#Fast Mop Plate Up

[crescenthistory]

while we're both here; part one

Pairing: Remus Lupin x fem!Reader

Synopsis: Your chronic illness makes you a frequenter in Madam Pomfrey's infirmary – at some point you're bound to make a connection with her other favourite patient.

Words: 3.5k

Tags: disabled!reader, depictions of chronic pain, dislocations and syncopes, remus struggling with his lycanthropy, slightly avoidant!reader, infirmary wing romance, madam pomfrey being your makeshift mother and angel, some hurt/comfort, sick fic of sorts, fluff, meet cute, flirting, no established relationship yet

A/N: this is based on my own experiences with POTS, hEDS and autoimmune conditions! your condition is never specified in the text though and apart from the specific flare ups and injuries it is left vague on purpose:) there will be more parts because i think these two are adorable

series masterlist | next part

As you were coming to, you were once again reminded that if there is one person you would go to war for, it would be Madam Pomfrey.

You’re aching as always, right-side joints feeling particularly distraught at having to remain inside your body, signalling that you likely landed on that side as you fell, rattling what was already coming loose. It’s enough to drag a hoarse groan from your throat, but even as you do, you feel the effects of the warm blanket resting over your body, stopping just below your neck, which is wrapped up in a towel with some sort of cooling spell on it, keeping your headache delectably soothed. Addressing your body’s two separate needs at once, minimising your discomfort – she truly was an angel among monsters.

With your eyes closed, you shift around, not quite ready to face the world post-syncope, but needing to address the bite in your hip somehow. At your movements, you notice a shift in the atmosphere around you, and as your hearing is coming back in, you realise someone had hushed their voices upon noticing you waking up. You’re not sure if it’s to accommodate you or to hide their conversation.

At this moment, you cannot bring yourself to care. You’ve got enough on your plate, or, well, your bedside.

Your eyelids flutter as you check whether it’s safe to open your eyes yet. When the light doesn’t burn your retinas, you allow them to open more fully, adjusting and taking in the room that you see more often than you’d like. Though, you suppose it’s time to get over such sentiments, they don’t do you any good.

This is the inner corner of the hospital wing where Pomfrey kept her regular patients or those who were staying for more than a night or two. A few years ago, she gave you permission to go straight here each stay, regardless of length or severity, as you got more acquainted. It allowed you the privacy you had not voiced a desire for, but that the maternal woman saw in your crumpling posture at having to be on display for the students coming in for a mere potion or doctor’s note. Add it to the list of all she has done for you that you suppose is her job, but that still melts your heart with remorseful gratitude. You wish things were different, but if they aren’t going to be, then you’re happy to have her by your side.

Due to the general lack of traffic in this room, there usually aren’t any privacy screens up or curtains drawn, but you notice some thrown up haphazardly in the opposite corner. Between some of the lopsided screens you see red and gold along with a mop of black hair that anyone in the castle could have recognised. 

Propping yourself half-up on your left elbow, you rub roughly at your eyes – perhaps doing more harm than good – in an attempt to clear your gaze. The hushed voices are coming from behind the half-secluded area and you notice that both Black and Potter are there along with the matron. Hair is being pulled at and feet are shuffling fast, voices desperate despite their lowered volume.

When Madam Pomfrey moves the curtain to reach for a tray of more equipment – you see flashes of white bandages and metal you recognise as suture needles – you catch a glimpse of the boy laying in the bed. His tawny curls are matted against his forehead and his eyes squeezed shut in severe pain, face turned into his pillow.

Worry rises in you on their behalf, because you know more than most that if Pomfrey has brought them in here, there must be a good reason – and any good reason is a bad thing. Without being able to explain why, you itch to help, to stumble over and see what is happening for yourself.

It requires more strength than you would like to quell your concerned curiosity and do the one thing you know will actually help.

You lay back down and turn over onto your bad side with your back to the commotion.

No disturbance to the matron and no stinging pierce at being perceived in his weakest moments to the patient. That is what you always silently beg for from your own onlookers. You can grant him as much, and take the opportunity to sleep this flare up off.

You didn’t sleep too well, but you stayed there until you vaguely heard the matron shoo the visitors away and the room fell back into silence. In your lucid dreams you stretched out well wishes to the other occupant of your safe haven.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

That was the first time you encountered Remus Lupin in Madam Pomfrey’s infirmary wing. Later on, you would laugh at how ironic it is that it took years for your paths to cross like this, somehow always just missing each other before then. Once you did, though, you could never seem to miss each other – all of a sudden, Remus was always there.

It’s not that you didn’t know each other; you have been in the same class every now and then, and despite Hogwarts’ size you did at least know of every person in your year, even if you did not spend a lot of time with them. Nor was any student lucky enough to miss the boisterous laughter that seemed to follow the Marauders around as they made the castle their own. It was pure happenstance that you had never been in the same social circles, the same stores in Hogsmeade, the same corners of the library. When you saw Remus, you would smile and he would return it in that reserved yet warm way of his, but you had not had any reason to talk to him beyond that.

It was this damn hospital wing that changed that and served you an opportunity on a blood-splattered metal platter.

The next time you saw Remus was around two weeks after the incident you decided not to have witnessed.

He was sitting in the same bed as before, propped up against the pillows with a tired expression over his face and a jittery leg. He was not hidden away this time, so when you trudged in half-heartedly, you gave him a small smile when your eyes met. It took him a second to return it as he searched your face, but you simply walked past him and sat down on your regular bed with a groan.

Your arm was held against your chest and you were breathing with purpose as you fixed your gaze on the chip of the paint on the right side of your bed frame. Your treacherous shoulder had decided to dislocate during Care for Magical Creatures today when you tried to lift a bucket that wasn’t even heavy, mind you, and you just felt thoroughly defeated. You popped it back in immediately, but when the pain did not ease, your professor sent you away to this odd second home of yours. Despite your complaints that it was not necessary, Pomfrey had asked you to wait in here so she could come wrap it for you. 

“Hey.” At the sound of his voice, you snapped yourself out of your dissociation to meet Remus’ gaze where he watched you carefully from a few metres away. “Erm, pardon me, but are– are you alright?” He stuttered slightly and his tone was laced with the slight awkwardness of being in close proximity to a classmate outside of your usual environment, but his sentiment seemed genuine enough.

“Oh, yeah, this is normal for me. Don’t worry about it.” You quickly brushed him off with a polite smile before looking away again, knowing that explanations never ended up being short if you first started. You didn’t feel like answering an onslaught of questions.

Undeterred and maybe even slightly emboldened by your casualness while you clutched your clearly injured arm, he pressed. “What exactly is it that is normal for you?” 

“I dislocated my shoulder, but it happens often, so I should be fine,” you explained as succinctly as possible, speech ready on your tongue for his next line of questioning.

You glanced over at him, expecting to see confusion or perhaps some light horror at the concept. Instead you saw him nodding shortly, pressing his lips together in a way you supposed was a sympathetic smile. “That blows,” he said matter-of-factly. 

It was simple, but it pulled a slight laugh from you nonetheless. “Yeah,” you chuckled. “I suppose it does.”

His smile turned genuine at the sound of your laughter, and he looked down in his lap, seemingly pleased with himself. No further questions. It made you breathe a sigh of relief before you regarded him quizzically. 

“What about you?” you couldn’t help but ask, despite your own feelings on the matter. “Are you alright?”

Remus seemed to ponder the question for a moment, as if he was trying to find his own bite-sized answer. “Yeah, I am. This is normal for me too, except that in my case this is… easily broken bones instead of easily dislocated ones.”

“Ouff,” you said, letting out something between a sympathetic laugh and sigh. “Sounds like that’s not a walk in the park either.”

“Hear, hear,” Remus muttered, leaning his head back against the pillows and closing his eyes. “Guess we’ll just both have to stumble through, eh?”

“Sure thing, Lupin.” 

You made yourself more comfortable as well, realising the matron might not be coming for a while. You had put your own shoulder back before moving to the infirmary, routine at this point, but she always wanted to ensure it was put back correctly and then wrap it to put as little pressure on it as possible. There were some first years coming from a failed Potions lecture, though, so you figured you might be waiting for a while. 

At least you weren’t alone in the room, and Remus’ steady breath was audible in the silence. You found yourself zeroing in on it to deal with the pain, and you had to admit it made the experience more comfortable. 

Neither of you spoke much for the rest of it, apart from when Madam Pomfrey came in and greeted you both at the same time. A joke or two were volleyed back and forth – a “hope you’ve been okay while waiting” from Pomfrey answered with a “don’t worry, I made sure she was on her best behaviour, Madam” – some weary smiles and eventually an almost shy wave from Remus as he left the room before you.

You returned it with your good hand and felt your heart squeeze oddly as he disappeared around the corner.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Remus didn’t mean to think of you as often as he did.

He had seen you in the passing multiple times in the infirmary before he finally had the opportunity to speak to you the other day. He kicked himself for it, for having been observing you enough to know you were there often, for feeling like the talk you had was an opportunity and not just a conversation. It wasn’t wrong per say, he knew that, but he also knew that these were emotions, wants that someone like him shouldn’t be feeling. The very reason he was in the infirmary was why he shouldn’t be seeking companionship there.

But when he saw you next, he couldn’t fight the warmth spreading in his chest. Not to mention intrigue.

He was stopping by the infirmary to pick up some wolfsbane and pain potions when he saw your usual bed was very much inhabited. Pomfrey let him walk in and pick up his potions from a stash in his bedside table, should she be busy, and it made it impossible to miss you.

Curled up on your side beneath what seemed like a sea of blankets, his overly sensitive ears picked up on your wheezing breaths. Remus carefully stepped into the room, walking towards his own bedside to pluck out what he needed, but his eyes remained trained on you. His mental lecturer was giving him a tirade about how he should leave this poor girl alone, that the last thing she needed now was his bothersome face in her vision.

Yet, his bones seemed to have a melody of their own, as he left his bag on his bed to trek over to yours and sit down gingerly on the bed beside you, leaving a mere metre between you, if that. Your face was just barely poking out of your blankets, hair messy and seeming to be quite miserable. Your eyebrows twitched, as if you had caught on that you now had company.

I should go, he thought.

“Good afternoon, love,” he said instead, making sure his voice was quiet enough not to startle or hurt. “I must admit, this does not look like a dislocated shoulder.”

Your eyes squinted open at the same time as a small smile took over your previously downturned lips, and Remus felt something squeeze in his heart at the sight. “If it isn’t Lupin again.” Your voice was hoarse but not unkind, and you groaned as you shifted so that you could see him better.

“It’s Remus,” he said softly before he could think better.

“What?” You were mid-stretch, and Remus was uncertain of whether you hadn’t heard him in your movement, or if you were caught off guard by his poorly-phrased offer. Regardless, a slight flush spread across his cheeks as he looked abashedly away.

“Uh, it’s just, you– you can call me Remus. If you want.” Idiot.

It seemed you didn’t agree with his estimation of himself though, as your smile grew just a tad bit wider, a certain glee in it that he was yet to see if was at his expense or not. He thought it might be both.

“Alright then, Remus. What brings you to my bedside?”

His flush spread down his neck, but at this point Remus was digging his heels in and standing his ground – he was taking one of his few chances to talk to a hauntingly beautiful and intriguing girl, and he might as well make the most of it now without shying away. The embarrassment was already carved in stone.

“I was picking up some of my prescription potions,” he said then, pointing absentmindedly over to the bag laying on the bed across from you. “And recognised the pile of blankets over here as a certain someone. Thought I ought to… check up on you? See how you are.”

Your gaze seemed to take its time flickering over his face, studying him as you tilted your head to the side, some messy strands falling in your face. Remus fought the urge to reach out and tuck them back in.

Whatever you had been searching for, it seemed like you found it because you settled back into your pillows with a painfully knowing smile. Remus felt utterly opened. “How sweet of you. Do you usually check up on all patients you come across?” A quirked eyebrow at him, a challenge he tried not to read as flirtatious. Yet, on the off chance… 

“Just the awfully nice ones. So far, only you’ve fit the bill.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully as you snorted, and he had to look down to hide the severity of his grin. 

“Glad to hear I’ve made an impression on you, Lu– Remus.” His heart warmed yet again when he looked up to see the slightly abashed look take over your face at correcting yourself.

“You have.” His voice was gentler than it perhaps should be. “Anyway, I figured that while we’re both here, we might as well look out for each other, yeah?”

You seemed to narrow your eyes at him as you processed his words. “Like… like friends?”

There was no way Remus could describe the pang he felt in his chest at that, unable to understand whether it was a bloom or a bomb, gratitude or guilt. Yet, he nodded with a smile playing over his lips that he only now realised he was biting the inside of.

“Something like that, love.”

“That kindness would make you a good doctor, Remus. Ever thought of applying as Poppy’s apprentice?” Your deflection was a relief to him, as he settled more in on the bed, leaning back on his hands. 

“I’ve never heard any student but me call her Poppy,” he said with a delighted laugh. “But I think that poor woman already sees too much of me, unfortunately.”

“I can’t imagine.” Remus so wished he could decipher your tone as you said that. 

He couldn’t, so instead he asked, “Is there anything I can do to help you today, though? Not as an apprentice, just a friend?”

To his great pleasure, you seemed to actually mull it over – he realised how deeply he desired for his extension of help to be received and well-used. Might as well be of use to you if he was to take up your time.

“I’m not sure,” you concluded. “I’ve mostly just got a common cold, but those knock me out like they’re the plague.” You furrowed your brows as you seemed to realise not all wizards might know what that is. “Oh, the plague is–”

“I know,” Remus interrupted with a laugh. “My mum was a muggle, so I’m mostly caught up on muggle history.”

You didn’t at all address the cracking sounds from your neck when you laughed at that. “Sorry, sorry, I’m so used to translating.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, I understand. My three best mates are all raised in wizarding families, you have no idea the shit I’ve had to translate to them.”

“I mean, in their defense, you did befriend a Potter, a Black and a Pettigrew – you were kind of asking for awkward situations like that.”

Remus gleamed at the way you volleyed back and forth, how free you seemed to be with him already. You were pale compared to your usual skin tone and seemed weak, yet you were so welcoming of him. “Yeah, I kind of did. They’re great mates though, so it makes it worth it to explain what cars and Broadway is.”

He wondered if others would pick up on the way your eyes sparkled at that. Before you could reply though, a coughing fit took over you, the type where Remus could just tell it made your chest ache. Within seconds, he hurried quickly away to grab a cup from the other side of the room, ignoring his aching hip as he did so, filling it to the brim with a quiet aguamenti.

He held it out to you, your fingers brushing as you readily accepted it, swallowing mouthfuls. 

“Thank you,” you croaked out when you were able to speak once more. Remus had the audacity to carefully settle down on the end of your bed this time. “Merlin, how I hate being sick.”

“I feel you on that,” he murmured. Though Remus hadn’t had a common cold since he got bitten, the wolf’s autoimmune system taking over his own, he also had not had a day of feeling good either – close enough. “D’you want me to get you some honeyed warmed potions?”

You were drinking more from the cup, but you smiled at him over the brim and nodded wordlessly. 

Hoping Madam Pomfrey wasn’t actively using those potions this very minute, Remus accio’d one to your bedside, helping ease it into your hands so it wouldn’t burn you. For a few seconds, you sat in silence together as you drank, Remus taking the time to drink you in. He couldn’t put his fingers on what drew him to you, but he knew in his bones he was on some form of hook.

You let out a sigh, placing the empty cups on the bedside table and burying yourself back in your pillows. “Thank you for checking on me, Remus.” Your words were a weary mumble, but your smile didn’t feel weak. “You’re awfully nice yourself.”

Remus looked down at his hands, as if they held the answers to his warming heart. When he looked up at you, your eyes were drooping shut. “Anytime, dove.” The nickname slipped out, and he froze for a second both at the implications within his heart and from fear that you might dislike it.

Your smile only grew more content as you closed your eyes properly.

With a relieved sigh, Remus got up from his seat, careful not to jostle your bed too much when he did so. “Sleep well. I’ll see you around.”

“I’ll be here,” you mumbled in parting. As Remus walked out the door, he wore a more pleased face than he ever had picking up wolfsbane. 

If Pomfrey was giving him a curious glance from her office, he didn’t pick up on it.

part two

[romerona]

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

The meeting of Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Headcanons.

The day had been long, and Carmy was just trying to keep it together. He’d left The Bear earlier than usual—if you could call "earlier" 9 p.m.—and was heading upstairs to his apartment with a bag of takeout that was far less exciting than anything he cooked in the kitchen. His mind was still buzzing with half-finished ideas for new recipes and the stress of balancing the books. It wasn’t until he rounded the corner in the hallway that he saw you.

You were crouched on the floor outside the apartment next to his, wrestling with a particularly heavy box. A burst of bright, patterned fabric caught his eye—it was your socks. Your jeans were rolled up messily, revealing mismatched socks peeking out of your sneakers, and a stubborn strand of hair that kept falling to your face. You didn’t seem to notice him at first, too focused on trying to angle the box through the doorway.

“Uh, you need a hand?” Carmy asked, his voice quiet and even, as if he wasn’t entirely sure you’d hear him.

You startled slightly, looking up at him with wide eyes. A man—tall, with a mop of messy blond hair, tired blue eyes, and a hoodie that had definitely seen better days—stood a few steps away. He looked a little rough around the edges, like he’d just stepped out of a 12-hour shift. And, unbeknownst to you, he had.

For a moment, you seemed unsure whether to accept, but then you huffed, brushing your hair out of your face. “Honestly? Yes. Please. I think this box is plotting my downfall.”

Carmy set his takeout on the floor and stepped over. He crouched down beside you, studying the situation. “What’s in here? Bricks?”

You laughed, the sound warm and full, and it caught him off guard. “Close enough—books. I hoard them like a dragon.”

He smirked faintly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. Without another word, he lifted the box with relative ease, surprising you with how quickly he maneuvered it through your doorway. “Where do you want it?”

“Anywhere that’s not the hallway,” you said with a grin, stepping aside to let him pass. “But if you want to put it by the window, I won’t stop you.”

Carmy carried the box to the corner you pointed to, but as he turned back, his eyes lingered on you longer than he intended. Standing amidst the chaos of your half-unpacked apartment, you looked effortlessly natural—strands of hair falling loose, a faint smile on your lips, and a light, easy confidence that made the mess around you seem insignificant. The light caught your cheekbone, highlighting your warm, colorful presence, a stark contrast to the muted tones he was used to. The room was already full of little glimpses of your personality—colorful throw pillows piled on a couch, a small vase of fresh flowers on the windowsill, and a stack of what looked like hand-painted signs propped against the wall.

“Thanks for that,” you said, breaking his train of thought. “I owe you one.”

Carmy couldn’t help but think how effortlessly pretty you were, though he kept the thought to himself, letting it settle quietly in the back of his mind.

He shrugged, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You just saved me from throwing my back out. That’s definitely worth at least a plate of cookies or something.”

Carmy opened his mouth to respond, but you kept going, your energy bright and fast-paced. “Wait—are you my neighbor? Please tell me you’re not just some random guy who walked by and felt bad for me.”

“Uh, yeah,” Carmy said, scratching the back of his neck. “I live next door.”

Your face lit up. “Oh, good. I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you...?”

“Carmen,” he said. “Carmy.”

“Carmy,” you repeated, testing it out. “Alright, Carmy-next-door. Thanks for the rescue.”

He nodded awkwardly, his social skills feeling a little rusty. “Yeah. No problem.”

-----

Carmy was just about to head out for his usual coffee run before work when the knock came at his door. He hesitated for a moment, not used to anyone knocking on his door—especially not at this hour. He opened it cautiously, and there you were, standing on the other side, holding a plate covered in plastic wrap.

“Hey!” you said brightly, flashing him the kind of smile that felt a little too sunny for such an early hour. You hold the plate out toward him. "These are for you. My way of saying thanks for saving me from a very undignified fate yesterday.”

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, glancing down at the plate.

“Never joke about cookies,” you said solemnly, holding them out to him.

Carmy hesitated for a moment before taking the plate, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

“Uh thanks,” he said simply, his tone soft but sincere.

You tilted your head, your smile softening into something a little teasing. “That’s it? ‘Uh, thanks’? No ‘wow, these look amazing,’ or ‘you didn’t have to, Y/N, you’re too kind’?”

A chuckle escaped him before he could stop it, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, genuine smile. “Alright, fine. Wow, these look amazing. And you didn’t have to.”

“Much better,” you said, nodding approvingly. “I knew you had it in you, Carmy-next-door.”

“Carmy-next-door?” he repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You didn’t tell me your last name, so I had to come up with something. If you’d prefer something fancier, we could workshop it.”

He shook his head, amused. “Carmy-next-door’s fine.”

There was a brief pause, and Carmy shifted slightly, unsure of what to do next. Social interactions outside of a kitchen weren’t exactly his strong suit, but something about the way you stood there, so at ease, made him want to keep talking. “Peanut butter?”

“Yep. I hope you’re not allergic or I might feel terrible for accidentally murdering my new neighbor.”

“No allergies,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “They look... good.”

“They taste better,” you replied confidently, rocking back on your heels. “You’ll see.”

Carmy stared at the plate in his hands for a moment, then back at you. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of you yet—this whirlwind of color and brightness that seemed to completely contrast his muted world.

“You uh-bake a lot?” he asked, his voice quieter now, curious despite himself.

You laughed, and the sound made something in his chest loosen. “Not really. I’m more of a ‘wing it and hope for the best’ kind of baker. Which, coincidentally, is also my teaching style.”

That caught his attention. “Teaching?”

“Yep. Fourth grade at Abbott Elementary,” you said, a note of pride in your voice. “You ever try to teach ten-year-olds about fractions? It’s like trying to train cute little squirrels to sit still.”

Carmy huffed another laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Can’t say I have.”

“You’re lucky,” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest. “Anyway, I should let you get back to... whatever it is you were doing. But enjoy the cookies. They’re my signature recipe.”

“Signature?” Carmy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep,” you said with a playful smirk. “Passed down from the great culinary masterminds of my family. By which I mean, I Googled it five years ago and have been winging it ever since."

Carmy let out a quiet laugh, glancing back toward his apartment. For a moment, he considered inviting you in, but the idea of it felt… too sudden. Too much. Instead, he took a step back toward the door, holding up the plate as a gesture of gratitude. “I’ll let you know how they are.”

“Oh, it will,” you said confidently, already backing toward your apartment. “See you around, Carmy-next-door.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, watching as you disappeared back into your apartment, leaving him standing in the doorway with a plate of cookies in his hands and a strange sense of warmth in his chest.

-------

The plate of cookies sat on Carmy’s desk in the cluttered back office at The Bear, their presence almost mocking him. He’d brought them along in the rush of the morning, figuring he might as well snack on them during the chaos of his day. But, as usual, the day had taken over—prep work, managing the team, putting out fires both literal and figurative—and by the time he finally sat down, the cookies were still untouched.

Richie, after coming into his office asking about the butter delivery for tomorrow, noticed the cookies on the table.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, pointing to the plate with an incredulous look. “Since when do you bake cookies?”

Carmy looked up from his paperwork, deadpan.“They’re from my neighbor. She brought them over as a thank-you for helping her move a box.”

Richie snorted, picking one up without waiting for permission. “Your neighbor? What is this, a fucking Hallmark movie?”

“Can you just eat the cookie and shut up?” Carmy said, though his tone was more resigned than annoyed, as he leaned back into his chair.

Richie took a dramatic bite, his eyebrows raising in exaggerated surprise. “Damn. These are actually good. Who’s this neighbor of yours? She running a bakery or something?”

“No,” Carmy said, shaking his head. “She’s a teacher.”

Richie blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. “A teacher who bakes like this? That's a keeper. Because these cookies are better than anything Marcus has cranked out lately.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Carmy muttered, grabbing a cookie for himself.

They were soft, perfectly sweetened, with just the right amount of salt to balance the flavor. He wasn’t expecting much when you’d handed him the plate earlier, but now... now he understood why you’d been so confident.

He finished the cookie quickly, his mind already drifting to thoughts of you. He could picture the way you’d smiled when you handed him the plate, the playful glint in your eyes when you teased him. He wasn’t used to people being so... warm. So open. It felt unfamiliar, but not in a bad way.

Richie leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “Seriously, though, what’s the deal? She single? Maybe I should swing by, introduce myself. Could use some homemade cookies in my life.”

Carmy shot him a warning look, though his tone remained light. "Just get out of here, Richie,"

Richie chuckled, grabbing another cookie as he walked out. “Hey, if she makes more of these, tell her I’ll marry her. Hell, I’ll even carry her boxes next time.”

Carmy shook his head, staring at the now half-empty plate of cookies. For a moment, he considered texting you to tell you how good they were, but he didn’t have your number. Instead, he made a mental note to return the favor—something different than cookies.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he cared so much, but as he reached for one last cookie, he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

-----

It had been two days since you’d dropped off the plate of cookies as a thank-you for Carmy helping you with your move. You didn’t expect much in return—maybe just a polite nod in the hallway or, at most, an offhanded “thanks.” That was the kind of vibe you got from Carmy: quiet, reserved, polite but not overly forthcoming or social.

So, when there was a knock at your door that evening, you weren’t expecting to find him standing there, holding a small brown takeout box.

“Carmy-next-door,” you said, your voice warm and teasing. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, as his eyes flicked between her face and the container in his hands. “Uh, thought I’d return the favor."

Your eyes flicked to the container, and you tilted your head curiously. “Return the favor?”

"For the cookies.”

You blinked, glancing down at the box in his hands. It wasn’t your typical store-bought takeout container—this one looked nicer, almost custom-made. You tilted your head slightly, curious. “What’s this?”

“Just something I made,” he said, shrugging one shoulder like it was no big deal. “Nothing fancy.”

You smiled, reaching out to take the box from him. “Wait, so you’re telling me you cook? Like, professionally?”

Carmy hesitated for a moment, clearly debating how much to say. “Yeah. I’m a chef.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Like... a real chef? Not just someone who’s really good at making grilled cheese?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. A real chef. But I do make a mean grilled cheese.”

“Well, color me impressed,” you laugh, holding up the box like it was a prized treasure. “What’s in here? Or is it a secret?”

“Braised short ribs,” he said, shifting his weight slightly. “With some potato puree and roasted vegetables. It’s... leftovers from a test recipe.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. “You're giving me that as a thank-you for cookies?”

He shrugged again, his gaze flicking away. “Figured it was better than just saying ‘thanks.’"

You laughed softly, leaning against the doorframe. “Well, now I feel like I need to bake you an entire cake or something. Cookies don’t seem like enough anymore.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “You didn’t have to bring me anything in the first place.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have discovered that my new neighbor is secretly a culinary genius,” you teased, watching as his cheeks seemed to tint just slightly pink.

“Not a genius,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just... a chef.”

“Well, Chef Carmy, you’ve officially raised the bar for neighborly exchanges,” you said, grinning.

A small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. “Just enjoy it.”

She studied him for a beat longer, the way he seemed both completely comfortable and slightly out of place at the same time. “Well, thanks, Carmy. I’ll let you know what I think.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slightly. “You do that.”

Carmy turned to leave, but before he reached his apartment, you called after him, your voice light and teasing.

"Hey, Carmy-next-door!"

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder, a curious expression on his face.

"Is this some kind of competition now? Because if it is, my next thank-you might have to involve actual fireworks."

He gave a quiet chuckle, a rare sound that widened your smile. "It's not."

You laughed, the sound brightening the hallway. "Well, it is now," you declared, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "And I’m not going down without a fight."

"Looking forward to it," he murmured, shaking his head, his smile lingering as he turned and disappeared into his apartment

You stood in the doorway for a moment, still holding the box, a warm feeling spreading through you. There was something about him—quiet but deeply thoughtful—that made you feel like you’d just scratched the surface of who he really was.

You carried the box into your kitchen, setting it carefully on the counter. The smell alone was enough to make your mouth water, but you didn’t open it right away. Instead, you poured yourself a glass of wine and took a seat, savoring the anticipation. And as you finally took your first bite, you couldn’t help but think: maybe moving into this building was the best decision you’d made in a long time.

Hope you enjoy it!!!! <3

Part 3??

[pomegranatelifethis]

@chaoticducky I was inspired by your comment

Privately

The Wayne Manor stood as a monolith against the bruised Gotham sky, its spires clawing at the dusk like the jagged teeth of some ancient beast. Within its labyrinthine halls, history whispered in every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of the chandeliers—a symphony of the Wayne family’s polished legacy and the darker, unspoken truths of the Batman. Tonight, though, the manor thrummed with a rare and delicate promise: an evening of peace. You, the heart and soul of this chaotic household, had orchestrated it with the precision of a maestro. A dinner. Just you and Bruce. No capes, no cowls, no crises. Two months of meticulous planning, a menu that could rival Gotham’s finest restaurants, and a dress you’d kept hidden in the back of your closet for an occasion exactly like this.

The dining room was a vision of elegance, bathed in the golden glow of a dozen candles that cast dancing shadows across the mahogany table. Crystal glasses sparkled, silverware gleamed, and the faint aroma of rosemary and roasted lamb wafted from the kitchen, where Alfred had reluctantly left the final touches to you. You smoothed the silk of your emerald-green dress, the fabric clinging to your curves in a way that still made Bruce’s breath catch after all these years. The clock on the mantel ticked past seven, and your fingers drummed an impatient rhythm against the table. He was late. Not by much, but enough to stir the familiar knot of unease in your chest. The kids—Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, and Cass—were mercifully absent, either patrolling the city or holed up in their rooms with strict instructions to leave you alone. Even Alfred had been persuaded to take a rare night off, though you suspected he was secretly reorganizing the wine cellar.

You poured yourself a glass of Bordeaux, the deep red catching the candlelight like liquid rubies. The manor was too quiet, and in Gotham, silence was rarely a good omen. As if summoned by your thoughts, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway, accompanied by the unmistakable clink of kevlar and the faint rustle of tactical fabric. Your heart sank, the wineglass freezing halfway to your lips. No. Not tonight.

“Bruce?” you called, your voice sharp with warning as you set the glass down with a deliberate clink.

He appeared in the doorway, a towering figure still half-clad in his Batman gear. The chest plate gleamed like obsidian under the candlelight, the bat emblem stark against the darkness. His cowl was off, revealing a mop of dark hair damp with sweat and those piercing blue eyes that could unravel you with a single glance. But tonight, they were wild, darting around the room with the intensity of a man on a mission. His jaw was set, his movements purposeful as he strode toward the study.

“Going to get the cowl,” he said, his voice low and clipped, already halfway across the room. “It’s missing, honey.”

You stood so fast the chair scraped against the hardwood, the sound grating in the quiet. “What?”

Bruce didn’t slow, tossing words over his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner. “Where’s my supersuit?”

Your jaw dropped, and you kicked off your heels, the emerald dress swishing as you stormed after him. “What??”

He was in the study now, his broad shoulders filling the doorway as he reached for the hidden panel that concealed the entrance to the Batcave. His voice rose, laced with that gravelly Batman edge that could make even the Joker hesitate. “Where—is—my—supersuit?”

You planted yourself in the doorway, hands on your hips, the silk of your dress catching the dim light from the study’s chandelier. This was not happening. Not after you’d wrangled the entire Batfamily into submission, bribed Damian with a new katana sharpener, and convinced Jason to stay out of trouble for one measly night. “I, uh… put it away!” you said, your voice steady despite the fire building in your chest.

Bruce froze, his hand hovering over the panel. He turned slowly, his brow furrowing as if you’d just confessed to hiding the Batmobile in the garage. “Where?”

“Why do you need to know?” you shot back, crossing your arms. The candlelit dinner, the wine, the dress—all of it was slipping away like sand through your fingers, and you could feel your patience fraying like an old rope.

“I need it!” Bruce’s voice was pure Batman now, all commanding intensity, as if the fate of the universe hung in the balance. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, you were reminded of the man who could face down gods and monsters without flinching.

You stepped forward, undeterred, your gaze narrowing to match his. “Uh-huh. Don’t you dare think about running off to do some daring-do, Bruce Wayne! We’ve been planning this dinner for two months!”

He threw his hands up, exasperation cracking through his stoic facade like a fissure in a glacier. “The public is in danger!”

“My evening is in danger!” you countered, your voice rising to a pitch that could rival Oracle’s comms. You could feel the heat in your cheeks, the kind that came from loving this man with every fiber of your being while simultaneously wanting to throttle him.

Bruce took a step closer, his jaw tight, his eyes blazing with that infuriating mix of determination and righteousness. “You tell me where my suit is, woman! We’re talking about the greater good!”

You laughed, sharp and incredulous, throwing your hands in the air. “Greater good? Greater good? Bruce, I am your wife! I am the greatest good you’re ever gonna get!”

The room fell silent, the tension crackling like a live wire strung between you. Bruce stared at you, his expression caught somewhere between shock and something dangerously close to amusement. You held your ground, chest heaving, your emerald dress shimmering in the low light as you glared at him. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with the weight of your words. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn’t a full smile—Bruce Wayne didn’t do full smiles—but it was enough to make your heart stutter.

“You hid my cowl,” he said, more a statement than a question, his voice softening just enough to let you know he was trying to de-escalate.

You didn’t back down, though your tone lost some of its fire. “Damn right I did. You think I’m going to let you ruin our first date night in forever because some goon in a clown mask decided to rob a bank?”

Bruce rubbed a hand over his face, the exhaustion of his double life etched into the lines around his eyes. “It’s not a bank. It’s… complicated. Scarecrow’s got a new toxin, and the GCPD—”

“Scarecrow can wait,” you interrupted, stepping closer until you were within arm’s reach. Your voice softened, but the steel remained. “Bruce, I know what you do is important. I know Gotham needs you. But I need you too. We need you. The kids, me, this family—we’re not just background noise to your mission. Just one night. Can’t the city survive without Batman for a few hours?”

He looked at you, really looked at you, and you could see the war waging behind his eyes. The Batman, relentless and unyielding, versus Bruce Wayne, the man who had vowed to love you through every storm. You reached out, resting a hand on his chest, feeling the cold kevlar under your palm and the steady beat of his heart beneath it. “Please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Stay.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. His hand hovered over the panel, his body taut with indecision. Then, slowly, he let his arm drop, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of Gotham had settled there. He covered your hand with his, his touch warm despite the armor, and his thumb brushed against your knuckles. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, but there was no heat in it, only affection.

“Says the man who dresses like a bat,” you quipped, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He exhaled, a sound that was half-laugh, half-sigh, and you knew you’d won. “Fine,” he said, stepping back but keeping your hand in his. “One night. But you’re telling me where you hid the cowl.”

You grinned, triumphant, and tugged him toward the dining room. “Not a chance. You’ll find it when I’m good and ready to give it back.”

Bruce shook his head, but he was smiling now, a real smile that softened the hard edges of his face and made your heart ache with how much you loved him. He followed you, his hand still clasped in yours, and for a moment, the manor felt alive—not with the chaos of the Batfamily or the shadows of Batman’s mission, but with the quiet, unshakable strength of the life you’d built together.

༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎

The dining room welcomed you back with its warm glow, the candles burning lower now but still casting a soft, intimate light. You guided Bruce to his seat, ignoring the faint creak of his kevlar as he sat down. He looked out of place, a warrior in armor at a table set for romance, but the sight only made you love him more. You poured him a glass of wine, sliding it across the table with a playful smirk.

“Drink,” you said. “You look like you need it.”

He raised an eyebrow but took the glass, his fingers brushing yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Immensely,” you replied, settling into your own chair. “It’s not every day I get to hold the Batman hostage.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and took a sip of the wine. “You’re the only one who could.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand, your eyes locked on his. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Wayne. You’re still not getting that cowl back until I say so.”

He leaned back, his gaze never leaving yours, and for a moment, you saw the man you’d fallen in love with—the one who could charm a room full of Gotham’s elite or face down a rogue’s gallery without breaking a sweat. “You know,” he said, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous timbre that always made your pulse race, “I could find it. I’m very good at finding things.”

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “And I’m very good at hiding things. Try me.”

His lips twitched again, and you couldn’t help but laugh. The tension from earlier had melted away, replaced by the easy banter that had always been the foundation of your relationship. You served the food, the plates steaming with herb-crusted lamb and roasted vegetables, and for a while, you both ate in comfortable silence, the only sounds the clink of cutlery and the faint crackle of the candles.

But Gotham was never far away, and you could see the way Bruce’s eyes occasionally darted toward the window, as if expecting a signal to light up the sky. You reached across the table, taking his hand. “Hey,” you said softly. “You’re here. With me. Let the city handle itself for a few hours.”

He squeezed your hand, his expression softening. “I’m trying. It’s… hard to turn it off.”

“I know,” you said, your thumb tracing circles over his knuckles. “But you don’t have to carry it all alone. You have me. You have the kids. You have Alfred, though I’m pretty sure he’s secretly running the whole operation.”

Bruce laughed, a real, unguarded laugh that made your heart soar. “You’re probably right about that.”

You grinned, leaning back in your chair. “Of course I am. I’m always right.”

He shook his head, but the warmth in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. This was why you fought so hard for these moments—because beneath the cowl, beneath the weight of Gotham, was the man who loved you fiercely, who would move mountains for you and the family you’d built together.

As the meal drew to a close, you stood, rounding the table to stand beside him. He looked up at you, his eyes tracing the lines of your dress, and for a moment, you felt like the only person in the world. You leaned down, brushing a kiss against his lips, soft and lingering. “Thank you,” you whispered. “For staying.”

He cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Thank you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “For reminding me what matters.”

You smiled, pulling him to his feet. “Come on. Let’s dance.”

He raised an eyebrow, glancing around the empty dining room. “There’s no music.”

You shrugged, wrapping your arms around his neck. “We don’t need it.”

And so, in the flickering candlelight, you swayed together, his armor pressing against your silk dress, his hands warm on your waist. The manor was quiet, the city beyond its walls a distant hum. Somewhere, hidden in the depths of Wayne Manor, the cowl remained safely tucked away. For tonight, at least, Batman could wait.

༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎༎

Later that night, as you lay in bed, Bruce’s arm draped over your waist, you felt the manor settle around you like a living thing, its secrets safe for another day. The kids would be back soon, bringing their chaos and their laughter, and Gotham would call again, as it always did. But for now, you had this—the warmth of his body against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the knowledge that you were his anchor, his greatest good.

And somewhere, in a locked drawer in the guest room, the cowl waited. You smiled to yourself, already planning where you’d hide it next time.

Tag

@itsberrydreemurstuff @Welpthisisboring @lilyalone @itsberrydreemurstuff

[spicycinnabun]

🤖🤖 (one of my favourite AUs of all time 🫶🏻)

wahhh I'm honored it's one of your faves. have some post-bar whump! 💙🤖

“What are you doing?”

“Putting the dishes away,” EB answered. “If you have any laundry, I’ll do that, too. Then, I’ll clean the fridge, restock groceries, take out the trash, mop the floors…”

Tommy could practically hear him adding more tasks to his internal clipboard. 

“I don’t want you to do my housework,” he said, brows knitting. 

“Y-you don’t? I thought—oh. My mistake.” EB's shoulders slumped a bit, his LED blinking red. 

They needed to talk. Tommy needed to confess a few things—and he was ready to. He just didn’t want to do it in their current state.

EB was putting the plate back on the drying rack when his knee unexpectedly buckled. Of course, it was his bad leg, and since he was still Thirium-drunk and lacking coordination of his biocomponents, he went down fast and hard with a shout. 

Tommy shot forward and caught him just in time to avoid a collision. “I got you, I got you.”

Tommy made a mental note to check EB’s knee joint soon. It clearly needed maintenance. 

EB was quiet as Tommy pulled him up and steadied them, his arms around Tommy’s neck. He let go sooner than Tommy wanted, using the counter as support instead.

“The plate.” It hadn’t been as lucky, in pieces by their feet. “I’ll clean it up.”

“No,” Tommy said, frowning again. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll take care of it later.”

That seemed to make EB's shoulders slump even further, his head hanging. “I’m not doing anything right,” he said. “I’m a bad bot.”

How wrong he was, and not in the way he thought. Tommy was the bad person. He wished he could’ve made EB happy tonight instead of how he was now. Miserable. Thinking he somehow wasn’t good enough for Tommy fuck up Kinard. 

“EB, that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

But it was like EB hadn’t heard him at all. What he said next was completely mystifying. 

“You’re going to put me back in the b-b-box, aren’t you?” His tone was filled with dread. Rising panic.

The box?

Something cold slid down Tommy’s spine. “What?”

When he caught EB’s eyes, all the color had left—irises and pupils replaced with black and white, scattered and dancing like TV static. “Please, sir. D-don’t leave me in there again. Don’t let her disable my optical units. I-I don’t like the dark.”

If that wasn’t incredibly fucking alarming. What had happened to him? And who? Sir—a previous owner? He would’ve thought Gerrard if not for the inclusion of her. 

Tommy cupped EB’s jaw, trying to pull him back from whatever nightmare he was visiting. “Hey, I’m not putting you anywhere, EB. I’m not going to disable anything. We’re just going to relax for a while.” 

Emphasis on the we. 

EB shuddered, taking a gulp of oxygen. His breath was hot when he exhaled, his fans likely working hard from the sudden stress. He blinked a few times. “T-Tommy?”

There he was.

“That’s right. It’s Tommy. Focus on me.”

EB nodded after a beat too long. “Confirmed. F-focusing. On you.”

Tommy smiled gently, injecting as much warmth into his voice as possible. “Good bot.” 

EB made a needy noise—a crackle, a vibrating buzz. “I-I am?” 

“Absolutely are.” He was. No doubt about it. “Come with me.”

Tommy led EB to the sectional in his living room. It was big and comfortable. Tommy coaxed him to sit and then lie down with soft commands. EB followed them eagerly. 

EB’s head settled on his lap. When Tommy placed a hand on his stomach to ground him, in the spot just beneath his synthetic ribs, EB grabbed it and held on tightly—like Tommy was going to take it away at any moment. His grip wasn’t bone-breaking, but it was enough to cut off Tommy’s circulation in a minute. Tommy didn’t tell him to ease up or let go.

Tommy’s other hand found his curls, petting through them. “I’m right here,” he murmured. EB’s eyes were still snowing, still haunted, but he watched Tommy raptly, hanging on to his every word. “I’m not going to leave you alone. I’m not going anywhere.”

EB hiccuped. Thirium leaked down his temples. Tommy wiped it away slowly as the blue of EB’s irises started to return. “Promise?”

“I promise,” Tommy said. 

⚙︎

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previous parts

i made a lil spotify playlist for eb, too. still adding songs. c:

[nottslove]

my fav sang rn is melancholy hill by gorillaz. it's been in my head for WEEKS such a good song :)

event; profile; nav; hi anon!! thank you for sending in this request. it is a pretty good song. once again, it gave me angsty vibes...

it also gave me regulus vibes, i have no idea how, or where, but it just gave me reggie vibes. ITS ALSO VERY VERY LONG 3.4k words

song: melancholy hill, gorillaz slytherin boy: regulus black.

SINCE day one, he had always been your best friend. growing up in a strict, pureblood household was not easy.

especially with your six, younger siblings behind you, and a limited amount of gold in your parents' vault at gringotts.

unfortunately, that meant being betrothed to someone you hardly knew; at the young age of eleven.

your fate was sealed, the moment you got your letter to hogwarts.

augustus rookwood.

his name was augustus rookwood.

your future husband's name.

currently studying in durmstrang, and four years older than you, rookwood came from utmost wealth, which meant good news for your family should you marry him.

support for all your younger siblings.

and so, with this dark cloud of an eventually arranged marriage hanging over your head, you set foot into hogwarts, at the age of eleven.

naturally, you were sorted into slytherin. coming from a long line of slytherins, how could you be sorted into any other house??

being the oldest of seven, you had always been shadowed by the rest, and you often used to find yourself curled up on the chaise lounge with a book whilst you were given the responsibility of watching your siblings, making sure they weren't getting into trouble.

now, alone at hogwarts, you suddenly felt free, away from the burden of your future, and the responsibility of looking after your siblings.

your thoughts were interrupted when a boy sat beside you after being sorted into slytherin.

you recognized him. he came from the most noble and ancient house of black, one of the most prestigious wizarding families who lived in london.

your mother was close friends with his mother, so you had seen him a couple of times.

you'd never spoken to him before though.

the pair of you would simply make eye-contact before he went upstairs, and you buried your nose in a book.

now, however, you were grateful to have the slightly comforting feeling of having someone you knew sit beside you.

you had barely eaten anything; your anxiety was filling enough. an air bubble had wedged itself in your throat, preventing you from doing anything but staring at your food and rubbing your sweaty palms on your robe-covered thighs.

"you've barely touched your food," regulus had murmured with a small, sullen nod; his way of greeting you.

"so have you," you observed quietly, your eyes flickering to his untouched plate, then wandering to hazel-green eyes and dark, messy mop of curls.

no more words were exchanged after that, but regulus and you walked together to the slytherin common room.

you studied together too, and sat next to each other during classes, and even hung out together during the weekends.

one would even go as far as to call you friends.

that was what you had become.

you quickly noticed how similar he was to you. quiet, hardworking, same sense of humor... he even had the same taste in books as you did.

first year passed quickly, too fast for your liking, and before you knew it, it was summer, and you were back to looking after all your siblings and having your mother continuously chastise you for unladylike behavior, constantly reminding you of your upcoming marriage to rookwood as soon as you would graduate from hogwarts.

you were tired of being reminded of it. personally, you couldn't imagine being married to rookwood. you'd never even met the wizard, and you could only hope your parents would change their mind.

you exchanged letters with regulus all summer. yet you never once told him about your betrothal. in your mind, if you didn't speak of it, it would make it less true, and less likely to happen, which was what you wanted.

second year was uneventful, except for the time you and regulus got your first ever detention together.

regulus' brother, sirius had been ignoring regulus whenever the two of you tried to approach him about their mother's letter to regulus, and you had grown frustrated and hexed sirius with a spell you found in one of your books.

as a result, sirius had hexed you with a nose-growing spell and regulus, who was furious at his brother for doing this to you launched himself all over sirius and pummeled him with his fists.

you had to arrange all the borrowed books in the library according to category and author, but it was more rewarding than punishing, since you got to read books and hang out with regulus at the same time.

the summer after your second year was pretty much the same as the one the year before.

for regulus, it was one of his worst summers yet. his brother had run away from home, and got disowned, leaving his little brother to take the brunt of his parents' wrath.

he had immediately flooed over to your house in the middle of the night, and you nursed him back to health as he had suffered the cruciatus curse multiple times that night.

"thank you," he had told you, when dawn began creeping closer. you had hidden him in your room, hoping your parents wouldn't find out about an uninvited guest.

"any time," you whispered back, giving him the tightest hug you could muster. "it's what friends are for, right?"

you and regulus grew closer after that. two of your siblings joined hogwarts that year, and the heavy responsibilities you dealt with at home followed you to hogwarts, the place that had become your safe haven.

when the twins got into trouble, your parents sent you a howler for not looking after them properly, and regulus was there holding you as you cried into his shoulder late at night in the common room.

"it'll be okay, i've got you..." he kept murmuring.

and he was right. it was all okay, because he was there.

you and regulus didn't need anyone else's company when you had each other.

he was enough for you, and you were enough for him too.

third year was also the year you were allowed to go to hogsmeade. as usual, you and regulus went together, checked out the village and bought a few candies, before returning to the castle.

the rest of the visits, the two of you took advantage of the empty castle to hang out alone in the slytherin common room.

summer after your third year was uneventful apart from the fact that you met augustus rookwood for the very first time.

he had just finished his seventh year at durmstrang, and had come with his father to see you for the first time.

all at once, everything felt real.

you didn't want to do this; not one bit. you didn't want to marry rookwood.

still, you had come to terms with your fate, you had accepted it.

yet another one of your siblings joined hogwarts at the beginning of your fourth year.

regulus instantly noticed something was different about you this year. the whole train ride, you were completely silent, reading. or at least, pretending to read.

you didn't realize it, but you had been holding your book upside down, too lost in your own thoughts to realize.

regulus noticed, but he never said a word.

he merely smiled and shook his head.

regulus had thought you needed time and space, so that was what he gave you.

at christmas, when you still weren't back to your normal self, he had decided that he had had enough.

"okay, spill," he said randomly, when the two of you were doing homework by the black lake.

"i'm sorry...??"

"something's been bothering you. i want to know," he got to the point, his beautiful hazel-green eyes meeting yours.

and then, you broke.

all this time you had been holding yourself up, afraid that if you opened your mouth, you wouldn't be able to stop, you would start crying.

"reg— don't.... don't ask me that," you pleaded, your eyes watering. "ask me anything else, just.. just not that..."

you couldn't give him an honest answer; you didn't want to talk about rookwood.

you just wanted to forget.

you wanted to enjoy the rest of your hogwarts life and your childhood before your marriage to rookwood.

fully able to tell you were sensitive about the issue, regulus pulled you into an embrace, and that was where you began crying once more, sobbing and shaking as he held you.

"i'm betrothed to rookwood— i'm going to marry him as soon as we graduate from here.."

"oh, love..." your stomach fluttered intensely at the pet name, and as you buried your face into his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck, the sensation only intensified instead of fading away.

when had he smelt this masculine, this good?? when had he felt so muscular, so safe?

you didn't realize it, but that was when you started falling for regulus black, your best friend.

summer after fourth year was no better than the rest. you got to meet regulus at all the pureblood parties and galas hosted by different wizarding families during the summer.

it was also when you shared your first dance with rookwood, and your first dance with regulus.

your best friend has asked you to dance when he saw you sitting pitifully on the stairs, right after your dance with rookwood had ended.

the two of you had ended up sneaking away from the party and into the piano room, where you played tchaikovsky together and stole a bottle of firewhiskey from the cellar.

safe to say that you both got drunk, but you had managed to take a sobering potion before either of your parents caught you.

your fifth year was when you realized you had caught feelings for regulus. every time he gave you that quiet smile of his, every time his eyes twinkled in mirth when you said something funny...

it made your stomach lurch in a completely pleasant way.

every time he would hug you, you would blush. every time his hands would brush against yours, you bit your lip to stop the grin forming across your lips.

it only made everything more painful; knowing that you couldn't act on your feelings because you were betrothed to rookwood.

regulus didn't realize; and you hoped he never would realize.

little did you know, he had already fallen in love with you.

but neither of you acted on your feelings. you simply grew closer to each other than ever.

during the slytherin christmas party, you and regulus got caught under the mistletoe, and he pressed the barest, gentlest of kisses on your lips.

it was your first kiss, but you didn't tell him that.

it lasted less than a second, but it meant everything to you.

it was hard pretending everything was normal after that. regulus was strangely oblivious to your feelings, and you often wondered how he couldn't see your painfully obvious feelings for him, and how he could go on pretending his kiss hadn't affected you.

the rest of your fifth year, you tried to distract yourself from regulus; knowing that if you confessed your feelings for him, it would ruin your friendship.

even if he did like you back, you were betrothed to rookwood anyway.

the summer after your fifth year, and before your sixth year, your parents hosted your official engagement party.

after much pleading and begging, you were allowed to invite regulus.

and as you watched another girl, who happened to be your cousin, chat him up and touch his arm, your blood boiled, your heart clenched, and tears sprung to your eyes, as you watched him lean against the wall with his hands in his pockets and shrug.

the girl moved on and before you knew it, your eyes met his.

a fierce jolt traveled through your entire body, tension suffocating you from all sides just from bearing the weight of his gaze.

that was when you knew you were in love with regulus black.

he was your life jacket in the stormy sea of like, and you simply could not live without him.

you needed him.

but you never said a word.

your fate was sealed. you loved him from a distance. he was so far, yet so close.

and this type of pain was worse than the cruciatus, even.

no, you smiled through it all, acted like you were happy.

only regulus saw through your façade.

your sixth year was your hardest year yet. another of your siblings joined hogwarts, and you and rookwood were expected to write to each other every week.

his letters were short. yours were the same length.

regulus had started to gain attention from the female population.

the tall, brooding, silent type is what they called him. he acted oblivious and uninterested to all of it, but whenever he was approached by a girl, you noticed the slight smirk on his pale, pink lips, and the slightest lift of his eyebrow, and his eyes would meet yours, as if he were waiting for your reaction.

that was when you would quickly cast your gaze down and hastily begin to pretend you were writing.

but regulus knew.

he could see.

and he wanted to confirm if you had feelings for him, so he looked at you cluelessly before he asked his question.

"should i go out with her?" he asked innocently, his face betraying no emotion. "she seems nice, doesn't she?"

it was all a ploy to get you jealous, but you didn't know that.

fisting your hands underneath the table, you forced a smile through gritted teeth.

"mhmm, yeah, she does. if you like her, go ahead— ask her out..."

and he asked her out right in front of you, fully aware of your reddening cheeks and your annoyed glare.

two could play that game.

with every letter that came from rookwood, once a week, you made a show of receiving it, reading it and replying to it.

"want to head to the library?" regulus would ask.

"can't," you'd say. "i need to reply to rookwood."

you would give him the same response when he asked you to accompany him to hogsmeade, and when he asked if you would play chess with him, unaware that your responses made his blood boil.

he decided to up his game.

every quidditch match he would play, he would always wink at you and smile, right after he caught the snitch and won for slytherin.

his win was always dedicated to you.

since his second year, his first year after getting on the team, he always won for you.

you were always there in the crowd, wearing his jersey, his number painted on both your cheeks.

this time, he winked at her.

at the stupid, stupid greengrass girl.

what's more, she ran to him right after his win, and kissed him full on the mouth.

in front of everyone.

your blood boiled, coursing through your veins, and the roar of the crowd around you was drowned out by the pumping of your heart in your ears, making your whole head throb.

hot, angry tears spilled down your cheeks, and your head felt heavy. without casting another glance backwards, you stormed off angrily, into the forbidden forest, without a care.

you didn't know how long you were there, feeding unicorns, talking to the centaurs, but you lost track of time.

it grew dark, and it even began raining.

and you were lost; you couldn't find your way back to the castle.

after wandering blindly through the trees, you managed to get out of the forest, tears mingling with the rain crashing down from the sky.

you were drenched. completely. you had worn regulus' quidditch jersey, as usual; the way you did every match.

now it was a soaking mess atop your shorts.

and then you heard his voice.

calling out your name.

you froze.

he saw you, a good distance from hagrid's hut, wand in hand, wearing his jersey, soaking wet.

you were shivering, freezing cold. but one look from his intense eyes and you felt hot all over.

you were on fire.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW WORRIED I WAS?" he roared, his angry gaze meeting yours. "YOU WERE GONE FOR HOURS— i... i thought something happened to you," he rasped, his voice losing its angry tone and taking a sad, defeated one.

he never lost his temper; it was a rare occasion. and at the moment, he was mad at you for making his heart go through the possibility of losing you.

and you, you could only stand in silence, angry tears spilling down your cheeks.

for once, you were glad it was raining, so regulus couldn't see your tears.

"well, i'm fine," you replied coolly, still completely pissed at regulus. it wasn't his fault. "no need to worry."

you shouldn't have been mad. after all, he didn't like you that way and you were meant to marry rookwood.

"that's all you're going to say?" he scoffed, as he couldn't believe you.

"should i be saying something else?" you prompted, irritation lacing your words.

"an apology, maybe?" regulus muttered, voice laced with irony. "for worrying me? for making me think... something happened to you? for making me think... that i... lost you?"

his voice were laced with vulnerability, spoken with a quiet sort of disappointment, as if he couldn't believe that you of all people would leave him.

in this world, he only had you.

no one else.

you were his family.

"well, why do you care what happens to me anyway?" you retorted, still furious at him for kissing the other girl. you simply couldn't get the image of greengrass locking lips with your best friend.

"i care because you're my best friend. you're all i have," regulus replied earnestly, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the thundering sound of rain. "and..."

his voice dropped lower as he broke off, averting his gaze to the floor before his beautiful eyes flickered back up to yours. "and i love you."

a deafening silence pounded through your ears, and though he spoke so so softly, it was fully audible over the sound of rain.

your heart lurched.

more tears poured down your face, and you swallowed hard.

"reg— i—" you stuttered, completely frozen, unable to string two words together. hope festered in your heart, and you guarded it fiercely, unable to tell if he meant it platonically, or romantically.

"it's... it's okay if you don't feel the same—" he began to panic, brows furrowing together in worry.

"i do," you gurgled, surprising him completely. "i love you."

before you knew it, he was kissing you, hands tangled in your wet, matted hair, your lips mingling with his.

you were freezing cold, and the rain drenched both of you, but the moment your lips touched his, your body was on fire.

you and regulus started dating, but in secret. you couldn't risk your parents finding out about you being in love with him.

they would forbid you from seeing him, and you couldn't live that.

your sixth year summer was uneventful, save for the fact that you convinced your parents to allow you to floo over to regulus' place every now and then.

they only allowed you out of pity.

it was your last summer to be free, to be unmarried.

it was also regulus' last summer to be free. he would be joining the dark lord immediately after graduation from hogwarts.

unbeknownst to you, regulus was hatching a plan.

he didn't tell anyone about it, in fear of failure.

your seventh year was bittersweet.

it was full of exams, and looking after your siblings.

and wedding preparations.

the year ended, and you were swamped with wedding preparations.

you had no time to see regulus.

every night, you would cry, as your wedding came closer and closer, and you were desperately in love with regulus.

the night before your wedding, regulus had managed to sneak into your room.

"pack your essentials," he whispered. "let's run away together.."

and you did. you grabbed his hand and let yourself fall, because you knew he would always catch you.

you knew he would always be there for you.

he would always catch you.

you put your entire faith in him, because everything was better when he was there.

and finally, finally, when you and regulus reached the house he had bought in france, the two of you stopped running.

you were safe.

you were home.

event; profile; nav;

©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[xdanisgfx]

ʚɞ IRL — prologue !

9:39 PM.

free.

she was finally free.

daniela averted her gaze from the brown-rimmed clock behind the counter, a sigh of relief releasing from her lips as customers dwindled down to a handful. she followed the last few customers out as they left, immediately flipping the open sign to close.

"i'll go ahead, if you don't mind?" her coworker leah winked, already halfway out the glass doors. the half-blonde barely got the time to argue before the girl disappeared, eliciting a groan from her.

okay, then. she wasn't that free, but almost. she got on with her last bits of labor: checking storage, washing the last of the plates and mugs, wiping down the tables and mopping the floors. stupid leah — this was, what, the third night in a row that she had left her to clean up by herself in favor of a date? she really should bring this up to the manager, even knowing that the other girl would definitely find out and resent her for it.

well, too bad, daniela thought. if you didn't want to get into trouble then you should've worked your ass of for all of your paid hours.

the latina pulled out her hair from its tie, properly closed up the cafe, and finally walked out into the night.

10:57 PM.

the air was crisp, causing daniela to shiver a little in her two layers. it was definitely nearing winter — the trees barely had leaves to sway, all fallen to the ground. the air was no longer its cozy coolness but starting to achingly nip skin.

daniela, now with an armful of drinks, walked alone, shadows coming and passing with the streetlights on her face.

the blonde smiled at her phone, laughing under her breath as the group chat started to fill with messages — mostly because of the random cat video megan had sent.

she stopped at an intersection, right in front of a pedestrian lane. she glanced up, just for a moment, to see that the stoplight for pedestrians had turned green. nobody was around, which was quite strange. it was barely two hours to midnight, surely somebody had thought of taking a night walk? the blonde's gaze returned to the little device on her phone as she started to walk, rolling one shoulder because of the weight from the drinks. lara had sent another video, one of a cat climbing a bookshelf and then falling.

11:00 PM.

the clock ticked on the top left of daniela's phone, each number flipping to form a perfect hour. daniela reached the middle of the road, her attention still focused on her little device. from the corner of her eye she saw a truck approaching, but she paid it no mind. surely vehicles came and went here, that was not out of the ordinary.

it became out of the ordinary when the truck did not stop, nor honk, nor give any warning to daniela.

everything was suddenly sped up. daniela froze, eyes blinded by the vehicle's headlights, unwilling to move or perhaps unable to. she froze like a deer caught in headlights, like a turtle sensing danger. she couldn't do anything. not to scream, not to put out a hand, not to run and avoid injury.

daniela stared, and her eyes closed, bracing for impact and the relief that may immediately or never come. everything was too fast but in a painful slow motion, and bile crept up her throat from the state of immense stress and panic she was put into out of nowhere.

1, 2, fuck-

something hit her, hard. but instead of going down to hit the ground she's yanked upwards, and she could barely open her eyes for a peek due to the icy wind rushing into her eyeballs and the sick feeling in her tightening stomach.

the latina didn't even get the chance to scream in horror before her feet land on a flat, solid surface again. she breathed heavily, in through the nose, out through the mouth, nonstop.

daniela glanced up for a second to discover the identity of her savior, but she only got a split-second look at baggy cargos and an oversized shirt flying away into the night on a silver silk string. there was no face, just a black-webbed red mask.

her jaw dropped in realization, and her gaze did too, only to find her ordered drinks flooding the street, flattened by the truck that would've killed her.

they shared not a word nor a glance, but daniela was already entranced by her masked savior.

masterlist ʚɞ next

taglist! — @meganskiendielsbtc @sunshinez4 @fruityg0rl @wtfisthisnoclueman @winnmin @1luvkarina @peanutbutterlover05 @hiraizyo @kristalag

author's notes! — pls bear with me while i study human humor

[jellymind]

Sound of Music Tarn x Reader

Who knew one somewhat underhanded comment towards your manager would get you killed?

You sure didn’t when you made the comment! Now stalking down the low lit hallways in a purple, khaki t-shirt. A staple of the work uniform in this marine center, specifically those working with the dangerous fish hosted here for recovery. 

Yeah, death was knocking on the door and you weren’t ready to go. 

Huffing, you reach up to fiddle with the headphones around your neck, the pressure from it the only thing grounding you in this place at the moment. And the urge to put them on becomes stronger yet as you pass a group of co-workers all dressed in red t-shirts instead. They cast you a glance, eyes widening before darting their gazes away again. No words spoken, but the air suddenly feels heavy with pity. 

Further in you go, practically sprinting to get out of sight. Taking corners faster than necessary, until finally you reach the split path that leads to the mers held deeper in this place. Yeah, normal fish weren’t the only ones being kept, but straight up creatures of myths. And half of them would take off a hand just for sport. 

Each side looks the same in appearance, but the tiles are where they differ. One, the right path, goes from the deep blue of the normal marine center’s path to a soothing red. The sign of the kinder mers, the ones that can actually be interacted without fear of sudden ill intent. The other path, the one you have now been reassigned to, goes to a foreboding purple, darkening the hallway beyond. 

You take the purple path, sucking in a breath as the space constricts around you. This space was not built for comfort, instead to warn or scare away any that weren’t forced to work down this wing. 

Doors start to line the walls, each with name plates and the mers nicknames on display in neat golden script. Megatron, Soundwave, Shockwave, Starscream, you continue past each door without pause. None of them the ones you were assigned too. 

It takes a while, having to go down another length of a hall that spindles off the main shoot of purple-code mers. These doors are also marked with red, the color vibrant and closer to that of blood than the red from before. The engravings have scratched off paint where nails have dug in, both human and non-human intermingling. 

The names pass by, Overlord, Galvatron, and even more that you begin to ignore. Thoughts flying to when co-workers would whisper about the newest injury from these fearsome beasts. 

“They’re killers! I swear it!” 

“Did you know they leave the dead in there with them? Management thinks it keeps them sated for when the professionals enter.” 

“I heard the last person assigned there lost an arm.” 

You shake your head as you stop before a door. This one no different from the others but important to you. The new mer assigned to you just beyond. Tarn, the nameplate reads. And he has the worst track record among the ones stationed here. 

Blood thirsty, constantly breaking out of the room and tank, always looking for the latest victim. And now your job to clean his tank, feed him, and make sure he’s properly enriched. 

“Let’s get this over with.” You mutter under your breath. Bringing up your headphones, you click open your phone and begin to play the instrumental melody that will lead to your death. 

Violins sing away as you swing the door open, a trumpet almost making you jump as you sweep a glance over the still water inside. The tank is oddly empty of an eager predator ready to kill, not even a ripple. 

Maybe the mer doesn’t know you’re here. All the better to work fast and get out even faster.

Biting at your lip, you step in, looking along the wall for any of the cleaning supplies that your manager swore would be there, ready for use. A mop, a bucket, and an unlabeled bottle of cleaner is all you catch sight of, and it’s thrown to the ground in a rush.

You sigh, but head deeper in, the rise of tubas following you as the heavily padded door slams shut. Grabbing the mop after filling the bucket to the point suds are sloshing out the side, you get to work. 

There’s a surprising lack of stains around the tank, nothing that outwardly hints at what has gone down in this room in the past. Only dried stains that are more brown than red and could have been anything at the point of spill. 

You turn the music up, blasting the return of the violins into your ears. It’s at the same time you see movement at the corner of your eye. 

Turning fast, you face the tank where you thought the movement came from, nothing. Sweat starts to pucker your forehead, and the hairs on the back of your neck start to stand up. A warning, or maybe a feeling, of being watched invade. 

You turn away, dunking the mop in the bucket. 

A splash cuts through the music. 

You whirl around and freeze. 

This time, a fin has broken through the water. It bobs on the surface, taunting and horrifying as you realize Tarn knows you’re here. You can’t leave though, even if the prey brain in you is beginning to awaken and wants to run as far as they can from the room and whatever is lurking below the waves. 

Work fast, get out faster. 

Stiff limbed, you switch to a crab sort of walk. A way to keep your face to the water and mopping the place without getting caught. It doesn’t matter though as the fin begins to move, closing in on the lip of the tank. 

You suddenly hate the crescendo in your ears from the music. 

Just as it reaches the peak, all hell breaks loose. An explosion of water, a huge figure beaching itself inches from your face. A scream at the tip of your tongue, but it never leaves as red eyes meet your own. 

Tarn.

There’s a crooning, deep and full-body that comes from the creature. It backs off, and as it does you catch sight of it more than just the eyes. Bulky shoulders, scars criss-crossing the body all the way down to the tail, purple and black scales, and the claws at the tips of its webbed fingers. 

Another croon has you looking back to the red eyes, which you notice are behind a strange, watery mask of some sort. They blink, you follow, heart pounding away in your chest. 

Then a hand lifts, one claw stretching out. 

This is it, death on one finger. 

Instead there is another call, this one a coo of sorts followed by a click. It touches your headphones. 

“Huh?” Is all you can think, and apparently squeak out. 

Another coo. Another poke to the head.

Reaching up, you pop off the headphones, mop dropping to the ground. “My headphones?” Music is still blasting away, a lull of soft instruments. “Or, uh, the music?” 

Tarn nods, red eyes squinting in what you think is joy. 

An idea hits, and you rush to turn off your headphones. The drop of music does seem to startle the mer, who starts to growl at you and as you rush for the phone in your pocket you call out, “Give me a minute!” 

Swiping up, you hit play in a rush, turning the noise all the way up. Instruments hit the air in a rush, their pattern swirling and calming if not for the fact a dangerous mer is standing before you. 

But that still seems to be enough, as he begins to sway, lowering himself to lay out on the deck with a coo. And suddenly you think there may be a way through this assignment. As long as he continues to enjoy the music that is. 

[anything-pov]

ok so have you ever seen Gilmore girls

cuz i want a Criminal Minds AU with Gilmore Girls

JJ is a single mom and Reader is a diner owner where she visits every single day

Enjoy 😊

The Diner 🍟

The boys were wild with back to school jitters, Michael bouncing in the passenger seat, Henry chattering in the back about pencil cases and which back pack made him ‘look the fastest.’

JJ, single mom and exhausted FBI agent, just smiled and let them run it out. She’d promised them dinner. A treat. Something fun before school started again and schedules got tight.

She didn’t say it aloud, but she needed it too. The diner was tucked behind the block across from the FBI building.

It had red leather booths, warm yellow lighting, a pinball machine that hadn’t worked in years, and a specials board written in swooping, crooked chalk.

It smelled like grilled cheese and cinnamon sugar and comfort. “Welcome to Y/L/N’s!” came a voice from the kitchen window, “Sit wherever you like! I’ll be right out!”

JJ’s eyes flicked toward the voice, catching just a glimpse of a woman with a backwards hat, tight grey tee hugging broad shoulders, and arms flecked with faint scars.

The woman disappeared again before JJ could get a good look, but Henry was already tugging her toward a corner booth.

They ordered burgers, milkshakes, and a shared plate of curly fries. It wasn’t long before the owner came out with menus and a crooked smile.

“Hey there! I’m Y/N,” she said, her voice was low, a little gravelly, “I own the place. Kitchen is short tonight, so you’ve got me for waitress duty too.”

JJ looked up, and for a moment, the world paused. Y/N was striking. Buff, sure. But it was more than that. There was kindness in her eyes, a warmth and gentleness.

She was flushed from the kitchen heat and had a tiny pen tucked behind her ear. “You’re doing great,” JJ said, her smile from ear to ear, “I’m JJ. These two are Henry and Michael.”

“Burgers and shakes for the back-to-school crew?” Y/N grinned at the boys, “You got it. I’ll throw in a couple extra fries… on the house. That okay, ma?”

JJ laughed, “More than okay.”

- - -

The next day, after the school drop off and a soul numbing few hours of paperwork at the BAU, JJ found herself standing in front of Y/L/N's again, her heels clicking softly on the pavement.

She told herself it was because she hadn't packed lunch. Not because of the waitress/owner with the soft, shy smile. Y/N looked surprised but pleased when JJ walked in.

"You again?" She teased, "Didn't peg you for a repeat customer so fast." Y/N smiled, straightening the chef's apron she had on. "I'm very persuasive when it comes to curly fries," JJ told her, sliding into the same booth as yesterday.

“And I didn’t get to say thank you properly. For being so sweet to the boys.” Y/N shrugged, wiping her greasy hands on the apron, "They were cool kids. Plus, you looked like you needed a break."

JJ blinked, "I did." Their eyes lingered. A beat a little too long.

Lunch was quiet, full of little glances and laughter. When JJ left, Y/N handed her a to-go coffee, hazelnut, just like the blonde liked, and muttered, "Come by whenever. I mean that."

Three days later, JJ came by after work. The diner was closing. The windows were steamed, the floors mopped. Y/N let her in anyway. JJ was in slacks and a blouse, hair falling from its twist.

Y/N had a flannel tied around her waist and was barefoot. “You hungry?” JJ shook her head. “No. I’m...” She faltered. Y/N tilted her head. “Then why’re you here?”

JJ stepped forward, took Y/N’s face in her hands, and kissed her. Y/N’s hands hovered at first, unsure, respectful, reverent, until JJ deepened the kiss, tugging her closer by the hem of her shirt.

Y/N made a soft, breathy sound, then wrapped those strong arms around JJ’s waist and lifted her gently up onto the counter.

They made love right there on the counter, laughter and soft moans echoing off the stainless steel and the warmth of an old radio playing in the background.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. It was electric and messy and sweet. Afterward, JJ lay on her side in a corner booth, Y/N pressed to her back, brushing kisses along her shoulder blade.

They’d kept things simple. JJ came by after work. Y/N texted pictures of goofy food creations. The boys had no idea. Garcia and Emily were suspicious. Reid noticed JJ smiling more.

One night, two weeks after their kiss, JJ arrived with a takeout order, dinner for Y/N for once. She found Y/N on the rooftop of the diner, sitting on an old blanket under the fairy lights strung along the railing.

“You brought me food?” Y/N teased, grabbing the bag. “You’re always cooking. Figured I owed you.” JJ smiled. They ate sitting hip-to-hip, sharing fries and stealing bites.

Y/N wiped her hands on her jeans and shifted, nervous. “JJ?” JJ turned toward her. “Yeah?”

“I like you. A lot. More than I planned to. More than I thought I should. And I was wondering if… you’d want to be my girlfriend.” Y/N finally got out, her hands shaking with nerves.

JJ smiled, cupping Y/N’s cheek with one hand. “God, yes.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Pancake eating contest! Fellow and Gidel vs. Ruggie! Who will win!

Sorry, I felt weirdly compelled to insert L*ona into this... Don't ask why--

The guy keeping time of the eating contest is a reference to Linguini from Ratatouille :DD I kept the ending to this one vague so you can imagine whoever you want to be the winner~

So tell me, do you wanna go?

[Pancake Eating Contest!!]

[Winner will be reimbursed the entry fee and will receive a coupon for all-you-can-eat breakfast at any of the participating Foothill Town restaurants for a full year!]

[Second place will earn a participation trophy.]

"C'mon, Giddie! Let's smoke the competition!" Fellow coaxed, pumping a fist. Already, he could smell the pancakes being cooked in the back of the joint, fluffy and warm and surely filling. He pictured clouds of whipped cream and a pat of butter like the rising sun to go with them.

"...!!" Gidel bounced up and down, attempting to showcase his readiness. They had been fasting all weekend in preparation for this momentous day.

"Leona-saaaaan!" Ruggie called out, waving to his dorm leader. "Watch me snag the win for us! I'll never have to--er, I mean, Magical Shift Club will never have to worry about shelling out for team meals for the rest of the year."

"... Can't believe I got dragged out all the way out here to be a wallet for some eating contest," Leona groused from the crowd of spectators. His gaze connected with Fellow's, and a fresh spike of irritation ran through him. "Damn it, you'd better win this, Ruggie--or it'll have been a waste of my time!"

Servers began rolling out from the kitchen, ferrying wobbling mounds of pancakes. The plates were set before them, glasses of water offered. (Ruggie refused, knowing that it would only take space away from pancakes. Gidel reached for a glass, only to have Fellow slap his hand away and tut.)

A spindly man with a mop of curly read hair and a stopwatch stepped into view. He checked the time, then nodded at the contestants.

"On your marks... get set... GO!!"

The feeding frenzy began.

Sharp nails and even sharper teeth pounced. The poor pancakes were eviscerated in seconds, loose bits caught by the table or floor, the rest snapped up in animalistic maws like little girls and grandmas down the hatch of a hungry wolf.

The pace with which they worked was fast, efficient. Ruggie and Fellow were raging beasts with their eyes on a distance prize.

(... Gidel, for his part, was far less quick. He clumsily sliced into a pancake, attempted to cram as much of it into his mouth as he could, then spent too long trying to chew it down to size.)

More pancakes came from the kitchen, as if produced by magic. They disappeared just as fast as they appeared, a wonderous vanishing act.

The spectators clapped and stomped their feet, kicking up a roar.

No blood would be spilt, but perhaps a glob of strawberry jam would.

[crystalas]

Dad Alliance: flying high

Solar had only meant to be gone for a minute to get something before the Play Date could begin, the plan was to paint and decorate the door plates and food bowls that the children had made at the last visit to Eclipse’s dimension.

He was supposed to just grab some glitter glue from the gift shop but he was then held up by some calls from parts and service; apparently a mop bot had taken the phrase ‘wash your mouth out with soap’ a little too literally. After ten minutes of walking the humans through some of his upgraded programmes he may or may not have added out of sheer boredom he then walked back into the daycare…

The only one in there was Jack who sat in the middle the ball pit island looking up forlornly, Solar followed Jack’s line of sight upwards and gave an audible gasp of horror.

Floating above the ball pit was the rest of the children, Jake was sitting upside down on the bottom half of the tower’s stage while Andy and Charlie helped Dazzle fly by holding her hands, Andrew was floating a little off a playset watching this all unfold.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” Solar shouted; they all turn to look at him.

“Join us Solar…we aaaaalll float here” Andrew called with a creepy grin.

“How are you even doing that?!”

“We’re ghost kids and Charlie is magic not that hard of a leapt of logic, surprised we could still do this with bodies though” Andrew stated as he put himself on a reclining seating position as if he was sitting on a beach chair.

“I try to not question this sort of stuff” Andy said as Dazzle giggled while doing a barrel roll towards Solar.

“Look Uncle Solar I’m like Wendy from Peter Pan!”

“Please come down if Sun sees you up there, he’ll blue screen for sure!” Solar begged reaching up for her but she just floating out of his grasp.

“But this is fun” she whined.

“Come on Solar think about it, this is good practise for us. What better way to escape bad guys than just flying away?” Charlie explained flying down to him “We decided to try it here cos you have nets and everything is padded up and if we do fall it’ll be in the ball pit”

Solar really wished he had a counter argument to that but couldn’t think of one that would convince them, so he gave a heavy sigh.

“Fine but you can only fly in here and only when an adult is present agreed?” he decreed and the children nodded in agreement before floating off to see who could fly the fastest round the daycare. Solar looked down at Jack who gave an unhappy sigh as he watched from below.

“I miss my wingies” he mumbled.

Solar gave him a sadden look, when the Creator kidnapped Jack he had somehow disabled Jack’s ability to transform. He had told Jack that his main form was enough for his duties but Solar would bet his tool box that it was because the Creator did not want to risk Jack stumbling across a form that was immune to dark Star power.

Solar walked back to the security desk and inputted a few commands and a cable whirred to life and scrolled down next to Jack, he prodded it a bit and then looked back at Solar.

“Moon used to be able to fly too you know?” Solar said as he connected the hook to Jack’s back and the USB cable to a port so Jack could control the wire, “It’s not magic or wings but it should be enough”

“THANKS DAD!” Jack shouted and leapt into the air doing the same swimming swinging motion moon once did, the children giggled as he approached and Dazzle held his hands as they started to fly about pretending to be the Lost Boys looking for treasure and then played follow the leader and act like they were all in a rollercoaster complete with loop-de-loops and drops.

Solar could not help but noticed that as the hours went by, they were getting better, before the ghost kids were slowly floating like unsteady balloons now, they were angling their bodies and dipping and swerving with some amount of success. They were by no means hawks or fighter jets level of fast or skill but they were improving. Solar was making notes on how to introduce obstacles or to practise fast take off as Charlie had stated this would be a good way for them to avoid dangers. Hard for this mimic guy to harm them if they shot off like rockets.

Sun walked with in with a tray of snacks, he placed them on the security desk before looking around the Daycare.

“Where are the kids? In the playsets?” he asked, Solar did not answer just pointed up. Sun did indeed look up to see Dazzle floating above him giggling.

“Hi daddy!” she beamed.

Sun fainted.

A.N I have noticed that Jack has not used his transformations since he has returned, this is me just filling in the blanks.

[kitty384]

Sink Duty

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Teen!Reader (Found Family | Platonic | Soft Dad!Stucky)

Summary: You were just trying to help with the dishes. You didn’t expect Bucky to lift you into the sink—or Steve to scold him while trying not to smile. But honestly? It felt like one of the best nights of your life.

Warnings: None! Just soft fluff, kitchen chaos, and found family warmth. Minor teasing, physical affection, protective dad energy, and safe silliness.

I didn’t mean to become part of dish duty.

It just sort of… happened.

We’d finished dinner—Bucky made pasta, Steve made the sauce, and I stirred something that may or may not have been edible, but they told me it was perfect anyway—and we were all still hovering in the kitchen, full and happy in that cozy post-meal kind of way.

Steve started rinsing the plates. Bucky was loading the dishwasher. I leaned against the counter sipping juice from a chipped mug I’d claimed as mine weeks ago.

And then Bucky turned around, narrowed his eyes at the pile of sudsy bowls, and looked right at me.

“You wanna help?”

I blinked. “I mean… yeah. But I don’t really know how.”

His grin turned mischievous. “Then it’s time you learned.”

“Bucky,” Steve warned, without even turning around. “Don’t you—”

Too late.

Bucky leaned down, wrapped his arm around my waist, and with absolutely no hesitation—

lifted me into the sink.

“Bucky!”

“I dried it first,” he said, laughing as he set me gently into the deep metal basin. “It’s warm! And safe! She’s fine.”

I stared down at my feet, now hovering a few inches off the floor in a pool of soapy water.

My legs were tangled with silverware.

My hands were half-submerged in a bowl I hadn’t seen coming.

Steve turned, dish towel in hand, and gave him the look.

“You can’t put her in the sink!”

“She said she wanted to help.”

“There’s a difference between handing her a sponge and turning her into a kitchen gnome!”

I couldn’t help it.

I laughed.

Actually laughed.

Because Steve looked scandalized and exasperated and amused all at once, and Bucky looked so proud of himself, and for a moment it didn’t matter that I’d never done dishes like this before or that my knees were probably going to cramp.

All that mattered was that they were here.

And they were mine.

Steve walked over and wiped some bubbles off my cheek with a gentle thumb.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

I nodded, still giggling. “I think I’m in too deep now.”

Bucky snorted. “Pun absolutely intended.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “If you encourage her, I swear—”

I flicked a bubble at him.

He gasped like I’d just betrayed the nation.

“You are out of control.”

“She’s got the Rogers sarcasm,” Bucky said proudly, leaning back against the counter like this had all gone exactly to plan.

“More like the Barnes chaos.”

“I contain my chaos, thank you very much.”

I dunked a sponge in the water and handed it to Steve with both hands.

He blinked at me.

“You want me to clean while you supervise?”

I nodded solemnly. “Sink gnome rules.”

Bucky nearly choked on his laughter.

Steve gave me another look, then tossed the towel over his shoulder and took the sponge anyway.

“That’s it,” he muttered. “I’m outnumbered.”

We stayed in the kitchen like that for a while—Steve rinsing, Bucky drying, me sitting in the sink occasionally splashing them both when they weren’t looking. The room felt alive. Lit with warm light and warmer laughter. Like the walls themselves were soaking up the sound of home.

They didn’t treat me like I was fragile.

They didn’t hover when I laughed too hard or froze up too fast.

They just… let me be here.

In the mess.

In the joy.

And I wasn’t scared to take up space.

Not anymore.

Eventually, the water got cold.

My hands were wrinkled.

My hair was damp from one too many flicked bubbles.

Steve reached out, wrapping a warm towel around my shoulders like I’d just come in from a storm.

“Alright, gnome,” he said, gently lifting me down with both hands. “Out of the sink. Before Bucky starts trying to teach you how to mop with your socks.”

“I think she could do it,” Bucky said, already reaching for the mop with a grin.

“Don’t encourage her.”

“Too late.”

When my feet touched the floor again, I didn’t expect the way it hit me.

That ache in my chest.

That soft, full feeling I only got with them.

Because I’d spent years being told I wasn’t part of anything.

That I was too broken.

Too dangerous.

Too wrong.

And now I was standing in a kitchen wrapped in a towel, dripping soap onto the floor while Steve Rogers wiped my cheek and Bucky Barnes offered me dessert because “I earned it.”

I was part of something.

I was part of them.

I sat on the counter while Bucky served ice cream into mismatched mugs.

Steve leaned against the fridge beside me.

His arm bumped mine.

I didn’t flinch.

Instead—I leaned back.

Just a little.

But he noticed.

And smiled.

“Thanks for helping with the dishes,” he said.

“Thanks for letting me.”

“You know you don’t have to do anything to be part of this, right?”

I looked down into my mug of ice cream.

Then back at him.

“I know. I just wanted to.”

Bucky placed a spoon into my hand and tapped my nose with the handle.

“And that’s why we’re keeping you.”

Masterlist

Request

[writing-whump]

Bad careraker

Needed a break from the drama, so have some Dylan with indigestion and Rip having no idea what to do about it.

When Dylan came home from his emergency hospital call from his sister, it was already late afternoon.

Rip spent the day polishing the kitchen, trying to manage the chaos Dylan left in his wake. Dylan was messy even on a good day, but when he got into something—like digging out his boxing gear or work-out equipment Rip couldn’t identify—their living room turned into a disaster zone.

Forced to live in less-than-clean environments in the last years, Rip cherished the chance to take care of this place—sweeping, dusting, mopping the floors—and he was practically in love with the dishwasher! It was the coolest thing, aside from actual clean plates without splitters that weren't plastic or from the garbage.

Plus, he felt like he was contributing something. Moving around the place was safe, and he could feel himself managing more and more on his feet every day. Which was good cause keeping up with Dylan's fast pace of ruining his work was a worthy challenge.

How Dylan functioned in that mess when he didn't have to was beyond Rip's reality.

When Dylan arrived, his shoes went, of course, flying in two different directions. He discarded his sweaty shirt on the floor as he went, then collapsed in the middle of the sofa in the living room. "Ugh, that was horrible."

Rip had to work hard to contain his annoyance to twitching eyebrows. "Hi to you, too."

Dylan buried his face into the tiny pillow on the sofa with a long-suffering sigh.

"How did it go?"

"Didn't find out much. Just Sel crying her eyes out and everyone being super secretive. God forbit someone finds out Isaiah was sick."

Rip raised his eyebrows, bracing his hands on the kitchen island that offered good view into the living room. Must have been something serious if it got the Executioner into a hospital. Especially one that had such extensive medical knowledge. Something even he couldn't handle?

"I have never seen her like that." Dylan turned his head to the side, facing the turned-off TV. "Or I did, but like an eternity ago. Not since when she came to my room to cry about some bullying classmate or some shit. She was 12."

Rip rubbed the back of his head, not sure if that was information Dylan should be sharing with a stranger. "Will they...ehh, be okay?"

"Should be coming home soon. Honestly, I don't get the drama, he's got a shadow and is healing up. What could be so bad? Touchy wolves and their invulnerability crap."

Rip wondered if he should remind him that Dylan was a wolf too. It was funny to watch how he sometimes counted himself among humans without thinking.

Dylan's cheeks suddenly puffed out and he burped loudly. "Ughhh. My stomach's killing me."

Rip cringed. "What did you eat?'

Dylan turned to the side, so he could rub at his middle with a grimace. "Took Sel to McDonalnds. I completely forgot about how greasy that food is. Didn't eat stuff like that for months."

Rip's gaze went to the collection of protein shakes and vitamins that covered the cupboards next to the sink. Dylan was surprisingly aware of his health, on a diet to grow his muscles and aid his gym efforts. It was hard to meet someone that obsessed with himself. "Why would you do that, then?"

"Cause I forgot, that's why! Had like two burgers, chicken nuggets and fries....and the one more, cause we were waiting on empty and it was getting weird." He opened his mouth with another loud burp, his stomach churning aggressively. "Damn, it's really brewing in there."

Once again, Rip was at a loss for words in the face of Dylan's unashamed openness.

"s gonna ruin my streak too," Dylan said mournfully as he lifted himself up into a sitting position, swallowing heavily.

"Why is that so strickt?"

Dylan gave him a glare. "You are not gonna get sixpack from McDonalds and chocolates, man. And I need to look good on videos if I want sport and vitamin companies to sponsor me." He looked terribly pleased with himself. "I'm gonna make thousands of euroes from being an infleuncer on TikTok with his physique, you just watch."

Rip would be glad to watch if he knew what TikTok was. Dylan forced his old Samsung on him but Rip got easily overwhelmed by the number of apps installed there. Didn't help Dylan's teaching skills encompassed zero patience. Just as short his attention span. This online genration.

Dylan groaned, kneading into his stomach with both hands. That worked up a string of loud belches.

Rip scrunched his nose. "Really, man?"

"What? It's helping."

"Is it?" Rip said dryly. Dylan was getting paler by the second, swallowing frantically. Rip stepped closer to the sofa, and sure enough, he could hear loud, upset gurgles through the whole living room. "Maybe you should lie down or something."

"You don't lie down with indigestion, stupid. Sitting up is supposed to help." His stomach gave another growl again, like a cornered wolf.

"...are you gonna hurl?"

Dylan winced, glaring indignant daggers at Rip. "No. Just feel sick is all."

"That's what that usually entails."

Dylan gulped again, breathing through his teeth. "Do we have something for it?"

"Huh? We?"

"Yeah," Dylan said sullenly. "Sel always has drops or tea or some digestion enzyms at hand."

Rip shrugged, never having any of that ever, not to mention at hand.

"What about coke or tea?"

"Man, I don't do the shopping." He hadn't been outside since the stabbing. Saving that up for later, after Isaiah promised to see over his shadow and figure out what he should do to interact with people normally. His only contact outside was Dylan. "I can get you water?"

"Water? Geez-buurp-thanks, no thanks." Dylan cradled his belly gently, a shiever rocking his spine as his jaw snapped up with another wet burp. "I really don't...feel good."

"What about you go to the bathroom so you don't make a mess?" Rip suggested in irritation.

"I'm not...not gonna throw up," Dylan protested but dragged himself clumsily to his feet, arm wrapped tightly around his stomach. Now that he was standing Rip could see how bloated it was, skin stretched around a giant ball instead of the usual toned muscles.

The black haired wolf followed after Dylan. He didn't really want to be around, he wasn't sure what to do, but it also didn't feel right to just leave him to it. Not when Dylan had been so crazy about helping him at every turn.

Dylan didn't get far, bracing against the kitchen sink as his throat bobbed, working out another burp. He shook his head and grimaced queasily. "Not sitting right. Really wants to fight its way out of there."

"Less talk and more moving," Rip said, cause this was looking too close for comfort. He tugged at Dylan's hand just when the brown-haired retched emptily over the sink.

"See? Hurry up. Sink is gonna be a hassle to clean."

"Y-you are so mean, anyone told you that?" Dylan whined, but let Rip pull him away and towards the bathroom.

Rip felt a stab of guilt and defensive anger. Why was Dylan making such a big deal about a little nausea? Was his own fault for eating crap he knew he shouldn't.

Dylan stumbled in front of the toilet and moaned pathetically towards the water, hands shaking as he grabbed the rim for support.

Rip made a move to leave, then bit his lip at the pitiful whine. Dylan was so dramatic. "What now? Anything else you want?"

"Jerk," Dylan said, spitting into the toilet. His belly gave a loud gurgly moan that ended in a deep rumbling belch towards the water. "Oh, that hurts."

"Where is your fighting spirit," Rip said bitingly, but turned back to stand over Dylan. What was his role supposed to be in this? Dylan obviously wanted something, making such a scene out of it, but Rip couldn't figure out what.

"T-hink the f-fries are winning this round," Dylan wheezed. His shoulders hitched as he retched, but only another burp came up.

"Let it happen already. Geez, you make a big deal out of this," Rip said, rolling his eyes. He was close enough to get the stench from Dylan's unmuffled burps.

Dylan lurched forward suddenly, a wet burp bringing up a small gush of puke. The next heave came right after, a much thicker wave of yellowy mush.

Rip grimaced and looked away, but Dylan's loud retches and throaty burps didn't leave much to imagination.

Dylan was holding onto the rim of the toilet with both hands, a long string of saliva hanging from his mouth. There were little tears of strain sliding down his cheeks and he was sniffling.

"That it?" Rip asked, reaching over to hand him a bunch of toilet paper. "Nothing to be so shaky over, come on."

Dylan lowered his head, lips quivering as he wiped his face. Rip flushed the toilet, still standing over him.

"C-could you get me some water?"

Rip scoffed. "Now he wants water. Honestly, you don't look like you can keep it down yet. Let's not waste it."

That had Dylan's head snapping up, cheeks all red. "You are such an asshole, it's not a waste-"

Rip sighed and drummed his fingers gently over Dylan's back. Dylan's eyes glazed over and he turned back over the bowl sharply as it worked up another burp.

The next one brought a new splatter of sick though.

Rip chuckled at how well that worked. "There you go. Just get it out."

[a-bit-of-writing]

11/30 -Countdown

Fandom: Alien

Characters: Male OC

Words: 677

Summary: It's killing him from the inside. Alone in the med-bay, he feels it stir. There's no rescue. No mercy. Only blood, bone, and the slow, agonizing countdown to a death that won't come fast enough.

Note: This is my response to this ask suggesting for a horror piece and yessss… here it is!

warning! Blood and gore - the gif says it all!

The med‑bay smells of antiseptic and copper, like someone tried to mop up a massacre with rubbing alcohol and gave up halfway. Dim emergency LEDs pulse overhead, red‑white‑red, as if the ship itself is counting down with him.

He props himself against the bulkhead, knees drawn up, arms shaking so badly that the splatters on his palms shiver like mercury. Every swallow tastes of iron filings. His throat feels scorched where the thing’s ovipositor forced its stinking air into him.

Stage One Xenomorph, the manuals called it. A sterile name, neat and clinical, never hinting at the wet rasp of membranes slithering across your face, never mentioning the obscene intimacy of something clutching your skull like a lover while it murdered your future from the inside.

A hiccuping breath. Sharp. Wrong.

He pulls the collar of his jumpsuit open and presses fingertips to his sternum. The skin is fever‑hot, veins bruising purple beneath it. With each heartbeat - a stuttery, failing pump - he feels movement: a languid scrape against cartilage, the curling of embryonic talons searching for leverage.

He tries to laugh, but it comes out a broken cough that splatters the deck with threads of black‑red mucus. For a moment the world narrows to a pinpoint of static in his ears, a roaring ocean rushing up to drown him. He steadies himself on a med‑tray, its stainless surface fingerprinted with his blood, and fumbles for the recorder.

> “Crew log - time stamp irrelevant. Don’t come looking. The specimen is… thriving.”

His voice is shredded glass; every word vibrates against the thing inside, exciting it. A shivering ripple answers from within his ribcage. He claws at the controls, kills the recording. No one needs to hear the screams that are coming.

Lights flicker. Somewhere down the corridor, coolant drips in a steady plink, plink - metronome to mark the dwindling seconds. He pictures the Alien nest from the reports: resin‑slick walls, victims cocooned alive, ribs trembling under the weight of tiny nightmares. At least I get a floor and privacy, he thinks, hysterical.

Pain knifes through him - bright, surgical. A rib cracks, the muffled pop audible even over his strangled gasp. He doubles over; his vision whites out, then snaps back, sharper. Every nerve below his sternum lights up, blooming agony that syncs with the frantic hammer of his pulse.

It’s positioning itself.

He feels cartilage separate, a wet schk‑krk like velcro tearing in slow motion. The creature pushes upward, testing boundaries, patient as a glacier and twice as unstoppable. Sweat pours off him; the deck plating is slick beneath his bare feet.

He remembers his daughter’s sixth birthday: pink cake, untidy candle wax, her tiny fingers in his hair. Hold that, he begs himself. Something beautiful to carry into the dark. But the memory frays as another spasm wracks him, and the roar in his ears swells until it drowns out her laughter.

A high, keening scream forces its way up his throat—half rage, half terror—cut short as blood gushes from his mouth in a black sheet. He tastes copper, bile, something caustic. Lung fluid? Acidic amniotic slop? Doesn’t matter. He’s drowning and burning at once.

krk -

Bone shards pierce through skin, gleaming dull white for an instant before disappearing beneath a blossom of arterial spray. His chest bows outward, flesh tenting obscenely. Eyes wide, he watches his own heartbeat pound against translucent skin stretched drum‑tight.

The end is a single, perfect note of suffering: ribs explode in a red fan, viscera pattering the deck like warm rain. A slick, eel‑pale shape bursts free, squealing - part infant cry, part predator hiss - its needle teeth already glistening. It regards the cooling body for a heartbeat, then scuttles into the ventilation duct, leaving steaming gore and silence.

The LEDs keep pulsing: red‑white‑red.

On the floor, the recorder’s indicator blinks, still active. It captures only the drip of blood and the distant rattle of airshafts, a lullaby for a ship now carrying one fewer crewman and one brand‑new monster.

Somewhere deep inside the ducts, the newborn alien squeals again - hungry, eager, alive.

The last beat of his heart echoes it, then fades.

[fanmoose12]

ok, but imagine that Levi want to glasses’s Room since Hange gave him permission to borrow one of their books and Levi take out Hange’s diary instead.

Levi doesn't really know what he's doing here, why is he still here, in this room that reeks like an old, forgotten library that suffered some terrible food-related accident.

Hadn't he already finished what he came here for in the first place? The weirdo is in their bed, snoring peacefully (and rather loudly) in their pillow, so why is he still here? Why doesn't leave? Why do his legs feel as though they're glued to the floor, refusing to move towards the exit? 

It’s the state of the room that is at fault, Levi convinces himself. It’s just– so damn filthy in here - the clothes are thrown over every surface, empty plates and cups populate the wardrobe, desk and even some corners on the floor, and, worst of all, is the papers - open and long-forgotten letters, books, half-finished reports, sketchbooks and journals - there is enough of that shit to create several piles of considerable size, and dust that all of it has been gathering for, evidently, quite some time, flies around in a form of small specks, sucking all the air out of the room. 

Levi… Levi simply cannot take it. 

The room is hideous, an abomination he needs to do something about, and… why can’t he? 

The four-eyed freak is fast asleep, and, judging by the dark circles that have been steadily growing in size under their eyes, they won’t wake up for quite some time. It’s the perfect opportunity, perhaps, the only one he’ll ever have - after all, he better than anyone knows just how much Hange hates it when someone invades their workplace. Even Moblit, their ever loyal right-hand man, doesn’t have that privilege.

But Levi has it now, and wasting it would be simply stupid. 

With his next cause of action decided, Levi nods to himself and finally gets legs to move. In a few quick steps he crosses the room and leaves it, but– not for long. 

He comes back swiftly, dressed and armed according to the battle he’s about to face. 

He starts with the window - opens it and pulls the curtains aside, letting sunlight and some needed fresh air inside. Then, he picks up all the clothes, brings them outside to the laundry basket, collects the cups and plates and returns them to the kitchen. He mops the floor, cleans the mirror, wipes dust from the wardrobe and the bookshelves. 

And after that, semi-satisfied with his job so far, Levi takes on his toughest opponent yet - Hange’s work desk. 

Before taking a seat on a chair, he wipes it with a rug several times, gives the same treatment to the surface of the desk, and only then begins to shift through the mess that four-eyes calls their workplace. 

They’ll thank him for that later, or - maybe, curse him, Levi’s ready for whatever outcome as long as his goal is achieved. No doubt, it’ll be worth it. And even if Hange indeed gets angry with him - luckily, he’s that much better at running than they will ever be. 

He briefly scans through each piece of paper, organizing all of them in different - smaller and that much neater - piles. 

Hange really is a hoarder, Levi finds reports and letters that are so old that the ink on them is barely visible, but even that - he doesn’t dare to throw away. He may be faster than Hange, but if they truly get mad at him, he knows there will be no safe place for him to run to. 

He spends nearly an hour like this - picking up a paper, skimming through its contents before deciding on what pile it should go to, and it’s only when his eyes begin to water from the exertion that Levi stumbles upon something truly unique. 

It’s a stack of papers, tied loosely together by a piece of rope, and at first - he thinks it’s yet another set of notes. But as he starts to read it - Levi realizes it’s something entirely different. 

On the first page Hange writes about the Survey Corps - the approximate number of the soldiers, their mission, their biggest accomplishments, the chain of command and all that boring bullshit Levi never thought they cared about. He very nearly tosses it aside, but decides to glimpse at a second page, and what he sees there stuns him into a stupor. 

The top part of the page reads simply Shadis, and next to it - Hange drew a little heart. 

Too curious to set it aside now, Levi delves in. After quite an unconventional beginning, Hange writes Shadis’ title, the amount of years he served in the Survey Corps and what little he managed to achieve in that time, and then - the weirdness continues. Hange describes some of the interactions they had with him, how their first meeting went, how aloof the man was during it and how it only made Hange’s wish to impress him stronger. They go on and on about him, the page is full of compliments that, in Levi’s completely unbiased opinion, Shadis does not deserve. It’s only near the end that Hange’s gushing starts to fade, transforming into bitter resentment instead. 

It’s not a report, Levi realizes, not a note from an experiment, it’s something deeply personal, something he definitely should not pock his nose into, but as he skips through a few pages and stumbles upon the one with his name on it - his curiosity grows too insistent not to be sated. 

‘Erwin brought in new recruits,’ the beginning of the page reads, ‘From the Underground, if rumors are to be believed. They do seem very pale, and all three of them have this look in their eyes, like… like they cannot quite believe that what they see is real. I caught them on top of the roof the other night, they were looking at the sky like they were seeing it for the very first time. It was not a moment that should have been intruded on, no matter how much I wish I did. Besides, I feel that should I have actually intruded on it, that constantly brooding guy - Levi - would have thrown me down the roof and to the ground without hesitation. So, naturally, I did not approach them. Although, I still stuck around for a while, watching them. The look on their faces, their happy smiles! Ah, I haven’t seen so much joy in a really long while. Even Levi seemed content, and, I must admit, without his ever present scowl, he looked even more handsome than usual. 

I definitely should talk to him, and soon - he might teach me a trick or two, if I get on his good side. We might even become friends! There is just something in him that… intrigues me. Sometimes I look at him and realize I don’t want to look away. It’s not just his exceptional skills either, although they surely are fascinating, there is something about his eyes. They make him look like a man twice his age, they’re guarded, appear nearly cold, but underneath all that, I sense… exhaustion, like he’s carrying a burden he cannot shake away. 

Ever since the three of them appeared, everyone has been treating them with nothing but scorn, and I wish… I could have changed it, show them all a bit of kindness. It doesn’t seem like they know much of it. 

They’re good people, I think, despite the circumstances they had to fight against while growing up. Or, perhaps, in spite of them. We’d be good friends, I think, if I manage not to scare them off like I usually do. And then - who knows, maybe, one day, I’ll make Levi smile too!

His smile does look very handsome.’ 

Feeling his cheeks grow hot, Levi pushes the papers aside, hiding them underneath one of the bigger piles. He hides his face into his hands and mutters a curse under his breath. 

Damned four-eyes. Always making him embarrassed, even when they’re not actually here. 

What even is that thing? Why pathologically obsessed with their research Hange dedicates their precious time to write something like this? And about him of all people? 

Levi steals a glance at them - still asleep, sprawled out on the bed and hugging a pillow to their chest, they look… adorable. Did they always look like that? He can’t believe he never noticed. 

As if drawn by some force beyond his comprehension, Levi stands up and approaches Hange’s sleeping form. They’ve kicked the blanket down to their feet, and, carefully, he picks it up and tucks them in. 

He stands above them for another moment, watching their peaceful expression, and then, before he can stop himself, he reaches out and gently moves a strand of their hair out of their face. He caresses their cheek with the back of his hand, his touch so light Hange doesn’t even stir from it. His hand hovers above them for a little longer, close enough that he can feel the warmth emanating from their skin. The temptation to touch it, to feel that warmth and allow himself to be engulfed in it is strong, and grows stronger with every beat of his heart. 

Levi nearly does it, but then - the spell might get broken. Or worse, he reasons, his rude intrusion might wake Hange up, and if they see him like that, watching them like some sort of a creep - he’d rather jump off the top of the Wall than go through this. 

Gathering all that’s left of his resolve, he takes a step back and leaves Hange’s room before he does something even more stupid. 

He goes straight to his bedroom, and, foregoing the shower, falls into bed. 

His cleaning spree must have exhausted him far more than he thought, because he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

And at night, Levi dreams of starry sky, warm hands and gentle smile.

[bucksaiga]

"I witnessed a murder"

TW for graphic depictions of violence!!

Billy hardly had any visitors since moving to California. When he heard an urgent knocking on the door, all he could wonder was “where the hell’s the fire?”

He swung the door open in annoyance, his mouth falling agape the moment he saw his nearly forgotten little stepsister standing out in a rainstorm, drenched from her head to her canvas shoes.

They stared at each other for a moment, her eyes empty, his full of concern, before he finally invited her in. 

“Gonna tell me what the hell you’re doing here?” He asked.

She remained silent, trembling, shivering. Eventually, he sighed.

“Wait right here.” He stomped off, quickly returning with a towel and fresh clothes. “Bathroom’s over there.” He casually pointed down the hall and to the left. 

Max nodded and stepped out of her shoes, her soaking wet socks sloshing on the floor, leaving behind wet footprints, much to Billy’s dismay.

He liked to keep the place clean, and footprints had no place in a clean apartment. But, whatever. He quietly mopped them up and waited for Max to explain why she traveled all the way from Hawkins to Los Angeles in nothing but a stained, quarter-sleeve tee shirt and jeans. 

Max took a shower and cleaned up her mess. She hung her wet clothes over the shower bar and stepped out in Billy’s old Hawkins gym uniform. The shirt reached her upper thighs, and the shorts were too big. She had to tighten the waist with a hair tie she found on the bathroom floor.

When she exited the bathroom, she searched around for Billy, and found him in his kitchen, at the dining table, setting a place for her.

“Sit. Eat something.” His offer came off as a gentle demand Max felt she had no other choice but to accept.

She joined Billy at the table, slowly eating the spaghetti and meatballs he cooked—he cooked?! Billy doesn’t cook. Max thought to herself. 

“You gonna tell me what you’re doing here now?” Billy spoke up halfway through dinner.

“I…witnessed a murder.”

The fork holding Billy’s last meatball fell from his hand, clanking against his plate. “You what?!” He leaned forward.

“I was skating to The Byers for game night when I saw these two men—“ Max shook her head in disbelief. “They chased me. I skated as fast as I could to the bus depot, when I reached a pothole and my board snapped in half. So I had to run the rest of the way. I spent the last of my allowance on a bus ticket. I was gonna go anywhere, but the bus to LA was leaving in 15 minutes, and there were a few seats available, so…I came here.”

“Did they see you get on that bus?”

“I don’t think so." She shook her head. "I lost them in a crowd on my way to the terminal. I ditched my orange hoodie and let my hair down, hoping they wouldn’t recognize me.”

“And…nobody knows you’re here?”

She shook her head once again. “Not even Lucas.”

Billy heavily exhaled. “This is really fucked up, Max. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, but nobody’ll suspect me of coming here. We haven’t spoken in 4 years.”

“That’s really not the point—“

“I’m home!” A voice announced from the doorway. “It finally stopped raining—oh, hey Max!”

Max turned, her eyes wide. “Steve?” She turned back to Billy. “Are you guys like…friends now?”

“Friends who fuck.” Billy replied nonchalantly. 

“Gross!”

“You made dinner? Is there some for me?”

“Make your own fuckin’ plate.” Billy snapped. “I’m trying to talk to Maxine about something serious.”

“Alright, alright. No need to be so snippy.” Steve grabbed a plate from the cabinet. “So what brings you by?”

“She witnessed a murder and ran off to our house, of all places.”

“Whoa, whoa whoa—A murder?!” Steve exclaimed in disbelief. “In Hawkins? Who was it?”

“I-I don’t know. Some man—“

“Some man? What’d he look like?”

“I could hardly see his face before the bullet went through his brains and he dropped to the ground!”

“Lighten up on her, Steve. She’s freaked out.” Billy spoke protectively, much to Max’s surprise.

“I know, I know. I’m just worried.”

“We gotta tell someone you’re here.”

“Why? I’m 17 years old—“

“And you’re still a minor. Your mom’s probably worried sick. You’re a day and a half away from home.” 

“But—“

“How about this: In the morning, I’ll drive you out to a payphone, and you can call your mom from there.”

Max reluctantly agreed. “Okay.”

“Don’t get too comfortable.” He snatched her empty plate off the table. “Get up and let Steve sit there. We only have 2 dining table chairs.”

“It’s alright, Max.” Steve waved off as he leaned against the counter with his plate. “You can stay as long as you want. We have this really big walk in closet that we haven’t made use of yet—“

“Cause we’re broke and don’t have enough shit to put in it.”

Steve scoffed. “Anyway, we still have the old air mattress we used before we got our bed, so you can sleep there.”

“I dunno.” Max grimaced. “Did you guys…do…it…on there?”

“Are you crazy?!” Billy exclaimed, his mouth full from his second helping. “If we tried half the shit we do in the bedroom on that flimsy ass mattress, it would’ve popped the night we bought it.”

“Ugh! Could you please spare me the details?”

“Ignore him, Max. The mattress is clean, and it’s yours for as long as you need it. But at some point, you gotta go home. There’s only 2 weeks of summer vacation left until school starts.”

“And who knows when those men are gonna come looking for you—“

“Billy!”

“What?! I’m just thinkin’ ahead.” Billy sighed. “Look, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Neither will Steve. So just…” Billy turned his head away. “Go to bed.”

“But I’m not tired yet.”

“Well, go watch TV or something. I dunno.”

“Okay.” 

“Want a beer?” Billy offered.

Max wrinkled her nose. “No thanks.” She stood from the table and walked to the living room.

“Why would you offer her a beer?” Steve loudly whispered.

“What’s the problem? That’s how I deal with stress.”

“She’s not you. She needs someone right now. Go in there and talk to her.”

“And say what?”

“Anything. She’s your sister.”

“She’s not my—“

Billy was met by a stern glance from Steve, and he groaned in annoyance. “Jesus, fine, I’m goin’.”

“That’s my baby.” Steve kissed his forehead. 

Billy forced himself down the hall and to the living room, where he sat beside Max as she watched Married With Children. 

“Al Bundy’s an ass.” Billy remarked. 

“He is.” Max agreed. 

“Not a bigger ass than Neil, though.” He chuckled. “Has that son of a bitch been giving you a hard time back home?”

“He left 7 months after you did.”

“Really?” Billy raised his brows in surprise. “Where the hell did he go?”

“I dunno. I don’t care either. I’m just glad he’s gone.”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell between them for the rest of the episode. Billy glanced up at Steve, who vaguely gestured for him to continue trying to comfort Max. 

This was hard. He didn’t know how. Why couldn’t Steve do it? He was better at comforting people. Besides, Max seemed fine—

Or…maybe not. Billy could hear the soft sniffle as he caught Max wiping a tear from her eye. 

Great. Now what could he say?

“It’s uh...it's gonna be okay, Max.” That was a stupid thing to say. Billy berated himself. 

“I’m really scared. I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t wanna put you in danger. You seem like you’re building a nice life with Steve.”

“I’m…trying. Look, you didn’t have anywhere else to go. I’m not mad at you for coming here.”

“You’re not?”

“No. I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you, Max. We’re still family. Sort of. I guess.” Billy shrugged. “I don’t care. Either way, if someone comes through that door and tries to hurt you, they’re dead. You understand?”

Max nodded. “Thank you.”

Once it had gotten late, Max fell asleep. Billy carried her to the air mattress and Steve covered her with a blanket. 

Steve then set one chair in front of the door where he sat with a baseball bat. 

Billy set the other chair in front of the makeshift bedroom where Max slept, armed with an axe.

“…We need more chairs.” Billy mumbled.

[lala3244]

Heartbreaks Belphegor

~ Finally got around to make another one! I wrote this one on my phone… tell me what you think and which brother I should do next ~

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You started dating them but others had decided they should date demons of powerful lineage not a mere human.

Warning: hurt/no comfort also not proofread!

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Diavolo Lucifer Mammon Satan Asmodeus

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One night, you decided to go to the planetarium in the House of Lamentation. It was quiet and you had a rough day. You hoped that no one would find you there. When you walked inside, you saw a form under a blanket on the floor. You sighed. You couldn’t be alone even for a minute but still you advanced further inside. The form moved and a mop of hair appeared that you recognised. It was Belphegor. You didn’t really know the youngest of the seven brothers as he was often sleeping all day either in his room or in the attic. You saw his eyes peeking through his fringe, half asleep still and with a sleepy voice he said « Hey! ». You smiled at him timidly and waved but you stopped in your tracks. You didn’t know if he would want you to be there. He sat up and rubbed his eyes then looked at you with a friendly smile. « What brings you here? ». You shrugged, you couldn’t really say « I need to be alone… » so you decided with « I needed somewhere quiet ». He nodded his head as if he understood. « I guess being from another world must be quite overwhelming. Come and sit next to me. We will look at the stars in silence. » you blushed. You didn’t know he could be so considerate and sat down under the blanket. He made it really comfortable. 

You were still wary of him. He was a demon after all and you never hung out with just him but he just laid still next to you. A few minutes passed and you decided to lie down, so you took one of the many pillows he had brought with him. The pillow engulfed your head so perfectly, in a few minutes you were already asleep. Belphegor wasn’t moving next to you but he was aware of your movements and when your breathing slowed, he released a breath he wasn’t aware that he was holding. He turned his head to look at you. He watched you sleeping and looked at your face for a while before closing his eyes to join you in your dreams.

You woke up in your bed, startled by the sound of your alarm. You sat up and looked around, wondering how you got into your bed. You stopped your alarm and decided to get up. You felt well rested and ready to take on the day! The first time since you can remember! You got ready for RAD still wondering what happened and went to have breakfast. You weren’t the first one there; Asmodeus and Lucifer were already at the table. The eldest was reading a newspaper and Asmo was looking at his phone. They didn’t even look up when you entered the room so you said a quiet hello as to not startled them. They returned your greeting still looking down. You giggled quietly and sat down. The food was already on the table so you decided to help yourself. You heard someone, it was Beelzebub. He sat down next to you with a smile on his face. He leaned down and whispered to you « did you have a good sleep? ». You blushed, you weren’t expecting him to talk to you so you just nodded, looking at your plate but he carried on. « I’m the one who brought you to your bed. I was looking for Belphie and I saw you fast asleep so I took the initiative. I hope you don’t mind ». You looked at the giant in the eyes « of course, I don’t mind. That was really sweet of you ». He gave you a big smile and started to help himself of some breakfast. Belphegor arrived and sat at the other side of you. « Hey. Did you sleep alright? » you looked at him, « Yes, the best sleep I ever had in months ». He smirked, looking proud of himself. « Good to know. I hope we can spend more time together again ». He smiled at you tenderly. You nodded and turned your gaze away to hide your cheeks reddening. The heat from your cheeks didn’t fade until you left the table and hid for a few minutes in your room to calm yourself down. You didn’t understand why you were so flustered by him but you assumed it was just a one-off thing and that next time it’ll be better. 

The day was long at RAD. Pop quiz in almost every class and every time you had some free time someone needed you for one thing or another. You couldn’t even go to the toilet without someone following you and talking to you. When the classes were finished, Asmodeus took you shopping for a new product that came out that day and you had to wait with him for an hour in a queue outside the shop. When you finally arrived home, you went straight to your room where the door had been left ajar and you peeked inside to see Mammon and Levi arguing. You sighed and shook your head « Nah, I’m not dealing with whatever that is! ». So you turned back and went to the planetarium instead. You kind of hoped Belphegor would be there again. He weirdly made you feel better. You tried to be quiet moving around the house as you didn’t want to meet anyone. You arrived at your destination safely without talking to anyone and you were relieved. You sat down and looked up. You enjoyed the silence and the stars, trying to empty your head of all thoughts. Dinner was almost ready and you needed to recover some energy before going to the dining room. You could already feel the chaos coming from everywhere and it gave you a headache already. You closed your eyes and imagined your life back in the human realm. Your house were you lived alone and how granted you took your life back then. You loved your life here but there was always someone every single second of every day. 

You felt a hand on your shoulder and you looked up. Your heart missed a beat when you realised it was the Avatar of Sloth. Unconsciously, a smile appeared on your face which was returned by the demon. He sat down next to you, silently as if knowing that was what you needed. After a few minutes of his silent presence, your headache faded away and you felt calmer. He startled you by talking « I knew I would find you here. I came to tell you that dinner was ready and Lucifer enquires that you join us. » You nodded and he helped you get up by offering his hand which you took happily. After you stood up and started to walk towards the dining room, he kept your hand in his but you didn’t mind. He let go of your hand before entering the room but put his hand on the small of your back to guide you to your seat. You felt Lucifer’s gaze all along and during the dinner as well. You tried to not feel overwhelmed with all the attention the other brothers needed from you. Belphegor was a strong presence next to you which comforted you and when dinner was over you stood up rapidly as it wasn’t your turn to clean or do the dishes but Lucifer stopped you. « Wait! I need to talk to you. » You sighed discreetly, nodded and waited for everyone to leave. When everyone had left, he gestured you to the chair next to him for you to sit down so you obeyed him. He looked at you, concern in his eyes. « What’s wrong? ». Tears started to fill up your eyes and you cracked. You told him everything and you finished by saying « I just need an hour where I am alone that’s all I want ». You could see relief on his face and he nodded in agreement. « I see. You can go now, I’ll make sure my brothers don’t bother you as much ». You wiped the couple of tears that managed to escape and smile at the demon in front of you « Thank you Lucifer ». You left and went to your room to get ready for the night. You laid down on your bed to study but fell asleep straightaway. You woke up, refreshed by a good night sleep and weird memories of Belphegor coming into your dreams to talk to you. 

The following days were better. The brothers were bothering you a lot less so you felt better and always had your alone time every day which was nice but you still went to the planetarium for the quiet. Belphegor would join you every day and you would have small talk between long hours of silence. Both of you would often fall asleep, next to each other but never touching. You had the best sleep next to him and you would always dream of him. It actually felt more like he came into your dream as if he was real but everything around wasn’t. AND It blew your mind! Could he come inside them?! So one morning when you woke up you decided to ask. « Belphegor? » He half-opened his eyes « Hmm? » You scooted closer to him and whispered, a bit scared to sound foolish « Can you come inside people’s dreams? » He opened his eyes fully and smirked « Yes, indeed I can » Your eyes widened, some of the dreams you could remember, even if they were blurry, were a bit naughty and were about him. You put your hands on your face to hide your shame. Belphegor laughed and took your wrist to take your hands away. You hid your head in the pillow, you couldn’t face him anymore but that action made him laugh even louder. He calmed down and stroked your hair. You turned your head again and scoffed, looking at him. He got his face closer « That was cute ». You frowned, wondering what he meant, « My reaction or my dream ?» He chuckled and made a sound as if he was really wondering what he was going to answer « I’d say both! » You groaned, embarrassed while he chuckled again. His face, still close to you, became serious and he leaned in closer. Your lips were almost touching and your heart started beating faster. He closed the gap and softly kissed you. Your breath hitched at the sensation but the moment was interrupted by Beel who were looking for you as it was time for breakfast. You got ready to go to RAD, a small smile on your face. When you were ready, Belphegor knocked on your door which you opened and asked you if you were ready. You nodded your head and he took your hand. You walked to class hand in hand with the demon, a bit embarrassed by the new situation but happy nevertheless. 

The following weeks were the same but your relationship with the youngest of the brothers got stronger as were the rumours in the Devildom. You have heard a lot of crazy stories, such as you used a magic potion to make him fall in love with you or that you tricked him, that one had many options in how you did it or that it was a dare: you could hear as you walked past other demons “how could a demon be with a human like them?!” Every time it would break your heart but you carried on as you started to fall in love with him. You would sleep with him every night, either snuggling in his bed , in the planetarium or in the attic and every time getting closer and more intimate when the circumstances would permit it. You didn’t think that you dating one of the most powerful demon of the Devildom would be such a problem but one day you and Belphegor got told to see Lord Diavolo in his office. When you arrived, Lord Diavolo had a grave face and you worried. The usual happy demon wasn’t there and you hoped nothing important happened. He started to talk “I know you are both dating and if it were up to me I would let you date but the House of Lords and more nobles had made complaints about it.” You looked at him, stunned “What do you mean, complaints?” He sighed “They don’t agree with a human being the mate of one of the seven brothers.” You could sense that Belphegor was starting to get pissed. “I understand that but how is that a problem?” Diavolo shook his head “I might be the future King but they still hold a lot of power and a lot of demons follow them. I need to protect everyone.” Tears started to fall from your eyes and you looked at Belphegor, he started to yell at the future King but you knew nothing that you would say would change anything. After Lord Diavolo managed to calm down Belphegor by throwing him out of the building physically, he came to talk to you . He sat next to you and held your hand. “I am so really sorry. If I could change their minds I would. I couldn’t say it, yet, in front of him but you need to know that they found someone for him to date” You let go of his hand and stood up. “I thank you Lord Diavolo for your honesty. I will see you later”. You left the office and went back to your room. You locked the door, took some earphones and went under the blanket. You had to escape the world for a while, so you texted Lucifer to say you didn’t feel well so they couldn’t disturb you. He asked if you were okay anyway but you just said that you needed to sleep. You spent hours on your phone but you ignored everyone’s messages and calls, especially Belphegor’s. 

You couldn’t fall asleep that night, so when it was time to get up, you texted Belphegor

You: I think it would be best if, for at least a week, we weren’t talking to each other, please?

He never answered but did ignored you for the whole week. You were sad and not your usual self which the other brothers could see. Sweet how they were, they tried to cheer you up how they could while Belphegor would hide any time he could. After that week, you knew he had to start meeting that new demon and you knew it would break your heart so that was why you had asked him to avoid each other so you could be prepared. Finally you saw them together. You were in awe the demon he was with was the most beautiful being you had ever seen in your life and you felt ridiculous. How could you ever compete with a demon anyway? After that you did everything you could to not be in the same room as the Avatar of Sloth. You stayed in your room most of the time or out with one of the brothers but never with him but he finally did it. He went to talk in your dreams. At first, it was comforting, it felt like memories coming back to life but then when you woke up you would cry, realising it wouldn’t be anymore. You started to get anxious to go to sleep and dream. It was wonderful to be back in his arms but so heartbreaking when you woke up and then you realised. It was him, it was real in a way. He came into your dreams to spend time with you without anyone knowing but the two of you and it was sweet of him but it wasn’t healthy for your mental. So after the last dream where you were lying down on a blanket in a meadow, smells of nature enveloping you, snuggled on his chest talking about your day, you woke up and started to sob uncontrollably. You cried for hours and you decided enough was enough and you went to look for him. You found him in the planetarium and you tried to rouse him slowly. He woke up and looked at you. He stared at you and saw your red and puffy face. He sat up and tried to put his arms around you to comfort you but you stopped him. “Please don’t! You have to stop coming into my dreams. You are making it so difficult to move on from you. If I can’t be with you in real life then I don’t want to be with you in dreams.” You left and went back to sleep. 

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THE END

Well, I don’t know what time it is where you live but for me it is time to sleep. Gotta work in the morning! I hope you enjoyed reading this one as Belphegor is not one of the brothers I know the most… or like the most… (not that I hate him or dislike him, just got no connection with him even though I am too the youngest sibling but of 5 not 7…)