one in the drafts for a while after listening to Preacher's Daughter by Ethel Cain and SHEESH. I wanted to write about some cowboys okay that's all tysm

--Your Godly Path Leads Back To Him--

"I love ya, pretty boy," you murmured into the soft dip of his cheek, leaving behind the scorch of your lips: an invisible scar, one that'd ruin his perfect smile next time the sun rose. 

Miguel's gaze traced lines into you to make you bleed. Across the expanse of bite-tainted shoulders, grazing the vital veins and tendons of your neck, up to the thoughtfully chiseled features God hand-picked for you, His favourite, the man he poured silvered moonlight onto, filling in your crystalline eyes that very moment Miguel finally caught them gazing his way after you dared to maim him. 

The thin, scratchy blanket shifted, and let prickly hay nip at Miguel's bare skin when you held the side of his face with a warm, calloused hand. You burned away his nerves, eased away anything that could distract him from you, from that moment. 

What was Miguel supposed to say? 

"Hey," you whispered. Your fingers grazed against his forehead as you brushed dark locks away from blurred eyes and creased brows. "Come on now, don't make that face. My love such a bad thing?" 

Miguel laughed, like the sun braving a rainy day. "Maybe, with a track record like yours." A deflection. A cheap, easy thing Miguel tried to fit behind. But you knew him too damn well. 

"Pretty boy and a funny guy, huh?" You hummed and picked yourself off your side, slotting back into the spot you'd carved between Miguel's legs, flush up to his hips–the place you'd been all night. Goosebumps on tawny skin rose to meet your phantom touches. Not even the warmth of the summer night's breeze could help him. 

"Glad not even your daddy could beat the life out of you." Your words licked across his neck before your lips seared those in, too. 

"Well, I--I, uh…" Clay brown eyes fluttered shut when you touched him. "I really–" He tried again. Miguel's head dug back into the hay, gifting a speckle of splintering hay crackles to the ambience of mooning crickets. The littlest sighs, the gentlest of moans, so spent and eager, slipped from between his tired, wanting lips, bolstering the symphony of the night. 

Your lips found his again. Your tongue tasted him, finding the familiar smoke of fine whiskey and the sweet icing of flaked pastries. One of your hands threaded into his hair and held the back of his neck, keeping him close, stopping him from seeing the swirling haze in your own eyes. 

"It's alright, honey," you whispered against his cheek before you pushed into him, "you ain't gotta say it back." His hands flew to your back, clawing into your skin and pulling your body flush against his. Miguel's stuttered gasps found a home in the warmth of your shoulder, and you etched quiet moans over the mark you'd already left. Such a greedy, evil man you were. 

And that’s why you couldn’t love him.

But you did, and you kept telling him while you held him, even though it made your heart ache, even though it made your heart break. Because it was so horribly, painfully, undeniably true–you loved him. You loved the bastard son of the sheriff. You loved the man who was to be wed to a beautiful woman with wide hips and the gift of giving him the family he always dreamed of for himself.

And you? You were trouble. A dog on the road, scrounging for scraps, looking for any woman or sorry soul to take you in for the night–and then you found yourself neither, and didn't know how to walk away from what you’d found. 

But trouble was always gonna find you, whether it be your man’s father or his wife’s, the corrupt deputies and counties paid to find you, the do-gooder bounty hunters looking for their payday.  You'd be damned if you let trouble find him: Miguel O'hara, a cocky prick, a ladies man, a man who gave you love and patience when you needed it most. 

This was the last night you were gonna love him.

–

Ten hours later, you were gone. 

– 

Ten years later, you were back.

– 

The market was busy. Customers and vendors alike bustled through cramped cobbled streets, but Miguel heard one voice clear as day like lightning striking through the darkest storm.

"You lookin' for your momma, sweetheart?" 

Then, he heard his Gabi. 

His boots thumped against the ground hard on his dash towards his little one. Folks in the crowd hurried out of his way or got pushed past until Miguel spied his baby girl talking to a fellow crouched down to her level. It was you, wearing that same damn hat, toting that same damn bag over your shoulder, wearing those same damn boots, all in the town where you'd met. 

"Papá's gone," Gabi sniffed, clutching onto the fabric of her dress with trembling little hands. "I-I dunno where he went!" 

"Hey, hey, you're okay, baby. We'll find him." You pat her head and smoothed some of the flyaways that escaped her braids. "We'll find that old sheriff and–" 

"Well, you found him," Miguel cut in, sauntering in on the conversation with his thumbs hooked into the worn leather of his belt. He did his best to gaze at you with a stranger's stare, but he was already losing the game he decided to play. 

Especially when your eyes flicked to him, looking less than surprised and more than happy to see him, if that crooked smile was anything to go off of. 

Gabriella threw herself at Miguel and buried her little face into his shirt, staining the worn cotton with drops of tears. Miguel pat her head before kneeling down and holding her hands in his. 

"You alright, mija?" He cooed, concern softening his voice and taking the fight out of him. Gabi nodded dramatically and Miguel wiped her eyes. "You can't run off like that, kid, you had me scared half to death." 

"I-I know, ‘m sorry.” And she really did look it, but Miguel knew her wanderlusting, bored little self would get lost in the crowds again, thinking she’d always make it back to her daddy. It could never happen to me was a jinx thought too many times. Everything could happen to them. Anything. Just like you leaving. 

Right. The sheriff’s eyes glanced up to find yours again, but he found an empty space instead. Gone. Again. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised by that. 

–

But when night fell, he had an inkling of where to find you. 

Miguel found Lyla’s bar, that place where men drank ill of the divine’s blood, where you would drink yourself, the cannibal you were. 

Upon first glance around the room, through the cheers of his title and welcoming smiles, he didn’t find you. But Lyla nodded at the backdoor, and Miguel had his answer. 

He grabbed a drink on the way out, maybe to settle his nerves or to drown you with, he wasn’t sure. The song of a guitar called to him the second he cracked that back door open. Like a fisherman drawn to the siren’s voice, he followed it earnestly, the hand holding his bottle tightening while earthen brown eyes searched for you–

And there you were, sat on a log bench, thick cigar hanging from your lips, drink at your side, plucking away at tired strings for a crowd of ghosts around a dark phantom fire. Worshippers, no doubt. Specters of lovers passed, maybe. 

Moonlight draped across your shoulders like the thick blankets of snow weighing on the surrounding cedars. They, too, listened to the hymn, bowing how they could to show their fealty to you. But you didn’t mind it, not acting how godly things were said to act, instead welcoming them as real brothers and sisters and others, all equal on the same ground. Miguel didn’t know how you could still not have a care in the world when the world cared so much for you. 

Miguel’s boots crunched in the snow, and you turned your gaze to him. Now that he had the time to spare, he took in the lines and wear on your fine face, the age added under mischievous eyes and the new, silvered scars glowing against your complexion. Older, and handsomer. How was it possible? How was that fair? 

Then that horrible smile appeared, the one he’d felt sear into his skin all those years ago. He felt it now, burning on his neck, on his lips, and somehow he knew you felt it, too. Under a moonlit night, in the old barn of his daddy’s estate, you’d taught him your gospel from sunset to sunrise, showed him how mercy felt, how a kind god’s hand could heal. Those lips whispered to him things prophets wish they knew, things they’d give everything to hear first before any other man–but no, it was just for Miguel. 

You stood and walked to him, guitar in-hand, and Miguel lost all sense of mind. 

– 

He slammed you up against his front door once the damn thing closed and blocked out the cold, leaving you victim to his gnashing teeth and clawing hands. His knee found its place snug up against your crotch as he devoured your voice with a scorned kiss, filled with the clash of fangs and demanding bites. You moaned into him, too weak to deny him his wants, or to deny yourself. 

"Your daughter–" you gasped once his mouth left yours. You muffled a moan into his shoulder as he ground his knee against your crotch harder. "Miguel–" 

"She's with Peter for the night," he breathed into your neck inbetween hot, open-mouthed kisses left on your scarred skin. "Figured something'd be happenin' tonight." 

"Hmm." You smiled into the leather of his jacket and left a soft kiss there before leaning back to spy his handsome face. "Glad we can pick up where we left off, Sheriff." 

"Hardly." His hand found your neck, and you offered your throat, your blood, for communion. For union. "You've got some fucking gall showing up around here again, let me tell you. Gotta say I have questions about where you've been, why you left, why you're back now." The pressure around your throat tightened and you coughed just the slightest bit to prove your mortality. Miguel's eyes, deep and dark like wine, drank you in now that he had you where he wanted you. 

"You think you got some answers for me, trouble?" The sheriff asked. 

You grinned. Not even that damn cuff around your throat could scare you off, truth be told. 

"I just might." 

Miguel's lips followed the path of your whisper back to your sinful mouth once again, and he kissed you. You clung to him, a god yearning to taste the sweetness that humanity had cultivated, and let him take the reins–the human would know humanity best, after all. 

His knee left the spot between your legs, but his hips closed the gap in its stead and ground hard against you. Sparks ignited from between your bodies, and you moaned. Miguel's soft, breathy sigh melted into your voice as his lips lingered against your very own. It felt too much like the past. 

"Shh, Christ–don't you know how to shut up?" Miguel asked with the wickedest grin stretched across those fine features of his, like he wasn't the bastard at the root of your noise. 

"Oh, you're really asking for an ass-kicking, shit head," you scoffed, but couldn't help the laugh that sank into his cheek. "Want me to make no noise, huh? Make you think you're doing a shit job getting me off?" Miguel's hand tightened around your length, then. Maybe he liked being a lil degraded. 

"Câllate. I know I'm doing a good job." His face twisted into a pouty frown. "Now hurry up and touch me, too." Miguel's face couldn't get more red with the demand. 

But you grinned and complied. Tucked away in the barn where all dark deeds were done, you pulled loose his belt and unzipped those old jeans before palming him up and showing him what it meant to worship.

Miguel moaned and leaned into your touch, pushing you deeper into the thick wooden support beam keeping everything standing. Your first hands worked each other to find Eden while the second hands wandered and touched, trying to find where they were supposed to land next on their quest into the great unknown. The bible had been so, so wrong, so now what was their guide? 

Each other, the answer would be. 

Oil-slicked fingers pistoned into your tight hole with frenzied purpose, stretching you open and wide for all Miguel had waiting on offer. Your fingernails caught into every hitch and grain of the wooden dining table beneath you, somewhere you'd find no purchase but decided you didn't deserve any; this was, after all, divine punishment, was it not? 

Though it was unceremonious the way he yanked those fingers out and slammed his cock in, filling you to the brim in one fatal flourish, tearing a choked gasp from your smoke-addled throat. Your forehead dug into the wood as your hips jolted back to find more of him. Miguel's hands, broad and calloused, held fast to your hips and stroked the taught muscle there, the stretched skin over bone, with his thumbs. He smoothed your skin and soothed any aches you felt in the aftermath of man's brutality. 

Just when you thought to snap at him to move, he rocked his hips against yours slowly, pulsing into you with shallow, merciful thrusts. But even just that was enough to snatch the air out of your lungs.

Miguel blanketed your body with his own, bending over you and breathing softly against the shell of your ear as his weight pinned you to the table. You had to admit the man was giving you whiplash with every flip of your punishment. 

"Go a little harder, baby," you whispered sweetly, nearing on begging as you pushed your hips back against his. 

Miguel's rhythm stuttered. His hands tightened around your waist, blunt nails digging into soft sides as the teeth by your ear snicked together with the hiss of a breath, of words unspoken. 

"You want harder?" Miguel mumbled. He buried his face into your neck and inhaled deep, filling his lungs with that scent you brought with you when you escaped whatever holy shrine man had imprisoned you in. 

"Fine." His chest left your back as he stood up straight. You felt the shift in the room before he slammed into you over and over again like you owed him this. 

And you did. You'd left. You'd run away after showing your heart to him. You could've left without a word. You should've. But where else would you find someone to drag you down to Earth the way he did? 

His hand slipped under your neck then and tightened fiercely as he used you, and your mind snapped back to the present, to how this communion threatened to rot into sacrifice. You didn't seek the unholy. You didn't want faith like this. 

"Stop," you rasped. Your hands clawed at the noose around your neck when words didn't work. Turns out it scared you just a bit more than you thought."Miguel." 

"I thought you wanted it hard," his voice growled into your ear, too distant from that charisma and snark you knew and fell for. He was cold. Angry. Not saying what he wanted to say. 

"I–" but you coughed and saw the abyss for a second when you thought your neck might give, and instincts stepped in for you. 

You managed to shove Miguel off, so hard in fact he crashed back into the counter where dishes sat drying in a rack. They clattered to the dismal tune of your dying heart while you caught your breath and tried to steady your legs underneath yourself as you stared hard at the man who'd never hurt you. 

You'd had your fair share of flirty women and shameful men, whether it was a job to make a quick buck, a ploy to rob them in  the night, or an attempt at finding something real. 

The women were always kindly, confessing of the snakes in the garden out front and the woes they felt in the house in the times their husbands lurked. Always so intimate, always so willing to open their hearts and their bodies to you. You'd give them the same respect in kind, murmuring about a boy you still loved, hinting at the skeletons laid hidden in a hundred different pieces in your closet. Two wanting beings seeking a kind One's touch. 

But the men made you less than human. Filled to the brim with callous denial and self-loathing, blaming you for what they'd done and what they'd do. You hated them for what they'd do to you. You hated them for proving man was beyond saving. You hated them because they were just like the one that came before you.

And maybe you hated them for reminding you what your mortal man could do to you, too.

But Miguel looked shell-shocked. A little too human, a little too unlike those others with the way his wide eyes scanned you over as his own chest heaved and his own two hands struggled with what to do. He almost took a step forward, but took it back. 

Miguel's voice broke through, real soft and quiet. "(Name), I–"

"Don't," you snapped, hating the way your voice shook. You wondered if you'd ever yelled at your daddy this way. 

"You don't get to–no, not you. You don’t get to do that to me. Anyone but you." Because he was your prophet. Someone you could hide with and share the darkest of the dark with in safety, away from the rest of the hated world. What would you be if you lost him, too? 

You didn't know what you expected, maybe to be kicked out or yelled at again if history repeated itself, but Miguel braving those steps towards you and holding you close was nothing short of a needed surprise. You were both something of a mess, pants all awry and brows creased with sweat and emotion, but with the mess came comfort. And to you, comfort smelled like licorice, sun, and leather. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. And your heart swelled; men didn't say that to you. No one ever said that to you.

Your arms, tentative and maybe a little afraid, found their way around his waist, and you pulled him in closer. Miguel's shoulders relaxed with every soothing sweep of your palm against his back, and you let his weight fall into you a little bit more. Because as much as he was your happy place, you were his, too. 

Miguel laughed bitterly before he said, "I guess I'm more like my father than I wanna admit." 

Wife beater.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. "You know that ain't true." His eyes looked away from you then, and you caught his cheek with your hand to stop the rest of his head from following. "It's been a long time. There's…quite a bit left unsaid." 

Miguel huffed something of a laugh as he leaned into your touch. "Huh, that was almost poetic. You been reading up since you were gone?" 

"Might've stolen a few pretty books from some fanciful folks here 'n there." You smiled. 

"Yeah? Guess it was worth it, if you're talking like that now." 

"Wasn't worth leavin' you." 

Earthen eyes found you again, looking wide and innocent like those fauns you saw on your travels. You liked that look on him, the look of a pretty boy being awed by a roadbound hooligan. You thought maybe you could get him to blush, too.

Your other hand found the empty side of his face and cupped it, mirroring the other, before you leaned in and closed your eyes. This time, cinders sparked against your lips when they met, proving that man, indeed, created flame without heavenly guidance. That burgeoning blaze bloomed and blossomed when you kissed Miguel O'hara to remind him of the words you spoke that night ten years ago: 

I love ya, pretty boy. You ain't gotta say it back. 

Because the fire in you had enough heat to keep two warm at night.

"I never should've left you," you murmured against his lips. "I thought–I figured it'd be for the best, but–" your voice died in your throat when Miguel's lips caught your chatty mouth and dove into another hot kiss. You sighed, happy to abandon that solemn train of thought in favour of slipping your arms around his neck and enjoying him like you were 21 all over again. 

"I know," Miguel mumbled when he parted and let you breathe. "You wouldn't leave for nothin', selfless bastard." He smiled a little. "But I'm still cross with you." 

Your hands moved to curl into his worn shirt as you nodded. "I know."

"And we're gonna sort everything out." 

"Good." 

"But right now," he started before catching your chin between his fingers and tilting your head up the slightest bit, "I think I'd like another shot at fucking you silly, mi amor." 

Your stomach dipped into sticky, gooey desire. Mi amor. The words radiated through every nerve and cell of your design.

You nodded. "Go right ahead." 

This time, Miguel swept you up into his arms and carried you up the stairs like a bride on her wedding day while you laughed and dotted him with kisses all over. He all but threw you onto the bed before you both tore each other's clothes away in a fit of love and lust, too eager to see one another at your most vulnerable. 

Miguel's broad hands smoothed down your chest and thighs as he settled between them, and the look in his half-lidded eyes had your stomach coiling with impatience. But he took his time, dipping his fingers into the lines and creases of scars and muscle, pressing against each errant beauty mark he found hidden on your warm skin. But, thankfully, his impatience won out, and he rushed to pick up where you’d both left off.

You were glad to hold onto him this time as he filled you again. Your hands grabbed at his shoulders and clawed at his back as he kissed your neck and rolled against you slowly, gradually convincing your tight heat to relax and let him back in. And Miguel was quite the persuasive one, rocking his hips in a delicious tempo of short, shallow half-notes, whispering fluttering words of praise when he charted forgotten ground. A worthy worshiper, truly.

Your hips jolted when his pressed to yours. "Shit," you rasped into his shoulder when he bottomed out, but only after teasing your soft spot for a few agonizing minutes. 

Miguel chuckled lightly. He licked a long stripe up your neck before biting into your flesh and earning himself a hearty moan. You bit him back, if only to be a brat; gods could do whatever they wanted.

"You feel good?" He asked, like he didn't already know the answer.

You nodded against him before you allowed him to pull you back to get a look at your brows twisted together, at the love-drunk blush smeared across your face, at the half-lidded heaviness of dilated eyes. He kissed you like that once, twice, and then his forehead pressed against yours when he showed you what he was really meant for. 

Long forgotten were the seconds spent downstairs on the dining table. Now is all that remained: the heat rippling through your thighs, the fire in your core, lava in your veins that moved when he did, spreading an impossible bliss through every inch of your being. 

"Honey," you gasped between the soft pants and choked moans. Your fingers threaded through his hair and held his neck as Miguel fucked the air out of your lungs and spoiled himself with your rare little noises. 

Miguel smirked. "Oh? Already?" He lifted his forehead from yours to kiss and mark your neck the way you so selfishly did in the past. "Don't, ah, tell me you're losing your touch." 

"Shut–shut up," you grumbled. "Still got an annoying fucking mouth for such a–oh." 

Miguel's hips angled slightly differently in that second, brushing up against a spot that had you seeing stars and your body tightening up and demanding more. A shaky, loud moan slipped past Miguel's defenses, too, and he made damn sure to focus his attention on that spot. 

"Fuck, you feel good, viejo," Miguel moaned over the creaking of the bed. 

“Hah. You’re welcome,” you cooed, ego stretched and lazing, and then you gasped louder as Miguel cranked it up a notch and slammed against your sweet spot with more fervor than before. You bit his shoulder again in defiance. 

Miguel laughed, breathless and shaky as his control slipped and he delved into your body with primal instinct. Your thighs tightened around his waist, eager to feel that grand finale you’d been craving since you laid your eyes on him.

“Miggs?” 

“Mh?”

“Kiss me.” 

And he obliged, igniting the trail of gunpowder from the tip of your tongue and letting it burn all the way to the dynamite bundled up tight in your stomach. You exploded, burning bright with too many colours as your back arched and your arms seized your lover tightly. Beautiful nonsense left your mouth and filled the air with the mess of bed creaks and Miguel’s voice rose and rose before stopping altogether as he spilled his warmth inside your molten centre. 

He kissed you lazily. Little, shaky moans rattled against your teeth as Miguel rocked against you through the aftershocks and pulled every last drop of pleasure from himself. It made you smug; his wife, dead or alive, clearly didn’t fuck him the way you could. 

It took some time to come down, but when you both did, he was settled up against you, his back against your chest as you leaned against the headrest and played with his hair. One of your hands was confiscated so the sheriff may look over the silvered scars and healing wounds–a few of the many trophies you’d earned on your travels. 

“So?” Miguel murmured. 

“Hm?”

“Why’d you leave?”

You took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. Too many thoughts plagued your mind, too many reasons, too many excuses all piling up on each other like bodies in a war. But you had to find that truth and show it to him. It’s what he expected. It’s what you actually owed him. 

“Well, your old man wanted me dead.” Miguel tensed against you for a moment, and you were quick to calm him with the scratch of your nails against his scalp. He melted into you, and you smiled. “You know how Delgato loves to talk. Never shuts the fuck up, actually. Was a good thing this time, though, otherwise I’d be killed three times over.” 

Miguel huffed a soft laugh. “Guess so. But why you?”

“Because I wanted you. I guess I had you, too, and that wasn’t the plan, right? You had to marry Dana.” You sighed softly and shook your head. “If she weren’t so wicked fine, I’d be more bent out of shape about it.” 

You sensed Miguel roll his eyes. “Santa Muerte. Do you ever think with your head instead of your cock?” 

“Seems like a waste of time,” you jabbed back with a cheeky grin. You leaned in and kissed his shoulder while he grumbled and mumbled to himself. 

“So that’s it? You left because that low-life wanted you dead?” 

“Hold on, hold on. Let me keep talkin’.” You adjusted your arms around him before you continued. “My daddy was a crook, a real good one, too. Momma wasn’t much better. Guess you could call her a murderer, but she was a smart one. She brought back the magic that was Aqua Tofana back in the 60s. Poisoned him. Killed him." Your fingers traced around errant freckles splashing across the nape of his neck as you thought back. "Tyler Stone found out about it." 

Miguel cursed under his breath. He leaned more of his weight back into your chest. Your arms tightened around him, too. 

"Came after that old woman who threw the blame on me, and then they came after me." A bitter smile drained your light. "Traveled all over the place, ran even more. 'N then…somehow ended up falling for the bastard son of the man I was running from." You sighed and nuzzled against Miguel's shoulder. "The cruel irony of it all, hey?" 

"You don't have to run anymore," Miguel said, voice oozing with the power of a sheriff. He turned in your hold, and sat facing you with his strong hands holding your shoulder and your cheek. "You're done running." 

You huffed a breath through your nose before you hung your head the slightest bit. "Says who?" 

"Says me.” Both hands held your face now, bringing your attention back to Miguel’s divinely cut features as he tried to speak some sense into you. “The man you said you loved. The bastard son of the man you were runnin' from." His thumbs rubbed soothing paths along your cheekbones. “You know you’re done runnin’, too. Why else would you come back here?” 

And maybe there was some truth to those words. Why did you come back here? Were you tired of the road? Tired of the gun fights, the robbing, the lying? Is that why you trekked your horse down these familiar roads without even realizing it until you saw that old church stretching above the rising sun? Or maybe you were following threads of your fate, wandering to the tune of your South-flying heart when your chest finally got too cold after ten years without light. 

Yeah, maybe you were done running. 

Your nose brushed his when you leaned into him. “You want me to stay, pretty boy?” 

“I’ll make you stay. Sheriff’s promise. Besides,” Miguel murmured. His forehead pressed to yours and his eyes fell closed before the next whisper changed everything: “Te amo.” 

Your eyes watered, so you let them fall closed, too. The barest of laughs broke through your quivering breaths. It was relief that flooded you, and those two little words were the ark that raised you up out of your misery and confusion of the world. You felt like you could breathe. Like you meant something for once. Like maybe the hymns and verses might have been based on truth. 

“Well,” you started, leaning into the summer touch wiping away your autumn tears, “why didn’t you say so sooner?” 

“I should’ve. I really should’ve.” Miguel laughed something warm and loud when you yanked him in for a hug and peppered him with salty kisses all over his face. “H-Hey, hey, you didn’t give me an answer!” 

“Forgot the question, Sheriff,” you mumbled as you squeezed him. “Ask again?” 

Miguel scoffed fondly before kissing your earlobe and murmuring into your ear. “You feel like kickin’ up your feet and giving up on running, trouble?” 

You grinned to yourself and returned the kiss.

“I do.”

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