#‘better get headed to the exits now’ is such a good adaptation of the ‘close this book idea’

[jackklinemybeloved]

[…]

Percy’s warning to fellow half-bloods in the audience, across different mediums.

The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan (2005) The Lighting Thief: The Percy Jackson Musical (2017) Percy Jackson and the Olympians Series Teaser (2023)

[justmeinadaze]

My Little Man (Steddie X You) (Part of HFOD and SS Universe)

A/N: I guess you guys would call this season 3? Lol. My angst hella took over as well as some feelings I've been dealing with lately.

Enjoy please <3.

Part of this Universe

Warnings: Demon Steddie & Human Fem Reader, No SMUT in this one, FLUFF, they love each other and their son. Demon Steddie is navigating how to be human while taking care of a pregnant Y/N.

ANGST: More or less the normal level of angst that comes with this series. The theme is grief and PTSD (from a soldiers perspective). Y/N is still struggling with the notion of her parents not being there to see Ellis grow up and the guys (especially Steve) is struggling with being raised how they were and taught to fight. Eddie struggles with feelings of enabling because of everything they went through.

The dreams probably have the most feels. They talk to their loved ones and Ellis says goodbye. Steve has nightmares that involve his dad being a dick (of course) and something that happens within one angers Eddie (blood briefly mentioned).

Word Count: 6398

"Don't you know I love you more than life itself Don't you know that you're my pride And I would not have you walking through this world Without me by your side

Go to sleep my little man Don't you weep my little man"

3 Months Pregnant

Steve sits on the bench outside of the library he had just exited from, sighing heavily as he closed his eyes and threw his head back.

Ever since the three of you got home, he and Eddie had been doing research on which human job they would best be suited for in your realm but were struggling to find much of anything. For him, it was even more difficult since he was raised to be a solider. He genuinely didn’t know how to do anything else and it didn’t help that even though you explained a lot of human behavior, he still felt slightly ignorant with many things. 

“May I sit?” The demon jumped at the sound of a gravelly voice beside him. “Oh, shit. Sorry, son. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s alright. Um, please.”, he gestures towards the area beside him causing the man to flash him a thankful grin as he takes a seat. 

“How long?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I asked how long. I know the look of a fellow veteran trying to figure out how to adapt to a civilian lifestyle. How long has it been since you saw combat?”

“Oh, uh, it’s…it’s been a few years. But I did it the bulk of my life.”

“I can imagine with you being so young. I bet one of your parents was a solider as well?”

“Wow. Yeah, that’s amazing. How did you…?”

“I told you, son. I know the look.”, the man chuckles as he extends his hand. “Truman Duvall; Ex Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Army.”

“Steven Harrington. Um, Sergeant in the US Army. Well, Ex.”, Steve laughs nervously as he hopes his memory of things he’s learned about humans in the past is still up to date.

“Nice to meet you. If I may ask, what were you thinking so hard about specifically?”

“My girlfriend is pregnant and I’m trying to find a job so I can help support my family. I want my son to have a better life then I did but I have no idea where to start.”

“Congratulations on the little bundle! I have four myself, two of them grown and out of the house already. My wife pretends like she’s glad they’re out but she misses them.”, he laughs. “I don’t know if you would be willing but down the street here, we have a recreation center where veterans go to relax and let loose. They’ve been looking for a counselor to lead the group therapy. I think you’d be a good fit.”

“Yeah? Um, I guess I could…”

“Look, you don’t even have to make a decision right now. Why don’t meet me there tonight? We’re having a little party get together thing. Of course, you can bring the girlfriend and you both can meet the person in charge. See if you feel comfortable.”

“O-Ok. I, um…” Steve pauses as he debates on if he should tell the truth about Eddie. That was a fight they had when it came to going home. He had been afraid that they would have to hide their relationship and he never wanted to hide or be hidden when it came to the man he loved. But this is also where he wanted to raise his son and he didn’t want to cause a commotion before you four even had a chance to settle in. What would Eddie do?

“Can I bring my boyfriend as well? He’s a veteran to. We actually met during our tour.”

Truman’s mouth pouted out ever so slightly as his eyebrows lifted in surprise. 

“Oh, um, sure! The more the merrier.”

***

“Steven, oh my God, that’s amazing!”, you exclaim as you wrap your arms around his neck. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Hang on, now. I don’t have a job yet but…”

“Don’t sell yourself short, bud.”, Eddie grins from his place on the kitchen counter. 

“I hope it’s ok that I kind of…announced…our relationship. We actually didn’t talk about what we wanted to do but I know if we had stayed in our realm I’d want to be honest.”

The long-haired demon opened his arms and Steve promptly placed himself between his legs with his back against his chest while Eddie rested his chin on his shoulder. 

“I’m glad you did. I love you and I’m not hiding that.”

“Me either.”, you smiled as they beamed right back. 

Suddenly, the happiness drains from your face before you turn and bolt towards the bathroom. You three had been home for a couple of months and within the past week some of the normal symptoms of pregnancy began springing up such as the morning sickness you were currently experiencing. 

“It’s alright, baby. Get it all out.”, Eddie tries to sooth as he holds your hair into a makeshift ponytail. As soon as you were finished, you fell back into his arms and thanked Steve when he handed you a bottle of water. 

“This is normal, right? Humans get nauseas like this.”, he asked. 

“Yeah, honey. It’s normal. I’m alright. I think I’m going to take a nap so I can be 100% for tonight.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to go.”

“No, Steve, I want to go. I want to see where you’ll be and the people you’ll be around.”

################

“Steve! You made it.”, Truman shouts excitedly as he reaches out to shake the boy’s hand. “You must be the girlfriend.”

“Hi. I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N. What a beautiful name for a beautiful woman and this is your…boyfriend? Right, son?”

“Yes, sir. This is Edward.”

“It’s nice to meet you. Steve said you’re a veteran as well. Were you a sergeant like himself?”

“Oh, uh, no. I was more of a private I guess you’d say. But we spent a lot of time together especially on the battlefield.”

“Wow and for you two to still be so close and find a relationship through all that chaos! That’s amazing. I always tell my wife if she met me during my tour she would have hated me. A lot of civilians don’t understand the headspace you have to fall into to do what we have to do.”

Both demon’s nod in understanding and you can’t help but softly smile as you watch them interact with the other people around them. Steve was definitely in his element and you could tell in some way he felt more comfortable in this setting because he was around beings who seemed to understand what they both went through. As his new friend spoke, his eyes remained intense and focused as he absorbed everything he said. 

Eddie excused himself to grab some drinks but became distracted talking to another couple and began to laugh at something they were saying. The first time you met him he expressed a particular distain for humans but he seemed to open up more since they were freed, finding something interesting in each person he interacted with. 

“Hey, this is my girlfriend Y/N.”, he introduces when you walk over to check on him. “Y/N, this is Lisa and Shawn Bennett. Lisa did a tour in the Air Force flying jets and Shawn was a DJ overseas.”

“Oh wow. For the military or just on your own?”

“For the military. I’m kind of like that Cronauer guy they made the movie about. I read the reports and played music I thought would lift the troops spirits.”, the man explains. 

“Kind of like me.”, Eddie whispers in your ear making you smile. “What do you two do now if I may ask? Steve and I have been searching for employment but we have no idea what would fit us.”

“Well, I actually own a store of my own selling books and comics; things like that. I’m a bit of a nerd.”, Lisa laughs. 

“And I teach media and music courses at the local community college up here.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun actually. Are they looking for another music teacher because Eddie is an amazing musician.”

“Yeah? Unfortunately, they aren’t but you should consider maybe starting your own business as well. You can teach kids to play guitar or any other instruments you know and you can do it from your house or maybe the music store downtown is hiring.”

“Are you looking for a job to, Y/N? I’m trying to hire someone to help me with my shop.”, Lisa offers with a smile. 

“Oh, I’d love that. I’m, uh, I’m actually pregnant though and I wouldn’t want to leave you stranded after you just hired me.”

“That’s fantastic! Don’t even worry about it. You don’t seem very far along yet. I can teach you the ropes before you give birth and that way when you come back, you’ll already know what to do!”

As you glance at Eddie, his eyes widen with encouragement as he nods his head. 

“Ok, I’d love to work for you.”

Lisa claps and gives you a big hug as your demon beams behind you.

***

“Hello fellow veterans, spouses, and partners! Glad you could all join us tonight. I hope you are having some much needed fun! I do have just a quick announcement to make. I would like to introduce you to Steven Harrington who is new to Hawkins and after speaking with him I feel like he will be a great addition to our center here as the group counselor.” The man at the podium smiles as he gestures towards the demon and everyone around the room claps. “Steve, why don’t you introduce yourself?”

When he hesitates, you gently push him forward, urging him softly before he relents and nervously climbs up the makeshift stage. 

“Um, hi. Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve been seen by so many people.” The people chuckle as you and Eddie grin knowingly. “Like Thomas said, I’m, uh, new to Hawkins but my girlfriend is from here and my partner and I thought it would be better for her to be back home where she felt safe with her family so we can start raising our own. I-I-I…shit I used to better at this.”, he chuckles before glancing your way, your gentle smile comforting him. 

“I was raised in a military household. My dad was a solider so that’s what I was expected to be. As soon as I was able, he handed me a weapon and commanded I train to be the best. There was no wiggle room there. It was all or nothing. When I saw war…I shut down and did what I had to. I took no pleasure in killing, contrary to popular belief.”

“The worst part about shutting down that way was how it flowed into my every day. I was as an asshole to everyone including women I dated and people I trained… except for some of the people closest to me…Robin, Chrissy, and Eddie. When Edward and I got out…I felt so out of control…so lost. I lost my identity and everything I knew. If I didn’t have him by my side… Then we met Y/N and without her we literally wouldn’t be here today.”

Steve paused, looking out into the crowd, and realizing he may be talking too much. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry. Thank you so much for this opportunity and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

The people in the room clap as he steps off the stage and you immediately wrap your arms around his waist as Eddie lightly caresses his cheek. 

***

4 Months Pregnant

You beam at Eddie as he softly strums his instrument. That day after Shawn suggested it, he went down to the music store in town and applied for the job as a guitar instructor. After playing and showing off for them he got the job. He loved hearing the kids try and play reminding him of the children he watched over with Steve during their war. 

Today was everyone’s day off so they were being lazy in bed with you in your pajamas and both demons in nothing but their sweats. 

“Ok, this thing here says for humans you should be feeling him move around now.”, Steve announced as he gestured towards the book he was reading. 

“I haven’t felt him move yet unless the occasional nausea is him saying hello.”, you giggle. Leaning over him, you grab his hand and place it on the middle of your stomach. “Talk to him.”

“Uh, I…hey, Ellis. It’s, um, your daddy. I’m not scaring him with my voice, right?”

“No, baby.”, you grin as you pet his head. “This is how he’ll get used to it though. Hearing and seeing you both in your demon form.”

“Buddy, you have no reason to be afraid of us in any form. I’m sorry your dads aren’t as beautiful as you and your mom but—”

“Hey, speak for yourself.”, Eddie teases making you laugh. “I’m a sexy motherfucker.”

“Oh.”

“What?”, Steve’s eyes shift up excitedly. 

“You didn’t feel that?”

When he shakes his head, you place his hand closer to the side you felt movement, gesturing for the other demon to do the same.

“Say something else.”

“Hey Ellis. This is your other daddy and I assure you we are very handsome.”

“Holy shit.”, Steve exhales as he grins up towards his partner. “That’s amazing.”

“I’m glad you agree, kid.”, Eddie smiles.

***

6 Months Pregnant

Eddie growls at the crib he was trying to assemble as his glowing red eyes glare at the instructions again. Over these past couple of months, you three had made your dad’s old room your bedroom and begun shifting the room you used to sleep in into Ellis’s. 

Going off his personality from your dreams, you painted the room blue with images of guitars along the base boards and up along the ridges of the ceiling. Near where his crib would be, you put up pictures of everyone in his family that loved him including Robin, Wayne, Dustin, and everyone who had passed that he had been conversing with these past six months. 

The boys were able to get everything a baby would need from your realm but also from theirs including those books that Eddie had wrote and some toys demons normally played with at a young age. 

“Whoever invented these contraptions should be tortured for eternity.”, Eddie grunted as he tried again putting a few of the pieces together. 

“You guys don’t have cribs in your realm?” 

“Yeah but they were like boxes essentially. Or at least mine was. I’m sure Steven had gold porcelain or some shit.”

“No.”, Steve chuckled as he took the wrong part from his partner’s hand and handed him the correct one. “I had a regular little wooden thing with soft blankets.”

“I wish I could see what you two were like as kids.”

Since they left Maeve, they weren’t able to snap memories into your head like they were before. It hurt them more than you because you always seemed curious about them and they wished they could show you everything from their point of view, not Henry’s or Mirage’s. 

“How much did Mirage show you?”

“She showed me big events more than anything. Steve always looking for his parents especially your mom. She did play sword fight with you once and you looked so happy until your dad yelled at her for ‘ruining your training’.” You rolled your eyes as Steve pet your head and sighed. “Eddie, I did see what your uncle told me about with your mom singing to you.” The demon’s glow receded in his eyes as he glanced your way with a small smile. 

“Until my father told her to shut up?”

Tilting forward, you crawled over his work to kiss his lips making his smile widen as he caressed your face. 

“What about your parents, honey?”

“Both my parents were amazing. My dad always loved to make us laugh. He liked being a girl dad and my mom exploited that.”, you giggle. “She would make him wear tutus while I would do his makeup and they both would dance.”

A tear left your eyes and both demons promptly gave you their attention. 

“I’m sorry you guys don’t have your parents here. You both deserve better.”

“Baby, it’s ok—”

“Eddie it’s not okay.”

“Will you let me finish?”, he jokes. “It’s ok because I had my mom and I had Wayne. Then as I got older I got my other family. Steven, Robin, Chrissy, and even Dustin. Now, sweetheart, I have you two and Ellis. I couldn’t be happier.”

“I agree. I’m thankful for the memories I do have with my mom but the kids I trained and beings I fought with…that was my family. I’m so excited to see what’s in store for us, you know. See what Ellis is going to do with his life.”

You smiled as you kissed their lips before you wince and lean away. 

“Ow. Little butthead is kicking my side.”

“Hey, kid.”, Eddie teases as he tilts towards your tummy. “Why don’t you stop hurting your mother and come help me make your torture technic of a crib.”

###############

8 months Pregnant

You, Steve, and Eddie walked into the house you three had been in so many times these last few months except now it was completely empty. All the furniture and everything was completely absent as you entered the living room full of people.

“Ellis?”

Everyone in the room moved out of the way to where Eddie’s mom was hugging her grandson to her chest as he sobbed. 

“I don wanna go!”

“You have to, baby. Your mommy and daddies need you now. They’ve been waiting so long to see you.”

“Mom?”, Eddie asked as he stepped towards her. “What’s going on?”

She softly smiled as she handed him to your father who spun him around as he chuckled but your son just buried his face further in his neck. 

“Come on, little guy. Your parents have made you an awesome bedroom and knowing my daughter she’s going to show you so many amazing things.”

The little boy shook his head as your dad kissed his temple before handing him to your mom. 

“Steven, remember, you once told me that everything would be ok and you were right. I’ve watched you both take care of my baby and I assure you, you both are going to be more than ok. You are going to be amazing parents.”

He beamed at him as he wrapped his arms around the demon and pulled him in for a hug. 

Your mother grinned as she reached out to touch your face as you started to cry. 

“I’m scared to do this without you.”, you whisper. 

Your parent’s smiles widen as she kisses her grandson and places him in your arms. 

“We’re not going anywhere. We’re always right here.”, she soothes as she points to Ellis’s forehead. “Right behind that door, honey.”

“I love you.”, you son coos as each grandparent reciprocates his affection. 

As both your demons come to your side, you look down to no longer see a toddler but a newborn baby wiggling in your arms. Steve gently pets his head as Eddie reaches for his tiny hand that immediately clings to his finger. 

All of your eyes shoot open but yours is followed by a grunt as you place your hands on your stomach. 

“Fuck! I think…”

They don’t waste any time as they collect you and your things before rushing towards the hospital. 

***

“How long are they going to keep him back there?”, Eddie growled as he held your hand.

“Calm down. Y/N said this was normal. They need to clean him, check his vitals, and all that.”

“Yeah, but Steven, what if something comes up in those vitals that frightens a human.”

The other demon’s eyes flash red in warning in his direction as a low rumble leaves his chest. 

“Maybe we should have had him in your realm.”, you respond groggily as your heavy eyes shift their way. 

“Baby, don’t let Edward scare you, ok? He’s fine. He’s got more human in him right now than anything. Dustin said he would grow into his demon parts.”

“He also said we’re the first couple ever to do this so…”

“Edward Munson, I swear—“, Steve’s anger was cut short when the door to your hospital room opened and a nurse casually sauntered in.

“Hey Munson-Harrington family.”, she smiles. “We have little Ellis here fast asleep and everything looks good. Mommy, how are you feeling?”

“Like I gave birth.” The nurse laughs at your joke as your demons roll their eyes. “I’m alright. A bit exhausted.”

“Yeah, that’s normal, sweetheart. Good news is your baby is in perfect health. Would you like to meet him?” Your eyes fully open as you sit up, smiling softly when she places him in your arms.  “I’ll come check on you three in a bit.”

Tears start to fall as you fully take him in. Right now, he seemed like a completely normal child with soft skin and just a sliver of brown hair poking out of his blue beanie. 

“Hey, honey. You’re so handsome. I’m your mommy.”, you coo in a whisper as you kiss his forehead. “Oh my god, he smells so good.”, you laugh as you look their way. 

Eddie was the first to step forward, sitting beside you on the bed as he caressed his son’s chubby little cheek with his finger. 

“Holy shit. He’s so soft.”, he breathes. “You’re perfect, kid.”

Steve finally takes a seat as well and reaches out to feel his tiny hand. 

“He’s warm to. Is that normal?” When you nod, he almost breathes a sigh of relief. “Ellis, we’re your daddies. You ARE perfect, oh my god.”

The baby squirms a bit in your hold giving them pause before pulling away. 

“I think that was his way of saying thank you.”, you smile. 

###########

3 Weeks Old

“Fascinating.”, Dustin muses as he rocks Ellis in his arms while swaying around the living room. “He really does look just like a little human with the soft skin and everything. Nothing has stood out?”

“Can you stop analyzing our baby and just enjoy him?”, Eddie snaps as he sighs. 

“No, nothing.”, you giggle, answering his question. “And so far he seems to eat but not as much as normal babies.”

“How so?”

“Babies are supposed to eat every two hours; we’ve been feeding him every six. I was worried at first but we just took him the doctor and she said he was healthy. When I tried to give him a bottle every two he would cry and push at my hands.”

“Interesting. That has to be hard, Y/N. Him not being able to verbally tell you things like that. I hated when my kids cried in general but you…you still have that whole trial and error thing going.”

Glancing towards your demons, Eddie had fallen asleep with his head nestled in Steve’s lap on the couch who was already napping when Dustin arrived. 

“It is. I appreciate everything you’ve done for us though and I know they do to. I’ve been keeping a record like you suggested should this ever happen for anyone else.”

“Good.” When he notices your gaze shift again, he takes a seat on the floor beside you and lays Ellis on the blanket between you both. “Everything ok with you three?”

“Yeah, I’m just a little worried. They were both already so protective over me and now that he’s here… Steve’s been having nightmares. He pretends he doesn’t but I hear him groaning in his sleep and feel him wake up. I asked him the other night if he still has access to my dreams and he said he can’t find the door anymore.”

A tear fell down your check as Dustin reached out to comfort you. 

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed, Eddie’s attitude has been a lot shorter lately. He’s exhausted and worried about the three of us. He triple checks everything to the point that I find him asleep on the floor by Ellis’s crib because he’s too tired to make it back to our bed and would just rather be closer to his son just in case.”

“What about you? Besides the worry I mean.”

“I know I’m probably being paranoid but sometimes I feel like we’re being watched. It may just be because of our dynamic. I know not everyone is excepting like the new friends we’ve made but no one has said anything… I don’t know. Just���mom brain maybe.”

“Hm, maybe. Keep an eye on that. From what you’ve told me, you’re always pretty intuitive. Wouldn’t want to miss something you know?”

#########

5 Weeks Old

“Oh my god, Y/N, look at him.”, Lisa coos at Ellis as she holds him in her arms. 

“Are you alright, Steve? You look like you haven’t slept.”, Shawn chuckles. 

“Yeah, I’m doing alright. Just…little guy keeping me up.”, he forces a smile. 

Your friends were having a get together for veterans and their families and since Steve worked at the center you suggested you three should go and be seen. Truthfully, you thought it would be good for them both to get out of the house as well as having him specifically spend some time with his new veteran friends to talk about anything that may be weighing on his mind causing his nightmares.

As the night wore on you noticed their soft grins return to their faces as he and Eddie mingled with the people around them. They radiated warmth as they talked about their son and everything he had done with his short little life so far.

“Have you guys started baby proofing yet? I swear when my daughter started crawling it was like she knew which areas were the bad ones!”

“Oh no, not yet. He did smile at Y/N the other day. Ellis has a beautiful little grin.”, Steve boasts.

“At that age usually it’s just reflexive. They see you guys smiling so…”

“Isn’t that all babies though? Like that’s how they learn?”, Eddie genuinely asks as the dads around him laugh. 

“Yeah but who knows some babies are different! You may just have an extremely happy baby who couldn’t wait to show you guys how much he loves being here.”

Time passed and a few of the guests left, leaving the main few that you had really gotten to know. You all sat in the living room while Eddie patted his son’s back as Ellis slept soundly. Steve tenderly petted the baby’s head as you beamed at them from your place in the chair across from them. 

“So how has everything else been going?”, Thomas asks as he chugs back some of the beer in his bottle. 

“Everything has been good, man. Just focusing on them, ya know?”

“Yeah, I understand. When my son was born, that first night I checked on him every hour on the hour. Then for some reason I kept checking on my wife. I knew our son needed us both and I kept thinking ‘What if something happened to either of us?’”

“I can understand that. I, uh, before Y/N and Steve, I lost a lot of people I loved and there was nothing I could do. Now that Ellis is here…it would kill me if anything ever happened to him.”

“Do you have nightmares about it? About losing them?”

“I don’t but Stevie here does.”, Eddie answers causing Steve to toss a glare his way. 

“I do but it’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“I had them to. Sometimes I would dream they were on the battlefield I fought in. I would run to them but I could never quite reach them.”, Thomas sighs at the memory. “What do you dream about?”

“It’s fine really.”

You’re not sure if anyone else heard but you and Eddie did as the demon’s voice fluctuated to his real one for a split second.

“Steven…”

“It’s ok, Y/N. Like I said, I get it. If you talk about it, it gives it validity right? You’d hate to manifest something like that into existence. Someone killing Y/N and your son.”

Steve’s eyes closed as his head ticked to the side. 

“Ok, Tom, I appreciate what you’re trying to do but I’m putting my foot down. You’re going to push him too far and he’s already got enough on his mind.”, Eddie defended rising to his feet and handing you the baby. 

“Ah, you’re the enabler I imagine. You allow him to shelter his feelings so he doesn’t have to deal with them.”

“You’re damn right I do. You humans have no idea what we’ve been through!”

“Interesting word choice. Is that how you separate people from your experiences?”

“Come on, guys, let’s head home.” As the long-haired demon grabbed his boyfriend’s arm, he remained frozen in place. Kneeling in front of him, he cupped his face in his hands. “Steven, it’s ok alright. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. Let’s go home and get some sleep, huh?”

When the demon finally opened his eyes, Eddie’s widen in fear; he knew this look all too well. As subtly as he could, he got to his feet and towards the front door with you trailing after him. 

“Steven—”

Once the wind of the outside hit your faces, he expanded his wings, cutting you off as he vanished into the air.

***

“Edward, baby, are you ok?”

Eddie nodded from his place on the floor next Ellis who was sleeping soundly beside him. After laying down as well, he softly smiles your way as he continues caressing the baby’s open hand. 

“DO I enable him, Y/N?”

“Eddie…”

“I just…we went through so much… Every day I had to watch the man I love breakdown. Even when we were out, summoners never treated us with any kind of respect. They knew we wouldn’t be there for long. In our realm, he was hero and with one choice, he was banished and imprisoned…because of me.”

“No, Eddie. Everything you two went through was because of Henry. He killed Chrissy and framed you. Jason didn’t give Steve much of a choice. He was going to disobey orders and hurt you.”

“I always tried to make it up to him… I tried not to show my feelings, pretending I didn’t care we were trapped. Pretending I wasn’t scared and just as angry as he was. I’ve done that my whole life, Y/N. When my mom got sick, I did everything I could to make her laugh so she wouldn’t see how devastated I was. Every time my father came home upset, I acted like I was tough but I was fucking terrified, baby. I was so scared.”

A tear fell from his eye and your immediately wiped it away with your thumb.

“When he fled, I was afraid for my uncle. I didn’t even think twice when I signed up but I was positive I wouldn’t last a month out there on the battlefield. Steven and Robin helped me become a better fighter. With Chris I pretended to be more together than I was. She had enough on her plate at the time and I wanted her to feel safe.”

“It seems like that’s why you pretend, Eddie, so the people you love feel safe.”

Sitting up, he started to cry harder and you immediately crawled to him, curling up in his lap as you held him in your arms. 

The sound you recognized as a portal opening grabbed both your attention as you called Steve’s name.

“Hey, no, sorry. It’s just me. I have him here though.”, Robin answered as she came around the corner with the demon leaning half-conscious around her shoulders. “My girlfriend sent me a message saying he was there at the bar. He had been babbling about how human drinks aren’t strong enough and something about you two and Ellis.”

After leading her to the bedroom, she gently placed Steve onto the mattress. When Eddie entered the room, she smiled when she saw your son’s wide eyes looking back at her.

“He woke up.”, the demon announced as Ellis yawned to emphasis his point. 

“You need to let your parents get some rest, booger.”, Robin coos as she pokes his nose making him smile. 

“Some of our friends said for human babies around this time smiles like that are a reflex.”

“Yeah but he’s not entirely human and that beautiful, drool filled grin didn’t seem reflexive.”, she responded. “It seems like he can handle the demon skin since he’s letting us touch him.”

“Yeah, I think that’s the potion.”, you nod as you reach out to tickle the baby’s chin. “Thank you for bringing Steve back, Robin.”

Softly smiling, she leans down to kiss your forehead.

“Seriously, you and Ellis are so soft—”

“Ay yi, ma’am. This human is ours.”, Eddie playfully scolds as he swats his hand in her direction. 

***

Loud banging and clinking echoes behind the door you’re looking at as smoke occasionally slips through the seams. Taking a long exhale, you reach for the handle but someone tapping your shoulder startles you as you turn and smack the person’s face. 

“Ow! Jesus woman. How many times are you going to pop me?!”, Eddie whines as he rubs his cheek. 

“Edward, how did you—”

“I don’t know. I’ve been looking for the door for months. Maybe you finally calmed me down enough to know what I’m looking for.” Nodding, you kiss his lips. “So what’s the plan?”

“I think…this is Steve’s door. I don’t know. I’ve been trying to access his dreams but I haven’t been able to.”

Holding your hand, he carefully turns the knob and you both step through. Glancing down at his attire, Eddie realizes he’s suddenly in his old battle armor and you both are on the battlefield they fought on all those centuries ago. 

“Why am I not in armor?”

“I mean, you weren’t there, baby.”

“What the fuck are you two doing here?!”, Steve’s father shrieks above you as he lands on his feet. “Leave. NOW. My son needs to learn his lesson.”

“YOU’VE been giving him his nightmares?”, you growl.

“Not exactly. He started having them on his own but I’ve been fueling them.”

Shifting your gaze behind him, you both watch as Steve slaughters enemy after enemy, panting as he slowly tires himself out.

“Steven! Do better! You think these fuckers are going to show mercy on your son?! You have to do what I taught you to get the truth!”

Eddie gripped Bill’s throat and angrily threw him to the ground. 

“You made your hell his hell, you fucking asshole. He told me all about you and everything you did to him. You ruined his life enough! Leave him be.”

“Please. He’s doing this to himself. He’s worried about you two peasants and that thing. I’m making him better. Stronger.”

Grabbing a sword from the ground, you lift the handle and point the other end towards his throat. 

“You heard him. Leave Steven alone or else I swear to God, Bill, I will find a way myself to keep you in hell.”

Growling under his breath, he tried to stand but you and Eddie forced him back down with your weapons. Huffing he suddenly disappeared as well as every other solider that had fallen around the other demon. 

“Ed-Edward?”, Steve panted heavily when you noticed you both there. “Y/N? What are you…? It doesn’t matter. We need to get to Ellis or else Henry’s going to kill him. We have to—”

“Baby, look at me.”, Eddie tried to soothe as he cupped his cheeks in his hands. “You’re dreaming ok? Henry is gone and Ellis is in his crib fast asleep.”

“N-No. No? I can hear him. I can hear him crying! Can’t you hear that?!”

“Steven—”

“NO!”, the demon growls loudly as he shoves the man he loves hard backwards. “Who are you?! You’re not Edward. Y-You’re…You’re trying to trick me. Are you Mirage? Did Henry and his dad hire you to stop me?!”

“Steven…”, Eddie cried with worry as he threw the sword he was holding to the ground and held up his hands. “Sweetheart, please, it’s me. I promise. I would never hurt you like that. I would never keep you from our son.”

As he tried to step forward, the other demon shoved him to the ground.

“I-I-I need to get to my son.”, Steve sobbed as his voice cracked. “I know you’re not Eddie. Tell me where he is.”

When he didn’t answer, he pulled back and pushed his weapon downward. 

The sound of your grunt filled their ears as your eyes met Steve’s wide glassy ones. When you both looked down, blood drenched his sword where it had pushed through your stomach and around your back. 

“Baby?”

Looking up at him again, you smiled through the pain as blood dripped from your lips. 

“Why…why does it hurt?”

The three of you opened your eyes at the same time as you sat up clutching your stomach. Lifting up your shirt, there was no wound but it felt so real. You could still feel the stinging pain lingering on your skin. 

Eddie’s head slowly turned meeting Steve’s still shocked expression as is mouth hung open in shock. 

“I—”

The long-haired demon’s growl cut him off as his eyes glowed bright red. 

“Take us to another realm that we can fucking damage NOW.” You didn’t say anything as Steve rose to his feet with his head hung preparing a portal for them to go through. “Stay here.”

Coming around the bed, he waited for the other demon to finish as you peeked into the world they’d be going to. It was completely baron with nothing but white as far as the eye can see. 

“Fitting.”, Eddie responded in anger as he and the other demon walked inside. 

As the portal began to close, you quickly got up and jumped through right as it disappeared. 

You knew Eddie may be mad but after what happened this wasn’t something you were going to let them handle alone. 

##############

@tlclick73 @tiannamortis @steeldaisies @goodhappyfriday @paleidiot @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

@strangerthings64 @howlingco @eddiesguitarskills

@prettypeachsworld @nailbatanddungeon @notlempet

[blowingsand]

Sands of time

Crocodile x GNreader

NSFW, anal, cock sucking, Crocodile beeing possessive (and a mafia man)

Angst and some smut

Ex-marine reader

Minors get out

The air blows warm in the desert island you are living now. As an ex-mariner, you preferred the sea but was disposed to adapt to this new environment. Time sometimes is funny, can change so much of someone in small time. That happened to you.

You made your best to keep your soul as a mariner, your little secret, and you know, Crocodile are not the mercifull kind. You know you're doomed now that he finds out.

You are bounded in a chair in his office without chance of scape, that trap was made for fruit users, and you're way below that. Just a random ex-mariner taken from a destroyed ship found not far from his territory. You started to work to pay the rescue he orovides, but as time passes, it becomes pleasurable, pay games, and gamble with guests, winning every time, of course. Then it happens.

You got many wins that day, you were prepared for your last job of the day, your final win to your new boss. You deep breath, take a shot of your drink, a courtesy from crocodile together with that cigar box and chocolate bars, and get done. The man who sits in front of you all hurt and hungry was one of your ex comrades, from the G-7 you leave that months ago. What could possibly had happen with him? You didn't know. He was almost crying when he put all he had over the table and said, "Everything on the withe." You looked sad to him and said, "The black, please."

The croupier toss the small sphere, you very carefully made if stop on the withe. A very small betrayal that nobody could even notice, your ex-comrade got exited and gambled all again.

"It's not better give up when you still can?" You ask carefully.

"Not when I'm in this luck."

"You win just one time."

You try to talk with him, clearly he doesn't recognise you with the new costume.

"But I'll win again. Withe again. "

"Black." You asked.

This time, you didn't stop the wheel and the glass ball stop in the black. He loses all, you was not try your luck that far with the warlord.

"You lost."

The security comes to escourt him out. You take the gains and take the elevator to the high flat where your boss waits for you. He was not happy.

You could see it deep in his eyes, the fire of anger.

Then where you are, tied up all naked in the chair proper made for powerfull foes. You feet chained together and a pice of dirty fabric in your mouth.

"I thought you could be diferentes, little one."

You also thought it could end differently. Maybe you start liking him. Maybe your commander comes to rescue you from that warlord. Maybe even you flee and go back to your people. But time is not mercifull, same as Crocodile.

"I also thought you could be a good man." You breathed, looking into his eyes.

Even in this situation, you would never low your head. You see your end coming fast.

"What do you mean with 'good man', little one?" He pretends to be sad and opens a big and scary smile in sequence.

That man is definitely a devil.

"I mean what I mean, a good man, with moral and principles." Your voice is very low.

"I have principles and moral, unfortunately it seems to be different from yours."

The warlord sits in front of you in his favourite leather couch. He begins to clean his heavy hook, you knew, it's going to be used in you.

"What could I say?" He continues, "we come from very different realities. How could you even understand the outside world without seeing it close?" Crocodile mocks you a bit.

You had sailed all the seas. How could you have not seen the world?

"I have seen it!" You spit

"But you don't understand how it works." His voice keeps a low tone. He touches your face, then lifts your chin with his hook. "Your innocence is so adorable, little one. Makes me hard. "

A shiver pass trought your body.

"So adorable..." He changes his voice to almost a whisper. "You know what happens now, I suppose."

"You kill me."

"Yes, but I'm thinking of another thing to do with you. You see, I gave you everything, and you spit on it when you helped that mariner. I could forgive your small subtractions of my booty, but that betrayal not."

"And how will it be?" You look him with high head. "Will impale we whit that hook? Take all my water? Trow me to the crocodiles?"

"No... as I said, I have something better to do with that so small body of yours..."

So that's it.

"A deal?"

"A deal, little one." He sustain that devilish smile. "You'll pay all you take from me with a different kind of work, also, will offer me the head of that friend you helped today. Then I'll let you live.

"You want me to betray another marine."

"It's not betrayal if you're not a marine anymore." He assures you.

"Then use and kill me. I still have something of dignity."

"Then shall it be." The warlord rip the rope with his hook and grab you by the neck, letting your faces close. You definitely are not small, but near Crocodile, it seems more like a child waiting for your punishment for braking a window.

You gasped under his grip and definitely let a small cream come when smashed and bend in his desk. "I'll give you a good lesson. Small brat."

He leaves his hook in your scruff, and then you can't move, with his hand, open his pants leting his cock exposed, forcing against your clothed ass.

You understand what was about to happen and were unable to do anything. You feel that hook striping your shirt, then you find he pressioning that hook behind you, between your legs, then riping tour pants as well. Without warning or preparation he stuck that enormous penis inside your ass. You scream, he enjoyed your voice in pain.

"That's what I was talking about, little brat." He forces even deeper. Hold your waist with his hand and let the hook around your neck. "Just a small lesson from your 'commander', enjoy."

His moves become violent, hiting hard and making you hit the wooden desk, hard enough to let a mark.

His hook started hurting your neck. "P..please, that hurts." You try to moan.

"Should had thinked better before betraying me."

"It really hurts, my neck..."

"Don't worry. Soon, it all will end." Crocodile laughed. "My poor little one, could not see that coming."

You almost could not breathe anymore. His cock inside you and that pice of old in your throat were not helping. He takes it all from your inside and stuck again, making all the way through, base to top and again. After a moment of you groaning slangs, he just takes your hair and throws you to the ground.

You hit your head and moxie, and he walks to you.

"Here, my new favourite." He stepped in your head. "Will you give me that pleasure? Suck it dry."

You got in your knees and start your blowjob, ever with Crocodile's hook in your throat risking to cut it open. You stopped to breathe, the hook cut a small portion of your neck, you understand the threat and back into sucking his length harder with no stop.

He cums into your mouth. "Take it." He order. You swallow, salty as sea water. "That was not that bad, was it, little one?"

"No." You answer quickly, better not make him angry again.

You stand and walk to the couch slowly. When you sit, he offers you a wheskey glass full of water. You accept and drink fast.

None of you say even a word for a long time.

The silence is one broken when the door opens, showing Mr.1 with a large sack, putting it on the desk, and leaving without a word.

"Seems your present arives, little one." Crocodile takes the sack and gives it to you, then sit beside you rubing his cock waiting for your reaction.

Inside was the head of that marine that you know, his face in fear and surprise. "I order Mr.1 say it was your courtesy."

You was in shock. How he could?

"Why?" You ask.

"It all was caused by you. Then killing him was in dead your courtesy."

"I didn't mean that... I was just trying to... to..."

"Shut up and kiss him."

You close your eyes and bring the head close, but you just couldn't. That was just to horrible to you. The warlord take your chin and kiss you softly. "I like you." He says. "Really like you. I'm offering you a chance to keep by my side. Leave that marine past behind and become mine."

You don't knew what to do. Just fell in your knees at ground.

"Think till tomorrow. " The warlord says then let you alone in the dark room, with that head and the sight of the crocodiles wondering if you could be the next meal.

If you decide to join him, could you like him?

Only time could know.

You can decide how it ends.

Hope you enjoy.

[goldenlilium-ocs]

April 10th, 1993.

The crowd was a cacophonic remix of cheers and hisses. Not that Mattheo had ever paid any mind to it before. Most of the blue and bronze banners had lowered in defeat, with only a slither of green still waving proudly. None of it caught the keeper’s eye anymore. Success was second nature, the appeal lost now that he’d grown accustomed. There was something else that held his attention now, causing him to fall behind his team while they lifted Malfoy into the air. 

Catching sight of her happened all too frequently these days. This time his gaze had found her as soon as his boots hit the ground, mud splattering his emerald robes.

She hopped off her broom with a flourish, despite the mud softening under her. The wind blew a strand of hair into her face, but her hand was there to brush it away before it could get into her eyes. She was smiling. She had just lost the chance to win the house cup, and she was smiling? Mattheo couldn’t help taking another glance around the pitch, but the rest of the Ravenclaw looked sullen and the stands still flashed green. And still she smiled. She had played well, of course, but what was the point if she had nothing to show for it?

Before the team could disappear into the showers, common courtesy was to be followed. Mattheo stood in line with his team, lingering at the edge closest to the exit. One by one the opposing team went down the line, shaking hands with the Slytherins. One by one, they dropped their hand as they reached him and headed for the changing rooms. As if to acknowledge his existence would place a great curse on their heads. There didn’t seem to be much point in waiting around and Mattheo thought to leave when a slightly smaller hand stretched toward him.

He followed the arm up, gazing into blue eyes that watched him expectantly. Not a hint of the usual fear he saw in others.

“Good game.” Juliette spoke, keeping her fingers outstretched.

Mattheo hesitated, eyeing her fingers as if they might shock him. 

“It’s not that sweaty.”

His shoulders relaxed, and he attempted what he hoped was a small smile. He reached out and shook her hand. Her hand felt slightly cold to the touch. And small. He worried he could break her if he shook too hard. “Good game.”

He dropped his hand just as quickly, but as she turned to walk away, his curiosity got the better of him. “You lost.”

Juliette stopped, looking perplexed for a moment, before she shrugged. “Sure, but that was one hell of a reverse pass. Shame you stopped the Quaffle after. Have you ever considered playing Swivenhodge?”

His brows furrowed, recalling the word from Quidditch Through the Ages. “The German game?” 

She smiled, and the Slytherin shifted uncomfortably at the way it made him want to do the same.

“Close, it’s an adaptation. They say keepers make the best guardians.”

That made sense. He was an excellent keeper. Her knowledge of old broom games intrigued him, but before he had the chance to ask anything else, Roger Davies was calling out to the girl.

“Looks like we’re in for a new lecture on strategy. Wish me luck.” 

Mattheo watched her skip off after her team, an impressive feat given the muddy turf. He glanced down at his hand in wonder. He hadn’t even been wearing gloves, and she’d made contact without a second thought. His first handshake from someone who wasn’t Theo. 

“Good luck.”

[honking-up-a-storm]

6/23/23

Using this page to start off the day cuz idc that there's some doodles already on it. I think it's gonna be another slow day, 4 handicap spots are open, more open past the entrance, and the main lot is very empty. It could fill up who knows, but my hopes aren't very high. Funny how active online I was in 16'-17', maybe it's because that's when a lot of current websites came out that have a clear record. Ungh, I want to do something where is everyone? I guess I can get some reading done today. As long as my feet hold up I guess. I knew there would be slow days, but slow and standing in one spot is killing me. Oh! I bought the book so I can properly do this, it should be coming in 5-14 days, though the seller is in state so it should be quick enough. One car, not gonna touch it since it has the handicap adapter on it, I could drive it but I don't wanna adjust the settings. I think this writing is good for a least cracking a dent in this book. Had a very deep dream where things were okay again, makes no sense. If it's a premonition, I don't want it. Could try reaching out to her though. I feel bad and I miss her. Taking the easy way out isn't cute. There's totally shit going through my head right now that's too fast to write FFS. It's cuz I'm thinking about IT, which is annoying. I've exhausted all thoughts on the subject, made my conclusions, pretty much moved on less than a week later due to good timing on the new circles. I guess I'm frustrated with my exit. I had more time than I thought. I guess it's only natural to have wanted things to go your way. It just sucks cuz I wasn't attached to those thoughts and words anymore and the grief I have for them is still very potent no matter how much I try to hide and deny It. I find it odd too that I didn't feel sad after, I thought over the scenario so many times that I was sure I'd just fall apart, but I didn't and don't feel sorry for myself cuz I was a full-on bitch who deserved it. The frustration and grief are what linger. And I think grief is the appropriate word bc jesus christ I loved them, I loved all of them and I don't know why I was that fucking monstrous (Well therapy helped find the route of that but still, tldr: Family source, took that kinda shit talking as a normal way to vent and be done with it bc worse shit has gone around the house and yet everyone claims to love each other, should have never done it to my friends). And I'm frustrated because jesus christ even though I don't remember much of the exit I know I was just spewing bullshit and was pissed beyond hell that it was happening while I was not in a good spot mentally and physically. They probably think I threw myself into therapy because of the situation, but nah it's because for the first time in my life I let myself stand a little too close to the edge of the train platform and envisioned some things. But shit the only thing that stopped me was my own fear of death and that girl who got her leg torn off by the green line a few days prior. Anywho I'm glad I'm better, obviously not cured or perfect but much much better. My paranoia is gone, I'm less irritable, and life is just enjoyable again. It's kinda funny how I'm working a job where I was only in it for the money (financial issues strike again when the V work is said) but like I'm having like actual fun working, it's literally the perfect job for someone with ADHD, every day is different and I get to move a lot, interact with a lotta people. Also like I work with cars all day, I love driving. I'm in my pink era, I'm starting to love life again.

Notes:

A - Truman show/ Fleabagging, mirroring, mimicking, repeating, fixations, extremely picky with food, shutdown rather than lash out

M - Overstimulation, IFYKYK, sensory issues

N - Can drive, good balance

it feels like summer again

I am made up of so many things

Gift of the day from funny old dude regular: 3 Musketeers bar

"FTM" license plate is real

[fruggo]

I’m not gonna lie this would be the first time I requested something so if I do something wrong I’m really sorry,

Can I request Quentin, Leon, Steve, and Frank meeting a female reader who, before the entity took her, had already faced off her own killer?

And this made her kinda tough? Like she knows what she’s doing

oh my gosh thank you so much!! this is my first ever request to fulfill so we’re in this together :DD seriously i really appreciate you!

i decided to do a headcanon kind of format for this, i hope that’s okay! also these are my absolute favorite boys aaahhh this is so fun for a first request

the boys x tough f!reader (part 1) (part 2)

warnings: swearing, reader kicks frank in the shins

word count: ~700-1k each (sorry if it’s too long…i kind of got really excited and uhhh maybe i got carried away,, yeah. sorry)

(also i'll be honest quentin's is not my best. that was the one that got eaten by the tumblr abyss and i had to write all over again, and it just didn't come out the same way that i wanted it to at first :( i did the other boys hoping i'd get some inspiration to fix it afterwards, but i got kind of stuck. so it's not my favorite, but i hope you like it okay! i want to write better stuff for quentin in the future, he is my favorite sleepy boy <3)

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

when you arrived in the realm, everyone thought you would be the same as the others—frightened, confused, and overwhelmed. but you took this nightmarish challenge in stride, adapting to your surroundings quickly and learning far faster than anybody else had.

your past experiences had made you independent and sometimes distrustful, so once you had the gist of things, you didn’t need (or want) anybody to tell you what to do. and nobody was inclined to, either—your instincts naturally told you what to do and when.

the first time you met quentin was a little awkward, i wont lie. you were wary of speaking to the other survivors; you weren’t going to let yourself get hurt again.

it was the beginning of a trial. the nurse’s fatigued shrills could be heard all the way from the edge of the wrecker’s yard, but you immediately started work on a generator, unafraid. a few minutes passed, when soft footsteps indicated someone’s approach. it was quentin—he started to work on the wires without hesitation.

you were a little surprised, only because the other survivors usually left you to your own devices. you got the impression that maybe they were intimidated by you, which you didn’t particularly mind. but you wouldn’t particularly mind some company now and then, either.

it was comfortably silent for a while, before quentin spoke up.

“what’s your name?” he asked, gaze still focused on the wires.

hesitating a little, you told him. then you said, “and you’re quentin, right?” you already knew most everybody’s name just from observation.

“that i am,” he replied.

then it was quiet for a while.

very quiet.

well, what were you supposed to say now?

the silence was deafening and very, very uncomfortable to you. normally you were okay with a quiet atmosphere, but it was the kind of silence that buzzed in your ears, chewed at your stomach, filled the area as if it were something solid. man, what were you supposed to say—

it was then that you realized poor quentin had fallen asleep, his face smooshed onto the generator. his cheek was now covered in grease and grime.

it made you smile—only a little. you finished repairing the generator on your own, causing quentin to wake with a start and bang his head on the pole protruding from the machine. he swore like a sailor until he realized where he was, smiling sheepishly.

“sorry, i wanted you to have your nap. you looked really tired,” you said. you also couldn’t stop admiring the dark grease on his face—it was really quite funny. and no, you weren’t going to say anything about it. it could stay there a little longer.

you spent the rest of the trial running the nurse around the whole wrecker’s yard, only suffering one injury until the end. quentin had no idea how you had been here for such little time and already knew how to outplay the nurse, one of the most difficult killers to survive against. he still didn’t know how to do it well himself, so he was thankful for you.

however, once the exit gates were opened, you found yourself in a bad spot. the nurse had caught you in an empty clearing with nowhere to hide or predict her moves, and she downed you instantly. quentin cringed hearing your agonized scream as you were hooked.

there was no way you were dying on his watch. once he was sure the nurse was gone, he gently lifted you from the hook, pulling out his medical kit to begin patching up your shoulder.

despite the pain, you had enough energy to smile at him and say, “thanks, nap boy.”

quentin feigned offense with a wry grin, pulling out some gauze. “is that all i’m going to be to you? nap boy?”

you hummed, pretending to be deep in thought. “maybe you won’t be if you get me out of here.”

“that won’t be a problem," he smiled, quirking an eyebrow.

“show me the gates and then we’ll talk, nap boy.”

from then on, quentin became your go-to source for supplies and general comfort. you weren't scared of this place, but it was nice to know you had somebody who would really be there for you.

he would often fall asleep on your shoulder at the campfire--he really was a nap boy, and you would never let him live that down.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐘

leon could not tear his eyes away from you the first time you arrived in the realm. your presence was strong; he could tell you weren’t one to back away from a fight.

most of the survivors had been (rightly) confused and disoriented when they popped into the realm, but you tried to accept it quickly. you didn’t like it, in fact all you wanted was just to go home, but you came to terms with it and jumped into trials headfirst like an insane person.

that was the courageous part about you—maybe you were scared, but you did scary shit anyways. in fact, you did scary shit to spite the fear, to prove to yourself that you were strong enough to overcome it.

and leon couldn’t lie, that was cool as hell.

you had tunnel vision and didn’t pay much notice to the other survivors; you were too focused on learning about this place and getting out of trials. having gone through some real shit, being here hardly came as a surprise to you. if you were going to be here forever, what was the point in mourning? might as well just accept it and try your hardest to survive. maybe someday this sick game would end, but for now, you were prepared to fight for your life and that’s all you could really focus on.

your first trial was not the best. even though you were resourceful, you didn’t know what the objective was yet, so you weren’t sure where to start other than analyzing your surroundings. luckily for you, leon kennedy was one of your teammates.

after being downed immediately by bubba’s chainsaw and tossed onto a hook, you were amazingly resilient to the pain. leon was the one to lift you from the hook, and he took out his medkit to help patch your wound, but you flinched away from him before he could touch you.

he was puzzled. “what’s wrong?” he asked. he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he wanted to help you.

you hesitated and looked him over before mumbling, “i’m fine.” and you tried to stand on your own, beginning to limp away. you didn’t want or need anyone’s help.

leon sighed, following after you. “let me help, that must hurt a lot.”

“i told you, cop, i’m fine. i don’t want your help, okay?”

leon opened his mouth to insist, but decided against it. if you didn’t want his help, then he shouldn’t butt in. that wouldn’t keep him from watching over you, though.

but then leon called after you (perhaps a little smugly), “do you even know what you’re supposed to do?”

begrudgingly, you stopped walking. no, you didn’t know what to do. “i’ll figure it out,” you said over your shoulder. and you would; you had been through enough to survive any situation thrown at you.

but maybe one pointer couldn’t hurt.

“do a generator,” he told you, giving you a cheeky grin when you turned around to look at him. he was lucky he was cute.

the first part of the trial had been rough, but after that first hook you were doing a lot better. you managed to find your own medkit from a chest, and you learned how to fix a few generators. you found it came pretty naturally, and were satisfied that you hadn’t needed anyone’s help (except leon’s. but you didn’t have to admit that yet). when the killer came near, you skillfully avoided him and stayed hidden as much as you could.

you were also pretending that you didn't notice leon hovering near you. he was not very good at being subtle; he was obviously trying to make sure you didn't get hurt. it was cute. you didn't want to ruin his fun, so you didn't say anything about it.

it wasn’t long before the gates were powered and in the process of being opened. you saw a red glowing light in the distance, and assumed that must be your destination. you put all of your remaining energy into sprinting to the exit, adrenaline pumping through your body.

but then there was a heartbeat. a heartbeat so loud it filled your head, splitting your concentration. it wasn’t your own heartbeat--it was the killer’s.

the sound of the cannibal’s chainsaw roared in your ears and pain tore through your body; you collapsed to the ground with a cry of agony. shit, that really hurt, and you weren't sure you could ever get used to it. eternity sure seemed a lot longer than you had first anticipated. would you really be here forever? doing this over and over?

biting your lip until it bled, you tried to crawl towards the gate, dragging the lower half of your body with much difficulty. it was no use, though--you hardly got anywhere, and you could already feel the killer picking you up. just like that, you were going to die? you had been so close..

but as you were being placed on bubba’s shoulder, you saw a flash of a police uniform and a blinding light, and before you knew it, you had been dropped to the ground, the exit gate looking awfully lovely and much more desirable than a meat hook. you gathered all of your strength and began limping forward, when suddenly you felt an arm firmly wrap around your waist and your own was placed around someone else’s shoulder.

leon. when you looked up at him, all he did was give you a calm smile, which you felt inclined to return. with him supporting you, the two of you made it safely to the exit and began the long traipse back to the campfire, where you would find yourself spending a lot of time together.

from then on, you always remained quite unfazed by the events of the entity’s realm—the only thing that ever made you feel weak was being around leon. he was just so cute :]

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍

you had never met someone so persistent in your life. from the moment the entity stole you here, steve harrington was after you, and there was next to nothing you could do about it. he sure was living up to his self-proclaimed role of babysitter.

you told him you were fine, that you didn’t need him following you around, but the asshole did it anyways.

“how cool do you think you are?” you asked him at some point, to which he simply shrugged with that stupid grin on his lips.

“i can take care of myself.” “i really don’t need you to baby me, steve.” “steve, if you don’t leave me alone i’m going to break your kneecaps.” these were all things that had come from your mouth multiple times recently. you were seriously thinking about that last one now.

you knew you could make it on your own, and you only wished he would give you a chance to prove that to him so he would leave you alone. but it was like he had attached himself to your hip, and for some reason the entity seemed to really enjoy putting you in trials with him. great.

he was a dumbass and a sweetheart, and you weren’t sure which one of those took higher priority. you knew he only meant well, but god, you wanted to be independent for once. why did he think he had to protect you so much? you arrived here after running for your fucking life, fighting off your long-time pursuer, and living in awful, ever-changing conditions. you had seen your closest friends die, right before your eyes. you didn’t need to be sheltered or coddled, but you couldn’t seem to make steve understand that, no matter how much you fought with him.

steve would literally throw himself in front of the killer for you. he clicked his flashlight in the killer’s face if they were after you, and he would swear and cuss until they chased him out of pure annoyance. it got him killed countless times, and you didn’t know whether to call him stupid or selfless. probably both.

eventually you decided to just copy him and see how it worked out. you weren’t scared, you had no reason to be. you wanted to show him you could be just as flashy as him.

as you arrived into a trial, steve right across from you (of course), you smiled to yourself. you had brought your best flashlight, and you were prepared to use it. the two of you began to work on a generator together, making light conversation as usual.

“if the killer comes here, hide. i’ll take him away.” “fuck you, steve harrington.” “sure, if you really want to.” “why don’t you ever leave me alone?” “it’s a mystery, isn’t it?” “i could punch you right now.” “but you won’t. i’m too good to look at.”

you know, the usual friendly stuff.

you purposefully connected the wrong wires, making the generator spark and sputter. “oops. oh no, the killer must be on their way,” you dead-panned. steve gave you an unamused look.

and indeed, only a few moments later, you heard the sound of the hillbilly and his chainsaw roaring in your direction. the two of you split up, and the killer’s weapon collided with the generator, making an awful screeching sound.

and that was when the chaos started.

steve began hollering and flicking his flashlight into the sky as usual, and after a moment’s hesitation, you did the same. steve looked at you in astonishment, pausing, but then he started again, even louder. you tried to outdo him.

“HEY BILLY! FUCK YOU!” you screamed, ignoring steve’s attempts to get you to stop. “COME AFTER ME, SHITHEAD!”

steve started actually yelling, just yelling, while you continued to swear meaninglessly. the poor hillbilly looked confused and overwhelmed, and eventually he couldn’t take the noise anymore--he just left, opting to find the other survivors while the two of you sorted out whatever it is you obviously had against each other.

it was dead silent now that the killer was gone, and you and steve were both out of breath. but as soon as you made eye contact, laughter bubbled up from your chest, causing you to collapse against the tree and slide to the ground. your voice was hoarse from all the screaming.

and then he was laughing too, stumbling over to plop down next to you, and your giggling started up a whole new round.

after the laughter died down, you stared at your hands, ignoring steve’s gaze on the side of your face until you couldn’t anymore.

“what?” you asked, finally looking at him. he was smiling all stupid again. “what?” you insisted, fighting off a grin of your own. you hated when he looked at you like that, because it made you want to smile back at him.

“nothing,” he said coyly, laughing again. you punched his shoulder playfully.

“c’mon harrington, when have you ever held your tongue before? spit it out.”

he nodded, that was true. so he said it. “i just like you, that’s all.”

oh. oh.

realization dawned upon your face. “is that why you always--”

“yes,” he interrupted you. “i thought it was obvious. man, you’re clueless sometimes.”

oh.

huh.

you guessed…maybe…steve harrington wasn’t that annoying. maybe.

𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍

to say you were feisty was an understatement. frank hated your guts at first because you were so good at evading him, which he would never admit. but the thing that made him really mad was that if he ever downed you, you would kick at him and try to trip him over, like actually bruise his shins. it hurt like hell.

this lead to his decision to constantly tunnel you, and he would laugh at you while you were on the hook, too. so you hated his guts just as much as he did yours. it was a mutual guts-hating situation.

your teammates always felt bad for you, but they also thought you were a badass and knew you could handle yourself. you hadn’t told anybody where you’d come from or what had happened to you, but they knew it was something interesting. there was a reason that nothing that happened here really got to you.

sometimes things escalated even further than shin-kicking. there was one time where frank had managed to grab the back of your shirt as you tried to vault a window, and as he pulled you closer to himself, you elbowed him in the neck and squirmed out of his grasp. while he stood stunned and lost for breath, you kicked the back of his locked knee so that he fell to the ground and bonked his forehead on the wall—the classic dead leg.

this was very funny to you.

not to him.

while you ran away, laughing to yourself, frank’s anger built and built. he was tired of letting you make a fool of him, and it was time to be serious about things.

he ignored you for the rest of the trial, forming a plan in his mind. there was something he needed to do after this, so he made sure to kill everybody else to please the entity—he couldn’t get caught up, it would derail his anger train. he also didn’t feel like getting kicked in the balls or some shit, so he let you out without a problem.

frank did some brooding at the ormond lodge before he was ready to go through with his plan. and his shins really, really hurt, so susie helped him ice them before he left.

the masked killer made his way to the survivor camp rather hastily. when he arrived, he saw you pacing around, deep in thought.

so he threw a rock at you.

it was just a pebble, really. maybe it could be considered a rather large pebble, but frank insisted in his mind that it was a pebble.

“ow, what the fuck!” you cursed, rubbing your sore shoulder and looking around to find the culprit. and then your eyes laid on him.

he looked so sultry standing there at the edge of the woods, arms crossed and mask smiling, you could almost laugh at him. he acted so serious, when really, he was just an angry and misbehaving twink.

you put on your best serious face, genuinely trying not to be amused by this, and strode over to the killer.

“what do you want?” you asked confidently, mirroring his body language and crossing your arms.

frank bristled at your approach, as if trying to make himself look bigger. he wished you were scared of him like everyone else, it would really make him feel better.

“i want a truce,” he said.

you almost burst into laughter at that. a truce? what the fuck for?

he said was willing to stop tunneling and camping you if you stopped beating the shit out of him with your sticky little hands. he didn’t say it like that, but you knew that was what he meant. you, a survivor, could beat up frank, a killer, and it upset him and his little ego :(

just to humor him, you agreed. and frank nodded.

“but,” you continued, raising your eyebrows, “you have to give me something else.”

he started to say “no, no way—“ but you interrupted him: “you’re asking me to stop fighting for myself and just give in when you catch me. i think i deserve something other than just not being tunnelled.”

frank glared at you under his mask, thankful that you couldn’t see. “okay. whatever. what do you want?”

“i want to see your face.” you thought this was a good choice, something you could lord over him forever. it was surely only a win for you. his face was something private, and you would be the only survivor to know.

of course you wanted to see his face, frank thought. everyone did; they wanted to find out if he was good-looking. which, according to him, he was. if you ever asked the other members of the legion, susie was the only one to actually respond. she felt obligated to compliment him as she was basically his sister. so she would say frank is handsome in a ruggedy, jess mariano kind of way. you wondered how she knew what gilmore girls was, since that came after her time, but susie would never give away her secret.

so with a sigh, frank agreed to let you see his face. he didn’t really care, all he wanted was to stop having bruises on his shins. it was kind of miserable, and the entity never did anything to help him.

when he said that you couldn’t do it here, and you asked why the fuck not, he said it was because some other survivor might see. you decided he had a fair point, so reluctantly you let him drag you all the way to ormond.

when he took off his mask, your first thought, whether you wanted it to be or not, was “wow! he really does look like jess mariano! but with tattoos! hot!”

you were lost for words. you didn’t really know what you were expecting, but you sure weren’t expecting him to be that attractive.

he could tell your thoughts from the look on your face.

this had been per your request, and you were planning on this being something you could hold over his head, but the situation had turned into something that he could hold over your head.

oh dear. frank morrison now held pretty boy privilege over you.

and soon you would find out that he was going to keep tunnelling you anyways.

listen i've been watching a lot of gilmore girls and i just get jess vibes from frank, except our boy is more of a twinky idk shdjfhsf i love this guy sm

[inkykeiji]

i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao  uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

        ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          

Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰          ✰          ✰          

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰          ✰          ✰          

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”  

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Angelic.

Pairing: Yandere!Diavolo/Reader.

Word Count: 3.8k. 

Synopsis: You like being an angel. You’re proud of it, of your wings, of your faith, of all you’ve done to earn your place in the Celestial Realm. Diavolo doesn't mind your current state, of course not, he loves every part of you. He just thinks some modifications may need to be made, before he can love you properly.

TW: Violence, Kidnapping, Prolonged Imprisonment, Non-Consensual Touching, Blood, Possessive Mindsets, Slight Dehumanization, and Mentions of Non-Con.

Michael used to say only the bravest angels earned their wings.

It was part of the reason they were so rare, after the Celestial War, after Lucifer and his brothers took their wings and distorted them into leathery, spiked, perverted evidence of their new, tainted loyalties. You didn’t have to be the toughest angel, but you had to be devoted, you had to be dedicated beyond a shadow of a doubt, and you had to be brave enough to put that dedication on display. You were just a messenger, a servant to much more deserving candidates, but you still had a pair sprouting from your shoulder blades, just heavy enough to give you a reason to straighten your back, whenever you started to lose faith in your divinity. You’d earned them, and you were proud. You’d managed to keep them, and you had no plans to give them up.

Only the bravest angels had wings. That meant you were a brave angel.

It meant you could be brave enough to survive Diavolo, as long as you had your wings.

They were warm, too, forming a soft, white shell around your upper body, helping you to block out that unignorable chill that came hand in hand with the Devildom. It’d been a temporary discomfort in the past, something you could brush aside whenever you were asked to carry a letter to the Demon Lord’s castle or invited as a make-shift ambassador in the absence of a proper representative, but after days trapped in the domain, your shining sun replaced with layers of stone and rock, there was little you could do to escape it, and Diavolo seemed hesitant to offer his aid. His kindness had stopped at a silk gown, black and thin and just teetering on the edge of purposefully sheer, the fabric fine enough to slip through his fingers as he toyed with the hem, perched on the edge of your bed, edging closer despite your obvious attempts to melt into the headboard.

He said you’d have your own space, your own room, that he wanted you to feel comfortable enough to welcome him in willingly, when you were ready. He said he would give you time.

Obviously, he’d been lying, and you weren’t quite why you’d ever bothered to believe him.

The silence was tense. There’d been a greeting when he came in, a gesture of good will you hadn’t returned, but if Diavolo was bothered, it didn’t stop him from smiling, a simper tugging at the corner of his lips as he glanced towards you, attempting to catch your eye while you glared at the sheets. That didn’t stop him from speaking, though, attempting to clear the air and only making the atmosphere more poluted, as a result. “I take it you don’t care for my hospitality.”

His tone was light, jovial. Less of an attempt to coax you into a comfortable lull and more of a genuine fondness, regardless of whether or not the object of his affection returned the sentiment. “I don’t want to…” You wanted to go home. You wanted him to undo whatever spell he’d cast on the door and the windows and all the other exits that wouldn’t open, no matter of how many times you slammed yourself against them. You wanted him to let you go, but he wouldn’t. He’d already done enough to prove that, just by coming to you so happily. “I just don’t like it here.”

He dropped your gown, humming as he let his touch drift to your thigh, instead. You only pulled your legs closer, your wings tightening around you, attempting to provide another layer of reassurance. It was a futile pursuit, but still, you could appreciate the effort. “You’re cold?” There wasn’t a point in trying to avoid conversation, so you didn’t try, just nodding as he scanned over you. His skin was warm against yours, but unpleasantly so. Like taking a step too close to an open hearth and letting the heat become searing, rather than soothing. “It gets easier, with time. Angels usually have a difficult time adapting, but you’ll get used to it. And if you don’t…” He paused, his grin growing just a bit wider. “There are plenty of ways to speed up the process.”

Right. You’d almost forgotten. It wasn’t enough for him to just have you. It wasn’t enough for him to just keep you trapped here, against your will and so far from your natural element.

He needed to make you a monster, too. Something just as demonic and just as disgusting as he was.

You were thankful your face was hidden. He wouldn’t have taken it kindly, if he caught the way you grimaced at his suggestion. “I mean, I don’t like it here, Diavolo. It’s not just the cold. I don’t like being underground. I don’t like not being able to leave.” He wasn’t an oblivious man. He knew what he’d done, he knew how you felt about it, but for whatever reason, he refused to acknowledge your rejection. You couldn’t expect him to be kind, but you could expect him to be reasonable. “I don’t want to be a demon, or a fallen angel, or whatever you plan to turn me into. I’m just… I’m not supposed to be.”

“That’s one of the wonderful parts of having power, isn’t it?” It was a chuckle, a breath of a laugh. “I can help you change. With my assistance, you could be something greater than what you are, now. You could be a ranking demon, a name known and feared in—”

“Your servant.” You didn’t bother letting him finish. He was touching you, and you wished he wasn’t. The sooner this ended, the sooner he might stop. “I'll be your servant. Just as I’m Michael’s servant, now.”

Diavolo didn’t bother trying to deny it. “You'll my lover, as well. Isn’t that worth losing a few feathers?”

“I’m sorry, I just…” You didn’t want to be his lover, or his servant, or any role he had to offer. You wanted to be a messenger. You wanted to live a life you could be proud of, you wanted to feel the sunlight on your wings, and you didn’t want to give that up for the first crazed prince to take an interest in you. You didn’t want to give up your wings. Not to him, and certainly not for a prize so undesirable.

Your head lulled to the side, and for the first time since your arrival, you let yourself smile as you spoke.

“I like being an angel.”

~

Michael used to say only the most faithful angels earned their wings.

Only the most faithful, only the most trusting, only the least likely to be led astray by awful rumors and mortal temptations, by all the urges that’d drove so many of your brothers and sisters to abandoning the Celestial Realm entirely, trading it in for more forgiving terrains. You trusted Michael. You trusted every cherub, every seraph, every throne, every angel. Before, you’d trusted them to guide you, to correct you when you were in the wrong, and now, you trusted them to save you, to come for you, to do something to bring you home and as far from Diavolo as you could possibly be. You trusted them. You trusted them with your life, let alone your freedom.

And, you trusted that Michael had a good reason to wait so long to rescue you, too.

You were starting to lose track of how much time had passed, since you’d been abducted. It felt like two weeks, maybe three, but with Diavolo’s sporadic schedule and no sun to dim or brighten, you really didn’t have a way to be sure. His paperwork didn’t help, sprawled across his desk, all messily written notes and correspondences too personal to need dates or signatures. You looked regardless, doing what you could to search through the mess from your awkward position on his knee, your wings folded stiffly against your back. It had to be here. You knew it’d be here, you just had to—

On the corner of his desk, a letter with its envelope still sitting on top of it. A letter you didn’t remember delivering.

A letter with Michael’s insignia pressed into its torn surface. The insignia you’d dedicated your life to. The insignia you’d continue to dedicate your life to, as soon as you got away from Diavolo.

It would’ve been better to stay quiet. It would’ve been better not to say anything at all. It would’ve been smarter, but your mouth was already opening, your lips already moving, and before you could stop yourself, the question you’d been dying to ask was already spilling out. “Does he know?”

Diavolo hesitated, the constant scrawling of his quill going silent. Even then, he took a moment to answer, his tone suddenly much more patronizing than it had any right to be, for such a simple question. “Darling,” He started, his hand falling to your hip, rubbing circles idly into your side. “Michael’s a smart man. I’m sure he’s realized where you are, by now.”

“I know.” Michael had to know. You couldn’t take a step out of line without earning a lecture for your ‘disobedience’, most days. “But, you’re lying to him, aren’t you?” It was more of a hopeful thought than an accusation. Something you just wished he’d be kind enough to tell you, rather than honest enough to disregard. “He doesn’t think I’m… He doesn’t think I’m here like this, right?”

There was a pause, and his hand stopped moving. 

This time, he didn’t try not to laugh.

It was an awful feeling, his chest pressing against your back, just the hint of his weight forcing you to slouch as his lips ghosted over the dip of your shoulder, warm breath fanning over your skin at every chuckle, every wistful sigh, every painful word you couldn’t beg him not to say, not without losing your dignity, too. “What do I have to lie about?” You shuddered as he kissed you, the gesture fleeting, but no less repulsive. If Diavolo noticed, he didn’t seem to mind. “I’m taking care of you. You’re housed and fed and looked after, and you could be entertained, if I trusted you to wander out of my sight. He’s aware of my feelings for you, and if he asked, I’d be happy to tell him all about my stubborn little dove and spoiled you’ve become, with me.”

‘If he asked’. You were used to the way he talked about you – like a pet, like something to be adored and cooed over and cared for, but you’d be lying if you said something didn’t crack inside of your chest at that, at the implication that Michael hadn’t asked, not yet. It could’ve been a tactic, a strategy to guide Diavolo into a false sense of security. It could’ve been part of one of the many ‘greater plans’ your superior had always been so endeared by.

That, or he just didn’t care. It wasn’t like you were the only messenger in the Celestial Realm.

Diavolo must’ve caught your worried frown, the half-hearted, distracted glare you couldn’t seem to completely suppress. His next kiss lasted longer than his first, lingering against the nape of your neck. Temptation, poorly guised under the pretense of comfort. “Angels are fickle creatures, Michael especially. You’re dear to me, you know that, but I can’t say everyone is quite as emotional.”  He gave you time to respond, but you didn’t take the opportunity. You didn’t have anything to say, not when he got like this. “It might be a little less painful if you—”

“I like being an angel,” You snapped. It didn’t have anything to do with Michael, or his approval, or whether or not he cared that you were stuck in the same frozen, sunless hell he’d sent you to, trapped by the same devil he’d insisted that you see day in and day out despite your complaints, despite the lasting touches and the prolonged visits and that awful, possessive glint in Diavolo’s eye, when he looked at you. You didn’t care about Michael, not when it came to this. Not when you already knew what you were. “I’m an angel. I’ll always be an angel. I’ve never wanted to be anything else.”

It was the truth, but Diavolo only sighed, your wings straining not to lash out as he pulled you closer. Straining not to protect you, however necessary their service was beginning to seem.

“We’ll see.”

~

Michael used to say only the strongest angels earned their wings.

Strong in will, strong in mind, strong, whether or not you had any place on a battlefield. Out of all Michael’s compliments, it was the rarest, saved for soldiers and generals and magicians of the highest order, communicated in sparse bits of praise you felt lucky just to overhear. Maybe if you’d ever gotten your second pair, he would’ve said it to you, too. Maybe if you’d ever sought to be more than a messenger, he would’ve thought you were worthy of it. Maybe, if you escaped on your own, he’d smile and place a hand on your shoulder and celebrate your strength, your wings, your perseverance, you.

Maybe, if you escaped soon enough, you’d still want him to.

In your defense, it’d taken you a month just to get this close to the outside world, just to be able to see the Devildom beyond the walls of Diavolo’s castle, albeit still restrained to a balcony. It was brighter than you expected, the landscape below glowing with floating lanterns and glinting streetlights, ancient estates and modern stores standing side by side, a testament to the contained chaos of Diavolo’s domain. It was beautiful, even if you must’ve seen it a hundred times before. It was breathtaking, if only because it wasn’t the same stone and mortar, the same bedrooms and offices and grand ballrooms too empty not to come off as uncanny. You haven’t even asked for it, not unprompted.

It was a gift. It was a reward for your good behavior, not unlike your wings.

You pushed the thought out of your mind as soon as Diavolo’s armed wrapped around your waist. You’d wanted your wings. You’d worked for them. You’d never wanted this.

Still, you didn’t push him away. You wanted more time to take it in, another minute of feeling that humidity against your skin, another second of breathing fresh air. As long as you got that, you could ignore his unnatural body-heat, the feeling of his lips against the side of your neck, trailing towards your jaw while you bit back your usual complaints. That was his reward, for being such a considerate captor. He got to touch you, actually touch you, and for once, you had a good reason not to fight back.

Your wings had never liked to listen to logic, though. Despite your grit teeth, your white-knuckle grip on the low guard-rail, your right wing still plastered itself to your side, wrapping around you protectively while its twin hovered behind Diavolo, at your side, caught between the urge to push itself between you and a perceived threat and your commands to relax, fall back, do something that didn’t make your shoulders ache and your spine cramp every time you shifted. Fortunately, Diavolo seemed unfazed, only bothering to brush your wing away when it bumped against his back, reacting to every nip to your jaw, every brush of pointed fangs against your jugular.

He barely pulled away to speak, his voice coming out muffled. “I’m starting to think you don’t trust me.”

“I can’t really control them,” You mumbled, your grip growing impossibly tighter around the guard rail. Diavolo was pulling you closer, now, his hold not quite crushing, but still as suffocating as it’d ever been. “I… I think I’m just nervous. They start to get fidgety when I’m on-edge, y’know?”

There was a laugh, a peck the corner of your lips. You couldn’t stop yourself from flinching back. It wasn’t the most intimate thing he’d tried, it wasn’t even the most invasive, but the fact that he felt comfortable trying at all wasn’t a good sign. “Are you still scared of me, my love?” It was a question, but he didn’t give you time to answer, only tugging you towards him, his knee slipping between your legs as you were forced to face him, abandoning your railing and your only source of stability, in the process. “I think I’ve been kind, and you must see that I’m being patient. I’ve trying to be gentle with you, despite how cold you’ve been, since I took you in.”

A hand dropped to your thigh, and your vision tinged black around the edges. He must’ve been able to feel your pulse racing, but he didn’t seem disturbed by your sudden anxiety. “Only because I haven’t given you permission to be anything but gentle, yet.”

Something sparked in his eyes, a dark sort of fire. “I don’t need your permission for everything, you know.”

For once, you and your wings were in agreement.

It helped that he wasn’t expecting it. You’d always been passive when it came to action, too timid to fight back in any meaningful way, so when you lashed out, when you wedged a strong wing between his body and yours and shoved, he was caught off-guard, letting you go out of instinct alone. You didn’t bother trying to subdue him. He was a head taller than you and twice as strong, but you were faster, you were frenzied, and whatever he might’ve expected, it couldn’t have been what you did next. In the space between one second and another, you were on top of the railing, struggling to keep your balance as your wings stretched to their full length for the first time in weeks. You felt a hollow throb, a pang of discomfort, but you weren’t deterred. You needed to get out of here. You needed to fly. You couldn’t leave his kingdom, but as long as you left him, you’d be alright. You wanted to fly. You had to fly.

But, as soon as you’d jumped, a fist wrapped around your ankle, and you were thrown back onto the balcony before your wings could do so much as flap.

It hurt. More than anything, it hurt, from the new crack in your ribcage to the spot where something shattered in the arch of your left wing. You curled into yourself instinctively, a faltering whimper turning into a broken scream as Diavolo’s foot caught the bend of your fractured wing, still fluttering pathetically in an attempt to aid you. “I’m trying to be nice,” He snarled, but he didn’t sound angry. He sounded disappointed, exasperated, tired of you and your refusal and how little he seemed to respect either. There was an airy, exhausted chuckle on his part, then a ragged sob on yours. “Would it really be so awful to be with me? Have I really done something monstrous enough to deserve this?”

Yes. It was, he had, yes. That’s what you wanted to say, what you meant to, but your tongue refused to form the words. “I d-don’t—” You slurred, instead, only to be cut short by your own hitched cry. “I… I like being an angel, I don’t wanna— I can’t—”

“I know.”

His heel pressed into your wing, blood seeped from matted feathers, and something hot and agonizing shot from your injury to your brain. Like lightening. Like liquid mercury. Like fire.

You didn’t even have a chance to close your eyes before the world went dark around you.

~

You used to say you’d rather lose your head than your wings.

It was one of those stupid, short-sighted things people liked to say when they were feeling bold, when they were safe, when they’d just gotten something new and shiny and hadn’t grown tired of showing it off. Sometimes it was an arm, some days your legs, and when you were feeling particularly brave, you’d say your heart, despite how useless your wings would probably be without something so vital. It might’ve been different if you were ever actually up against a threat that wanted to take one or the other, but it still would’ve been your choice. That was what you were stuck on, really. You thought you’d get to choose.

But, you hadn’t.

Diavolo must’ve grown tired of letting you make the wrong decision, all while he tried to be so helpful.

You felt hollow when you woke up, lying on a bed you���d never seen before. Lighter than you should’ve been, sliced open and carved out, missing something necessary and warm and filling. Your throat felt dry, your eyes stung, and when you tried to roll onto your side, when you tried to move at all, it felt like every tissue, every tendon, every cell in your body was trying to tear itself apart. The pain was all-consuming, and it only seemed to get worse as you shrunk into yourself, your arms wrapping around your sides and your wings following—

Oh.

It was kind of funny, how long it’d taken you to notice.

You didn’t have to look. You kept your eyes shut, a cracked sob slipping past your lips as you tried desperately to move your wings, to lift them, to flap them, to do something beyond digging your nails into the sheets and cursing, panting, waiting for anything. The pain dimmed, numbing into something distant, something unimportant as you tried to push yourself up, but a strong hand clamped around your shoulder before you could make any progress, not forcing you to lay down, but urging you to, not giving you another choice. 

That seemed to be a trend, lately.

You tried to thrash. You tried to struggle, but Diavolo just clicked his tongue, the mild sound of disapproval serving as your only warning before he sat up, an arm soon thread underneath the small of your back and the bend of your knees, lifting you into his lap without the option to pull away. “Please, try not to move.” As always, he was gentle, hushing your weak protests before you could think to vocalize them. “Your wounds are still healing. It’d only be more painful if you tore your stitches, and the mess—”

“What—What did you do—” You were stuttering, stumbling over your words, but it didn’t matter. You were desperate, and you needed to do something. “I can’t… Why can’t I feel my wings?”

There was a slight pause, the smallest hesitation. You swear, you could feel his smile burning into you, as he started to speak. “You said you wanted to be angel, my love.” It was a crime, how soft his voice was, how tenderly he held you. A captor masquerading as a caretaker. A demon as a doting lover. “But, I couldn’t have you trying to fly away. Consider this a compromise, an alternative to keeping my little songbird locked in a cage.”

You might’ve preferred a cage. A cell, a prison, a chain around your ankle, anything over the strange dissonance that came with having half of yourself ripped away and discarded. But, Diavolo hadn’t given you the choice. Michael hadn’t saved you, and now, after you’d been damaged so severely, you doubted he ever would.

You liked being an angel. You really, really liked being an angel. You’d never wanted to be anything else.

You just weren’t sure if you could be an angel, without your wings.

[plush-rabbit]

Doting Over Atsuhiro Sako

Request: speaking of the darling [Mr. Compress] , would you mind doing for him the same 'taking care of' hcs like you did for shigaraki a while ago? so i'd just like to draw a nice bath for him and maybe massage some conditioner into his curls, make them extra soft and fluffy just the way we like them <3 oooh and maybe add one of those glitter bath bombs, have you ever tried one? makes it look like you're bathing in a magical potion, 100% would recommend ꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖✧*。and he can repay the kindness by telling me a nice bedtime story in his wonderful voice, i feel like Atsuhiro would make such a good story teller

A/N: I wanna take care of him, like please, let me wash their hair and kiss their face (this applies to everyone in the league)

-

While the League is capable of living on their own under strenuous circumstances, and as such, they’re quick to adapt. However, despite how they may seem more than capable enough, Atsuhiro still frets over them. He may not be the eldest, but he does find it in himself to look out for the others. In all the time that he’s spent around them, he’s grown fond of them, considering them family and wanting to make sure that their goals are reached. The life that he lives isn’t easy, there’s bloodshed and secrecy, but it’s the life he chose and he wouldn’t trade it for any other.

The League has finally finished transitioning into the Paranormal Liberation Front, every wish and whims of theirs met. However, with every good thing that there is, there are also setbacks. It’s been a gruelling week where he’s had to learn how to properly lead a task force. No matter what, it’s the will of his allies and he is happy to follow them, happy to make the dreams of his and his allies come into fruition. The entire week he’s been drained, his eyes holding heavy bags under his eyes and his smile much more weary than usual. He lays beside you, resting his arm across your chest. It’s heavy, dead weight on you, as he asks you to wake him up early the next day, promptly closing his eyes and falling asleep.

You can tell that the weight of responsibilities and the amount of people that have merged within the two organizations. He’s overstimulated by all the new tasks and people. While he may be a showman, he wants the attention, he wants the admirers but being stuck around people, he isn’t entirely fond of that. Especially not when he was thrown into the situation after being beaten black and blue by the same people who now respect him. You know that he needs rest, and who better to provide it than you. You don’t want anything extravagant for him, not when he’s obviously tired and just wants to lie in bed. You want a day to take care of him properly, but for now, a night with him is the best bet you’ll get.

A bit stubborn, he refuses to admit that he’s tired. He has things to do and the sooner he finishes it, the sooner everything can go back to normal. But even his stubbornness has its limits. When you come to him, grabbing his hands and sliding them upwards to his biceps, he leans into your touch, with a small smile gracing his lips and a small hum in the back of his throat. It takes a bit of convincing to have him put off his duties for the evening, but when you cup his face and rub your hand from his cheek to cup the back of his head, he’s more than willing to listen to whatever you have to say as long as it means that you don’t stray away from him. He lowers himself, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, pulling you close to him and resting his head on your shoulder. You can feel his breath start to deepen, soft puffs of warm air that tickle your neck and when you call his name, he replies with a lazy hum. He’ll pull himself with a groan, wanting nothing more than to just rest with you.

He listens to the shower run, the door muffling the noise and he can hear you close the cupboards inside. When you step out, a thin veil of steam follows, and his body cries out to step into the shower. He looks towards you, his head jerking over and you nod. It’s nothing more than a proper shower and you stand carefully away from him, your arms outstretched and covered in iridescent soap bubbles. While he’s a bit disappointed at you not having joined him properly in the shower, he won’t lie about how nice it feels for your hands to scratch his scalp. It’s a feeling he soon won’t forget- the way that your hands feel, the way that you tell him to close his eyes and how you’re so careful to not let soap run past his brows. He adores the weight of your hands, how your fingers slip between his hair and untangle him, the feeling of having you to himself for a moment where the warm water runs down his back and soothes his tense body.

A dark robe covers his body, catching at the water that slips down his body while his hair drips onto the mat as he watches you fill the tub. A smile plays on his lips, his eyes catching a glance of himself in the mirror that slowly defogs, and despite the bags still being present, they seem less heavy, the dark blue that contrasted against his skin is now pale; a warm glow returning to him, his cheeks dusted with hints of a light red. When he returns his attention, you gesture for him to get into the tub. His lips press against your nose in a thankful kiss, letting his lips that are still wet, leave their mark against you. The water rises with his weight, his head leaned against a cushion and eyes drifting to look up at you. The water soon turns into a swirling mix of blue and pink, thin, white strips that break apart the colors and touch his skin. He gives out a silent breath of a laugh, his hand reaching from under the water to cup it in his hands. The colorful water drips out of his palm, bubbles form and pop in seconds and when he turns around, the door closes behind you.

Out of the water, he feels much lighter, his hand tracing under an eye, a frown at his lips. With a clearer mind than before, he takes notice of his appearance. It’s no wonder that you worried for him. He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing as cold water drips onto his nose. He exits the bathroom, his eyes scanning the room until they fall on you. He clears his throat and you hurry over to him, handing his clothes and making a teasing comment about how he had spent so long, that you were starting to get worried. He can only nudge you with his elbow, holding the clothes tight to his body. He sits on the bed, a towel draped over his shoulders and his back hunched as you massage oil into his hair. You scrunch at his hair, and he wishes that you’ll finish faster, only so he could lie beside you. He can feel his fatigue starting to catch up to him,

Once finished, he lies on the bed, the sleeve of his residual limb pushed until it scrunches up at his shoulder. His breath hitches in his throat, his eyes closed tightly until colors and inorganic shapes start to take form behind his eyelids. The compression bandage is snug around him, your hands kneading into his skin. He lets out a shaky breath, his chest tingling and heart beating, blood rushing to his ears as you coo softly. His body is on pins and needles as your hand flutters away from his limb, coming to rest on his back and press deep in between his shoulder blades. He hisses out, muttering a word of reassurance when you ask if he’s fine. His muscles are tense, his body and mind on high alert that you’re beside him, your hands busy as they flutter around him, pressing and massaging at every sore spot that you can find.

Carefully, he shifts, rolling onto his stomach and grinning at you, his smile crooked and arm bent over his eyes. When you creep beside him, he peeks at you through his shaded vision. Your presence is enough for him to decide that it’s an invitation to rest between your legs, his head on your chest and his arm gripping onto the side of your shirt. The silence is sweet, and the only thing to break it is the sound of your beating heart, echoing in his ears like a lullaby that won’t end. He presses himself deeper into you, nuzzling until he can’t go any deeper. Your hand ghosts down his neck, your fingertips leaving his body pricking with just your touch, even through the thin layer of clothes where you end up resting your hand.

At the end of the night, when the moon is high in the skin, a pearly light that shines upon everyone and shines between the gap in the curtains, he switches positions with a groan. He appreciates you letting him rest on you, but for now, it’s time to return the favor when you protest and tell him it wasn’t a favor but more a gift. It doesn’t make a difference to him, he only shakes it off and tells you to come close to him. Sleep has already begun to claim him, his eyes blinking rapidly until you lay beside him, his arm curling around you and chin grazing over the top of your head. Atsuhiro’s words are quiet, broken between yawns, and even so, they’re still captivating. You cling to every word, your hand sliding to rest on his chest and like how your heart echoed into his ear, his beats against your palm. He talks quietly, and soon, his words fall into a whisper that you are unable to hear. You pull away from him, your eyes falling onto the sleeping man whose hand slides down your back and claws at the covers, patting aimlessly until he finds your hand. The corner of his lips twitch into a fleeting smile. You grab the blanket and cover the both of you and he seems to sink deeper into the bed, his legs stretching out until they bump into yours.

[nautiscarader]

Nautiscarader's Wendip Week #5: baby sitting

(Ao3)

Wendy and Dipper blinked several times, staring absent-mindedly at their unexpected guest, trying to ponder his request. In the many years the two have spent adventuring together and with their friends they have received many odd requests of help, and even by their standards, this one was exceptional.

"You-you want us to babysit… the Time Baby?", Wendy pointed to the big-headed creature in Blendin's arms.

"Time Baby 2.0, technically", he corrected her, "We were going to name him 'Baby one more Time', but we thought it would be too cheeky, so we just stuck with enumeration."

Blendin tickled the new Time Baby's tummy and made a silly face as it cooed.

"We call him Two-two."

"Okay, hang on", Dipper pressed his hand against his face, "Like- how? Where did it come from? And if you are going to say 'when daddy times and mommy times love each other very much'…"

Blending groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Oh please", he scoffed, "I would never do that. Besides, those kind of jokes have been banned. Well, will be in around hundred years."

Wendy and Dipper stared at Blendin with exactly the same amount of understanding as before.

"But to get to the answer, er, well, uh, let's just say it's called a Big bang for a reason, and -"

"OKAY, ENOUGH", Wendy reached her hands, "Well take him for a couple of hours while you… ", she paused, "What was the reason you were stuck, again?", she raised her eyebrow.

"Leap-leap years", he explained, "We are experimenting with removing some years because people hated them so much, and that of course shifts the leap years and stuff. It all started with 2020s."

"Seems right".

"Yeah… So, all devices are turned off and I have nothing better to do. It's so cool being able to get some actual free time I can spend in proper, linear, non-convoluted fashion."

With a quick motion, Blendin removed his grey suit revealing a Hawaiian-style shirt underneath it. He waved the couple goodbye and headed towards the exit of the Shack, singing some song.

"Oh my gosh, clowns!", he shouted at the nearby fair poster, "I gotta see them in their natural habitat as opposed to zoos!"

"Wendy", Dipper asked, "Are you… sometimes worried what in the actual he…"

He looked at the second Time Baby

"…heck happens in the future?"

"I try not think about it. We can't do anything about it.", Wendy shrugged, but as she spoke her words, a sudden realisation hit her at the same time as Dipper. The two smiled, exchanged knowing looks, and stared at the big-headed baby in front of them.

"Or can we…?", they both spoke at the same time and grinned.

==========

"So, one more time.", Wendy addressed Time Baby, pointing to the toy figurines, "Pizza parties are…"

"Good!", Time Baby spoke.

"And nuclear wars are…?"

"Bad!", it grimaced, blowing raspberry.

"Yay! Very well, little dude!", she clapped and handed it a slice of pizza. "All problems solved forever."

===========

"…And thus, with the great dragon Slagg dead, there was finally peace in the Upper-Left-Corner-Earth. The End."

Dipper closed the massive book and smiled at the Time Baby.

"Ah, another classic done. Did you like it?"

"Blah.", the Time Baby replied.

"Well, yeah, but that's because we didn't get to the Appendix where we get all the backstories of all the families of every character. That's where the real fun begins!"

At the sound of that, the Time Baby opened its mouth and returned its previous meal, prompting Dipper to jump aside.

"Hm, that's usually people's reaction to the prequel's adaptations…", he pondered, as he reached for the mop.

======

"Okay, now we will do some numbers!", Wendy clapped, pulling some fridge magnets. "So, if I have five apples, and I eat two apples, then who is going to win next year's Superb Owl and what will be the final score? I gotta know the deets."

"Wendy!", Dipper butted in, "You can't do that! There is an entire movie franchise telling you looking up matches from the future is a bad idea!"

"Oh come on, dude", Wendy barked back, "I thought Stan has taught you better to use literal life hacks when opportunity arrives."

"Yeah, but we gotta think of consequences!"

"Yeah, like you have with cloning yourself. That turned out well."

"That was years ago! And what about you and the school? Oh, I'm sorry, 'toilet paper central'? How many times were you and your friends in trouble for that?"

Their bickering was suddenly interrupted by a loud sniffing, followed by an even louder cry, as the Time Baby exploded in tears. Wendy and Dipper at once turned towards him and took him in their arms.

"Ssh, ssh, little one…" Dipper tickled its tummy, while Wendy reached for a teddy bear. "We were just arguing, we didn't want to disturb you…"

"And we're over it.", Wendy smiled, fixing its onesie. "Because that's what friends do. They make up after fighting, so they don't make the same mistake twice."

"Fwiends…", the Baby cooed, and with Dipper and Wendy gently rocking it to sleep, it started snoring softly.

"I think we did it.", Dipper whispered and reached his hand to slowly meet with hers in an inaudible high-five.

It took another hour or so before Blendin came back, hoarding tons of cheap rewards from the carnival games he attended.

"Look at these vintage beauties!", he pointed to two inflatable swimming rings around his tummy. "They don't make them like they used to… Anyway, how was our little overlord?"

"Sweet as candy, no problem with him at all.", Wendy replied handing him the oversized bundle.

"And you guys didn't try to get him to tell you the future, or influence it in any shape or form?"

"What? Us?", Dipper chuckle nervously.

"No way, man!", Wendy chimed in, leaning on her slightly shorter's friend's shoulder.

"Hm. I hope you are telling the truth.", Blendin muttered, examining their would-be-casual faces.

At the same time, his hand-held device started beeping.

"Oh, finally, they fixed it!".

He clicked the button, opening the yellowish-green portal behind him. "Thanks again, guys. Now we;re even."

"Even?", Dipper and Wendy looked at each other, "What do you mean?"

"Very funny, guys", he corrected his glasses, "I still have stains after your twins barfed all over my favourite gray anti-radiation suit."

Dipper and Wendy looked at Blendin with mixture of anxiety and bewilderment as meaning of his words did not fully settle with them.

"Wha-what to you mean… "

"OUR twins?"

Blendin stared at the two and checked his device, which drained some colour off his face.

"Oh, flip, I'm four years too early. Darn you, Leap-leap years! This is why we're doing this!"

"F-Four?!", they both cried, looked at each other in utter horror at scooted to the sides as tensions grew in the air.

"Well, great, I will have to attend a spoilers hearing in the morning. It's all your fault, you all dress the same way regardless of time period. It's like dealing with cartoon characters. Anyway, say hello to your kids… uh, when they are born at least."

And with that, he and the waving Time Baby disappeared in the time vortex, leaving two twenty-something-year-olds even more confused as they were before.

"So, uh", Dipper broke the silence, "It's probably not the best time to tell you I got us two tickets for the fair, right?"

[cryptiql]

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."

[shycoconutt]

I Found My Light: Chapter 3 (Kakashi x Reader)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

A/n: Sorry for the delay! Wasn't sure where I wanted to go with this but it came to me in the shower (as all good ideas do). Hope you enjoy it! This story is far from over.

Summary: You attend the group training session where, to your dismay, Kakashi is in attendance.

Word Count: 1800

Warnings: fem!reader, SFW (but won't be in future chapters), violence, angst

Fanart!: Please check out this fanart inspired by this fic by the talented @szamasza <3

If this training session goes like any other typical training session, you are in for a long one. Training usually begins around mid-day and lasts several hours until everyone feels like they’re on the brink of death. Then, when face down in the dirt, Asuma tries to convince everyone to head to the bar on the main street that gives discounts to shinobi. After a few minutes of resounding I’m-too-tireds and maybe-next-times, everyone gives in and spends the remainder of the night into the next morning crammed in a booth getting absolutely sloshed.

This night was like any other night, except not because your anxiety was at an all-time high.

Kakashi showed up about an hour into training, aloof as ever. You were deep in your spar with Genma when you saw him out of the corner of your eye. Genma must have noticed your distraction, as he didn’t hesitate to spit his senbon at you with full force. Luckily you were refocused in less than a second and caught it between your fingers.

“Nice try, buddy,” you teased him, “It’s going to take more than that to throw me off.”

Genma raised his eyebrow at you. “I don’t know, (y/n), you seemed a little distracted,” he teased.

And just like that, you were back at each other’s throats.

Kakashi ended up finding a spot sparing Gai. Typical of him, as usually Gai is the only one who can keep up ability-wise. Although, Kakashi hasn’t seen how much you’ve grown and a part of you is hoping you’ll get a chance at him. You still have yet to use your chakra sword-whip, your most brutal weapon, in front of your fellow shinobi. It’s remained in its sheath strapped across your back, waiting to be used against the most brutal opponent.

“Alright, alright,” Genma pants, curled up on the ground holding his left side where you just landed a forceful kick, “Please show me some mercy, (y/n).”

“Only if you admit that I’m a better shinobi than you in every way,” you say smugly, crossing your arms across your chest.

“Yes, you are a better shinobi than me in every way. You're stealthy, quick, strong, intelligent, adaptable, beautiful, and, most of all, kind. Which is why you’ll give me my senbon back.” He pleas, still laying on the ground with his hand out to you.

“Mmm, fine,” you tease, pulling the senbon from your hair where you used it to hold it in a bun. “It does make a great hair accessory though. I think I might have to get one for myself.” You help Gemma back up to his feet and stick the metal needle back into his mouth.

He gives you a smirk, still grasping onto your hand. “You should see my collection. I have at least two hundred of these,” he boasts, taking the senbon out of his mouth to twirl it in his fingers. “I‘ll make sure to pick one out for you.”

“I would be honored.” You smile warmly, squeezing his hand.

At this moment you could sense a set of eyes staring at you from the other side of the training field. Well, one eye, you should say, as Kakashi is staring directly at you while he holds Gai in a headlock. His expression is unreadable as his eyes flicker from you to Genma and then back to you. You could swear that you saw his shoulders drop a bit before he brought his attention back to Gai who is currently struggling to breathe in his grasp.

“Ka-ka-shi-ple-ase-le-t-me-go-” Gai gasps, holding onto Kakashi’s arms currently wrapped around his neck. Kakashi’s eyes widen when his attention is brought back to his opponent and he immediately releases Gai from his grasp. With a thud, Gai drops to the floor and sucks in one big breath.

“Are you trying to kill him?!” Kurenai yells as she runs to tend to Gai who is sitting on the ground rubbing his neck. Everyone else on the field stops what they’re doing when they notice the commotion and circle around Gai wondering what happened.

“I’m sorry-” Kakashi starts, hands back in his pockets still staring at Gai wide-eyed.

“Apologies are unnecessary my rival!” Gai cuts in, still gasping for air. “Flashes of my youth came to me as I was falling out of consciousness. It reminded me how much there is to live for. I thank you for the near-death experience, Kakashi!” Gai quickly recovers and stands up, dusting the dirt from his green jumpsuit. “You win this round, but I wouldn’t get used to it!” Gai challenges, holding out a hand for Kakashi to shake.

“Yeah, sure Gai.” Kakashi agrees sheepishly, accepting Gai’s hand.

“Damn, Kakashi.” Genma starts, a smug smile pulling at his mouth. “The Anbu made you a pretty ruthless fighter, huh? I didn’t realize friend-killer Kakashi applied to us too.”

You could hear everyone in the circle try to hold in their gasps after registering Genma’s statement. Kakashi’s whole body stiffened and you could see the appearance of a grimace form under his mask. He is visibly uncomfortable. Yet, instead of looking at Genma who just addressed him, he is looking at you.

You suck in a breath, feeling terrible for Kakashi. Rumors spread, nicknames are formed, it’s all a part of being a shinobi. But “friend-killer Kakashi” is on a whole other level of petty.

That jerk.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Genma?” You turn to him and yell. “What makes you think you can say shit like that?”

“Oh c’mon!” Genma retorts. “We were all thinking it! This is the first time he’s been back training with us since the Anbu. You’ve heard what people have said about him. I’m surprised one of us isn’t already dead!”

This time no one was able to hold in their reactions as gasps escaped everyone in the circle.

You are fuming.

“Actually, Genma, the only one you should be worried about killing you is me because I am a second away from shoving that stupid senbon down your throat.” You take a step forward, challenging him.

“Hey, hey,” Genma retreats, taking a step back with his hands up in defense. “I was just trying to look out for us, for you especially. I mean out of all of us, you should be the most concerned. You know, with the whole situation that happened with Ri-”

You close the gap between you and Genma in seconds, grabbing the collar of his vest, you yank the senbon from his mouth and hold it against his throat.

“If you finish that sentence it will be the last words you ever speak.” You threaten. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You have no idea the details of what Kakashi has been through. What Rin went through. What I went through. It isn’t your place to speak about a situation you know nothing of. So do us all a favor and shut up.” You let go of his vest and shove him back a couple steps.

“Wow, damn, okay, sorry.” Genma apologizes, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I was just joking around. There’s no need to be so serious about it, (y/n).”

“My hand went through Rin’s heart,” Kakashi speaks up from his silence. “There’s nothing to joke about.”

Hearing Kakashi speak this hard truth sends a sharp pain through your heart, and you instinctively grasp onto the part of your shirt lying over your chest.

You turn and look back at Kakashi, who meets your eyes.

Pain.

So much pain.

You turn to step towards him, but he’s already retreating from the circle.

“I think that’s it for me today guys. I’ll catch you around another time.” Kakashi says as he turns away from the group giving you one last glance. Heading towards the forest, he reaches around to his pouch and pulls out his Icha Icha novel, bringing it in front of him to pick up where he left off.

After a few silent beats, Asuma claps his hands together to bring attention to him.

“So,” he starts, “drinks anyone?”

Everyone immediately becomes more relaxed now that the focus has shifted. You, on the other hand, are feeling so tense that you start to hear ringing in your ears. You get that Asuma is just trying to relieve the tension in the group, but you can’t help but be annoyed that he’s trying to move on from what just happened so quickly.

Kurenai meets your gaze and can read your annoyance. She gives you a pleading look that says drop it for now, (y/n).

Everyone in the circle, including Genma, give a resounding “yes” and head in the opposite direction of Kakashi back towards the village. You're left alone standing in the middle of the grounds as they make their way out.

“(Y/n), are you coming?” Kurenai calls out to you.

You contemplate for a second and begin to wave her off.

“I think I’m going to stay here for a minute. You guys go on ahead, I’ll meet up with you later,” you reply. Honestly, you have no intention of getting back together with them, as any place where Genma is hanging out is the last place you want to be.

“Okay,” Asuma shouts back at you, “we will be at that one bar on main.”

“As always.” you joke back, trying to sound light-hearted.

Once they are out of sight you turn to look back at the trees that Kakashi exited through. You have absolutely no idea where he could be headed to or how fast he could be traveling through the trees. It might be a waste of time to head out after him. After all, if Kakashi doesn’t want to be found, you have no chance of finding him.

Feeling slightly defeated, you plop down to the ground and sit criss-cross in the dirt. You sit up straight and put both of your hands palm-up on each knee. Taking a deep breath in, you feel the breeze rustle through your hair. Taking a deep breath out, you hear the sound of the trees flowing in the wind.

If he wants to talk, he will come to me. In the meantime, I will meditate.

The next time you open your eyes, it’s dark out.

Damn, how many hours have passed?

You close your eyes.

More time passes.

The next time you open your eyes, Kakashi is sitting a few feet across from you mirroring your position.

His eyes are open.

As if your thoughts are mirroring each other as well, you both speak in unison.

“I’m sorry.”

[jj-5656]

The Fight

With; Newt (TMR)

A/N: Kind of a long one guys. Thank you again for all the love. I appreciate every like, reblog, and comment. Enjoy!

Warnings: mention of suicidal thoughts/attempt, anxiety, minor panic attack, Minho being an ass (I promise it’s not all depressing and sappy there is a good amount of angst/fluff ofc)

“Bugger off Newt, I want to be left alone.” The boy trails behind as you stomp over to the forest, figuring collecting fertilizer would be better than having to tolerate the pestering blonde any longer.

“Don’t you want someone to keep you company?”

“Am I still speaking English? Leave me be.” It’s been a long day, and a part of you is still getting used to the harsh, mundane work days of the glade since you’re arrival a few months ago. It’s been a lot of pressure, but surprisingly you’ve managed to hold it together. It’s impressive too, you’ve managed to adapt better to your new life better than any other glader had. Perhaps that was why the boy was so drawn to you.

It’s not like he had wanted to be. In fact, Newt would have been more than happy treating you like any other glader. But it just so happened the one and only girl in the glade just had to be a natural track-hoe, so there was no avoiding her. Not her smooth skin, glistening eyes, or her infectious laugh-

“Hello? Would you quit it, shank? It’s like you want to get me jacked.”

“Maybe I just like seeing you all riled up.” You can feel the smirk playing on his stupidly Cherry-red lips as he teases you, quickening his pace so he can grab the straggling branches of the thick forest out of your way. Your stomach flips at his words, but it’s quickly filled with hot anger as the nervousness fades. He won’t quit flirting, and despite your quit wit you’re finding it harder to snap back at him when he says things like that. He doesn’t even mean it

“You’re infuriating!”

“And you’re gorgeous.” The words slip past his tongue before he can catch him, and your footsteps stutter over a stray twig amongst the brush on the ground. You almost trip, but the glader behind you is quick to catch your forearm. It’s silent, and you’re darting your head around just fast enough to catch the stunned look on his face, informing you he hadn’t meant to voice the compliment aloud. Your eyes narrow, trying your best to ignore the longing temptation within you begging to kiss away the stupid blush in his cheeks.

“You know, instead of searching the forest for fertilizer, I should just pick up all the klunk that comes out of your mouth.” The harsh words come without much thought, but you don’t completely regret saying them. If he was actually interested, he wouldn’t be so keen on making you annoyed every minute of every day.

His eyebrows narrow, but if your snarky comment provoked any thought he doesn’t voice it.

“Shuck, sorry then newbie. I’ll slim it.”

“Listen, I was a newbie four greenies ago! So you can stop calling me that.” You spin on your heel to face him, standing your ground when he stops short in order to not run you over. When you meet eyes, he gives a kind smile, studying your features intently. Almost as if you were in a daze, you do the same. Relishing in the sounds of the nature around you and the warm sun beaming through the tree tops, perfectly illuminating the lightest streaks in the taller boy’s hair. You hadn’t notice before, but there are small puddles of gold in his deep brown eyes, speckled about in his irises and disappearing when he tilts his head to the side in feigned curiosity. He licks his lips before letting his accented voice break the silence.

“What’s up with you?”

“What? Nothing.”

“You’ve got that look about you.”

“What look?”

“That look.”

“I don’t have a look.”

“Well, I’m looking at you right now, and you have a look.”

“What look?!” He grins at your suddenly aggravated persistence, holding back a laugh when you let out a dramatic groan and start to tread deeper into the woods. 

Later that night, you’re making conversation with Frypan as you help with the dishes. He’s good company, and most times mundane chores like cleaning up after other gladers seem to fly by when he’s around. You let out a sigh when a familiar hand reaches out to help you take out one of the heavier pots from the drying rack. 

“Didn’t know you were a cook, greenie.”

“Maybe I;’m just trying to avoid you.”

“Impossible, you’d miss me too much.” 

“What do you want, shank.”

“What, I can’t help out too?”

Just then, you’re pulled away by the forearm with a strong yank. Releasing yourself from Mihno’s grip and rubbing the excess suds off of your hands quickly.

“What the hell?”

“Listen, you want him to quit being a shank towards you right?”

“Of course I do Minho, but-“

“Then flirt with me.”

“Wh-what?”

“Flirt with me, squeeze my arm and laugh like I just said something really funny.”

“You’re already saying something funny. You must be jacked.” You attempt to blow your friend off and walk away, but he pulls you toward him again.

“Just humor me for a minute, yeah? Let’s see how riled up this shank gets.”

“Minho, he’s not going to get mad. He lives to annoy me, he’ll be happy to see you’re joining in on the fun!”

“Y/n, you’re not seriously this dense? The poor shank likes you, he’s just got no idea how to show it. The playful banter you two have, although it’s cute, is starting to get old. So, because I’m an amazing friend and wing-man, I’ll help you shanks out. Now squeeze my arm and laugh.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Don’t believe me?” His challenging smirk is enough for you to give in, determined to prove the raven haired boy wrong. Setting aside your irritated mood, you adjust your hunched stance before giving Minho your most charming smile. Muttering idly and pressing his bicep with a dramatic laugh. He shoots you a glare when you pinch with a little too much passion, but a smirk stays on his face nonetheless. He moves just a bit closer to you, eyes darting across the glade and smile widening.

“See she-bean? He’s practically fuming.” The boy does all he can to contain his laughter, pulling himself together when you offer a subtle glance to the blonde across the glade. He’s leaning against the now empty sink with his arms crossed. Looking too angry to even begin to make his death glare towards Minho any less obvious. Admittedly, you don’t think you’ve seen Newt ever look so flustered. When you lock eyes, his lips remain tightly pressed together. Not long after does he turn back around to continue attending to the dishes. All whilst muttering something under his breath and shaking his head.

“Don’t get so cocky, you’re blushing too you shank.” You swat Mihno’s hand pinching your cheek, genuinely laughing when he nudges you out of the homestead hut.

“I’ll probably be banished by sundown for that.”

“You think he’s really that upset about it? I mean, I know we’re good friends and all but I never expected Newt to see me like that.”

“It’s a good thing I’m one of the only shanks around here with a brain.”

“Y/n, mind if I talk to you for a bit?” Alby approached the pair of you with a soft expression, his gentle nature filling you with a bit of concern. You nod hesitantly, feeling as though every damn glader needed to pull you from one conversation to the next tonight. You follow Alby closely as he leads you back into the homestead, sitting on one of the hammocks and motioning for you to do the same. There’s a contemplative silence before the head glader speaks, only taking him a few moments to gather his thoughts before meeting your eyes.

“I gotta be honest greenie, I’m a bit worried about you.”

“Why me?” Your eyebrows narrow in confusion, and the older boy’s worried tone makes your heart sink.

“Most of the newbies are jacked the first couple weeks. You know, lashing out one minute and crying like a baby the next. But you’ve been quite, collected. That leaves a lot of room for me to be concerned.”

“Alby, you’re upset that I’m not...Upset?”

“I’m upset that you remind me of myself. I was a lot like you, I kept everything in when I first got here. I was reserved, and I kept everything bottled up inside. And I’m no therapist, but that quickly tore me apart. I understand being a girl might...Complicate things, seeing as some of these shanks expect you to be weaker. You don’t have to prove yourself greenie, at least not in that way.” You take a minute to consider his words, chewing on the inside of your cheek in thought. He studies you for a moment, seemingly thinking about his next words with caution. “I don’t mean to jack you up, just think about it.” He finishes carefully, nudging your shoulder with his own before exiting the hut. Giving you a tight lipped smile and curt nod before disappearing from view. Was that supposed to be a pep talk?

**************

The past weeks had been confusing, terrifying, and downright unbelievable. That was clear, but didn’t you have no other choice than to accept what was going on? You still had millions of questions, and a certain ache in your heart that felt like it was pulling at you. But there wasn’t time to break down, not yet anyway. Is there even a right time? The conversation with Alby seemed to have made you worse off than before. You shuffle for the hundredth time in your hammock, letting out an exasperated sigh at the restless situation.

Despite your efforts, sleep never comes. For the past week, you’ve been exhausted just about everyday. Today had been no different, except when you try to relax, anxiety crawls in the air around you. Suddenly, the warm night air is absolutely suffocating. It’s too much pressure, too much unknown for you to handle it any longer. When your pounding heartbeat begins to drown out the cicadas and other sounds of the glade, you can only think of one thing. Alby was right

Stumbling out of your hammock, you start making your way out of the hut. It doesn’t matter where, you just need to escape. Even when you’re outside, there’s still not enough room. The four walls that once felt like a barrier between you and the horrors of the ominous maze, now feel like a cage. Trapping you inside and shrinking impossibly smaller until they eventually crush you.

Without thinking, you begin to sprint over to the west wall, pounding at the menacing stone and letting out a chocked sob. All at once, every emotion you’d suppressed since your first day in the glade releases from you. It’s nauseating, and you grip your stomach in an attempt to latch onto some sense of stability.

Who put you here? Why was everyone so indifferent to their lives here, and why had you eventually become the same way?

There’s been this ache, some rotting substance in your core that’s been emanating within you since you first woke up in the box. A horrible, indescribable hollowness that is the result of the loss of what must have been your life before the maze. Suddenly, you miss your mom. Or maybe a woman who resembled one. It’s mortifying, to know you must have parents somewhere out there. But you can’t remember them, can only feel the ugliest parts of you that aren’t whole without them. Your vision blurs, and there’s an awful white noise that drowns out any and all sounds of reality surrounding you. Completely immersed in your own thoughts, even the ground beneath you feels as though it’s been meticulously sculpted by whatever monsters put you here. It’s impossible to breath, feeling as though every beat of your heart, every blink of an eye is in the control of the creators. So caught up in your own panic, you don’t sense the boy calling your name behind you.

You attempt to squirm out of his strong grip, his stature never showing how strong he truly is from his long hours in the gardens. It’s no use to keep pulling away when his back hits the stone wall of the glade, using his strong grip to hold your hands against your chest as he slides you both to the floor. Weaker leg giving out from the sheer strength needed to restrain you. Newt’s not sure if he’s helping or making your panicked state even worse, but he’s reassured when you begin to calm. Erratic cries faltering into small whimpers as your head uncontrollably jerks at each sharp intake of air your body forces you to take. You can feel his heart beat rapidly against your back, informing you just how scared he is despite his stoic nature on the outside. You try to release from his grip once again, instincts telling you there’s too much to worry about to calm down. The blonde pulls you closer to him once more, hushing your cries and leaning his chin atop of your head. The world feels authentic again, and you silently think out a plethora of thank you’s to the boy for immersing you back into reality. Doing your best to cease your cries and gain control of your breathing, you grip onto the fabric of his long sleeve sleeping shirt with a terror-induced strength. It’s all too much

“Just breathe y/n, breathe with me.” He mutters softly, chest filling with pride when you mimic his dramatic intakes of air.

The ringing subsides, and the white clouding your vision finally clears when your heart begins to slow. Eventually, Newt releases your arms. And in an instant, you clutch onto his hand in fear the crippling panic will return. Rip you away from everything you’ve come to know in only seconds.

“You’re alright now love, just breathe.” He soothes again, not even flinching at your harsh grip on him. The minute you had left your hammock, something within him beckoned him to follow. You’d been off the past couple of days, and somehow the boy knew you couldn’t be alone. His eyes well with tears, you having reminded him so much of himself his first year in the glade. He wonders what you would have done if he hadn’t caught you in time, and what lengths you would have gone to if the pain never stopped and the maze walls opened. He wills away the thought with a shake of his head, reminding himself that you’re still here, and in dire need of a friend.

“I miss my mom.” You stutter out eventually, soft lips trembling and pulled into a pitiful pout. “I don’t remember her of course, but it’s like I can feel her. I feel everything and nothing at the same time, you know? There’s so much death here, it’s been hard to find something to live for. How am I supposed to do this, how are we supposed to survive this? I mean...This has gotta be some sort of sick joke, nobody could be this shucking cruel right?” You let out a pathetic scoff, still shaking uncontrollably in his arms.

“Listen to me y/n, I’ve been where you are. We all have, and I can promise you there is so much more than that feeling. You have to believe me.” You shake your head, refusing to accept his empty promises. He sighs before continuing, trying to gather his thoughts in preparation to confess what he’s kept secret from almost all other gladers until now. “A couple weeks into my first year here, I couldn’t shake the same feeling you’re describing. That dark, ominous part that sits inside of all of us here. The unknown, the memories begging to re-enter your mind. I hated it, I hated this place, and I hated myself.” You lift your head from his shoulder at that, wanting to study his contemplative expression as he carries on. “Eventually, I couldn’t take it. So I ran out into the maze....And I did what I assume you’ve been thinking about the past couple of days. And I can assure you, nothing you do to yourself with get rid of that pain. That’s why we survive, we persevere, we fight. It might have taken a shattered leg and permanent limp for me to realize, but I know now the only way to beat that feeling is to escape this shucking place. What comes next doesn’t matter, we have to show whatever slintheads put us here that they won’t ever win. Do you understand?” His expression becomes stern, willing each word to bore into your mind as a permanent oath. Stunning brown eyes boring into yours as if they’ll cement each syllable into your mind. You nod, unsure of how to respond.

“You have to promise me.” He mutters softly, eyes welling with tears at your empty expression. “Please love, promise me you’ll fight.” He’s holding your head in his hands now, silently willing the overwhelming demons your facing to escape that beautiful mind.

“P-promise. I promise.” You reassure weakly, overcome with love for the boy under you. Instantly, you encase him in a tight embrace. Heart swelling even more when he plants a soft kiss to your temple.

“Good that.” He breathes gently, pulling you impossibly closer to his heart. Just to hold you for a little while longer. You have to fight, and you’ll do it together.

Tagging: @8avery8 @jenny33996

[wish-i-wasnt-a-coward]

The echoey hallway

a/n: quick note, this is 100% a rant fic. I have been upset by something and this is my way of getting it out. As it says in the warnings this is a description of a pretty intense panic attack, please don’t read if that would bother you <3333

Pairings: platonic or romantic Moceit, slightly toxic platonic lamp (not really their just oblivious) 

Warnings: panic attack, self deprecating thoughts, food, toxic mindsets, slight disassociation due to a panic attack, hurt/comfort, angst w/ a happy ending, feeling like a burden (mood ngl), violence mention, cursing 

Word count: 1,200

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

Patton curled into himself. His arms wrapped around his chest as he sobbed violently. Heavy breathing filled his ears, forcing out any other sound. His entire face was slick with tears, glasses coated in the slime. 

He had tried so hard. 

Morality was responsible for taking care of the other sides, dark, light, whatever, they were all his kiddos. He had an obligation to them, of course it was an obligation that he loved! But that didn’t mean he was good at it.  

They had all been uncomfortable around each other since Janus’ acceptance. But Patton and his famILY were working on better communication and over the past few moths Janus had become a reluctant part of the group.  

Which was why Patton was so exited when Roman asked to take him to a show in the imagination. They were singing one of the new songs that Roman had worked so hard on and from what Patton had heard it was really good. 

So of course when the day of the performance arrived and Patton woke up in a blanket of misery. Even getting out of bed had been a hassle and by the time he managed to pull himself downstairs, the others were all awake. 

The mask had slipped on so easily at first. Patton smiled and joked his way through breakfast, making it as fast as he could to accommodate for the time he had wasted in bed. 

It was only when Roman reminded him of the day that he faltered. They had all looked at him in concern, Patton had felt sick, it wasn’t their job to care about his problems but he could barely function as it was. A trip to the imagination would be torture. 

Roman had looked so crushed. 

He left without eating anything. Virgil left quickly after to check on him. Good, at least Roman wasn’t alone. Logan went off to work barely glancing at Patton as he left. 

That was when Patton broke.

He made it halfway to his room before the attack hit him, he crumpled into the corner of the hallway. His sobs bounced the hallway as he cried alone. 

If only he wasn’t so fucked up, why did his family even put up with him? He couldn’t do his job right, he couldn’t be there for the others, he couldn’t do one. fucking. thing. without hurting someone else. 

He understood now why Virgil wanted to duck out. 

Virgil was wrong of course, they needed him. The emo could be gloomy, but he always did his best to protect the others and Thomas. He was an essential part of the group, Virgil knew that now. Patton on the other hand couldn’t take care of his family or steer Thomas in the right direction without hurting the person he was supposed to be helping. They would all be so much better without him.

Patton heaved as his breathing picked up. His whole body was shaking, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see. 

Everything hurt, he hurt everything. 

Patton wasn’t sure how long he sat like this. Nothing felt real, he wasn’t even sure if he was still crying. Patton was sure this was how he was going to die, if it was maybe he deserved it. 

Something broke him out of his trance slightly, “-hear me?” a voice said through Patton breathing. it was barely a wispier to him but a jot of panic flowed through Patton’s veins. despite being barely coherent he was present enough to register that this was not a state he wanted anyone to see him in. 

The shaking side crawled away from the figure crouched in front of him. Patton pressed his back up to the wall, blinking his eyes open only to slam them closed again. Janus looked so worried, he shouldn’t be. It’s not his job to worry about Patton, it’s no one’s job. No one needs that kind of burden. 

“Patton,” Deceit said softly, “may I touch you?” he asked holding his bare hands up as non-threateningly as possible. 

Patton made a horrible choked noise but nodded. Janus sprung into action scooping the moral side into his arms and pulling them both into Patton’s room only a few yards away, as they walked Janus reminded Patton of the breathing exercise Virgil used in his moments of panic. 

He carefully placed the shaking side on a pile of pillows. Patton seemed to have calmed down a bit but he was far from better. 

Janus summoned two cups of hot-coco and placed them next to the fort. He sat quietly next to Patton who crawled into his lap holding onto Janus like a lifeline, Janus wrapped all six arms around the side. The two lay there for a few moments before Janus handed Patton his cup, the moral side took it numbly and held it to his chest. 

“Hey, darling” Janus began, “I know you’re still out of it but talking about it could get some of it off your chest,” he said softly. Patton let out a shaky breath, “I know” he murmured. “I don’t want to bother you” he mumbled into Janus’ chest, flinching when Jan inhaled sharply. 

“Why would you bother me Pat?” he asked tensely. “S’ not your job to take care of me”. Janus made a face, “Isn’t it?”. Patton shook his head, “Sweetheart, I’m self-preservation. It is exactly my job to take care of you” Patton made a noise but Janus continued, “It’s our job actually, everyone’s. And it’s not a job, more like a…”

“moral obligation?” Patton finished with a bitter laugh at the pun. “I was going to say that it was nicer than a job. Taking care of you isn’t a bad thing, just as you taking care of us isn’t a bad thing” Janus paused, “It’s not right?” 

“No! Of course not!” Patton cried, sitting up a little, “It’s my favorite thing about being a part of Thomas” Janus nodded smiling, “even though I’m not good at it, making you all happy makes me so happy” Janus’ smile evaporated, “what do you mean not good at it?” 

Patton looked a little embarrassed, “well ya know, I keep messing things up with Thomas and Roman-” Patton cut himself off with a sob. Janus pulled him back into an embrace sighing heavily. “Patton, I don’t know what happened with Roman but I am sure he will get over it. He loves you so much, we all do. I have no idea where you got the idea that you aren’t doing a good job. Even with Thomas, you’re learning. Adapting yourself to meet the needs of others as well as yourself is not an easy thing. But you’re doing a great job, I’m so sorry we haven’t told you that”

“Don’t be sorry” Patton mumbled still pressed against Janus’ chest. “I am and you can’t stop me,” Janus said smiling down at Patton who let out a tiny giggle, progress. 

“Do you want me to stay here or should I go beat up Roman?” Janus asked seriously. “Stay” Patton yawned, “And no violence”. Janus’ expression was so ridiculously soft, “of course dear heart. No violence, just threats” Patton hummed, “we’ll get there” he murmured half asleep already. Janus laughed, “we will Pat, we will,” he said brushing his fingers through Patton’s curls. 

[alderaani]

more than gold

summary:  A lost Jedi Temple, a riddle, some literature, and feelings that Cody isn't ready to speak out loud. | AO3

note: written for @codywanweek and the alt day 5 prompt Sith/Jedi Artefact Shenanigans! sliding in on the last day with one more thing written than expected, so i’m happy with that! i’m pretty ill today so i hope it actually makes some coherent sense 😂 also if the riddle was super obvious, soz, never written one before and turns out it’s really hard.

-

“You know, I could have sworn I told you not to touch that,” Cody says conversationally, from where he’s splayed out on his back.

“Really? I’m sure I didn’t hear you,” Obi-Wan says, cheerful despite being crumpled in a heap. His elbow is in Cody’s gut. Cody glares at him.

The room they’re lying in is circular, stone, carved out of some Forced-damned mountain and according to Obi-wan, practically thrumming with power. The ceiling is high and vaulted, letting in slivers of light where intricate mirror systems catch the sunlight of double suns and project it deep underground. It takes on a slightly blue cast, reflecting off the huge pool of water they were lucky to not fall into. Four walkways at each cardinal point lead to a central platform, and interspersed between them are four waterfalls.

It should be serene. Except now the waterfalls are travelling backwards, and all the doors, including the one they came in by, are blocked. Cody scrambles up onto his elbows, dislodging Obi-Wan with a grunt.

“What did you do?”

Obi-Wan follows his gaze and gasps, delighted. “Now, will you look at that?”

Cody is looking. Frankly, he doesn’t trust this place enough to not keep his eye on it at all times. Obi-Wan keeps saying that this temple was built long ago, by ancient, peaceful Jedi as a place of learning, and that it won’t hurt them. After they got cut off from the rest of their men at the entrance, however, Cody thinks he could be forgiven for having his doubts.

As Obi-Wan himself proves, peace-keeping hardly rules out danger.

“Amazing,” Obi-Wan breathes, hoisting himself to his feet without a second glance, to walk back up to the plinth and stalk round it, examining the incomprehensible runes engraved there.

Cody is left to peel himself off the floor, and instead goes to prod at the barriers now sealing the exits with the end of his blaster. He tries not to look too much at Obi-Wan, at the soft sweep of his hair and the span of his shoulders. Being on their own like this is something he’s avoided, of late - not because he doesn’t enjoy it, but because he’s starting to enjoy it all too much.

He doesn’t trust the way his heart leaps when Obi-Wan smiles, when he asks him to call him ‘Obi-Wan’, when the cycle draws on and they’re up late again, companionably finishing reports and debating strategy. Or, as they had been doing until Cody got cold feet and started finding excuses, debating novels, which Obi-Wan checked out of the Temple archives and read aloud, one chapter at a time, before they turned in for the night.

He doesn’t trust himself not to ruin this by overstepping. There’s something about his general that makes him lose all control of his tongue, and puts him in danger of voicing thoughts that really he should not be having at all.

It’s agony. It’s bliss. It’s stretching him to breaking point, and this is possibly the worst situation they could have ended up in, really.

“These are made out of water,” he says over his shoulder, grunting as he tries to push his blaster through. He is, of course, unsuccessful.

“Ingenious,” Obi-Wan says. “How did they manage that, I wonder?”

Cody cuts a glance back at him, and grins, despite his exasperation.

“You’re not more worried about how we’re going to get out?”

Obi-Wan waves a hand. “I’m sure the path will reveal itself, in time. Oh, look - Cody, I think this is a puzzle!”

Cody bites back a groan. They do not have time for this. They never really had time for it, but Obi-Wan promised it would be a brief detour on their way to the capital for hyperspace lane access negotiations. He’d looked so excited by recon reports of a lost temple that Cody just hadn’t been able to say no. He’s never able to say no to Obi-Wan, even when he isn’t following orders. It’s probably his fatal flaw.

“I don’t suppose there’s an off switch? A back button?” He asks hopelessly. The Force, at least the Jedi sort, very rarely seems to work that way. Obi-Wan is always talking about moving through problems, about seeking balance and adapting to what’s around you, rather than manipulating it. It’s not Cody’s favoured approach; he was trained to leverage his environment to its maximum advantage, and finds he has little patience for anything else.

Obi-Wan snorts. “This is a defensive mechanism, I’m afraid. Judging by the architecture this was built at the height of the Sith Wars. This artefact is designed to trap us here until we understand the mechanism and progress, or until, back when the temple was occupied, someone would come and deal with the intruder.”

“That doesn’t sound very peaceful,” Cody says.

Obi-Wan shoots him an amused look, the warm, soft kind that makes heat rise from the pit of Cody’s belly right up to his ears.

“Even a pacifist may defend himself,” he says, then leans over the pedestal. “Now, how about you stop grousing and come help me with this?”

Cody rolls his eyes, but goes, slinging his blaster across his back and crossing his arms.

“And stop looming,” Obi-Wan laughs, catching one of Cody’s gloved hands and pulling it down to rest at his side. The simple touch makes Cody’s cheeks burn.

“Don’t see what help I can give you, Sir,” he says, frowning down at the characters surrounding the bright blue artefact. “I was never any good at Ithorian.”

Obi-Wan pauses, then tilts his head up. “Ah. Is that what it is?”

“I - I think so?” Cody was never any good at his language flashtraining; he never had the proper patience for it, but he can usually figure out the basics.

“No, no,” Obi-Wan muses, stroking at his beard with his free hand. “You’re quite right. Goodness me, it's been a long time since I last saw this dialect. Let’s see now…”

Cody steps back and waits, keeping his attention firmly split between their blocked exit points while Obi-Wan ponders. The slow upward movement of the waterfalls is eerie - it still makes noise, but none of it is right. Instead of the gentle patter he expects of water joining a larger pool, there’s a faint gurgling as they move further into each grate, travelling somewhere he cannot see.

Obi-Wan finishes his fifth circle round the platform, and the hand at his chin goes still. Cody stands at attention, expectant.

“It’s a riddle,” Obi-Wan says, and if possible, his delight grows. “Yes - the language is coming back to me now. Do you know, I haven’t looked at Ithorian in maybe 12 years?”

“Sir?” Cody says, tilting his head to look at the characters more closely. He doesn’t have even a passing proficiency at modern Ithorian, and presumably it’s changed a bit over the millennia. His training was focused on the basics, and only the useful bits, at that. He thinks he can make out the words for ‘ water ’, and ‘ enemy’ , both of which are either unhelpfully descriptive or frankly discouraging, but that’s about the extent of it.

“My old master - he loved prophecies. When I was a teenager I could never see the point of it, but it meant I spent a lot of time learning the old Ithorian dialects. They’re known as the most peaceful species, did you know?” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “They’ll exile anyone violent, it’s quite remarkable, really. I suppose in some sort of idealistic emulation, a lot of the early Jedi texts are written in their dialect.”

His blue eyes are keen, his laser sharp focus firmly on the podium. It gives Cody a moment to observe his clever fingers, the long line of his neck, the open delight with which he tackles this new problem. It’s a rare thing, to see him so relaxed, and Cody can’t help the fond smile that creeps up on him despite the circumstances. This almost makes it worth it, and on reflection, he’d rather an ancient temple than the last thing that had made Obi-Wan so happy; a wretched, bioluminescent fungus, which had infected half the battalion and given them hives. Their general had studied it for weeks.

Obi-Wan’s lips quirk up. Cody barely trusts himself to speak.

“I didn’t know, Sir,” Cody croaks, then pauses, fishing for something normal to say. “Didn’t we have to defend the governor’s daughter from an Ithorian bounty hunter on Ganaris-IV?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan grins. “Those exiles have to go somewhere, don’t they?”

Cody huffs a laugh and reaches up to scratch his neck at the seam of his bucket.

“Let’s just hope they didn’t all come here. What’s this riddle, then?”

Obi-Wan shifts to the side, then points at a spot on the podium. “As I said, it’s been a long time, but I think it starts here, and goes something like:

A thing to be forged, where water is thicker,

Worth more than gold, unless it’s pyrite that glitters.

An enemy of my enemy, or in hard times, in need,

Sometimes fair-weather, or in high places indeed.

What are you, traveller? ”

All of Cody’s hopes that it would be something nice and obvious, like “lightsaber” or, given what’s going on around them, “gravity”, escape from him like smoke. Jedi and their metaphors. It’s not just a quirk of Obi-Wan’s, clearly.

“Does that mean anything to you, Sir?” he asks, turning the words over in his head once, twice, then frowning when nothing comes immediately.

Obi-Wan’s brow is also furrowed, but in a leisurely, meditative manner.

“...I have some ideas, I think,” he says. “How about you, my friend?”

What does he think? He thinks that there are other sorts of puzzles he is much better suited to. Word play and idioms...what does a clone have to offer that?

Still, Obi-Wan is watching him, expectant and gentle, and he sifts back through the lines, a little more seriously this time.

“Ice, maybe?”

Obi-Wan nods, slowly. “Perhaps. Walk me through it.”

Cody swallows. “Ice is something that can be made, right? It’s not exactly forged, but…”

He trails off in uncertainty.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan says with another one of those soft, devastating smiles. It fractures all the thoughts in Cody’s head, and he has to stop, clear his throat and gather up all the pieces.

“I suppose...it’s just thicker water, isn’t it? On warm planets it’s a valuable commodity, it’s found in high places, and I suppose if you wanted snow, a freeze would be fair weather.”

Obi-Wan is rubbing his beard again, and he’s still smiling. “Fascinating. I would never have thought of that...only, I don’t think it’s quite there. That mention of pyrite is troublesome, and the ‘enemy of my enemy’, where does that fit in?”

Cody shrugs his shoulders, frustrated, and feels a hot flush creep up his neck. “Don’t know why you’re asking me, to be honest, Sir. Kamino hardly covered poetry.”

There’s a slight pause, then Obi-Wan’s hand is on his again, tugging it slowly down from where he’s crossed his arms.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he says, soft.

“Do what?” Cody’s voice is gruff.

“Dismiss yourself. You do it sometimes when we’re reading together. There is often no right and wrong answer to these things, no secret. There is only perspective, and you see things I never would, if only you would trust yourself.”

Cody looks down and away, back towards the waterfalls and their slow, glacial climb. He isn’t sure that’s true. He enjoys what Obi-Wan shares with him, what other lives he gets to touch in their books, but more than anything they convince him that, beyond war, he knows very little of anything at all. He would like to, someday.

His eyes land on Obi-Wan’s lips briefly, before he tears them away. Particular experiences he would like to know more than others.

There was one book that Obi-Wan had read early on, back when this infatuation was just setting its first tendrils into him, about a forbidden romance at the heart of the old Mandalorian court. Two heirs of rival clans battling to be together against the good approval of their noble relatives. It had been torrid, ridiculous and entirely unexpected when Obi-Wan had suggested they break up their reports with some literature.

But what it had done was give him the words to express the crawling heat in his stomach, the urge he has to reach out, to touch, to soothe, to care for. He’d known what he wanted before that, of course, in a more rudimentary manner, but it had gifted him the language of yearning.

Suddenly, a particular passage springs into his mind and he straightens.

“You don’t think it could mean ally, do you? In Beneath the Armour, Mata threatens Clan Riza by saying he has ‘allies in high places’.”

Obi-Wan pauses, and then a brilliant smile spreads over his face. “Yes, that’s it! Pyrite - Fool’s Gold; a false friend! Brilliant Cody, whatever made you think of that?”

Cody grins, even though Obi-Wan can’t see it, and doesn’t answer.

“Is that really it?”

“I think you’re very close,” Obi-Wan says. “The characters engraved into the platform...yes! Stand close to me, Commander.”

Cody does, watching curiously as Obi-Wan lifts his hands, shuts his eyes, frowns, and pushes . Six blocks that make up the platform lift, the characters on each glowing bright, lurid blue. Under their feet, something scrapes, shifts and clunks, before the platform lurches upwards, spinning gently.

There’s a thunderous gurgling sound, before all of the pool beneath drains away.

“The answer,” Obi-Wan says, slightly breathless, his hair a little out of place. “Was friend.”

“The doorways are still blocked,” Cody notes drily. The plinth with the blue orb that started this whole mess has also risen, and underneath it are a set of very wet, slimy looking steps. “I don’t suppose it’s as simple as just walking down these and getting in?”

“Likely not,” Obi-Wan agrees, then inexplicably shifts a little closer, so that they are sharing space. Cody’s heart skips a beat. “But it’s like I told you, Cody. You are far greater than what you have been given.”

Cody coughs and looks at his feet, at their boots almost toe to toe, pleasure at the praise singing low through his body.

“Now,” Obi-Wan says, too close and not close enough. “How do you feel about another puzzle?”

Cody groans, laughing, and after a moment, follows his General into the dark.

[juniorgman187]

The Boy Next Door (Spencer Reid Imagine)

gif credits @toyboxboy​ Summary: The boy next door falls in love with the girl next door. Need I say more? Category: Fluff, Angst Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid  Content Warning: Death, unrequited love, heartbreak Word Count: 10.4k A/N: POV switches from Spencer to Reader indicated by “᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Ground coffee, dates, and greek yogurt, all neatly encased in a brown paper bag. 

Those were the things I was holding the day I first met you.

(You should know that I wouldn’t tamper with any of the moments that I’ve been so fortunate to have with you - I’ve watched enough “Dr. Who” to know that tampering with the past, even changing the smallest thing, could drastically affect the future). But if I could, I would probably change the precarious position you found me in that day. 

When you exited your apartment, I had my knee hiked up embarrassingly high to support the weight of my groceries from underneath, leaving me to balance on one leg while the bag wobbled on my thigh as I ransacked my pocket for my keys. By the time you came out, I had been like this for the past few minutes, and if the task wasn’t already harder than it should’ve been to accomplish, you didn’t make it any better.

You walked out of the door in that wispy skirt and a denim jacket that swallowed your torso whole; your unwieldy boots clunked against the wood floors of our hallway. You even didn’t bother locking your door behind you after leaving - that’s how trusting you were. While I must admit, I found the action, or lack thereof, to be quite naive, it was endearing, too. 

I, for one, am a firm believer that actions are indicative of character and from what I gathered: you trust easily, and at times, in a misguided manner.

After several seconds of being in your gravity, I figured you earnestly hadn’t seen me, given the fact that not once had you looked up from your phone to acknowledge my presence. Not to mention, your headphones were buried in your ears, blocking out any noise I could’ve been making with my unsteady stance or seemingly unfindable keys that would’ve, otherwise, made you known of my existence. Your music was so loud I could hear it from where I stood, clear as day. 

Still don’t know how you haven’t gone deaf yet, (y/n). One of life’s greatest mysteries, I suppose. 

It would be a gross understatement to claim that I couldn’t take my eyes off you. It was more than that. I felt entranced by you, like I was under your spell. Your perfume was poison, wafting through the hallway as you walked past me to descend the flight of stairs. I was in raptures from the way your wired earbuds got tangled with your hair. Normally, I couldn’t bear the thought of sharing headphones with someone, but I’d do it in a heartbeat with you. 

I’d do a lot of things with you, actually.

I had to stop myself from trailing your movements when you reached a space in the hall directly behind me, and even then, my actions only ceased because my head couldn’t physically turn that far to watch you. 

It was then that I recalled owls and how they’ve evolved into creatures that can turn their head a complete 180 degrees. Of course, that’s a trait meant for survival, merely an adaptation that allows them to detect danger or predators, but I wasn’t watching a predator, and I suppose that’s precisely why I wasn’t given the ability to turn my head so far. Because it was you I was watching - the girl next door (literally and figuratively) - nothing remotely close to a threat. I’d never been jealous of owls before, but in that moment, I wished nothing more than to be one just so I could get another look at you. 

I forced myself to resume my unfinished task out of fear that you might finally notice me and become alarmed by my prolonged staring. Once more, I was sorting through the pocket of my pants for the key to unlock my door. Behind me, your foot was about to land on the next step of the stairwell, but instead, it quickly retreated at the sound of my groceries hitting the floor.

If there was ever a doubt in your head that you caused the collapse of my paper bag’s contents, there shouldn’t be.

It was you. It was all you.

I was too distracted by your poisonous scent and chunky boots to even notice my groceries struggling to balance on the precipice.

When I ascertained the mess I had made - the mess I knew you could hear even through your cacophonous music - I wanted nothing more than to find my keys and disappear into my apartment to mask the immediate shame I was feeling. My mind spun into a panic, my body incapacitated from the shock, and the first thing I could think to do was abandon my spilled groceries in the hall so you might not see me before I fled, but you were too quick. Your heart of gold made it impossible for that to be achieved.

“Oh my goodness, here! Let me help you.”

You knelt to the ground before I could even register your sudden presence and the lack of distance between us, let alone comprehend that your warm voice was speaking words meant for me.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ve got it.”

If you thought I was pushing you away, you should know that those weren’t my intentions. I was only emphasizing my ability to do it alone so that you might leave me to my devices - a state of conditions where I could actually think. With you so close, I simply couldn’t do that. Even now, it’s still an uphill battle to talk to you with a clear head.

“No, please. I insist. I’ve got plenty of time.” You assured me, tucking back strands of your hair that got in the way of your sight. I wondered then what it’d be like to do that to you myself. The vision ended there. 

“A Teenager In Love” by Dion and the Belmonts cut into my thoughts. That’s the song that was playing on your headphones. And that’s exactly what I felt like.

A teenager in love.

It was also the song you paused to give your undivided attention to me.

“I’m (y/n), by the way. I live right next door. 3B.” You informed me, as if I hadn’t just come to that same conclusion when I observed you walk out of that door only moments ago. You extended your hand into the air between us for a handshake. I wasted no time returning it.

“Spencer.”

You batted your eyelashes and looked up at me with those unassuming doe eyes. 

God, were you doing that on purpose? Were you trying to kill me?

When our hands interlocked, I couldn’t help but notice how yours fit so perfectly in mine, like it was made-to-measure. It led me to the belief that my hands were specifically fashioned for the particular use of holding yours. The shake lingered for a second longer than necessary, and I saw it in the way your eyes flickered down to where our bodies met, wondering why it was taking me so long to pull away.

“It’s nice to meet you, Spencer.” 

I’ve never liked my name so much until I heard it on your tongue. It made me forget all about the mess and the shame and the fear of disturbing you. That is until I saw you sliding the last of my groceries back into the paper bag.

“I’ll see you later then?”

You had stood up before I could ask you not to go, wiping your knees of any dust they might’ve collected on the floor where you knelt in front of me.

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.” I dumbly answered back, watching you descend the stairs from a distance once more.

“Have a nice night, Spencer!” I heard you say before you disappeared below the ground that I stood on. You already had your headphones back in and were long gone before I could return the sentiment. I did want you to have a nice night, though. Even if I didn’t say it in time. 

Then again, I guess there was a lot I didn’t say in time - right, (y/n)?

Two days went by before I saw you again. 

You weren’t alone.

I was reading when I heard the sound of footsteps outside my door, unintentionally giving me full liberty to hear the conversation partaking as well.

“What’s his name?” Your friend asked you.

Originally, I was adamant about not purposefully eavesdropping - no matter how tempting it was or how amply I could hear. You deserved better than that ...  but how could I help myself when I heard you answer your friend, “Spencer.”

It was the sound of my own moniker that lured me to the door, where I pressed my ear against it.

“Is he cute?”

“Very.” You gushed to her, my own heart swelling two sizes too big for my poor chest to contain.

“Do you want to fuck him?” Your friend giggled. You hesitated to speak. “Oh my god, have you already fucked?”

“No!” You defensively screeched.

“But you’ve thought about it!”

“Will you lower your voice? He lives right there! What if he hears you?”

I peeked through the peephole to spy on this encounter, brainlessly ducking down when I saw you eyeing my door curiously. After I finally slowed down the cadence of my heart, the realization dawned on me that you couldn’t possibly have been able to see me from the outside view of my peephole, but it still felt like you had; your eyes pierced through my soul, bewitching my body and soul.

Luckily for you - unluckily for me, I suppose - you and your friend vanished into your apartment before I could hear the rest of that conversation. I didn’t need to, though. What I heard was enough to keep me up all night. Had I heard anything more, I’m not sure how many more hours of sleep I would’ve lost just thinking about you. 

Hours I could’ve spent reading. Hours I could’ve spent writing. Hours I could’ve spent, but time that I would never take back. Not for anything in the world.

Our next interaction took place the following week. 

It was 5 a.m and Hotch had called us all in early, so I was already out the door before the sun was up, but evidently, not before you were up. Because when I left my apartment, there you were, lingering in the doorway, leaning against - what I had to assume was - your very much unlocked front door. 

“Oh!” You flinched and gasped, while ripping the headphones out of your ears. “You scared me, Spencer.”

“Good morning to you, too, (y/n).” I quipped, puckering my lips slightly to reduce the immense size of my zealous smile before grinning back at you again, this time with a much smaller smile - one much less discouraging. 

You were exactly what I needed to see to make my morning better, and your hair in a ponytail and your black leggings only made the view that much sweeter.

“What are you doing up so early?” You had asked me inquisitively.

“I got called into work.”

“Oh.” 

You sounded so disappointed, and I couldn’t help but feel that I’d just let you down. The pout of your lips and deflation of your shoulders only solidified that.

It was then where I should’ve left you alone and gone to work, which I was already considerably late for, but I couldn’t help myself. I would’ve worried about you all day if I hadn’t asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” You tried to wave me away down the staircase, but I knew better than to leave. You understood my maintained foothold as a silent communication that I wouldn’t walk away unless you told me what was bothering you so you reluctantly gave in.

“Well, honestly, I’ve been standing out here since like 4:30, trying to convince myself to go on a run, but ... I’m actually kind of scared to. I just, I don’t know if I feel safe running alone in the dark.” 

You never met my eyes, they were only fixated on the earbud cord you were rolling between your fingers to make brief circles in the air. 

“You know what?”

From those words alone, you perked back up. 

“I’m already late, so I can ... I’ll run with you. If you want.”

In seven little words, I managed to gain all your trust. That’s all it took for you to never be ashamed of your feelings in front of me. You trusted me to always respond to your vulnerability like this, and I knew then, what the weight of having your trust felt like. I could never wish to break it.

Your joy was so uncontainable to the point where you were emboldened enough to show me your appreciation through a hug so big that I couldn’t understand how your petite body was capable of supporting something of its size. You wrapped your arms around my neck, pulling me down to your height despite already balancing on the tips of your toes. I had to remind myself not to indulge in your embrace too much, otherwise I might never have let you go.

Your hair smelled like a certain flower my mother used to put in a vase on our dining table. It’s the same flower that she grows in the garden of her assisted living home at present. It’s such a distinct scent - magnolias - I’ll never forget. But now whenever I pass those beloved magnolias during my visitations, the flowers from my childhood dining room won’t be what I associate it with anymore. 

You’ll be what I think of.

I was met with the cruel reminder of what I’d agreed to when you left my arms. There’s not much I dislike in this world as much as exercise, but for you - I’d run to the ends of the earth. I mean that.

“You’re my hero!” You exclaimed when we reached our apartments again after that treacherous run, which felt more like a marathon and a half to me.

I would’ve said something back, but I was still trying to catch my breath, even folding over my bent knees to stop myself from panting so hard. For a moment there, I was sincerely upset that you weren’t nearly as breathless as I was. Were you just that perfect in every conceivable way? Not even a semblance of windedness from the miles and miles we just ran? 

How unfair. Have pity on my poor soul.

“I had so much fun. We should do that again sometime.” You added.

Again, I would’ve responded to your exclamation, but I was still very much out of breath. You didn’t seem to mind, though. You even offered me a sip of your water. I politely declined, which I meant as no insult. I only refused because I would not have been able to handle the effects of tasting you on it.

Thankfully, I’d caught my breath before the next time we encountered each other. This time I could actually speak. 

It was two in the morning and I’d just come home from an exhausting case, feeling more ready to sink into the depths of my bed than ever. Almost the entire way up the stairs, I was lethargically dragging my feet up each step to get to my apartment ... until I saw you. 

“Hey, it’s you! 2B.” 

Like a siren singing to a ship of sailors, your voice called out to me from the top stair, shocking me when I came around the corner - a most welcome surprise. 

“Hey.” I cooed back softly.

Despite my mind firing impulses to run to you, my feet weren’t listening. I was stopped in my tracks by the mere sight of you.

It wasn’t lost on me that the bags under my eyes were probably heavier and darker than they ever had been before, and that my hair was in complete shambles from where I’d run my fingers through them in distress one too many times, and that my loosened tie that hung from the collar of my skirt looked disheveled, but you? You were still a radiant view to behold, even at 2 a.m. especially at 2 a.m. The sight of you shocked my onerous heart like a defibrillator on bare skin, reigniting my entire being. 

I could finally breathe again. 

My posture straightened, my head raised, and my smile returned. You looked just as excited to see me as I was to see you and it was such a warm feeling.

“So where have you been at this hour, young man? Your girlfriend’s?” 

I should’ve noticed then the way you slurred your words together, but I think I was blinded by the bliss of being able to see right through you for the first time. 

I could see that you were compensating. You wanted to look happy for me in the event that I did have a girlfriend, but underneath, you were morbidly curious, desperately hoping that I didn’t. For you, I chose the more merciful option - giving into your clandestine concern so as not to torture you any longer with the fear that I was in a relationship.

“I -” My own mirthless chuckle cut into my sentence. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

And I saw it - I saw the look of relief on your face.

“I was at work,” I honestly told you, my feet resuming their climb up the stairs. “So, why are you still up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

By the time you answered, I’d reached the top step where you were perched, wearing that big flannel. It devoured your figure, the collar of the shirt hanging off your shoulders, the cuffs of the sleeves stretching way past your hands, the hem of the shirt falling at your thighs. That’s all you were wearing for pajamas, just a big shirt, not even shoes or socks to cover your feet from the shiny Merbau floors. It took all of me not to fasten one more of the flannel’s buttons to protect your modesty, but really, who was I protecting you from? Guys just as perverse and impure as me? 

My jaw tensed as a reminder to myself not to wonder about what was underneath the flannel, or what wasn’t. 

You shifted from the middle of the stair to the side, making room for me to sit beside you. Our proximity enabled me to notice your usual scent of magnolias was replaced with something much less agreeable - a scent that didn’t suit you.

Liquor.

At the exact moment I looked down at your face to locate the signs of intoxication, you’d taken it upon yourself to rest your head on my shoulder, blocking my view. I knew it wasn’t your intention to hide your face from me, but it was hard to believe that you were doing this just to get closer to me. Was it the alcohol that stole your inhibitions and unearthed the confidence to touch me further? Was this what you had wanted to do all this time but couldn’t without liquid courage? And I wonder, even with a calmer disposition created by liquor, were you still feeling first time nerves? Or were you the luckier of the two of us, fortunately avoiding the agony of a racing heart?

“So what’s keeping you up?” My voice croaked, trying to maintain a nonchalant attitude to your otherwise intimidating actions.

“This stupid guy.”

At first, I was sure that you were talking about someone else, and I prepared my weary heart to listen to you pour your soul out about ‘this stupid guy’ to me, but then I got smarter and recalled the conversation that took place not too long ago, the one that kept me up all night.

Was I the ‘stupid guy?’

“Tell me about him.”

“He’s ... he’s so tall.” You had laughed. “And he’s got this great smile. He’s super nice, too. But he’s the kind of guy that you can’t really figure out, but you want to, you know what I mean?”

I trained my eyes to stay forward and not look at you so that your resting head might not be disturbed by the action, but I wanted to look at you. I wanted to see those micro-expressions and read your face. I needed to know if you were talking about me.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“If he were any other guy, I’d be upfront with him, but this guy ... he’s different. He scares me, and his rejection scares me even more,” You went quiet for longer than a second and this time I actually did have to move my head to check on you in case you’d suddenly passed out. But when I went to look down at you, I was met with the shocking view of those batted eyelashes and big doe eyes again.

“What do you think I should do, 2B?”

I knew it. Those eyes can’t lie to me.

You were talking about me.

“I think you should tell him how you feel. You might be surprised.”

“Yeah …” Your voice faded out when you replaced your head on my shoulder. “Maybe.”

“He might feel the same way.” I whispered.

“You think so?”

“I do.”

“How do you know?”

It took me a moment to gather the right answer, but even with as extensive a vocabulary as I was equipped with, every single word in it was failing me. Though ultimately unsatisfactory, the only thing I could manage to say that was honest and quaint was, “He’d be crazy if he didn’t.”

The air was still. Not a word from either of us. Not even a peep, until the sounds of your snores revealed the true cause of the silence - you’d fallen asleep, and most likely before I had found it in me to confess my feelings. I smiled still, though. At least you’d finally gone to sleep.

Without another thought, I slid my hand under your knees with the other hand at the small of your back to lift you off the stairwell and carry you back to your apartment. And no surprise to me when all I had to do was press my arm against the door to open it.

You never do lock that thing, do you?

As I entered your apartment, I did my best not to gape at the surroundings, for it felt like an invasion of privacy without your verbal consent willingly granting me the permission to do so. I quickly located the bedroom using only the profound knowledge of my own apartment’s configuration that, for obvious reasons, identically matched yours. I made sure to sit you upright against your pillows in the event that you choked on your vomit, but I held high hopes that you weren’t so inebriated as to have that come into fruition.

When it came time to leave you, I had to slip my hands out from under your body. I attempted to perform this action with the utmost caution, but I think the coarseness of my hands gliding against your velvet skin made it impossible not to feel. You shivered at my touch, waking ever so slightly. 

“Spencer?” You asked in your sleep. 

“Shh, it’s okay. Go back to sleep.” I spoke softly, stroking your hair so it might soothe you back to sleep. This alone felt like a pure moment, but it was much sweeter when your small hand wrapped around my wrist while you placed your other one on top of mine. You leaned your face into my palm and gently shut your eyes, trying to maximize your ability to feel my touch. I even saw a smile come upon your face. 

“Will you stay with me?” You whispered against my skin. 

I couldn’t say no, sweet girl. 

I stayed with you for two hours while you slept. I wanted to ensure that you were safe, but I knew that I shouldn’t stay the night. Not because I couldn’t trust myself, but because I was worried that you wouldn’t remember asking me to stay the night before. Honestly, I preferred that you woke up with no recollection of that night. Because while watching you sleep to fulfill your request, I was also experiencing the deepest regret of my life.

If I told you how I felt a second sooner, maybe you would’ve heard me and that night would’ve ended very differently.

I suppose that was our ‘missed chance #1.’

To be quite honest, that night did discourage me, and I made a conscious effort to avoid you in days to follow. I wish I could rationalize my behavior here, but I doubt that any explanation will suffice so I’ll settle for the truth.

I thought avoiding you would make the regret go away, and I hoped my feelings would leave with it. But if anything, the longing I felt to see you again, the urge for fate bring us back together, only made my infatuation greater.

As luck would have it, not even my most extravagant attempts to avoid you would work.

I had heard it from the first floor where I was getting my mail, a strangely familiar sound - the sound of knocking. It was growing more and more desperate with each step I took up the stairs and once I finally reached the top, I found the cause of this noise at last. It was you - knocking at my door.

“(Y/n)?”

You turned over your shoulder; your furrowed brows and disgruntled appearance faded at the sight of me.

“2B! I was wondering where you were. Where have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

It had only been 9 days, (y/n), but yes, I suppose it did feel like forever.

I responded with an answer I always seemed to give you, an answer you seemed to already anticipate. 

“Work.”

“Mmm, it always is work, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah …” I sheepishly agreed, looking down to avoid your scrutinizing gaze. It was easier to let you believe work is what kept me away from you, and not the insatiable craving to be with you, but I could feel you sensing my lie.

“Well, I hope you’re not busy on December 21st.”

“What’s December 21st?”

“My going away party.”

My stomach dropped; my heart stopped, and I think I could actually feel the lump in my throat solidify into a pit.

“Going away party?”

“Yeah, I’m going home for the holidays, back to Oregon so I can visit my dad for a while and um …” 

I saw the same look on your face that I saw all those days ago when you admitted you didn’t feel safe running alone. The fearful one, where you knew you had to gather the courage to be vulnerable. When you looked back up at me, I wish I would’ve seen those doe eyes, but no. Your eyes were bloodshot and filled with tears. 

“I think, I think it might be his last Christmas, so I, I got an open-ended ticket just so I can -”

I didn’t want you to explain any more to me if you couldn’t bear it. “Of course. That makes perfect sense.” 

“I’m not really sure when I’m coming back, so I wanted to have a little get together with my friends before I leave. And I was really hoping you’d be able to come. If you’re not busy with work, of course.”

How could I say no?

“I’ll be there.”

You sighed in relief and smiled at me in thanks. “Perfect. Thank you.”

You turned on your heels and vanished into your unlocked apartment before I could offer a hug, but I think even if I did have the chance, it wouldn’t have been enough to heal the hurt that penetrated deep within your soul. That was a pain, I couldn’t fix - no one could.

December 21st came faster than I imagined, and in no time at all, I was standing outside your unlocked door, trying to gather the confidence to enter.

I wore my best suit and tie specifically to impress you, but even if I was decorated with the finest silks, I still wouldn’t have looked as golden as you. Your neck, ears, and fingers were embellished with gold jewelry that sparkled ever so slightly under the pale yellow light of your apartment. You had styled your hair differently than I’d ever seen it, and I felt like I was seeing you for the first time all over again.

“You look …” Heavenly. Dazzling. Magnificent. “Breathtaking.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, 2B.” You drew closer, filling my senses with your poisonous perfume. 

“I especially like this tie.”

God help me when you walked your fingers up my tie. It took everything not to shudder at the sensation. I gulped to replenish my dry mouth while I stared into your eyes. Don’t ask me how I did it, but I found the willpower to break away from your hypnotizing gaze. 

“So,” I cleared my throat. “Where’s everyone else?” With these words, I walked away to catch my breath by your dining table, unintentionally abandoning you in the living room. In response, you sort of laughed, which made me concerned. 

“I actually asked you to come an hour earlier than everyone else.” To my quizzical brow, you answered, “I told my friends about you.”

You can imagine the butterflies in my stomach from the joy of you telling me that. “You did?”

“They had a bunch of questions for me, but I told them to save them for tonight since you were coming. I just thought we could have, like, a pre-party-run-through of what to say.”

“Got it.”

You were shocked at my willingness. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

The only person that I think is crazy, is the person that doesn’t admire you as deeply as I do, (y/n). 

In no time at all, we were sitting on your couch, facing each other, while playing a speed round of 21 questions. 

Here, we discovered our shared hobby of reading, you unearthed my job as a profiler (not without asking a million questions about it after), and I came to the realization of just how hopelessly devoted to you I was after a three-word question.

“Future baby names?” You casually asked. To say that that one caught me off guard would be the understatement of the year. 

“Future baby names?” I repeated; my cheeks flushed while I felt you anxiously waiting for an answer. Your eyes were expectant and the large gulp I took was just a means to stall time until I finally whispered, “Harper.”

You were silent for a second and I felt the need to explain myself. “I don’t know why, probably because of Harper Lee, but I just like the name.”

The biggest grin crept its way onto your face. “Shut up.” 

“What?”

“Shut up because that name is literally on my list!” You squealed delightfully. 

Truthfully, ever since that faithful first day I met you, I deliberately refused to let myself imagine a future with you, but after December 21st - that’s all I could do. All thanks to your “baby names” question. Would you believe that the first time we ever truly hung out, you were reading off all your favorite baby names and giving me a thorough description of why you liked each one? That seems like only a thing we’d do - after all almost every experience we had together was unconventional to some degree. 

That one hour of private bonding came and went, and soon enough, I was surrounded by the closest people in your life. And somehow, your boundless love made me feel like I was part of that close circle, too - like I always had been. 

First to greet me was April, your roommate in college. I recognized her voice instantly, recalling it as the one I heard outside my door all those nights ago. I tried not to smile at the memory of her crude question, “Do you wanna fuck him?” 

Arriving only seconds after her was Marty, short for Martin, and he’s Drew’s boyfriend. Drew worked with you at the grocery store, which was your first real job during college. 

After Drew and Marty, came Jillian and Janelle, twin sisters you met in your “Introduction to Psychology” class, a class you thought you would end up hating, but you actually ended up loving. 

“So, Spencer, what’s up with you and (y/n)?” 

I knew the question was bound to come up, and it came as no surprise to me that April was the one to be asking it. After the conversation I overheard weeks ago, I came to the discovery that she is someone who is all but forthright. Given the fact that this was the singular opportunity to catch me alone, since I was practically attached at your hip the entire night, April wasted no time in jumping at the opportunity to back me into a corner at my most vulnerable.

“We’re just friends.” I said through a cheeky smile that surely gave me away. The lie stung my tongue as it passed through my teeth, and I knew it was impossible to have fooled her.

“(Y/n) would kill me if she knew I told you this, but I’ve known her since she was 17, and I have never seen her light up the way she did when she was talking about you. Sometimes I catch her just smiling out of nowhere, and I have to think that you’re the reason why.” 

At the moment, my expressions were a completely separate entity from my mind because I could not control the grin that crept onto my face and I had no control over the minimization of it either. No matter how hard I tried to reduce it, it was impossible.

“Ever since her dad got sick, she’s been a different girl. But tonight, I think I finally have my old friend back again ... Thank you.” 

April’s pursed lip smile, in any other exigence, could be seen as insincere or facetious, but here, I knew it was a smile of gratitude and thanks. As April left my gravity, you were simultaneously entering it with a sly grin on your face. 

“What were you two talking about?” 

“You.” 

“Me?” Your voice heightened in pitch as you pretended to be shocked. “What about me?”

“Just about how much we both really like you.” 

“Oh, is that so?” 

“Indeed, it is so.” 

You came closer, wrapping your arms around my waist to draw me in nearer. You had your head cocked all the way up to look at me with those once again, batted eyelashes and doe eyes. 

“Well, I really like you too, 2B. And so do all of my friends.” 

A genuine laugh escaped me as I pushed you away from me and nudged you backward so we could integrate with the rest of the party again. It was all a charade to get you to look away from my visible joy. In the back of my mind lied the thought about what April said about your dad and how different you became following his diagnosis, but I knew better than to bring that up here, right now.

Once we immersed ourselves back into the group, I found you being even touchier with me. You would lock your arm around mine, or lie your head on my shoulder. Even while we were sitting on the couch, you were practically on my lap. I don’t think you were intentionally being so coquettish, but if you were - it was pure evil. Especially, when you left my lap to answer a call in the other room. 

I deliberately tried not to stare into the room you wandered in so that I could look as present in the moment with your friends as possible, for it would’ve been rude both to ignore them and to invade your privacy, but I could see your body language even in the poorly lit space. 

Something was wrong. 

In a one minute and fifty-three second phone call, December 21st went from the best night of my life, to the worst night of yours. 

I saw the way you came back into the living room with your eyes blankly staring into space. You were a walking ghost, a shell of a woman. 

“That was Adriana, my dad’s nurse,” You told us, commandeering the entire room’s attention. And somehow, we all knew what was to follow. 

“My dad just died.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

“I’ll take care of her, I promise.” I heard Spencer whisper to April as he walked her out. 

I felt terrible for letting him walk out all the guests I invited, while I simply sat on my couch staring into the nothingness. I should’ve said goodbye to them, but I was paralyzed even when he came back into the living room.

“I know this is a dumb question, but - you okay?” I could see the way his eyes ran over my face to examine me. Were you profiling me, Doctor?

“It’s weird,” I admitted. “It hasn’t hit me, yet. That he’s dead.” 

Even as the word left my mouth, my brain still couldn’t register it. 

“That’s not weird at all. Statistically speaking, after the death of a loved one, 32% of people reported that they stayed in the first stage of grief the longest.”

I wasn’t familiar with what he was referring to, which was something I’d have to get used to considering I was talking to a provable genius after all. “What’s the first stage of grief?”

“Denial.” 

And that was true, I was in denial. Even hours before my flight home, I was still in stage one. I was packing the last of my things when Spencer called to make sure I had everything I needed. 

“Wallet?” 

“Check.” 

“Passport?” 

“Check.”

“Ticket?” 

“Check.”

“Door?”

“Door?” I repeated. “What do you mean door?”

“Have you locked your door?”

“I never lock my door.” I scoffed, partially recognizing my own naiveté. 

“Yeah, I know you don’t. But will you please lock it for me when you leave?” 

“Okay, okay, fine. I’ll lock it on my way out.” 

Following my own promise, I hauled my suitcase through my apartment and turned the doorknob to exit, but I quickly stopped when I saw Spencer standing right outside. 

“Spencer? What are you doing here? I thought you were at work.” Soon after my statement, I ended our phone call considering there was no need to be on the phone with Spencer since he was standing right there in front of me. 

“I, um, I needed you to lock your door after you left because I won’t be around to do it myself when you’re in Oregon.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m coming with you.”

All the anxiety and stress left my body at once and there was nothing for me to do but show him my deepest appreciation by engulfing him in a hug. 

“You’re coming with me?” I nearly cried. 

“I couldn’t let you do this alone. And April practically threatened that if I didn’t buy a ticket, she’d kill me.” 

I chuckled mirthlessly in recognition of April’s tendency to be harsh in pursuit of something she wanted. I was so pleased to hear she wanted him to be with me in Oregon as badly as I wanted him to come. Her approval meant the world to me, and to know that she brought us that much closer together, even under these circumstances, truly showed her support of us.

In the hug, my head was hanging over Spencer’s shoulder giving me the opportunity to see his hidden luggage that if I had noticed earlier, would’ve revealed this little surprise, but I was glad I was blind to it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have felt the sweetest relief imaginable, it would’ve only been a combination of diluted relief and satisfaction of confirmed suspicion - a mixture not half so rewarding. 

“Thank you.” I whispered.

. . . 

There’s something about driving through your hometown after years and years of being gone. It’s like listening to a song you used to play over and over again, after not hearing it for a while. Both are like little time capsules that simultaneously preserve those memories while also transporting you to them. Whether that was a good or bad thing was still undetermined. 

“Home sweet home.” I sighed, the weight of everything coming down on me the minute I stepped foot in the doorway. 

I could actually smell the interior of the house and it brought back so many memories. I lived here for so long and never once could I smell a scent so distinct as this one, but now, with how long I’ve been gone - I could distinguish it, as if it were just another person’s house, and not my own from childhood. 

“(Y/n), is that you?” Adriana’s voice wavered as she ran towards me, embracing me with a warm hug. “I haven’t seen you in so long. Lemme look at you.” Adriana pulled back to stare at me in my entirety, and there was something about the look on her face. It was full of pride and sorrow - pride to see me in my full transformation into a woman but sorrow to be seeing me for these reasons. 

“Your dad would’ve been so proud to see the woman you’ve grown up to be.” 

Her teary eyes only brought on my own flood of tears. I hadn’t cried yet, but that was probably only because I was so distant from everything, but now, here in my childhood home, I was right in the middle of it. 

Adriana inhaled sharply after realizing how long our hug had lingered and the fact that she hadn’t yet greeted Spencer. “Oh forgive me for being so rude, I’m Adriana. I was (y/n)’s father’s nurse.”

“Spencer Reid.” He kindly greeted. “How are you, Adriana?” He asked her, a question I realized I should’ve asked myself. Somehow I’d forgotten that this couldn’t have been easier for her either. 

Walking through even just the front of the house was enough to overwhelm me with a plethora of memories. I was far too busy gaping at how much it hadn’t changed over the years to insert myself into Spencer and Adriana’s conversation.

“Well, right now, I’m just working on cleaning up the house. For when it goes on sale.” I heard Adriana tell Spencer.

I turned quickly over my shoulder in shock. “On sale?” 

“Your father figured you would sell this house. He left it for you, but he didn’t think you’d want it.” 

I should note that: here is where the seed was planted. The seed of doubt. 

Should I keep the house and move back to Oregon?

“Oh and before I forget,” Adriana tapped her pockets until she found what she was looking for. “He wanted me to give you this. He wrote it for you a couple days before he ...” She couldn’t even bring herself to say, ‘died’.

It was an envelope with what appeared to be a letter inside of it. I never knew my father to be a writer, so I opened it with such passionate fervor that I nearly gave myself a paper cut. Adriana and Spencer must’ve recognized my overwhelming eagerness to read it because they disappeared into the kitchen to give me the privacy to do so. 

To my dearest (y/n), 

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you I was getting worse. 

But what I’m not sorry about is not asking you to come home. I made a lotta mistakes when you were growing up, but I think the smartest thing I ever did was not ask you to come back home, because ever since I was diagnosed four years ago, you were ready to run home at the drop of a hat and rush back here in no time at all. That’s no way to live. You can’t just put your life on hold for my imminent death - and that’s certainly not what I want you to do when I actually am dead. 

I want you to live your life, (y/n). 

Never press pause. Keep going. 

Live a long and happy life ... for me, alright, kiddo?

Love,  your old man

All at once, I departed from the first stage of grief and straight into the second. 

Anger.

I hurled the note with as much force as I could, screaming at the top of my lungs with an earsplitting shrill. After seeing the letter fall onto the entryway table, I took my outer arm and swept every single thing on the table off of it out of anger that his letter didn’t go far enough. I could still read the words - I could still hear his voice. I watched in dignity as I let the decor, lamp, and picture frames fall where they may. The lamp landed on its side, clattering beside fallen decor and the picture frames’ glass split in two. I saw the remnants of the mess I created, and I was even angrier at myself. I only created more destruction for me to fix later. My face felt fiery hot and my skin was burning. I was fuming with rage when I finally looked into the mirror and saw the person I hated the most. 

Myself.

I was consumed by a deep loathing of the woman staring back at my in the reflection. 

How could she? How could she not visit dad until now? How could she let Adriana take care of him instead of taking care of him herself? How could she not check in every day? How could she spend years away from him?

How could she not know he was going to die? 

“I hate you!”

The anger took over my body and in one swift motion, my fist collided with the glass, shattering the dead center of the mirror. I cried out in immediate anguish as I felt my wrist go limp and a shooting pain going up and down my arm. Horror must’ve filled my eyes when I saw tiny shards of glass piercing my fist. I think I might’ve actually blacked out from the pain because all I could remember next was waking up in a hospital bed with my arm in a cast that extended all the way to my elbow. I blinked slowly to readjust to the glare, but thankfully, Spencer’s hovering face shielded my eyes from the bright florescent light.

“You know, for someone so small, you pack a pretty good punch,” Spencer chuckled mirthlessly. “You managed to dislocate your wrist, shatter a bone in your forearm, and fracture your elbow. Remind me to never get into a fist fight with you.” He kidded, making the joke just to see me smile, which it did, but he wouldn’t stop there. He had to actually see me laugh again. 

“Well, I think it’s safe to say you’re in the second stage of grief now, huh?” 

A soft giggle escaped me, and he knew his plan had worked. 

“But seriously, how are you feeling?” 

His question was accompanied with the delicate stroking of my hair out of my face, and I was transported to all those nights ago when I asked him to stay the night. I couldn’t remember much from that night either, but I could remember this feeling. The feeling of his touch. 

I felt so loved.

I shut my eyes in an effort to hide the tears that were glossing them, but that only made them stream down my cheeks. 

“Oh, (y/n),” Spencer frowned, replacing his stroking hand to the back of my head to bring my forehead closer to his lips where he would place a chaste kiss on it. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re feeling right now, but I am going to be right there for you - through every single emotion.”

His warm words only made me sob harder. I didn’t deserve his good heart. 

“If I could take your pain away and experience it myself, I would. In a heartbeat.” 

Only his words I could trust wholeheartedly. 

I was discharged from the hospital several hours later, the loopiness I was experiencing from the anesthesia just barely wearing off, and I was forced to face the consequences of my previous actions in the form of a shower. 

Yes, you heard that correctly - a shower. 

“How do I even shower with a cast on?” I asked out loud to myself after turning the water on. My question was quickly followed with two knocks on the door and a, “Need any help in there?” from Spencer. 

There was a quick moment of contemplation which ultimately led to a bashful, “Yes, I do.”

My timidity fell away shortly after seeing Spencer fumble into the bathroom with his hand over his eyes. 

“I won’t look, I promise.” 

My laughter erupted in the room at the sheer amusement I got from his sinless actions. “I’m not naked! You don’t have to cover your eyes.” 

He made a gap between his middle and ring finger for his eyes to peek through just enough to register if I was really telling the truth and upon the discovery that I was, he removed his hand from his face. Afterwards, he left me with careful instructions to not wet my cast and carry on with the rest of my shower routine as normal. 

My shower, though mildly inconvenient because of my cast, was just like any other - ending in me shuffling from the bathroom to my bedroom with just a towel to cover me and collect the water from my sopping body. It was after I shut my bedroom door behind me I was met with yet another daunting task - putting on clothes. 

Unfortunately, my short temper didn’t bode well with my struggle to put pants on followed by my complete inability to find a shirt that had sleeves big enough to fit my cast through without excessively stretching the fabric. This resulted in the downright termination of the act after minutes of trying. I’d been rummaging through my luggage for minutes, but it wasn’t like I was planning to end up in a cast, so naturally - I didn’t bring clothes fit for such an occasion. And anything that was left in my closet were clothes that hadn’t fit me since high school. 

“(Y/n)?” I heard Spencer knock gently then saw him opening the door with painfully slow caution.

“Down here.”

His eyes followed as my words told him, and there he found me, lying on the floor with my towel still wrapped around my upper body.

“What are you doing down there?”

I should add that, along with his playfully spoken question, he got down on the floor to further lie on his back, too. It was a simple thing really, but it meant more to me than he knew. He wanted to join me as I rested on the carpet; he didn’t want to be standing above me, talking down to me. He saw me as his equal and he was going to lie with me on the floor, too - no hesitation whatsoever. He was more than content to follow along with my peculiar schemes, to humor my weirdness.

How many people in your life can you say that about? There’s not very many in mine who will go along with whatever I do or say just to make me happy, and for that, I thanked my lucky stars for giving me Spencer.

“I’ve been trying to put on a shirt, but none of them would fit around my cast and I just got frustrated and gave up.” I bluntly told him. 

“I can see that.” He jestingly noted, his eyes skimming over the mess in the room that I created trying to find a shirt that would fit. I could see the gears in his head turning for a solution to my problem. 

“What if I give you mine? Do you think it’ll fit?” 

He disappeared out of my bedroom and in less than a minute, he came back into the room with a worn Caltech shirt, and of course, it was a perfect fit. Almost made-to-measure.

After my content finding of a proper shirt, we resumed our position on the floor, lying side by side.

“I really like your room, by the way. I especially like your stars.” He pointed at my ceiling that was spotted with glow-in-the-dark stickers in the shape of stars and planets that I’d put up there as a child. 

I tried not to laugh as to not insult his admiration of them, but I couldn’t contain the slight giggle that left me from the amusement of his childlike wonder.

“Why?” I had to ask.

“I dunno, it’s just nice to look at. It’s kinda like we’re stargazing.”

“Hmm, I guess we kinda are.”

“Oh look!” He quickly motioned to a different sticker than the one he’d pointed to before. “There’s a shooting star! Make a wish.”

“Shut up!” I childishly giggled, reaching across my body to shove him with my good arm.

“Come on it’s a shooting star - you have to make a wish!”

In the same way that he humored my silly antics, I knew I had to indulge his. 

“Alright, I wish -”

“No, you have to close your eyes!” He insisted. “Your wish won’t come true unless you close your eyes.” To my furrowed brows and deadpan stare, he responded, “I don’t make the rules! You just have to!” 

I played along and shut my eyes all while inhaling deeply in preparation to make a wish. 

In that same breath, Spencer leaned over me, letting his face hang above mine for just a second to look at me. Even though I couldn’t look at him back, he didn’t mind.

“I wish . . .”

I parted my mouth to say something in addition, but my words were cut short when he placed his lips on mine.

The stars were aligning.

It was a shy kiss, just as I always dreamt it would be. He didn’t move his lips; he only puckered them against mine, and I could feel him begin to pull away. Before he could, I raised my head to follow his mouth, drawing him in closer with my one good hand on his cheek.

That was the only thing stopping him from kissing me harder before. He needed to know that I wanted it just as much as he did. And I did. I really did.

Now with more encouragement, he snaked his hand under my neck, supporting the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my still-damp hair. He cocked his head to the side, sharply inhaling so my own mouth would be forced to open, too, creating an entryway just big enough for his tongue to slip in.

I started seeing stars, and not the ones on my ceiling.

The moment was too quick and ended before I wanted it to, like all moments I had with him. He placed one small chaste kiss to give me solace, our lips clinging together briefly, bouncing back into place when ours faces were fully apart, making a small pop noise from the moist separation.

“Your hair smells like magnolias.” He drawled, seemingly in a daze when his eyes fluttered open.

It sent me into a fit of giggles - a sound he couldn’t resist. I noticed him eyeing me as I laughed and I tried not to let it get to my head, but God, if looks could kill. I wish I could see me the way he saw me. He looked at me like I was a galaxy full of stars, even if I felt like a dark abyss that would swallow him whole.

“I can’t believe it.” He dreamily whispered in awe.

“You can’t believe what?”

“When I first met you, I couldn’t get over how beautiful you were. And now, I’m smelling your shampoo while you’re wearing my clothes, kissing me under the stars?”

I’d never seen someone look so grateful. It was the purest vision.

I never did finish saying my wish, but if I had, it would’ve been to stay in this moment forever. But like all our moments together, this one, too, was gone in the blink of an eye. 

Soon enough, all this would just be a memory of the past. Another moment locked in time, never to occur again.

. . .

The week later we buried my father. 

I’d somehow skipped stage three and four - bargaining and depression - and was well on my way to stage five - acceptance. But it wasn’t really the acceptance of his death, more so the acceptance of what I had to do in the wake of it. 

I heeded my father’s words of not pressing pause on my life, but what I did next wasn’t really pressing pause, just rewinding a bit. 

I did say that whether coming to my hometown after years of not being here was a good thing or bad thing was still undetermined, and I think this was me realizing that it still is undetermined, and I wouldn’t be able to figure it out if I left. And really, I couldn’t leave. Not again. Not when Adriana needed me most to upkeep the house. Not after I’d purposefully bought an open-ended ticket to stay here for longer. 

I was meant to stay here, and consequently, I knew what that meant for me and Spencer.

We were on our way home from the funeral when Spencer parked the car in the driveway and shut it off. The rain was pelting the windshield as the window wipers robotically swept from side to side. We’d been listening to the sound of rain and automated windshield wipers for the entire duration of the time we sat there. He was waiting for me to say what he already knew. 

I wasn’t coming back to Virginia. 

The loud silence was broken with my words, “I’ve never felt this way for anyone before.” 

It almost seemed like he didn’t hear me because of the way he kept looking straightforward instead of at me, but I feel that it might’ve been so I wouldn’t see the tears in his eyes. 

“Spencer, I love you.” I honestly confessed, the simultaneous feeling of weight being lifted off my shoulders and a new weight being placed onto them coming over me. 

For the first time, he swiveled his head to the side, giving me full view of his crestfallen expression. I almost wish he hadn’t. 

“I love you, too.” His voice croaked. 

“But it wouldn’t be fair to start a relationship with you like this.”

“That’s what I was afraid you would say.” He whimpered. 

I needed to take care of Adriana, look after the house, and recover from my dad’s death, and it would be so easy to escape all that if I went back to Virginia. But if I honestly wanted to grow from this, I had to accept the responsibilities I had waiting for me here. Nothing needed me in Virginia - nothing but Spencer.

And if I knew him as well as I thought I did, he would understand that I couldn’t come back just yet. 

And he wouldn’t ask me to. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

It’s been five months now, and somewhere around month two I got the sneaking suspicion that you were lying when you said you loved me. Because why wouldn’t you fight for us if you really did? 

But you knew if you told me that a long-distance relationship was too much to handle on top of everything else you had going on, I would’ve offered to move to Oregon with you, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want me to uproot my life for you, and you knew that’s exactly what I would’ve done. 

So after three more months of that thought brewing, I’ve come to the realization that you weren’t lying. No, you loved me too much. Too much to make me choose between you and my life in Virginia, but I’m telling you right now - if you asked me to, I’d choose you. Over and over and over again. 

I’d choose you. 

But that’s just it - you wouldn’t let me choose you, and you didn’t. That’s why you didn’t ask. I’m mad you never gave me the option, but I know that you only did that out of love. 

And I guess if that’s your way of saying “I love you,” then this letter is mine. 

I only wrote this instead of telling you it in person, because I think, for the first time, I want to trust the world as much as you trust the world. 

I want to have as much blind faith in something as you have in that unlocked door of yours. 

I want to trust that when you come back to Virginia and find this letter, whenever that may be, we’ll be different people, and that maybe then we’ll be better for each other. But until that time comes - until that faithful day when you return from Oregon, I will wait. 

I will wait, and I will not forget you - I promise that. 

It’s quite hard to forget someone who gave you so much to remember. 

At this time, you and I haven’t spoken a word to each other since the funeral, so I have virtually no idea what your current state of affairs are, but I should let you know that by this time next week, I will be living in a real house, which also means I am moving out of this apartment at the end of the week. I'm quite disoriented from this to say the least, but I’ve never been more ready or excited to start a new chapter of my life. 

As for us - this isn’t our last chapter. I know it. There’s more for us. 

I have faith. 

And if there’s one last thing I wanted you to know, it’s that:

You have given me a lifetime of happiness, 3B.

Sincerely yours, 2B

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*