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chuluoyi · 1 day

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࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 12:34 A.M 」

18+ suggestive content! cw. fingering, bindfold play, squirting, p in v. sorry for being mia :') a lot happened during my trip so... a little filth as i hop into my vacation :D courtesy of blindfold and thirst nonnies in my askbox~

a part of gojo's love entries

“it’s... dark.”

“heh. of course, wifey~”

“and i’m cold...”

satoru’s plush lips curved into a sly smirk at your whine. you were undisputedly the most adorable thing he had ever laid his honored eyes on.

because now, under him, you— so pliant and so pretty in your nakedness glory, with both your hands tied and eyes covered by his blindfold, you were his to feast on.

“don't worry, sweets. you’ll get warm soon~ i’ll help you, yeah?”

“…why did i agree to this in the first place?” you wanted to curse your afternoon self for complying to this just because you couldn't bear to see satoru’s glassy eyes. he had just come back from an intercity mission, rambling about how much he missed you during the three weeks he was away, and insisted that he deserved his reward—tying you up with his many blindfolds.

“heh, you won’t regret it, i promise.” you couldn't see your husband's face, but you could sense his gaze on you, predatory like a lion eying a small cat.

and yeah, of course you were that small cat... about to accept its fate.

“first thing first... let’s start with this...”

he took a hold of your bound wrists pinned them above your head, causing you to arch your back. and damn, this position somehow made your heart thump faster. you started to feel hot too. deprived from your eyesight, your other senses heightened, which meant each touch satoru landed on you would, well...

he traced your body, from your nipples, down to your stomach, and over your hips. his touches were so featherlight, they almost tickled you, but then—

“ahh—!” you gasped when he put his nimble finger into your pussy so suddenly without warning. your breath caught when he pushed that one finger deeper, and then, against your will, you moaned unabashedly.

“look at you,” he chuckled darkly. “my precious little wifey... so freaking cute. just feel, yeah? it’ll feel good soon. you know it already.”

he pulled his finger in and out painfully slowly, and it made you squirm. “w-why so... slow?” you blurted amidst pants, feeling each stroke of his index finger being engulfed by your walls more vividly than you expected.

“oh? you want it fast? i thought i was being considerate to prepare you first, sweets~”

and again, without warning—or because you couldn’t see him at all—suddenly he picked up the pace, causing your jaw to drop. it was overwhelming— so much that your body spasmed and you screamed out his name, “ah... ah! ngh! satoruuu!”

you were so beautiful, like this. satoru felt himself hard already seeing the sheer bare beauty of your body, how wet you'd become, and how helpless you were under him.

and as if mesmerized, he almost didn’t catch himself inserting another finger and scissoring you almost immediately afterwards, making you squeal.

“o-oh god—!” you writhed pitifully, straining your body. your legs shook at the immense stimulation your husband imposed on you. with your vision taken away, everything felt so intense. you moaned out his name again in a flurry when he hit that one spot inside you.

“t-there!” you heaved a breath. “right there—! oh, satoru, you—!”

and then, right then, a pressing urge to—you didn’t know what—drove you almost to tears, and you felt it—

“shit, are you—” satoru widened his eyes as soon as he felt your wetness drenching his entire hand in one spray.

you’re squirting. “damn, blindfolds sure work wonders, huh.” he licked his fingers clean, very satisfied by how things were coming along.

“ah... hah, mmnh...!” your voice sounded more like a sob. you couldn’t believe this. all of that... just because of his fingers? the darkness must’ve driven you mad.

you were most sensitive right after an orgasm, and it felt like it was doubled by your lack of sight. you were still shaking from the aftershock of it and as if to soothe you, satoru peppered kisses on your entire body—which turned into sucking you and leaving his mark.

“you know… you look good covered by my hickeys too.”

his lips was everywhere—your neck, above your breasts, your left nipple, your stomach. you could only squirm helplessly at the heightened feeling. and true to his words, your body soon was littered with his little marks.

you could only pant and moan when he finally inched his hardened member inside you. the way your walls took him inside made a tear slip past your covered eyes—hells, he grew this hard by just watching you bound and blindfolded?

and for the next half an hour, you changed positions—you were now riding him. your bound wrists were now wound tight around his neck, and your legs locked against his waist snugly. through the haze of darkness, you blindly bounced on him.

it took you no time for the coil in your stomach to burn again.

“you’re doing so well—hgn—” satoru groaned and latched his mouth on your chest again, both hands securing your waist. “damn, i’m close—!”

and you felt him did. suddenly the familiar feeling of his hot cum filling you was the only thing you could feel. you were a mess of incoherent moans as he creampied you, trembling as you leaned on him.

you were almost there too. you wanted to cry at the over-sensitivity of all this was— and you didn’t know if you were imagining things or not but your belly felt like it was bulging too just because he had filled you up.

“satoruuuu—!” your moans were the loudest yet as you burst, and you could swear you blacked out due to sheer exhaustion as the next thing you knew, you could see him and your husband gathered you into his arms.

“hey, you okay?” he wiped your tears, a frown on his face. “too much?”

you slumped in his hold, your head lolling to his chest. “mmhm...”

. . .

“i can’t believe you passed out just after two rounds,” satoru giggled as he combed through your hair. “usually you last more than that.”

you huffed. “you’re the meanest of the mean.”

“no? i granted your wish. you told me to touch you there and i did~”

truthfully, you felt so exhausted afterwards. it felt like all your energy was sapped away.

“well, and i get to see you sleeping like a little kitten now. it’s a good deal.” he bopped his nose with yours, before squeezing your smaller frame against his. “my cute wife is fragile. i have to go easy on her~”

you pouted and buried your face deeper in his chest. lord, yeah, you admitted that your lovemaking earlier was possibly one of the best. the feeling of his skilled fingers on you… you sighed. if you were a cat, you would be purring already at the sheer thought.

perhaps sensing that you were thinking back to earlier session, satoru suddenly hummed.

“well, how about we try tying me up next~?”

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banquetwriter · 2 days

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Could you write a Fem!reader x Johnnie Guilbert where fem!reader forgets to take her ADHD meds so she is bouncing off of the walls.

୨୧ a million miles a minute ୨୧

pairing: Johnnie Guilbert ♡︎ Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ reader gets overwhelmed but it's not intense or anything dw

summary: ʚ Johnnie has to deal with you off your adhd meds ɞ

Words: 1591

An: watch the valentines day baking video on Johnnie channel bc this is based off that video and the dead blind mute baking challenge lol

“Ahhhhh are you ready?” you squealed, scooting your socked feet over to the camera set on the tripod. “Yeah, we should be good to go,” Johnnie says, setting his phone down as you adjust the camera's settings.

“Can you please scoot into frame my good sir.” you request trying to make sure it's focused. “Oh of course your highness,” he replies, scooting over a bit more into the camera view. “Ok ok a little moreeee.” you plead. “Jeez you asked too much of me.” he jokes, moving even closer into the frame.

You let out a small giggle at his words. The world around you slowly starts to fade away as you hyper-fixate on the camera. YouTube and video making are some of your biggest fixations and you need to make sure it is absolutely perfect.

You supposed you were taking too long because after about a minute you hear Johnie complaining behind the camera. “Baby hurry up.” he moans tapping the counter mindlessly. You squeal, feeling like your limbs are turning into concrete from standing too long.

“Sorry sorry! The camera is being mean to me,” you reply, finally deciding that the video was good enough. You slide around to the kitchen and crash into Johnnie slightly. “Woah watch it there,” he mumbles with a smile watching you fix your hair into place.

“Sorryyyy,” you mumble, making sure all the shit you two were going to use in the video was all set up. You look up at the camera and realize you never even pressed record. “Oh shit hold on.” you scoot yourself back over the camera much to Johnnie’s chagrin.

“Oh, Jesus come on,” he mumbles, watching you. “I'm sorry!!” you squeal again. “You took so long setting up that I thought you were programming a drone strike back there.” he jokes, starting to laugh at his own words as you press the record button.

You poke your head out from the camera with a shocked face. “I'm just kidding,” he says, holding his arms out as you use the tile to slide against him again. You bump into him but don't pull away at first. He smiles down at you and presses a kiss on your forehead.

You pull away with a big dopey grin unable to hide the glee he gives you. “I'm sorry I took so long to set up,” you say, holding your arms up and moving to the counter. “It's fine, don't worry about it,” he says with a grin.

“And I was just setting up to film a YouTube video. I can't imagine how hard it must be to shoot porn.” you joke with him laughing at your own words. He looks at you with a slight grin. “Jesus you're on one today,” he mutters looking at the camera that was (thankfully) now recording. “Hi everyone and welcome to this video that's already going great,” Johnnie says waving to his camera.

You giggle at his attitude and crouch down from how hard you were laughing. Johnnie rolled his eyes and looked down at you. “Can you please pull yourself together and film this with me? It's Valentine's Day, it's supposed to be romantic.” he mutters.

His words seem harsh but they aren't, he has a huge grin on his face as he holds his hand out to you to hell you off the floor. “Ahhh I'm sorry.” you apologize, then taking his hand you jump to your feet ready to start the video.

“Today your favorite chefs Gordan Ramsey and…” Johnnie says pointing to you. You try to think of another famous chef but nothing comes to mind. It felt like it had been filled with fizzy rocks and it was useless to come to terms with anything you were thinking.

“Ummm.” you start, furrowing your brow and wondering why it was so hard to concentrate today. You look at Johnnie with a small frown as you couldn't come up with any names. “Who is another chef?” you whisper at him biting your nails.

It wasn't a habit you were proud of by any means but it usually calmed you down. “Uh Chef Boyardee,” Johnnie says with a smile. You start laughing at his answer. “Duh,” he mutters again as you pretend to wipe your fake tears away.

“Dude I'm already pissed off in this video because you took so long to set it up,” he says using his hands to speak. You roll your eyes at his words, “Oh I’m sorry princess I didn't hurry up.” you mock him. “Oh Jesus am I gonna get called baby girl and princess now?” he said, rubbing his face as you laughed at him.

He picks up a few of the hideously colored boxes for you to hold and hands them to you. He picked up the rest and refocused the video. “So today we are gonna be making a bunch of Valentine's Day items,” he says looking at the boxes.

“I don't think we are gonna be making all of them, y/n hasn't taken her ADHD meds today, as you can tell. And is bouncing off the walls today… well, it's night but whatever.” he says, setting the boxes down and looking out the window.

“Well I think we should start with this one, the sugar cookie hearts,” you suggested showing the camera the box. “It looks yummyyyyy.” you comment looking at the box. The two continue making the video. There were many instructions and different moving parts and Johnnie, god bless him, was not good at being able to keep anything organized.

The lack of meds was catching up to your brain. You felt like crying. It seemed the world wasn't on your side right now, you forgot to take them one time and you're about to cry while making stupid treats.

Johnnie dumped a flavor packet into the borderline soup the two of you had made. It unfortunately missed the batter and landed mostly on the floor. “Johnnie,” you whined, all of your funny banter gone.

You took a deep breath and rubbed your face. You crouched down to your knees and sat on the floor. “Y/n? Are you ok?” Johnnie asked, looking at the camera. Then back at you.

You lifted your head a little, nodding. “Yeah, I'm ok. Just without my meds, I'm getting really overwhelmed right now.” you confess clutching your legs to your chest. Johnnie sets everything down wiping his hands on his shirt before rushing to the camera to turn it off.

He presses the button on the device before crouching down to the floor next to you. The oven went off indicating it was preheated and ready to cook your monstrosity of a creation. “I'm sorry Johnnie. I hate when people think ADHD is getting hyper.” you mumble hiding your face in between your knees.

“You're good baby, don't worry, ok? Do you need anything?” he asked scooting next to you, careful not to touch you to make anything worse. “No no I'm good it's just stressing me out how much stuff is going on,” you said moving your hands all over the place to demonstrate.

He smiles at you, not because he thinks it's funny you're overstimulated but because of your hand motions. “I know it can be stressful. Do you want me to finish the video by myself?” he asked. You lifted your head to look at him.

He doesn't say anything except look into your eyes. You just smiled at his offer. “No! I wanna finish it with you. I just needed a break. That's all.” you said, a wide grin plastered on his face.

He really loved you, didn't he? “Ok let me know if you need me to,” he whispered. Inching closer to your face. You completed the space between the two of you, pressing your lips against his. He moved his right hand to cup your face.

You pull away after a second with a smirk feeling much better overall. “Of course, I wanted to finish filming with you, it's Valentine's Day andI love you!” you said sitting up and offering him your hand to stand back up. He smiled at you.

“Of course, that's gonna end soon because we are actually just contract dating.” you joked, starting to giggle again. Johnnie started laughing as well at your joke as he turned the camera back on. “You need to say that joke again for the camera,” he murmurs walking around the counter.

You smile and tell him ok. Johnnie catches the video up and shows them the batter (soup) the two of you managed to make and how the oven was preheated and ready to cook said monstrosity.

Johnnie puts it in the oven and sets the timer. The two of you sit there for a second not saying or doing anything. “Well. What should we do now? Start another box?” he asks, leaning against the counter.

You roll your eyes. And slide into the center of the kitchen. “We should dannnnceeee,” you ask, shaking your shoulders slightly. He rolls his eyes but walks up to you. He takes your hands and follows the little shiny you were doing.

“We have to cut this. I bet I look like such a dork,” he says with a grin. “No! You look super kickass with your leopard print jacket! Or maybe that's a cheetah I don't know.” you say looking at his outfit. He rolls his eyes but can't help the way his face heats up from your compliment

#jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert #johnnie guilbert fluff #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert x you #johnnie x you #johnnie guilbert angst #johnnie guilbert smut #johnnie #johnnie x reader

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jokingmisfit · 10 hours

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I Just (Don't) Need Help (Part 1/2)

Yandere Batfam x Disabled Female Reader

Warnings- disabled reader, manipulation, reader is in pain, very light yandere themes

Notes- The disability isn’t named because I wanted to make it as inclusive as possible, although it is heavily based on my experiences because I only really know what I’ve experienced. The reader and Damien are both high school seniors, cause I said so. Reader lives alone because who needs parents?

It was the pain. That God awful pain that made you unable to eat, or sleep, or think. Everything in your body screaming at you to quit and give up, but also begging for help. In the end, however, there was nothing you could do.

You've tried, God did you try. You tried to work through it. You've tried to get help, but person after person, and doctor after doctor ignored your pain, ignored your symptoms and left you stranded in this unbearable hell.

You just wanted peace. You just wanted to live without this unending pain. You found it confusing how a human can constantly go through so much pain and not die from it.

You were behind in school. You've lost another job. You were so goddamn tired.

You pulled the phone off your in-stand. Sending a quick text to your friend Damien. You ask him if there were any important notes you missed at school and if he felt like sending you a picture of them. You let him know you’re fine, just sick, and hoping that’ll calm the quantity of texts he has sent you.

You have to be careful with him, Damien, he's easily irritated and highly intelligent. You’ve told him about your disabilities, but you try to not let the pain show. You know he knows something, because he'll press you for information on yourself and stare you down when you refuse to do certain things. He knows it’s worse than you let on, but he doesn’t press like the others.

The text was only slightly changed from one you sent a few weeks ago. You didn’t have the energy to write a whole new text so you copied an old one, only changing it so Damien didn’t catch on and think the flare up was too bad.

Despite only taking a minute or so, it already took all the energy you had left in you. Throwing your phone to the side, you tried to get comfortable, and you drift right back to a restless sleep.

A loud pounding woke you from your queasy rest. You wondered if you could slip back into that sweet dark nothingness, but with the noise being made you knew it’d be useless.

You’d gathered all the bearings you could, and a blanket for good measure, and made your way to your front door. Before you even got there, however, it was already opening. You stood there deadpanned as Jason looks up at you from his bent position; clearly finishing picking your lock.

Dick smiles at you with an awkward laugh and greets you. “Heya… sorry for the intrusion, princess.” He chuckles nervously again. “Damien said you skipped school and stopped answering his texts and everyone got pretty worried soo, here we are!”

“Yeah, okay.” You say with a sigh and go sit on your couch.

Jason and Dick share a concerned look at your exhausted form. Frowns perching on Jason's face, and a worried smile on Dicks.

“Sooo,” Jason started. “You feelin alright there, doll? Ya look pretty… bad?” He awkwardly asks you.

He and Dick sit on the couch with you while Dick quietly scolds him about telling you, you look bad. If it was for the lightness in your head you’d laugh a little at the brotherly behavior, but for now you opt to lay your head on Jason's shoulder once he’s settled on the seat.

“t’s jus a flare up…” You whisper out to them.

You really didn’t want to have a whole conversation. The urge to down all of the pain medicine in your cabinet comes back up. The need to just get the pain to go away. No, you didn’t want to die, but you wanted the pain to stop. You wanted to be able to appreciate your friends coming over to check on you. With all the overwhelming symptoms you couldn’t appreciate much.

With your eyes closed and head on Jason's shoulders, you had missed another look Jason and Dick shared. A mixture of annoyance, concern, and dark thoughts showing clearly through their eyes.

“Didn’t you go to a doctor for that?” Dick asks you with an irritated tone.

“Said he doesn believe me…” You tell him. “Think I wan drugs or somethin.”

Jason scoffs loudly at this. “You’re a drug seeker now huh?”

“‘Mm parently.” You reply.

Dick moves closer and rubs his hand lovingly across your back. You humm with appreciation at the action. Your exhausted form relaxes a bit more into the soft cushion. You move your head and hide it a bit more into Jason's chest.

“Maybe,” Dick starts softly. “You should come stay with us for a while?”

You sigh in frustration. “Already told you guys ‘m not gonna use you like that.” You state angrily. “You’re my friens not a resource for me ta use.”

“I know, I know!” Dick defends, throwing his hands up in defense and laughing nervously. “It’s just, we’ve got tons of money and can get you an actually good doctor. Y’know one that’ll actually listen to your needs, birdie.” He explains passionately.

“Besides,” Jason chimes in. “You’re like family, hunny. We want to help you out. And Alfred has been dyin to see ya again.”

“I don’t wan to…” You tell them.

Jason scoffs. “Why not?”

This situation was too much for you right now. The pain you felt weighed you down and made it harder to hold yourself together. The little bit of poise you had was bubbling off you like melted flesh leaving you at the barest version of yourself, and that self was angry and confused.

You didn’t get why every time you got sick or had a flare up they got like this. Urging you to come live with them ‘cause “it’s easier” and “they can help” or because “you a kid” and “you shouldn’t be living alone”. What do they know? They were adopted by a billionaire and have a huge family. They don’t know what it’s like to feel the way you do. Of course some things they understand, but a lot of it seems they don’t.

It was irritating for them as well. They want to help you, but you always refuse. It always ends in an argument and you push them away for a while until you forget why you were mad in the first place. It was a tiring loop that everyone was becoming sick of.

You lean forward and out of both the mens touches. “I don‘t know why!” You sluggishly shout. “I jus don’t wan to. I don’t know why it’s always a fight with you guys… Jst let me rest please! I’m in pain ‘n all you wanna do is try and hold a conversation that we all know will only end in irritation.” You breathlessly tell them.

You stand on unsteady feet and start walking back towards your room. The stiffness and anger making you feel even worse.

Why can’t they try and see things the way you do?

Of course, they were wondering the same thing. Dick stands up to follow after you. Matching glares enter the brothers eyes as they mirror your steps. Determined to not give up this time when you clearly need them.

You’ve already buried yourself in the bed by the time the two come to your doorway. Honestly you were a bit surprised when they came to sit on the edge of your bed. Well, at least Jason did. Dick crawled over and layed propped against your headboard next to you.

“Okay… Maybe we’ve been a little too pushy.” Dick says.

“Maybe?” You ask glaring up from your covers.

He laughs at you. “Okay, okay, I get it! We’ve pushed too far… It’s just- it’s just that we can get you the help you need, and it’s not like you’d be staying forever. Just long enough for you to get a proper diagnosis and medicine or whatever to make things easier.”

The change from joyful to melancholy in Dicks voice had you feeling guilty. The way he poured out his heart into people never ceased to awe you. You shift to sit up more against the headrest. Jason’s hand found its way to your calf where it rested casually.

“You know we don’t want to force you to do anything. We’re just so concerned for you. We know you’ve been alone for so long, but you don’t have to be anymore.” Dick says love shining in his eyes. “I know you think needing help makes you weak, but it doesn’t, and what’s family for but to be there for you when you are. Can’t tell you how many times we’ve been completely consumed by worry for you.” His brows furrowed as he explains.

“Just long enough for you to get to feelin better. That’s all we ask, doll.” Jason adds on.

“Jus a little while? That’s all?” You ask hesitantly.

“Just for a little while, princess.” Dick answers.

You nod slowly and whisper an “ok”. The two men were immediately in motion packing you a bag. You sat up more and assured them you could do it yourself but they hushed you in excitement. Jason asked you if there were any specific things you wanted while Dick filled a bag with clothes.

All in all time moved swiftly as the two moved like practiced dancers. Within minutes dresses and sentimental items were pulled from their proper places placed into bags and moved out of your home. Dick picked you up despite your demands to walk and brought you to their car. The two of you were followed closely by Jason who carried the last bag of items you’d be taking with you to their homes. Claims to come back for more were made by all three of you as you left the rest behind.

It didn’t take much for you to fall asleep in the back of the car. The rumbling and pain induced heaviness lulled you to sleep like a baby in a cradle. Because of your peaceful rest your arrival at the manor was kept relatively calm so as to not wake you. Bruce coming out to carry you to your new room while the other two grabbed your items. Tim checks the camera placed in the bedroom to make sure it’s operating and Alfred prepares a simple snack for you to eat once you wake up.

#batfamily #yandere batfam #platonic batfam #platonic yandere batfam #batfamily x reader #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #damien wayne x reader #tim drake x reader #batman x reader #disabled reader

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clangenrising · 13 hours

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Month 15 - Newleaf

Battle With Razor Pt 3

Yarrowshade had never felt more alive.

His blood pounded in his ears and clumped in his fur and it felt amazing. Every wound he took felt like a sacred rite, each wound he dealt felt like justice - perfect, bloody red, lovely justice.

“That’s for Nightfrost!” he spat as he sank his claws into a kittypet’s eye and heard them scream in pain.

“That’s for Smokyrose!” he snarled as he got a few more shots on the notched cat that fled after he got them good in the belly.

That’s for Scorch, he wanted to say but he still hadn’t caught sight of Razor. Without an opponent for the moment, he turned and searched the crowd for any sign of the figure. The tree trunks and tussling cats obstructed anything outside his immediate area though and he growled in frustration, tail lashing.

A flash of nearby movement caught his eye - a brown tabby kittypet kicking off of a tree trunk and back into the fray, taking his opponent to the ground. Yarrowshade recognized him as the tom who had called him ‘pretty boy’, the tom who had beaten him bloody and thus stopped him from joining in on the battle of the snowstorm. Yarrowshade pounced without a second thought, tackling the tabby off of the cat who he was scrapping with and rolling with him into the dirt.

The kittypet hissed and wheeled on him, smacking him hard across the cheek, adding another scratch to the bloody streaks patterning his face. Yarrowshade twisted and kicked out with his hind legs, knocking the wind out of the tom. They fell apart, gasping for breath and Yarrowshade glanced over his shoulder at the cat he had rescued.

“You alright?” he asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” said Ryestripe of FallenClan, getting to his feet, bleeding heavily from a nasty bite on his hind leg.

“Enough talking, pretty boy!” the kittypet shouted, lunging in again. Yarrowshade ducked down then reared up to slam his head into the kittypet’s chin like Russetfrond had done to him. He wasn’t expecting it to hurt, though, and both he and the kittypet fell backward hissing in pain. Thankfully, Ryestripe moved in to cover him, raining a quick volley of blows down on the kittypet’s head.

Yarrowshade shook himself to gather his thoughts and then lunged to tackle the kittypet again. They collided in a satisfying thump of muscle against muscle that threw the kittypet onto his back. Yarrowshade crowed triumphantly and snapped his teeth at the tom’s neck. The tom writhed but that only gave Yarrowshade better access to his throat and he readjusted his grip to sink his teeth into flesh.

The tom hissed and kicked out, shredding Yarrowshade’s soft belly with his hind claws, but Yarrowshade stayed firm. The taste of blood was almost as overwhelming as the stinging pain. He adjusted his grip one more time, sinking one tooth into a squishy spot under his chin. The tom gasped sharply, and kicked even harder.

“Stop!” gasped the kittypet. “Sto- stop!” Yarrowshade snarled and squeezed harder, turning the tom’s protests into nothing more than a strained wheeze. He wondered if Smokyrose had begged when she was killed. He wondered if this kittypet would have stopped if he were the one begging.

“Stop it!” Barleypaw was suddenly beside him, shoving roughly against his shoulder. Yarrowshade, thrown off by his apprentice’s insistence, fell backward, looking around for whatever looming threat she was warning him of. There was none. The kittypet gasped for breath and there was a distinct wheezing sound as air bubbled out of the wound. Yarrowshade looked at Barleypaw to find her glaring at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, still confused.

“A good warrior doesn’t kill to win his battles!” his apprentice said, sounding almost teary. “What’s gotten into you?” Yarrowshade wilted. If it had been anyone else, he would have shot back with some retort but he couldn’t muster the courage to snap at Barleypaw.

“I…” he licked the blood from his dripping muzzle and found nothing else to say. Barleypaw huffed and turned away to look down at the kittypet wheezing on the ground. He was struggling to breathe and hacking up blood every now and then, but he didn’t seem like he was going to fall over dead.

Barleypaw bent down next to him and said sternly, “Go home.”

The kittypet flinched away from her, sides heaving, but, when she made no moves to strike out at him, he nodded and scrambled away, dodging between scrapping cats as he hurried away. Yarrowshade let out a frustrated noise at the sight.

“Barley, I know you mean well, but you don’t know what that cat is like,” he said. “If you’d heard the way he talked or-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Barleypaw snapped and he blinked in surprise. “He’s a living cat. You shouldn’t kill him if you have another choice.” She lifted her head and held his gaze defiantly, ready for him to protest further. He was struck very suddenly with the realization that his apprentice was all grown up. He didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Look at you, you’re bleeding everywhere,” she said when he stayed silent.

“I think we’re starting to outnumber the rogues,” said Ryestripe, who Yarrowshade had forgotten about entirely. “Looks like the Chaff are taking the deal.”

“You should go see the healers,” Barleypaw said, more instruction than suggestion. “Get your belly looked at before you pass out.”

“I’m fine,” Yarrowshade insisted. He stepped forward to look around for another opponent but Barleypaw moved to forcibly intercept him.

“Yarrowshade, please,” she said softly.

He swallowed. “Well, how can I argue with that?” he laughed, feeling terrible.

“I’ll make sure he gets there safely,” said Ryestripe.

“Thank you,” Barleypaw said to both of them. “I’m gonna go find Floodpaw.” And with that, she was gone. Yarrowshade sighed. He suddenly felt very tired - tired and old.

“Hey, come on,” Ryestripe said. “You really are bleeding a lot.”

“Oh, right,” was all Yarrowshade could say. He leaned against Ryestripe’s side and let the other cat guide him back through the woods to the place where the healers had set up their first aid station. It wasn’t far from the battle proper but the effort of winding around trees and over roots was exhausting.

Lionpaw was perched on a root, acting as sentry, and called, “Ryestripe and a wounded warrior, coming in!” over his shoulder as they approached.

“Thank you, Lionpaw,” came Blazingbrush’s voice. As they trudged into the clearing, Yarrowshade looked around and tried to identify all the cats getting medical aid. Blazingbrush was spreading cobwebs over Tumblefang’s shoulder, a trail of blood running all the way down the warrior’s leg. Fishtrick was getting poultice applied to a long gash on her side. Darkmoon was laid out against a tree where Stormwhisper and Sagetooth were speaking to him.

“I know,” Stormwhisper was saying, “but you have to stay awake, alright?”

“I’ll try,” said Darkmoon.

“Keep talking with him,” Sagetooth ordered Stormwhisper before glancing over to frown at Yarrowshade. “Sit him down over there,” she said to Ryestripe, “I’ll grab the herbs.”

“I’m fine, really,” Yarrowshade said as he plopped down against the designated trunk.

“I’ll tell you when you’re fine,” Sagetooth snapped. Looking at Ryestripe, she asked, “are you injured?”

“Not too bad, thanks to him,” said the other warrior. Yarrowshade flashed him a grateful smile.

Sagetooth huffed affirmatively. “Alright. Go see Tangletooth then.” Ryestripe nodded and returned Yarrowshade’s smile before heading off to get his wounds seen too. Sagetooth started examining him, passing her paws over his fur and feeling at his wounds. When she got to his belly, she frowned and shouted, “Blazingbrush, where’s that yarrow at?”

“Here!” the younger healer chimed, detaching from her Clanmate to run the clump of herbs over to them. “Oh my, that’s a nasty wound.”

“Thanks,” Yarrowshade looked away, unenthused.

“Sorry,” Blazingbrush said, cheeks turning pink. Sagetooth, already chewing the herbs in her mouth, swatted at Blazingbrush with her tail and the pretty young she-cat flitted bashfully back to Tumblefang. Sagetooth spat the poultice into her paws and Yarrowshade lifted one arm to let her thoroughly spread it over his wounds.

“Don’t let that get wiped off,” Sagetooth ordered and then stood to find the cobwebs. Yarrowshade’s ears twitched in Darkmoon’s direction.

“-member that,” the EarthClan deputy was saying weakly. “Foxfuzz was furious with me.”

“And she never knew it was actually my fault,” Stormwhisper laughed, sounding sad. “I don’t know if I ever thanked you for that.”

“Didn’t have to,” said Darkmoon. “You worked hard to make it right and that was enough.”

Stormwhisper laughed again. “What about you? Did you ever do something that stupid?”

“As stupid as collapsing an entire den?” wheezed Darkmoon. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, try and think,” Stormwhisper urged. “You have to keep talking.” Sagetooth returned with the cobwebs and started to apply them.

Yarrowshade whispered, “What’s wrong with Darkmoon?”

“A rogue broke a few of his ribs very badly,” muttered Sagetooth without looking up. “He’s been breathless and dizzy which are not good signs. He’s probably bleeding internally. I’d give him a few hours at most.”

“Oh,” Yarrowshade swallowed. He hadn’t realized that was even a possibility. He wondered what would have happened if his ribs had been broken rather than bruised all those months ago.

“Alright, done,” Sagetooth said. “Your other wounds can wait. Find somewhere out of the way and get some rest.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said obediently and stood with a wince. He didn’t want to rest. He wanted to go back and keep fighting, but the sound of Stormwhisper and Darkmoon’s conversation was dampening that urge more and more by the second. And besides, he was very, very tired. He slank around to the back side of the tree and nestled himself between the roots, eyes falling gently closed.

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television-overload · 18 hours

Text

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 14/34 - styrofoam gravestones

[Read on AO3]

Skinner gleefully calls their joint adventure to Los Angeles a “honeymoon,” though Scully is sure no one else would consider the movie they'd just been subjected to a worthy use of their time if it had been.

‘Worse than anticipated’ might come close to describing it, actually.

The trip itself is fine. The insinuation that this is their honeymoon (from their boss, no less) causes them to blush. Skinner knows he's making it weird, which is probably why he keeps teasing them about it every time he sees them. Thankfully, despite the awkward hazing, their boss sets them up with separate rooms.

And apparently has given them free reign of the Bureau credit card for the evening.

The piece of plastic is burning a hole in her pocket as Scully goes out in search of her partner following the premiere. The studio lot looks much the same as it had when they'd visited before, over a year ago. Even some of the sets are still up, probably from last minute reshoots, and it's here that she finds Mulder, seated amongst the styrofoam gravestones and fake grass.

He'd taken the movie harder than she had, she thinks. After all, it's his life's work they're making a mockery of, not really hers. She's much more bothered by the bizarre love triangle the filmmakers somehow worked in, wondering how on earth they'd come to that conclusion in their short time together.

Mulder had disappeared after a particularly ridiculous scene taking place in a coffin, abandoning her to a sheepish-looking Skinner, who handed over the credit card without a word as soon as the credits rolled.

But now she sees him, and he's not moping like she'd expected after seeing him walk out of the theater in a huff.

Instead, he's staring straight ahead, frozen like one of the statues in the middle of the fake cemetery, seemingly lost in thought.

“Been looking all over for you,” she says, taking a seat beside him on the artificial hill.

“Yeah. Sorry I left. I couldn't take it anymore,” he answers, his blank stare never wavering.

“That's saying a lot, coming from you,” she jokes, nudging against him with her shoulder. “I'm pretty sure your tolerance for bad sci-fi movies is higher than most.”

He doesn't respond, and it's then that she notices his open cell phone laying in his hand.

“You okay?” she asks.

He looks down at his own hand as if seeing it for the first time, and snaps the device shut.

“I, uh—” he starts, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “While I was out here, I got a call.”

A knot of anxiety twists in her stomach. That call could be from any number of people, and she can’t tell from his expression what it might have been about. He's shaken, that much is clear.

She suddenly wishes she hadn't eaten a full bowl of popcorn in the theater.

“They tried calling you first,” he continues. “But your phone was on silent during the movie.”

Her eyebrows furrow and she hurries to dig her cell phone out of her purse, checking the display.

2 missed calls.

“Mulder, who—”

“The adoption agency,” he says, cutting her off, and it feels like the floor drops out from beneath her.

She's breathing, but it doesn't feel like she's getting any air. It's impossible to tell if it's good news or bad news yet, but her voice has suddenly stopped working and she can't bring herself to ask.

His hand finds hers, grasping on tightly.

“They approved our application, pending a home visit,” he says, a disbelieving smile beginning to form on his lips.

“They did?” she asks breathlessly, and he nods.

“And there's more.”

What more could there possibly be? She feels like crying, but she doesn't know if she can. The whirlwind of emotions is overwhelming.

“They found someone,” he says. “A possible match.”

That does it. A watery smile pulls at her cheeks, and she can hardly believe it, except she trusts this man with her entire being and he would never lie to her.

“That quick?” she asks.

He nods again. “They said they know it's fast, but the plans for the last placement fell through and they need someone who can be ready in the next four months or so.”

“Four months?”

“A young woman, already five months pregnant.”

She can't help it, she leans forward and wraps him in a crushing hug, throwing her arms over his shoulders and holding on. He holds her just as tight, and she feels his beaming smile in the crook of her neck, matching her own.

“Why didn't you come get me?” she gasps into his ear, absolutely certain she's never been this happy in her entire life.

“I wanted to,” he says, amusement lacing his voice. “My legs stopped working as soon as I heard the words ‘application’ and ‘approved’ and I had to sit down.”

This draws a laugh from deep in her chest, and she pulls him even tighter, cupping her hand over the back of his head and running her fingers through his hair.

When she finally pulls back, she sees his eyes filled with tears of joy, and she knows her own look the same.

“Really?” she asks, needing to clarify. Wanting to hear him say it again. And then maybe again later.

“Yeah, Scully,” he says, gripping her hands in his own. “Really.”

Suddenly, the movie doesn't seem so bad anymore. Who cares, it'll tank anyway. They have better things to worry about.

They're going out to celebrate, and Skinner can pick up the tab. It may not be their honeymoon, but it's a celebration of their relationship nonetheless, a culmination of their time as partners and the beginning of their journey toward becoming parents.

She stands determinedly, pulling Mulder to his feet and interlocking her arm with his, grinning up at him giddily.

“Let's go,” she says, flashing the credit card proudly.

He gladly takes it from her, laughing freely as they begin to stumble out of the graveyard arm in arm.

“Scully,” he says, tossing his cheap plastic Lazarus Bowl behind him as they walk. “Promise me you're not in love with Associate Producer Walter Skinner?”

-.-.-

It's just a week later when a knock on Scully's apartment door signals the arrival of the representative from the adoption agency for the home visit. They'd spent the week frantically getting things in order in their limited time after work, finally integrating the items brought over from Mulder's apartment with her own. Mulder had even gotten one of the pictures from their courthouse wedding framed, and it held a place of honor on top of the fireplace mantle in the living room.

Every time she passes it, she feels her heart skip a beat. There are precious few pictures of the two of them together, and that one is the most special of them all. It makes her feel like she has that “normal” life she'd asked him about, once—though of course there is nothing normal about this arrangement they have.

“Mulder, she's here. Is everything ready?” she says, feeling slightly queasy.

“Ready, Scully,” he answers, and she shoots him a look.

They'd talked about this at length already, so he should know better. “You can’t call me that, remember?”

He tilts his head downward challengingly, the exaggerated eye contact sending a shiver up her spine, and she knows what's coming before the word leaves his mouth.

“Dana,” he breathes in a low rasp, smirking at her visible reaction to how odd it still feels to hear her given name spoken aloud outside of the most dire circumstances.

Oh boy.

“What exactly will you be calling me? Fox?” he asks next, moving to adjust one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

“I seriously don’t think I can,” she answers. “I’ll think of something, but if I have to, I suppose I will.”

“You know, you’re the only person who’s ever listened to me and not called me Fox, I think,” he comments, his eyes tracking her as she approaches the door. “Other than maybe the Gunmen.”

“And now it just sounds completely wrong coming out of my mouth, so I won’t be doing it anytime soon if I can help it,” she says in a clipped tone, knowing the caseworker is waiting right on the other side of the wall.

“I appreciate that.”

She rolls her eyes, which only makes his smile brighten. “Shut up and get over here,” she says, jerking her head toward the doorway.

He readily obeys, sliding into place beside her with his arm over her shoulders before she opens the door to the woman on the other side.

“Ms. Koske, hi! Come on in,” Scully says, far more cheerily than her usual affect.

Mulder catches her eyes, and they flash in warning. Cool it down, they say. Be yourself. She'll do her best to take his advice, but it's hard. This is a key moment in their already fraught path to parenthood. She doesn't want to mess it all up with one small mistake. Not after they've come this far.

“Good to see you, Ms. Scully,” Ms. Koske greets her with a smile and a nod as she enters. “Mr. Mulder.”

“Would you like anything to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?” She needs something to do with her hands, so she shoves them in her pockets, hoping the answer will be yes so she can distract herself from her nerves.

“I’m alright, but thank you,” Brenda says politely. “Maybe after you’ve shown me around a little?”

Thankfully, Mulder takes the reins after that, probably sensing her unease.

“Of course, right this way, Ms. Koske,” he says, separating himself from her side—a loss which she feels acutely. He leads the woman further into the apartment, winking at Scully behind her back as he goes.

Scully takes a deep breath, collecting herself. She's not sure why she's so nervous. She and Mulder have read every piece of adoption planning literature they could get their hands on, and quadruple checked that they had everything right before today. Still, she'll always be the one to worry that they missed something.

Thankfully, Mulder keeps cool under pressure. At least in situations like this.

“Any pets?” Brenda is asking him by the time Scully catches up to them in the hallway. She can see that the woman already has a half a page full of notes on her clipboard, not that she can make out any of it.

“Just my fish,” Mulder answers easily. “Although, Sc– Dana had a dog a few years ago.”

Scully clears her throat, deciding now is the time to jump in and be an active participant in this visit.

“Maybe we could get another one after we move to a bigger house, hmm?” she asks. Mulder’s unamused expression is exactly what she was hoping for, but he quickly schools it before Ms. Koske can see.

She's partially teasing about getting a dog—payback for him blindsiding her with the ‘new house’ idea at their previous interview. But it might be nice, someday.

Besides, he can’t exactly say no right now, can he?

She grins.

“Whatever you want, my love,” he responds, his overly saccharine smile telling her, ‘two can play that game.’

“How long have you been keeping fish, Mr. Mulder?” Brenda asks, oblivious to the subtle unspoken conversation happening right over her head. She stoops to look at the mollies with interest, tilting her head in response to the U.F.O. themed decor.

“Oh, uh, probably over a decade now,” Mulder answers, turning his attention back to their guest and his gleaming fish tank, in its prized new location.

Brenda raises her eyebrows, scratching something on her clipboard.

“Impressive. They’re more work to take care of than most people think,” she speaks, and Scully hopes that translates to ‘If you can keep a fish alive, you can definitely handle a human child,’ even if the logic there isn't exactly sound.

Off the hallway, next Mulder shows her to the bathroom, which had been meticulously cleaned the day before. Scully doesn't know how someone could make such a mess with toothpaste, but Mulder’s tooth brushing quirks like squeezing the toothpaste tube wrong have been a constant pain in her neck since he started sleeping over. At least that's the worst of her worries. Otherwise, he's been a very agreeable living partner, even putting his shoes away instead of leaving them out after the time she almost tripped on them with an armful of groceries.

Brenda peeks inside cabinets and checks the bathtub, annotating as she goes on her clipboard.

“Are your medicines kept secure and in a child-safe place?” she asks, looking to Scully.

“Yes, I was a doctor before I left to join the FBI,” she answers readily. “I can assure you that I know all the dangers and keep them stored safely.”

Brenda nods, seemingly impressed.

“A doctor,” she says. “Do you have any experience with children’s medicine?”

Scully shakes her head. “Just a rotation in med school,” she answers honestly. She knows realistically that this won't impact her chances of adopting, but still she wishes she had a better answer. “I, uh… went in a different direction.”

The woman smiles. “Not a problem, I was just curious. It’s good to hear that you have a background in medicine, that will certainly help.” Scully lets out a sigh of relief as Brenda scrawls something down, then turns her attention to her partner. “Mr. Mulder, what did you do before the FBI?”

The question catches Mulder off guard, and he rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Oh, I– I got recruited not long after I completed my degree in psychology.”

“Did you ever practice?” Brenda asks.

“No, I didn’t.”

“But, I’m sure you have a general understanding of children’s psychology from your studies, yes?”

Scully looks to Mulder, curious about his answer herself.

“I do, yeah,” he says. “But, actually, most of my knowledge in that… area… comes from personal experience.”

The caseworker nods in understanding. “I hope you don’t mind my asking… I know this is a little less formal than our last interview, but I’d still like to be thorough.” The implication that he should expound on his answer is clear.

“No, I understand,” he says, nodding. “Uh, when I was twelve, my little sister disappeared. She was never found, and it… tore my family apart. I spent most of my adolescence bouncing between therapists until I went off to college in England.”

Brenda gives a sad shake of her head and makes a note.

“You two have quite a history,” she says, unmistakable traces of pity in her voice. “I can see why you were drawn to each other, and why you’re looking to start a family.”

Scully catches Mulder’s eye, and they share a look. This woman doesn't know the half of it, but she's right. Their bond is rooted deeper than most, deeper even than the average married couple.

All they want now is to move forward with their lives. To have a spot of sunshine after years of darkness and suffering. Somehow, that desire turned into the dream of starting a family, and it's hard to believe how far they've come in a few short months.

“I think I’ve seen enough in here,” Ms. Koske says, breaking the sullen silence that had fallen. “Would you mind showing me your room?”

“Of course,” Scully says, smiling a forced smile as she leads the way. “Our room.”

Because it is their room, as far as Brenda needs to be concerned. She doesn’t need to know that Mulder actually sleeps on the bed that’s in the spare bedroom, now that it’s been moved from his apartment. All it took was moving a few more of his personal belongings into Scully’s room and making his room look like a guest room, and their little white lie was perfected.

“Looks like you’ve got a good variety of reading material, here,” Brenda says, eyes trailing over the bookshelf. “Medical journals, Moby Dick … The Truth About Extraterrestrial Life Forms. That one’s… unique.”

“My husband is a big fan of science fiction,” Scully says, the explanation coming easily to her. She even managed to use the word “husband” without stuttering over it, for once. Easier than saying “Fox,” in all honesty.

When she looks up at said husband, though, he's suppressing an amused smile, and she shakes her head, her cheeks undoubtedly flushing pink.

Brenda nods at her answer, smiling warmly as she stands back up to her full height. “Yes, I can see that. You’ll have to make some space for children’s literature. They’re classics, but I love to recommend Dr. Seuss.”

Scully’s heart twists, and Mulder’s eyebrows raise almost imperceptibly, a meaningful look passing between them in the span of a second.

She doesn't want to get her hopes up yet, but…

“I’ll buy a whole other bookshelf, if I have to,” Mulder says eagerly, chuckling softly, and Scully feels herself fall even deeper in love with him.

Brenda pats him on the arm, an approving smile stretching her cheeks.

“Now, that’s what I like to hear.”

-.-.-

The rest of the tour goes smoothly, and Brenda takes Scully up on her offer for tea prior to her departure.

The conversation topics are decidedly lighter as they sip on the warm drinks. Mulder regales her with tales of growing up on Martha's Vineyard, keeping things in the safer territory of beach days and riding bikes, rather than touching on his home life.

Before long, their cups are empty and they get to their feet, moving slowly toward the apartment door.

“Well, everything looks good here,” Brenda says, tucking her clipboard into her bag. “Clean, not too small, good neighborhood, healthy food. Shouldn’t be too difficult to childproof, for however long you plan to stay here. And, your experience in medicine and psychology should certainly work in your favor.”

Scully reaches a hand out and finds Mulder's, and he must have been searching for hers too, because he's right there, clasping her palm in his.

“I have no qualms recommending you to our birth mother,” Brenda declares with a beaming smile. “I’m sure we’ll be able to set up a meeting with her soon.”

She grabs Scully’s hand for a cordial handshake, then shakes Mulder's, and all the while Scully can scarcely move or breathe. Had she heard that correctly? They were really going to get a shot at this?

For the first time, she lets herself envision them with a child. Baby toys scattered on the living room carpet. Mushy baby food lining the shelves of her pantry. Mulder as a father, ever the involved parent like he says he wants to be.

That was something she hadn't ever truly allowed herself to imagine. Not even when embryos bearing his DNA had been implanted into her womb, while he waited supportively in the waiting area.

For the first time, it's real, and she can barely hold herself together.

Mulder thanks the woman for them both, smiling broadly as he opens the door for her, but Scully can't hear them over the sound of her heart racing. She manages to mumble a thank you and goodbye before the apartment door closes, unable to muster anything more substantial than that.

And the moment they're alone, tears erupt from her eyes, hot and wet on her cheeks.

Mulder doesn't waste a second pulling her into his arms, holding her tight to his chest. She feels herself being lifted a few inches off the ground, and he buries his face in her shoulder, grasping her securely around the waist.

She can't speak, can't do anything but cry into his shoulder and picture their life together. Beyond the X-Files, beyond alien abductions and missing sisters. Finally, finally beyond manipulative ex-girlfriends and smoky shadow governments, who now lie in dirt and ashes.

There's a life for them, beyond, and she wants it now more than she ever thought she would.

“One step closer,” Mulder whispers into her neck, his voice choked with emotion.

She can only nod and hold him tighter in response.

~~~

Note: Apparently Hollywood A.D. takes place in January 2000?? I'm going with it.

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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buildarocketboys · 2 days

Note

54 or 95 + Peterick! (no pressure ask!!)

Thanks babe! Some hiatus angst for you!

54. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. That’s the problem.”

Pete practically drags Patrick home from his bar.

The man is Drunk, with a capital D. Pete's not sure he's ever seen him this drunk, and he's known Patrick since before he was of legal drinking age. Hell, he was there when Patrick got drunk for the first time, and may or may not have been responsible for several of the beers and shots that had gone down Patrick's throat that night.

But this is something else. Patrick's a mess.

Such a mess that Pete doesn't trust Patrick to be able to get home by himself.

He slips into the cab next to him.

Patrick makes a face at him.

"Why're you here?" he slurs. His voice is filled with such venom, even in his state of advanced drunkenness, that Pete cringes away.

"Just making sure you get home OK," he mutters, suddenly wondering whether he's doing the right thing. He thought he had been, thought he was just being a good friend (are he and Patrick even friends anymore?) good person, anyway, making sure Patrick gets home safe. But maybe he should have let someone else do it. Patrick obviously doesn't want anything to do with him.

Even though he had come to Pete's bar.

Patrick snorts. "Nah. I know what you want." He pokes Pete in the chest, then grabs Pete's hand and holds it against his crotch. "Go on. Take it."

Pete snatches his hand back, alarmed. "Patrick, I'd never do that!"

Patrick blows a raspberry and mumbles something that sounds like, "Yeah, right."

Pete lets his head fall back against the headrest, closing his eyes and threatening to stem the tide of self-loathing that threatens to overwhelm him. Because Patrick's not entirely wrong. He likes to think he's better than that these days, and he's never taken advantage of anyone this drunk, but even so.

He gulps air like he's dying and hopes Patrick's too out of it to notice Pete having a minor panic attack next to him.

Some part of Patrick must register it, though, because suddenly Patrick's hand is firmly gripping his knee. A calming, grounding presence.

Pete covers Patrick's hand with his own. Patrick doesn't push him away.

Bit by bit, his breathing slows and he's gradually able to calm himself down. By the time they're at Patrick's house, he feels almost normal.

Patrick falls down trying to get out of the car. Pete hauls him up, excruciatingly aware of how much lighter Patrick is these days.

He helps Patrick to the door as Patrick fumbles in his pockets for his key. He eventually pulls it out, to Pete's relief, because he's not sure he'd hear the end of it if he had to slide his hand into Patrick's ass pocket.

He takes it from Patrick and unlocks the door; it'll just be quicker.

Patrick scowls at him, his gaze a little unfocused. "I could have done that," he says.

Pete sighs. He can feel a headache coming on. He hasn't even drunk anything tonight - how is that fair? "Let's just pretend we had this argument and I won, OK?"

Patrick mutters something no doubt scathing under his breath and lets Pete guide him up the stairs, the two of them nearly stumbling and falling over a pile of stuff halfway up.

Actually, Pete realizes once he's got Patrick to his bedroom, Patrick's house is a dump. He wonders if Patrick still has a cleaner; he's never been good at looking after himself, so he'd hired a cleaner pretty much as soon as he was making enough money to do so. But he knows Patrick's plowed all his savings into making his solo record; maybe he'd decided a cleaner was an unnecessary expense.

Pete takes a shaky breath in and rubs his face. Not his problem anymore. Patrick doesn't want anything to do with him anymore, and Pete had promised himself he'd give Patrick some space. Patrick doesn't need him all up in his business.

Patrick's made that very fucking clear.

He staggers down the stairs to the kitchen, thinking he'll just get Patrick an aspirin and a big glass of water and then clear off.

When he tentatively knocks on Patrick's door and pokes his head round, he's relieved to see Patrick's in bed.

He sets the glass of water and the painkillers on the nightstand.

"Pete?"

Pete had thought Patrick had passed out, but apparently not. His (ex? former?) best friend blinks up at him from the bed, like he's only just seeing him.

Pete swallows. "Got you some water. And an aspirin. You might hate me, but there's no reason you should hate yourself when you wake up in the morning."

The joke falls flat as Patrick just stares up at Pete.

Pete clears his throat, about to make his excuses and leave, when Patrick speaks.

"I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. That’s the problem." Patrick's voice is raw, vulnerable.

Pete can't even bear to look at him.

"Yeah, well," says Pete. Then he gives a weak chuckle that sounds wetter than Pete would like. "I should be going." He turns away from Patrick toward the door.

"You can sleep on the sofa, if you want," Patrick says.

The sofa.

It's an olive branch and a bitter pill rolled into one. The Patrick of even a year ago would never have made him sleep on the sofa.

Pete kind of wants to curl up and die.

"Uh, thanks. But I've kinda gotta get back to the bar."

It's a weak excuse, and they both know it. Pete glances over his shoulder, wondering if Patrick will put up a fight, hoping he will.

But the light in Patrick's eyes just fades out, and he slumps back into his pillows. "Oh. Yeah."

Pete waits a moment longer, for what, he doesn't know. But Patrick doesn't say anything else, and neither does he.

He leaves. Wishing with every atom in his body that he could stay.

#judasisgayriot #asks #ask meme #peterick #pete wentz #patrick stump #fob #my writing #uhhh #alcohol tw #also brief minor reference to taking advantage of someone while they're under the influence

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