#HELP IDK IF THIS IS ANGST OR NOT??? SOMEONE HELP

[triple-pupil]

Woe, toxic Stipple idea be upon ye. Post-S3

Wade and Stone are just chilling in bed, just after being intimate, Wade so happy and yapping and smilling, looking at the former villain with nothing but excitement, affection and joy.

Stone isn't reacting Tho, he may stretch, but doesn't look at Wade back.

With a, ironically, stone cold face, out of nowhere Stone says.

"You're just a fleshy placeholder of the man I loved to cope with my loss"

Wade looses his voice right then and there, his mouth closes with an audible click, his body goes stiff with tension and looks up the ceiling like "Yeah, ok, great chat, Yep, was great, good talk, mhm, cool..." trying to hold back tears, that comment really shot straight to his heart.

Meanwhile Stone silently reaches for his phone to scroll mindlessly, both of them feel empty and alone while sharing the bed.

[marsdql]

© MARSDQL — no stealing nothing heh sankue

　His To Keep TEASER

𝓅airing . 𝓈unghoon x f!reader

You always knew you didn’t belong here. A city built for nothing but work, a life dictated by your parents’ expectations, and a future that felt more like a prison sentence than a dream—every part of your existence felt like it was chosen for you. You spent years preparing for an escape, convincing yourself that once you left, you could finally start living. But when the chance came, it was ripped away just as quickly, leaving you stranded in a place that drained the life out of you. Then, you met him. Sunghoon was just another stranger on the train—at least, that’s what you thought. He caught you mid-rant, muttering to yourself in frustration, and instead of ignoring you like everyone else, he responded. It was the first time in a long while that someone actually listened. From that day on, he was everywhere. At first, it was easy to brush off—coincidences, nothing more. But when you found him at the lake, standing at the edge of your city’s only escape, telling you to get up because you were too cold, you started to wonder if it was something else entirely. He told you he could help. That he knew how to get out, how to give you the freedom you so desperately wanted. And for the first time, you considered trusting someone. But you should have known better. Because Sunghoon’s idea of freedom was never yours to take. The moment you followed him, you weren’t escaping—you were being claimed. You thought he was the one who would help you break free, but in reality, he was the one waiting to lock the door behind you. And now, the cage you tried to escape from feels almost kind compared to the one you’re in now.

ㅤ𝑔enre : stalker au, angst, runaway au, smut, slow burn, psychological thriller, tiniest piece of fluff at the start and at the end if you close your eyes and imagine it<3

𝒸ontains : (sexually) explicit content, possesive!sunghoon , gaslighting, manipulation, stalking, isolation, dilemma, desperation, kissing, mental health issues, sunghoon is bipolar asf, fingering, praise!kink, psychological horror, blood, gagging, slapping, blackmail, heavy guilt tripping, dumbification, reader lowk becomes stupid asf, prob many other things idk I barely even started . . .

TAGLIST: OPEN . dm, comment or request to be added

RELEASE DATE: N/A (in April)

my ahh is shadow banned rn hi

tl: @teddybeartaetae @heebear @tinycatharsis

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter XIV: Sharing Beds like Little Kids

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev. | read on ao3 | read bee's diary

songs for this chapter: my friend by hayley williams, hold me like a grudge by fall out boy, ribs by lorde

summary: of course, your best friends are throwing a party before the party. of course, you have to go! what happens at that party, however, has nothing to do with you.

a/n: this one’s a little long idk what got into me i must be ovulating. Chapter 15 is already 1/3 written so. uh. buckle up!

chapter tags: raunchiness, adult language and behavior, drinking, drugs (weed), swearing, LORE DROP!!, dialogue heavy, slightly perv!eddie, angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn-y (the fire is catching!!) | fic tags: angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | This fic is rated 18+ MDNI each chapter will have its own content/trigger warnings

disclaimer: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. THIS WORK IS BEING REPOSTED TO MY NEW AO3! Feel free to check it out! Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. I am satiated by reblogs and comments, so please! Interact with my work! It motivates me to write more, and it helps to know someone out there is reading.

taglist (open!): @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r

--

It isn’t until Friday that you see Eddie again, not that you’re keeping track. You’d sent pointless texts back and forth, usually receiving pictures of Ethel in exchange for a picture of a stupid bumper sticker you thought he’d laugh at. Not that you’re trying to make him laugh. 

You pull into the parking lot behind Steve and Robin’s apartment, cutting the engine and abruptly stopping the music blaring through your speakers. You haul yourself and a twenty pound backpack up the six flights of stairs, following the muffled sounds of your friends’ erratic voices, barely decipherable under the music playing from the television.

“Bee’s here!” Robin calls before throwing the front door open, a red solo cup in her hand as the music floods your senses. “Hello, my prettiest friend.” She greets, playfully kissing each of your cheeks.

“Oh, no. What did Steve do?” You giggle at her tipsy smile, glossy eyes. You’re painfully sober, having to drive yourself over. Luckily, you’d been invited to stay the night. 

“He bet me I couldn’t chug an entire can of Bud Light.” She hiccups.

“Rob, you hate beer.”

She nods, gleeful. “That’s why I did it.”

“How much did you win?”

Her smile falters. “Twenty bucks.”

You burst into giggles as Steve invades the space over her shoulder. “Hi, Bee!”

“Hey, loser.” You take the cup he offers you that smells too strongly of vodka. “Please don’t tell me you made this.”

“Nah, but I feel like if I tell you who did you’ll hit me.” You focus over his shoulder, where Eddie is mixing a second drink for himself. “If it makes you feel any better, I told him it was for you and he got right to work. Seemed like he knew what he was doing.”

You sip the drink hesitantly, the liquor pleasantly burning as it glides down your throat, sweetened with Sprite and grenadine. “Dirty shirley.” You nod approvingly. “Maybe I should be a little nicer.” You take another sip, and can tell instantly that it’s a heavy pour. “Don’t let him make all my drinks, though. I might need to get my stomach pumped.” You make your way to the kitchens without a thought, knowing your friends will follow. Eddie is talking to someone, his back to you as he nods enthusiastically at whatever they’re saying, free hand moving in erratic circles while his other clutches his drink. You watch the way his shoulders tense when you step into his personal space, and feel the slightest bit smug about it. He still hasn’t looked at you, so you take another step forward, landing yourself barely an inch away from your chin landing on his shoulder. 

“Hi, Bee.” Eddie chides, angling his body to invite you into the conversation with the other boy in front of him, who you can now see is Jeff. 

“Hi.” You bare your teeth in what you hope is a grin before taking another sip of your drink, shuddering as it slides down your throat. 

“Jeff, y’mind if I–” He tilts his head to indicate his wish to exit. Jeff nods, and you catch the way his eyes roll at his friend. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to like, steal you. You coulda finished your conversation.”

Eddie shakes his head, and you can tell he’s tipsy by the way he’s smiling at you; widely enough that his eyes crinkle at the corners, his top teeth ever so slightly resting on his bottom lip. “I’d rather be conversing with you anyway.” The words slide through your skull. You feel warm. “So?”

“Hm?” You have forgotten exactly what it was you came over here for. You can feel your friends’ eyes still on you, ten feet behind and probably trying to read your lips. 

“What did you wanna talk about?” 

“Oh, um,” God, what was it? “I wanna buy some weed.”

He blinks at you. “What?”

“You do… sell weed? Right? Sorry, am I supposed to be using, like, code words?” You have no desire, or frankly any cash, to buy weed from Eddie. 

He answers with a timid laugh, scratching the back of his head. “I, uh, haven’t in awhile. I mean I have some on me, but you don’t have to, like, pay for it.”

“Do I have to smoke it with you?” You don’t mean it to sound rude, and you wince at the way it comes out. “Because I wouldn’t mind doing that, either.”

Before Eddie can respond, Steve is shouting at you from across the room. “Bee, c’mon! We’re about to play truth or dare! You too, Ed, let’s go!” 

“Are we in fucking high school?”

“No, silly! We’re playing the adult version!” He’s dragging the drink cooler over to the kitchen table before you can ask what that means. 

“The game is simple,” Robin starts, her usual goofy disposition gone, replaced with an absurd sense of authority. “You ask someone, truth or dare. They can either: complete the challenge, or opt to take a mystery drink,” She motions to the massive Igloo cooler, which Steve opens for dramatic effect. “In here, I have curated a collection of random alcoholic beverages from the crevices of this party. If you cannot complete the truth or dare requested of you, you may only avoid punishment by chugging whatever you pull from the cooler of DEATH!” She stops, expecting a collective gasp that never comes. “First person to puke has to clean up tomorrow.” She adds, which starts the group of you panicking.

There are eight of you playing: Steve, Robin, Eddie, you, Gareth, Jeff, Nancy, and Jonathan; the last two of which you have only just noticed are here. You form a circle around the kitchen table, where other party goers have crowded to watch the inevitable drama unfold. One thing remains true about Steve and Robin, they know how to have fun. 

“Let the game begin!” Robin claps her hands together before spinning an empty beer bottle on the hardwood table. It lands on Nancy, causing Robin’s gaze to shift downward, mischief shining in her eyes. “Nancy Wheeler. Truth or dare?” 

Nancy is a beautiful girl, you can’t argue with that. Everyone that went to high school with you would agree, knowing Nancy as the whip smart, criminally beautiful girl next door. Since graduating, though, you’d lost most contact with her. She’d gone to Emerson, and from the town gossip you know she’s still the top of her class, but beyond that you have no idea what she’s like. Maybe the game will answer a few of those gaps. 

“Truth.” So she’s still one to play it safe?

“Boooring!” Robin fakes a yawn. “Fine. What is your deepest regret from your time in college?” Nancy’s eyes widen at her friend’s question, and you think she’s gonna chicken out.

“I’d have to say…” She looks away, tapping her finger against her chin mockingly, and you giggle. “Not getting to have the usual, y’know, college experience.” She emphasizes the words. Are you supposed to know what she’s talking about.

“Would you care to elaborate on that?”

“The rules don’t say I have to!” Nancy exclaims, but Robin won’t take no for an answer. 

“C’mon, you’re no fun!”

“I wish I got to–” She glances at her boyfriend, who’s picking at the label of his beer. “Ugh, roll me the cooler.”

Robin snorts, shaking her head. You look from where Nancy is blushing profusely, to Steve who is sitting there, head cocked to the side. “What the hell are you even–” Nancy darts her eyes from Steve to Robin, and Steve seems to catch on. You watch as his face contorts from confused to enlightened. “Oh! You wanted to have sex with a woman!”

“Steve!” Nancy, Robin, and you all exclaim in unison, begging the boy to shut up. 

“What?!”

“Oh my god will someone just go?” Nancy cracks open a cider, and you envy her luck of the draw. As she chugs it, Steve reaches for the bottle and gives it a spin. It eventually slows, and lands on you. 

“Shit.”

“My precious Bee,” Steve twiddles his fingers together, a menacing glint in his eye. “Truth or dare?”

“Hm,” You have no idea what to expect from Steve. He’s been your best friend for years, he was there for you when Eddie left, when your brother was sentenced. He’s never been anything but kind, there’s no way he’d betray you now, right? “Dare.”

“I dare you to sit on Eddie’s lap.” He doesn’t even have to think about it, he had that one locked and loaded.

“Wait, what?” You sputter, whipping your head to look at where Eddie is sitting across from you. His eyes have widened with Steve’s outburst, his cheeks far more pink than his drunkenness would call for. “I can’t just do that, he has to consent!” Aha, you’ve wiggled out of this one.

“I consent!” Eddie smacks his hand on the table. “It’s cool with me.”

You could just drink. You could escape all of this with a quick gulp of… something. But your vision is already blurred at the edges, and your head feels too light to be attached to your neck. So sitting in Eddie’s lap will have to be it. 

“You’re such a fuckin’ weirdo, Steve.” You can assume why he’d do something like this. He’s bored. He’s single, and he’s horny, and he wants to torture you. Makes perfect fucking sense. You push yourself from your chair, dragging it across the floor for dramatic effect before circling the table and approaching Eddie. He accommodates you, pushing the chair back and uncrossing his legs before patting his lap playfully. “Your throne awaits.”

“I hate you. Both of you.” You try to place yourself on the edge of his knee, clenching your core to hold your posture, but Eddie isn’t having it. Before you can protest, he’s laced his fingers across your abdomen, and pulls you snugly into his lap. “Get cozy, darlin’, you’re here ‘til the next round.” He says it quietly enough that only you can hear him, and his breath smells of vodka and cigarettes. “God knows I’m perfectly comfortable.” You can feel the heat of his breath on your cheek. 

“Your turn to spin, Edward., if your boner isn’t too distracting.” Robin taunts, causing you to backhand her. “What? I’m just teasin’.”

“I’ll have you know, Robin, I’m being quite the gentleman.” You can feel his right hand land on your hip, his grip slightly tensing. He’s nervous. With his other hand, he reaches across the table and flicks the bottle, spinning it hard enough to skip a few times on the wood. It lands on Steve, and you feel Eddie relax, his nerves satiated by the ability to return the favor. “Steven. Truth or dare.”

“I might as well take the drink now.” Steve holds out his hand, exasperated.

“Tsk, tsk, that is not how this game works, my friend.”

“Fine, truth.” Steve huffs, the defeat in his voice almost convincing you to feel sorry for him. You shake that thought off immediately when you feel Eddie shift underneath you. Your back is now pressed flush against his chest, and you can feel his heart racing through the layers of cotton and denim between you. 

“Would you care to tell the class exactly why you were called King Steve in high school?” It’s not the question you had been expecting. It feels relatively tame, and you’re sure you know the answer. Steve slept around, it was a known fact. You’d watched as he’d take girl after girl out on dates in his nice car, charm the pants off ‘em, rinse, repeat. 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Summer. Before freshman year.” Eddie has something up his sleeve, something even you don’t know about. 

“Eddie.” You try to be quiet in your warning. “Stop it.”

“Oh, at the lake?” Eddie waits for him to continue. “We were playing capture the flag.” Even in your current state, the memory rushes to the front of your brain.

–

That Summer before High School

“Steve, run!” Chris’s voice cracks as he shrieks across the sand. You had successfully blocked Steve from returning to his home base up until this point, but you were getting tired. “Fake’er out!”

Steve fakes right, and you let him slip through your fingers, the makeshift “flag” in the wind behind him. You lunge for it in vain, but he dodges your feeble attempt, and plants himself within the bounds of his territory. 

“Yeah!” Chris cheers from behind you, where Eddie has finally caught up to him, huffing in an attempt to catch his breath. It wasn’t fair, facing Chris and Steve, a track star and a football player, as someone whose athletic ability started and ended with the middle school band, and the little sister that no one really wanted there. 

“Okay, fine. You win. Again. King Steve and his fuckin’ jester.” You stick your tongue out, and he flips you off with the hand not clutching the piece of cheap fabric for dear life. Eddie cackles as he approaches you. “God, if that nickname sticks he’s gonna leave us in the dust.”

Steve gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like he’s been stabbed. “I would never!”

–

Fast forward to the second semester of Freshman year, and Steve’s already… different. Sure, he still hangs out with you, but he’s barely acknowledged Eddie since Homecoming. In fact, Eddie’s been drifting further from both of you, instead hanging out more with Chris, as well as some Dungeons and Dragons dweebs from his lunch period. 

–

“And then, well, y’know.” Eddie sits back in his chair, and the shift in position has you clenching your thighs together in a panic. Don’t fucking move.

Steve shrugs. “I think I have since made up for who I was in high school, Eddie. It’s your turn, Jon.” Jonathan is shaken out of his haze, flicking his fringe out of his eyes before leaning forward and spinning the bottle. It lands on Jeff. “Truth or dare?”

“Hm, dare.”

Jonathan dares Jeff to take a gravity bong rip, which Jeff accepts. You and your friends cackle when he can’t hold his smoke, sputtering and coughing on the exhale, head shaking with disgust and discomfort. The round ends with everyone having done at least one, and it’s once again Robin’s turn to spin the bottle. When it lands on you, the room seems to stiffen, and you probably could have heard a pin drop if you focused hard enough. “Bee, truth or dare?”

“Have I mentioned today how much I despise you?” You have no real malice in your tone, but she pouts at you anyway. 

“Truth.” 

“Ugh! Oh for two. Fine, be honest: how uncomfortable are you right now?” She cocks an eyebrow, and you take a beat to think about your answer. Truthfully, you’re not the slightest bit uncomfortable. Physically, you and Eddie seem to fit together, moving in sync without an issue as the game continues. You’re not laser focused on the way his strong legs feel underneath you, or the fact that your ass has been sat on his crotch for at least the last forty five minutes. His hand hasn’t moved from your hip, and he’s been rubbing grounding circles on the sliver of exposed skin above your jeans and below the hem of your shirt. You feel safe, and that information doesn’t even freak you out.

“Hello? You in there, Bee?” You’re dragged from your thoughts, and your gaze shifts from Robin to Eddie, who’s waiting eagerly for your answer, eyes wide and waiting.

You shrug. Because it’s no big deal. “He’s kinda bony, but I’m alright.” You feel him laughing, and you giggle along with him when Robin groans. “Face it, Rob. We’ve just matured so much since the last time we played this game.” You reach over to poke at her, and she shoos you away with a huff. 

–

Eventually, the game comes to a natural end, and your friends and acquaintances begin to empty the apartment. You’re left on the couch nursing a water bottle Steve had shoved into your hand about half an hour ago, when you’d mistaken his ficus for a toilet. Now you owe him a ficus. You’ve stripped down to your change of clothes: a pair of satin shorts and a big tee shirt that almost reaches your knees. It’s when he approaches that you thank your past self for stashing the clothes in your backseat, preventing you from being caught with your pants down, literally. 

“Mind if I sit?” You look up to find Eddie hovering over you, holding a can of beer in one hand and an unlit joint in the other. You pat the cushion next to you, curling your feet into your body to give him more room. “You doin’ okay? You’re looking a little…” He trails off, searching for a word that isn’t a synonym for “horrible.”

“Sickly? Pale? Greasy? Clammy? I’m sure.”

“I was gonna say tired. You sleepin’ here?”

You nod, then wince at the way your brain pinches with the movement. “Yeah, no way am I in any shape to go home. What about you?”

Eddie nods, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Steve said the floor was all mine. Such a generous guy.”

You are not responsible for what you say next. “You can sleep next to me, if you want.”

He turns his head slowly, like sudden movement would spook you. “What?”

“What, what? There’s plenty of space, this couch takes up the entire damn room.” The couch is massive, with two chaise lounges and a stretch of pillowy cushions in between. It would be a ridiculous thing to own with only two people to use it, but Steve and Robin throw enough ragers to warrant the extra space. 

“Are you fucking with me?”

“Why would I be fucking with you?”

He can’t find a real answer, so he deflects. “Because I’m so much fun to fuck with, obviously.”

“Whatever. If you wanna be weird and sleep on the uncomfortable, stinky carpet, go right ahead.” You yank the blanket to your chin and turn your back to him. Instead of resigning to the floor, you feel the cushions shift, and dare to peek at the man across from you. You catch him just as he yanks his jeans down, metal clanging as he tosses them to the floor. You gulp when he lifts his shirt over his head, leaving just his boxers clinging to his soft form. For what seems like the hundredth time tonight, you’re squeezing your thighs together. 

“Hey,” Eddie whispers, and you pretend to be asleep. “I know you’re not sleeping.”

“Ugh, how?” You snap, irritated more with yourself than with him.

“Your breathing. It’s too quick, too irregular.”

“I could have been having a nightmare.”

“Nah, you talk in your sleep. I would have known.” You gape at him, though he probably can’t see your flabbergasted expression in the dark.

“You remember that?”

“Bee, I practically lived with you at one point. Of course I do, that shit gave me nightmares!”

You snort, remembering the way Eddie would recap what you’d said while unconscious the night before. “Yeah, I said some weird shit.”

“Some seriously freaky shit.”

“Speaking of, what were you gonna say?”

“Oh, right. I uh, wanted to ask you. About earlier. Was that, like, too weird for you?”

“What, the game?” You play dumb. You don’t know exactly where he’s going, but you have a feeling it’s gonna get way less lighthearted. 

“Yeah, I guess. Like, the whole thing. I wouldn’t have held it against you if you didn’t wanna stay sitting there. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable to be around me.” You can’t see him, but you could swear you hear his voice crack with nerves. “I know we were, like, inebriated or whatever, but I still wouldn’t want you to feel like, pressured or–”

“Eddie. It’s okay. You were a perfect gentleman.”

 “I wouldn’t say perfect.” 

“Oh?” You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. “What do you mean by that?” 

A loaded silence follows. Then, after a deep breath, the words drip from his mouth. “I had pictured you in my lap under different circumstances so many times, Bee. It was practically impossible to ground myself.” The pounding in your ears is louder, faster. You can feel it between your legs now, too. “Sorry, too much?”

“No! No, just,” You’re at a loss. How he says these things like it’s nothing, like he’s just shooting the shit with a friend. Casually. “You can’t just say shit like that to me.”

“Why not?” It feels like a challenge.

“Because, Eddie! We aren’t, like, besties. Not anymore! There is so much we still haven’t fucking talked about and you’re talking to me like you’re the same horn dog teenager I knew before shit hit the fan. It feels like you don’t see how badly you hurt me.” 

“Of course I know how badly I hurt you, sweetheart. I spent every day for the last six years thinking about what I did. What I should have done. I’ve come to the conclusion that nothing I do now will make up for it, but I am gonna do whatever I can to be honest with you. Fully. From now until you kick me out of your life forever.”

In the safety of the dark, you find yourself confident as you respond. “And that includes your horny thoughts… why?”

“Because I am a twenty something year old man and most of my honesty comes from my dick.”

You cackle despite the growing frustration in your chest. “Okay, I think you’re still too drunk. Time for bed, perv.” “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure to take all this back when we sober up.” You don’t respond out loud, but the words “I hope not” float through your brain as you begin drifting out of consciousness, your legs entwined with Eddie’s, his leg hair tickling your skin. Soon, his snoring pulls you under, and your mind goes blank. 

–

You wake up to the sound of Eddie’s snoring in your ear. “What the f– Ah!” You shove yourself backwards, registering Eddie’s mess of curls tickling your nose, his head resting next to yours, a far different position than you remember him falling asleep in. He doesn’t budge with your outburst, still dead asleep as you collect your thoughts. “Eddie? Eddie!” You start shaking him, and he groans at the disturbance. “Why are you, like, on top of me?”

“Hm? Good mornin’, princess.” His voice is raspy with sleep and you clench your fists to distract yourself from the shivers it causes. “You were havin’ a nightmare, you don’t remember?”

You furrow your brow, trying to recall your dream. Vaguely, you can remember Eddie and Chris, the three of you as kids playing some game or another like you always had. You can sort of remember not being included, like the two of them couldn’t see you. “Did I talk again?”

Eddie laughs, but not at you. “A little, yeah. Started yellin’ my name at some point. That’s what woke me up.”

You hide your face in your hand. “God, I’m sorry. That’s so embarrassing.”

“Nah, it’s okay. Felt like old times, a little bit.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you missed me fucking up your REM cycle.” You’re joking, but his smile softens at your words.

“I really, really did. Believe it or not.” This radical honesty is going to be the death of you, you’re sure of it. “So, anyway. I woke up, flipped around, hugged you for a while. You seemed to be okay after that. Sorry. I didn’t wanna risk waking you up. I know it worked when we were kids.”

You remember when Eddie would sleep over on weekends and during the summer. You, him, and Chris would sprawl out in the living room. Sometimes, you’d watch scary movies, and as a result you’d get the scariest nightmares about Jason Vorhees or Ghostface or whoever the slasher was that night. Eddie had somehow discovered that wrapping himself around you like a koala would calm you down, and you’d wake up in his very sweaty embrace, feeling extremely well rested. You feel that same relaxation now, Eddie’s nose inches away from yours. 

“Thanks.” You whisper the word, but he hears you.

“Don’t mention it.”

You could leave it there. Get up and pretend none of it ever happened, but you can’t. “Every day I think you can’t bewilder me any more than you already have, and every day I’m wrong.” You dare to look him in the eye as you say it, dare yourself to feel everything you’d been avoiding until this point. “What the fuck are you doing to me, Munson?”

He shrugs, then rests a hand on your waist. “I’m makin’ up for lost time.”

[spidercatweb]

Feeling Better ★ Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: umm ok i fear there are a lot. Emetophobia warning (r does NOT get sick, i tried to describe it as little as possible, r is very emetophobic and freaks out), unintentional(?) s/h (scratching as a distraction, no blood is drawn), r has a panic attack esque thing going on?? idk she freaks out and shuts down (just like me fr), fem!bau!reader, hurt/comfort, a little bit of angst(?), happy ending with some fluff :). i think that's it? kind of established relationship with r and spencer idk...

Description: the team is at a bar, r is already anxious, it gets a million times worse when someone there throws up. Spencer helps r get away from the situation and calms her down.

Word Count: 2,227

A/n: reader is literally me, i wrote this for myself and i hope the other emetophobia girlies enjoy <3 if you can relate to this im so so sorry :( i know how it feels :(

The team is at a bar tonight, having just finished a case; it was a nice way to relax and socialize. The team - except for you and Spencer - all had alcoholic beverages. Spencer didn't really like the taste or feeling of alcohol, you had just never wanted to drink. You could have a fun time without it. You all sat around a big table in the back corner of the bar, enjoying each other's company. The whole team was intently listening to one of Garcia’s odd anecdotes. You sat beside Spencer, already feeling a little overwhelmed, but you were still having a good time. You smiled and laughed along with the rest of the team.

Suddenly, your hearing focused on another situation in the establishment. A heavily intoxicated man at the bar is telling the bartender how he “can handle another drink" and that he “won't get sick this time". You immediately tense up. Even the thought of the possibility of that happening makes your anxiety spike. You try to focus on the conversation at the table and calm yourself down.

Nothing is going to happen, you’ll be okay. You repeat this to yourself in your head. You close your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath, you cross your arms and begin tapping your fingers on your arms rhythmically.

Spencer notices the shift in your behavior, he notices that you're a bit zoned out, staring at the salt and pepper shakers on the table. He doesn't say anything, but he keeps it in mind to ask you later what was wrong, it was probably nothing anyway. You were probably just overwhelmed with all the noise.

Thirty minutes pass. You’ve mostly forgotten about what you overheard earlier, focusing instead on the insanity that was Morgan’s dating life, which he was explaining in way too much detail. You snicker and share a shocked look with Spencer when Morgan says something particularly explicit.

Slurred speech enters your earshot once again, the drunk man at the bar. He’s saying that he shouldn't have ordered that last drink. Disgusting. A frown appears on your face. You begin to dig your nails into your arms. Don’t think about it. Nothing’s going to happen. Focus on your friends. Nothing bad will happen with them.

It happens. The man at the bar gets sick. All over the bar. Tears well up in your eyes and you shut them tightly, your face flushes. You slowly drag your nails down your arms, digging them in deeper, leaving bright red marks. You need to leave. Now.

Spencer notices the scene unfolding at the bar, he knows how absolutely horrible it makes you feel, you've told him about it before. He looks at you and hovers a hand over your shoulder. You feel the warmth of him through the dizzying panic rushing through you.

"Hey, do you want to leave?" His voice is quiet and calm, only loud enough for you to hear, not disturbing the rest of the team. You nod and he begins to stand up.

You want to follow, but you feel like you can't move. You stand up weakly, forcing yourself to move. Still frantically scratching and digging your nails into your arms, because it feels like the only thing that will distract you from what's going on. You open your eyes and your vision blurs from tears. Spencer grabs your purse from the booth, making sure you won’t have to come back in for it if you don’t want to.

He leads you towards the door and away from the situation, hand hovering over the small of your back, "Come on, let's get outside".

The rest of the team looks concerned for you. Garcia stops telling her story for a moment, she knows what's going on.

"She just needs a bit of air. Don't think they'll be back though," she nods to what's happening at the bar, the team understands.

When you exit the building, you're a crying mess, basically hyperventilating, still clawing at yourself, not hard enough to draw blood, but you will if you continue.

"Y/n, I need you to stop scratching yourself, you're gonna be okay, we're not going back in there." He tries to make eye contact with you. You frantically shake your head, continuing what you're doing, taking in a stuttered gasp, holding back a sob.

"Can you talk?" Spencer knows the answer is probably no. You shake your head once again, confirming this. He looks around for a place to sit, "Okay... let's go sit down, there's a bench over there." He nods his head towards the bench, ghosting his hand over the small of your back. You start slowly towards it, he follows closely behind.

You sit, so does he. Your legs shake almost violently out of anxiety. The cold, fresh air does a little to calm your nerves, but the sounds keep replaying in your head. You try your best to busy your hands with something other than scratching yourself, you know you need to stop. You begin running your hands through your hair in a steady manner. You close your eyes and try to take slow, deep breaths. Spencer quietly observes, his presence is enough to remind you that everything will be okay. He waits patiently, not expecting you to say anything.

After taking a shaky breath, you whisper a barely audible "Sorry." You wipe your eyes with your sleeves then hold your hands together tightly. Digging your nails into the backs of them. You feel bad for pulling Spencer away from the rest of the team.

"It's okay, you have nothing to be sorry about. It's a very common phobia, actually. I read an article a while ago with evidence that 20% of people who go to therapy report emetophobia as a main reason for going." His fact is not very fun, but you can tell he's trying to calm you down in the best way he knows how. He glances at your tightly clasped hands, your knuckles white and shaky, nails digging into your skin once again.

He offers a soothing solution, "Do you want to hold my hands instead?" He puts his hands out for you to take. He wants to get you to stop hurting yourself, he knows you don’t mean to. It makes him sad to see you like this.

You unclasp your hands and reach out to his. His hands are shockingly cold, but the coolness in contrast to your warmth is calming. You squeeze his hands, a silent thank you. He squeezes yours back.

“Do you want me to talk? Or just stay quiet?” He asks, gently rubbing his thumbs across your knuckles.

“Talk?” You attempt to smile, but it’s more of a pout. It breaks Spencer’s heart to see you like this.

“Okay… um. Well… You didn’t drink tonight, right? You had iced tea?” You nod as he slowly leads up to a ramble. “And I wasn’t drinking either,” he reminds you, “when alcohol is consumed, the liver processes it into a highly reactive and toxic chemical called acetaldehyde. Which is actually used in plenty of herbicides and insecticides, of course, not sourced from the human body.” You can feel his hands itching to gesture along with his sentences. But they stay right there, holding yours.

“The liver then converts this acetaldehyde into acetate, which the body can remove by converting it into water and carbon dioxide. But when there’s too much, and the liver can’t process it quickly enough, the body gets rid of it, well… in a different way. That’s most likely what was happening to that guy in there.” You stare off into space at the reminder, idly nodding slowly to show you’re listening.

“So… he isn’t sick. It isn’t anything you can catch. You weren’t drinking tonight either. Nothing like that will happen to you tonight. Or me. We’re fine, we’re safe.” He reassures you calmly, lightly squeezing your hands. Your eyes flicker to his and you give him another nod.

By now, you’ve mostly stopped crying. You sniffle every few seconds, but it’s a major improvement from the sobs you were letting out just minutes ago. The deep breaths of cold air help to calm you as well. But your heart and head are still racing, you take in unbalanced, jagged breaths, still struggling to keep it fully together.

“Thanks, Spencer.” Your voice is slightly gravelly when you speak.

“No problem.” He smiles warmly, “Are you feeling a little better?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “the cold air is nice, and it’s quiet, and… you’re here. You’re always really helpful when I get like this.” You huff out a sad laugh, hiding your embarrassment about how Spencer always seems to be the one helping you out.

“I’m glad. I like it when you’re okay, so I’m glad I can help.” he blushes slightly. “And honestly, it was getting way too loud in there for me. I’m pretty sure you’d be the one bringing me out here if we stayed in any longer.” He half-jokes. You chuckle slightly. The last thing he wants is for you to feel bad about something you can’t control.

“So… I’m guessing you don’t want to go back in either?” You look down at your hands still in his.

“No, not- not really.” He shakes his head.

You both think in a moment of comfortable silence.

“Do you- Would you like me to drive you home?” He asks hesitantly.

“Do I trust you to drive my car?” You joke lightheartedly.

“Hey!” He laughs along with you.

“And how would you get home?” You ask, “Planning to stay over, Doctor?” You tease him with the nickname. You’re clearly feeling better.

“Well- I- I actually didn’t think about that, yeah. Um, I could...” He rushes to find another response. “Would you mind if I did?” he asks nervously.

“Spence, I wouldn’t mind at all. It would actually be nice, I’d rather not be alone tonight.” You smile, he mirrors your expression.

“Really?” He asks, “If you don’t want me to, it’s okay. I don’t want to be invading your space or anything.”

“Do you want to stay over?”

“I uh- yeah. Yes I do.” he nods.

“Okay, let’s go then.” You slip one of your hands out of his grasp as you get up from the bench, still holding his other. He gets up after you, politely handing you your purse. You thank him quietly as you take it.

You both walk to the parking lot of the bar, where your car is parked. After you unlock the car, like the gentleman he is, he opens the passenger door for you. The ride to your place is lovely, Spencer spits out all the random facts he can think of during the twenty minute drive. You rest your head lightly against the window, listening to him speak as you gaze at the outside world passing by. His soft, constant tone lulls you into a light sleep.

When he parks the car, he unbuckles his seatbelt and lightly taps your shoulder, welcoming you back with a smile. “We’re here, sorry to wake you up.” His hand rests on your shoulder for a moment.

You groan slightly as you get out of the car, “Why is being stressed out so exhausting?”

“Well, when you’re stressed, your body releases hormones like cortisol, which put you in fight-or-flight mode,” he starts. You walk beside him, sneakily grasping his hand with yours as you head towards the entrance of your apartment building. He pauses for a second, looking down at your hands. He smiles, then continues.

“And when you have high stress levels for a prolonged amount of time, it tires out your brain, leading to emotional exhaustion. So really, you might not be physically tired, just mentally.”

“Hmm. Well, I feel exhausted either way.” You huff out a laugh, leaning into his side.

He hums in agreement, opening the building’s door and letting you enter first.

When you finally get into your apartment, you realize an important detail. “Spencer, do you have clothes here? Or like, pajamas?” You can’t remember from the last time he was here, you knew he at least had a pair of pajamas, because you’d been wearing the shirt to sleep for the past week.

“Um- yeah, I think so? I think I left some here last time. Bottom drawer of your dresser, right?”

“Mhm,” You nod, “shower first, then bed?” You suggest.

“Okay.” He agrees easily.

***

You go in first, Spencer goes in after you. When he comes back into your room, he sees you wearing one of his shirts. “Is that…?” He points to you.

“Yes.” You grin happily.

“So that’s where it went.” He joins you in your bed.

You cuddle up to him, laying your head comfortably on his chest. He rests a hand on your back, tracing patterns lightly with his pointer finger.

“Are you feeling better than earlier?” He asks quietly.

“Mhm, a lot better.” You bring a hand up to lightly rest on his chest.

“That’s good.”

The beating of Spencer’s heart up against your ear, combined with the quiet sounds of his steady breathing lull you into a peaceful sleep. He stays awake longer than you do, listening to your slow breaths, making sure you’re completely asleep before he drifts off.

Thank you for reading!! <3

Any feedback is very much appreciated!

My requests are open!

[blupeeblep]

*gets hit in the face* huh, thx! *Munches on the snacks* now let's see here. Hmm...

How many works on AO3? 21. Huh, that's a lot more than I thought, lol. I've written more than 21, but I didn't know that I posted that many, lol.

Total AO3 word count? ...74,203. wow. that's... actually really nice. faiojdfdsaofj okay.

Top 5 fics by kudos: Shadow Race; Dreams will fade, but song(s) will live on; Time Traveling Sword(s); Father, Come Play (but this was written more by my sibling, I just helped a bunch, so... not gonna count it); Fluffy Fluff fic of Flufftober in 2024; Without A Heart.

What fandoms do you write for? All within the LoZ, being LU, FS/FSA mostly, but I do write sometimes other parts of LoZ too. I don't think I've posted any though.

Do you respond to comments? Yes! I love responding to comments! It's super fun✨

Fic with the angstiest ending? Hmm... I don't like writing endings with angst. I prefer writing nice lil endings. But... Maybe Fire Can Burn? Actually, no! It's Waving Through A Window!

Fic with the happiest ending? And... Since I like to have nice endings... Idk. Uhm... A Reforged Blade? Maybe? Idk.

Do you get hate? I've never had any hate on any of my fics, no. Very grateful of that.

Do you write smut? Nope! And I never will.

Do you write crossovers? I... Don't know. I haven't ever yet written one, but I do have one planned out, but idk if I'll ever write it.

Ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of! But of course, if someone stole it, they probably won't tell me, lol.

Have you ever had a fic translated? I don't know.

Have you ever co-written a fic? Yup! I don't think any are yet posted, because they're all still in the writing. @scoutwolf and @confuzzledment / @raydrawsart are those who I'm working with ^w^

All-time favorite ship? ... ... Vidow or Rue (Red/Blue) though I do more with Vidow, but that's probably because Shadow's my favorite, lol.

WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Mmm... Probably the many fics in my Rue Duet. No one's really interacted at all when them, so... Idk.

Writing strengths? I have no clue. What are my writing strengths?

Writing weaknesses? I don't describe the place that much. I need to remember to slow down sometimes and appreciate what's around them.

Thoughts on mixed language dialogue? That's when there's more than one language being spoken, ye? I like it! I should probably do it, but... Idk. I've got a fic that has it... Kinda. Just need to work a bit more on it, lol.

First fandom you wrote for? Uhm... fandom is LU. But I did write an original work before I wrote fanfiction.

Favorite fic you've ever written? Gah... Idk! Hmm... For funsies, let's say Where Is My Pickle Cutter. It's short, yet really funny. Features Ravio, Sheerow, and Link (Legend), but mostly Sheerow and Ravio. ^w^ was inspired by a wonderful dinner conversation, lol.

If y'all have any questions about any of these, do feel free to ask. (Please do put in the link so that I know what you're asking about.)

No pressure tags: @layraket @greennoobartist @apho-sappho @scoutwolf @confuzzledment and anyone else who'd like to join!

I have been tagged by @batrogers!!

1. How many works on AO3? 241

2. Total AO3 word count? 1.25mil. Almost to my 3rd AO3 anniversary :D (that's around 1,170 words every day for three years, not counting nonpublished words! Proud of that rate, even if it's slowing.)

3. Top 5 fics by kudos:

Status? about Four. I think this one hits the sweet spot for a lot of people: not too long, a bit angsty, but sweet.

so i admit that the mud didn't do much for me, about Hyrule. Actually the first fic I ever posted on this account, it's silly and I'm surprised to see it so high

incandescently happy, a post-LU happy ending. Posted little chapters every day for like a month which kept it in people's feeds so I think that's why it's so high

what is a stump supposed to do, a random Hyrule & Four one, honestly baffled why it's up here

Rise and Shine and Fall, my successful (by that I mean actually wrote and posted every day on schedule) Whumptober 2022 extravaganza compilation. I posted it all in one work, so it's higher than most other whump fics of mine, but there's a lot in it!

4. What fandoms do you write for? Zelda. In the past I wrote a tiny bit of Danny Phantom and a fair amount of FE3H!

5. Do you respond to comments? Always!! I admit to being SO VERY BEHIND right now, a couple months' worth. I'm trying to keep up on new ones, but I've had some beautiful wonderful readers going through my catalog and I can't always keep up!! XD

6. Fic with the angstiest ending: I don't write a lot of negative endings, so I think this badge goes to Counterbalance, my LU Darks AU. I'm actually fully in love with this fic, it's probably the best mix of silly and angsty I've ever written. It's full of what are essentially OCs but they're all my babies and I love them.

7. Fic with the happiest ending: incandescently happy, post-LU. The whole fic is essentially a fix-it ending, though LU doesn't have an ending yet. XD

8. Do you get hate? A couple silly comments trying to tell me I'm doing things wrong, but not really no! Oh, also can't forget the ask I got that was "Remember that Jesus is your first reader." I think that was meant to be passive aggressive but there's a chance it was meant like, genuinely? Not sure.

9. Do you write smut? Nah. And I don't plan to. Not my thing! Closest I get are vampire bites XD

10. Do you write crossovers? I swear I've done more but the only ones on my AO3 are a Vidow fic done in an original world (Nothing New Under the Sun (crystals, dumplings, jewelry)), and Blood-Sucker's Guide to High School, a Vidow retelling of a very fun vampire novel.

11. Ever had a fic stolen? Nope, but I did have one of my Vidow fake fic book covers stolen for someone's fake fiverr listing. Got it taken down with a DMCA but I was like, why

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not to my knowledge.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic? Oh plenty. @enrolio and I spent most of 2020-21 lockdowns and beyond cowriting, mostly original stories (1.7mil) but a lot of fic, too (nothing published, but almost 400k worth.) We're currently in the process of working on a big epic original fantasy series, though that's a long-term project. @batrogers and I have done a few alt-POV-type projects too, which have been super duper fun!! Hope to do more.

In that vein too, I feel like the Bad End Links kind of qualify here—so much of the characters and their stories were brainstormed collaboratively and so many friends have contributed details and fics and art, it feels like a fun group project! I've really enjoyed working on it. :D (the encouragement and hype for it also helps a lot!! I'm really hoping to finish this big project out!)

14. All-time favorite ship? Ahhhh a harder question than you'd think, tbh, even if you're limiting it to fic. I've written the most for Vidow, and they're definitely up there (same with Fourdow though I've done less with them.) I do have to admit that Linhardt/Byleth might take the cake, though. They were the first ship I was ever actually obsessed with, and the first romantic pairing I wrote in fic.

I just really adore Linny in general, and I love how the pairing continues and closes off some of the themes in the Crimson Flower route of FE3H. That's the only route where Byleth doesn't become archbishop-slash-dictator, and I think choosing to live life in a small cottage, not particularly contributing too much to the government, builds nicely upon the themes of becoming human and choosing your own destiny, themes that are really missing from the other routes.

15. WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will? My old AO3 account (a couple FE3H fics and not much else) has a series where I wrote the beginning of a fic and then had several different endings planned, each a different ship with Linhardt, but I only ever wrote one. I'd love to read the rest but I have too many other fics calling my name!

16. Writing strengths? Um... Volume and speed? Also AUs. I think I can call myself good at fitting characters into new settings. Also fight scenes are fun and I think I do them well.

17. Writing weaknesses? I feel somewhat weak in the plotting and style realms.

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue? You can't count on a reader to know not-tagged languages, so that has to be accounted for in the text.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Danny Phantom, in high school or maybe just after. That's late for a lot of fic writers but... there are reasons for that, and a different discussion!!

20. Favorite fic you've ever written? This is an extremely rude question, because I love so many for different reasons. I write things I want to read!! Counterbalance (for the tone) and Blood-Sucker's Guide (for the finished novel plot) are up there but I linked them above, so I'll take the chance to call out a different few—Marvelous Misadventures is way up there, a Wind-focused modern with magic AU. I promise I'm still working on that last chapter (and the epilogue), I just gotta throw everything else aside one month and buckle down. Maybe June, I don't have any fic events planned and 06/23 was the last update. I think some earlier chapters need a refresh as well, once I have the ending written.

I'll also toss White Walls (medwhump, "non consensual body modification: the fic") into this category for how long it is and how proud I am to have finished even a collection this long, and a long walk, a Linked Nexus fic where I did so much math and had so much fun with it. :D

Tagging: @silvrash-797 @toyouhellohowareyou @nopenototdaysatan @skyward-floored :)

[galazry]

Look at Me!

pairing: best friend!scaramouche x gn!reader genre: modern au, friends to lovers(?), is this angst? idk tbh content: Again and again, you, being the hopeless romantic that you are, yapped about this new crush of yours. When is it going to be his turn? word count: 812 a/n: inspired by the song "From The Start" by Laufey. is it also based on a brainrot? you bet it is! i also want to apologize that most of my brainrots are in indonesian but hey, at least the drabble is in english.

"Them? You've got to be kidding me."

You were talking about your new crush to Scaramouche, your best friend. It's the same old formula every time; You see someone attractive or said person does something nice for you, you get a crush on them, and then you tell Scaramouche all about said person. Truth be told, he was actually getting tired of this same old gig. Every time you yapped about some new "soulmate" of yours, he is reminded painfully that the feeling he harbored for you was unrequited.

"Can't that thick skull of yours see? They are only doing that just because they are a decent person."

"Come on, Scara! I really think I have a chance with this new 'soulmate' of mine!"

Soulmate. What a laugh.

As you go on and on about how the person you currently have a crush on was so perfect for you, he can't help but to let his mind wander. How he wished that the day would come where you run up to him and confess that you actually have been harboring feelings for him as well; that all these crushes you have were just mere distractions since you were confused about your feelings for him. Another wish of his was for you to finally realize that he has a crush on you, and that the feeling was mutual. Of course, those were all just silly little thoughts in his head.

How much longer do you need to finally notice he has feelings for you? For now, he'll just have to listen to you gush about your current supposed soulmate.

It's taking a tedious amount of time for you to realize that he has feelings for you. How long has it been? Scaramouche has lost track but he's sure that almost 2 years have passed. Hell, at this point, he thinks that both of your peers have noticed how he always looked at you differently.

All, except you.

Scaramouche was getting impatient. It was ridiculous. He had done everything to give signs that he was in love with you, so why haven't you noticed yet?! Even a kindergarten would notice all these hints he had given for you. After weeks of you yapping about ANOTHER new crush of yours, he can no longer contain the feelings in his chest.

"And then our eyes meet and-"

"[Y/N]."

"Hm?"

"Stop it."

You blinked a few times at your best friend. He looked annoyed. Well, more annoyed than usual as there was a thin line on his forehead. "What do you mean-" before you could get your sentence out, Scaramouche gripped your wrist and pulled you closer towards him.

"I've had it with you and your crushes. Can't you give me a glance for once?! I'm right here! Why can't you have feelings for me?!"

"S-Scara...? What do you...?"

Your eyes widen and Scaramouche immediately regrets what he had just did. He lets go of your wrist before looking away. Even if he tries to hide it, you could definitely see that his cheeks were gaining colour. His mouth felt dry as he cursed himself for suddenly lashing out at you, but since the cat's out of the bag...

"I like you alright?! From the start and for the longest time, I have always had feelings for you! I've tried every thing for you to notice me! Everything!"

Scaramouche rambled on and on about his feelings for you as you sit there in silence staring at him with wide eyes. He begins explaining all the things he had done just to get your attention— He makes sure that his notes were always tidy so you could read them, he always packs an extra set of lunch since he knows you sometimes forget to pack yours, he always carries around bandages since you were known to be clumsy— those were just the three out of the many things he had done just for you to either realize his feelings for you, or for you to fall in love with him. Yet, it seemed like all his efforts were for naught.

Finally, after a solid five minutes, he had gotten everything out of his chest. You were still speechless by the time he had finished, trying to process everything your best friend had said. He opened his mouth to say anything, anything at all, but no words came out of it. Fearing words of rejection from you, or even causing a rift in your long-standing friendship, he decides to leave before you could even utter a single word.

That wasn't how it was suppose to go... Now Scaramouche was sure that his feelings for you were never going to be requited. For some odd reason, even though it was a sunny day, he could feel something wet streaming down his cheeks.

"Stupid... You should have kept your mouth shut..."

[luuxxart]

evil win! the ones plotting for your mysterious death are uncle and nephew!

[caster-l0ve]

Blaze on, Michelangelo. Earn your claws. Prove them wrong. Scream who you are.

Wipe out your competition.

[onceabluemoonthoughts]

Do you think Tim feels guilty for not questioning Dick’s ‘death’ after the crime syndicate and into the Spyral run?

Yes, Dick’s identity was revealed and his death was somewhat public i think, don’t kill me but I mean after Dick came back from Spyral. And after the arguments of betrayal.

Do you think at some point he might compare his reaction to when Bruce died? How despite seeing the skeleton that superman brought back, he still did everything not only to prove Bruce was alive but to help him get back home. And when Dick died, nothing.

Do you think Tim would realise just how easy it would have been to find out? Bruce had a radio line connection in the cave. Dick was only on the other side of the world, and not in the past after all.

Tim Drake, one of the world’s greatest detectives. Accepted his brother’s death, with no questions, and with no body in the casket.

[mcytegg]

i think im in too deep w charmander duo. bc i was thinking abt how flame thinks very little abt bans, and how theres a genuine possibility he helps the Guardians ban people not even bc he thinks bans should matter, but just like for fun bc he doesnt think of it that seriously. which led me to thinking "wait but pangi could help him change his mind ^-^" nd now im just thinking of an au where pangi does Just That .

[soupmanspeaks]

Now I'm just thinking what glamrock Freddy's reaction to the underground scooper would be, maybe he would see it, and stumble back. Maybe he'd quickly check his stomach hatch. He doesn't know why he did it. Maybe he'd glance over at the scooping room window in a quick pang of horror. Maybe he didn't know what he was looking for in the glass. But maybe the feeling occurs to him that he's been in this kind of situation before. Surprisingly, Freddy has a thought that the outcome of this weird dejavu is the same as it always was.

He is full of many, many, wires.

This time, he thinks, they aren't going anywhere.

[c-c-cherry]

Febuwhump Day 6: Forced to Stay Awake

(My Hero Academia)

My first (and hopefully not last???) contribution to febuwhump! Aizawa gets thrown around so much in canon and I can't be the only one to wonder what happens during those moments in between. Ao3 is on the fritz this week so I thought I'd cross-post for once lol

___

Read on ao3 for more specific tags!!

Art for it is HERE!!

cw: vomiting, (past, canon) character death, general suffering (its febuwhump you get the drill)

___

No One, No Way, Nowhere

Day 6: Forced to Stay Awake

Word count: 7121

He thought he knew himself by now, that nothing could phase him anymore. No injury or death or horrifying realization could get behind that hard exterior. Whatever he used to believe was irrelevant now. This feeling wasn’t going away like it was supposed to. After confronting what’s left of Shirakumo, Aizawa finds it impossible to close his eyes.

Aizawa could feel his own breath, hot against his face. It stuck to his hair like sweat, making contact with the frigid air of the facility, that was too air-conditioned for a human to stand. 

It was all he could hear, aside from the roaring in his ears, growing louder by the second as he tried to shake the sound that Kurogiri had blasted their ears with. While heavy and laboured, he knew he could still breathe despite the sensation that shook his shoulders, despite everything today.

He sat kneeling on the bathroom floor, somewhere in the decrepit basement that held the remains of what used to be their comrade. He didn't bother to lock the stall door—Aizawa had made it painfully clear that no one was to follow him in. The harsh air of the investigator's facility bit back against his eyes, causing them to sting even more than when his quirk had been activated minutes prior. 

The world still felt as it did back there. Not even the feeling of the air had changed. The sound around him was muted, exposing his ears to nothing but echo. The area behind his eyes throbbed painfully, making it impossible to hold his head up any longer. Aizawa blamed the blurriness of his surroundings on overusing his quirk, even if his sight had never morphed the room into shapeless blobs like this.

He breathed deeply, intentionally pushing the air out of his lungs as if he'd forgotten how to do it naturally. When a muffled, desperate noise cut across the still air, Aizawa couldn't help but press a hand to his mouth to avoid making too much sound.

He couldn't believe what the hell he just saw.

That thing wasn't something he knew. Aizawa refused to believe it. It wasn't something he could recognize in the end. It was something reanimated, manipulated, disgusting, it—Jesus.

He swayed forward as the image, that split second of recognition, forced its way back into his head. Aizawa pitched forward and let his hands find the walls of the bathroom stall, pressing against the sides until his knuckles turned red, then white. He attempted to prop himself up to no avail. His stomach churned urgently, how it felt whenever he had too much to drink or not enough sleep.

Aizawa's eyes begged to close, but he knew if he took his sights off the bathroom wall, images of what just transpired would flood back to him again. He couldn't do that again.

He thought he'd gotten past this grieving stage. It had taken him a long time to undo it and suppress it. Aizawa always thought that dead meant dead. That was how the world worked, even with quirks. It wasn't fair to defy that truth and open things back up so tastelessly. Not after so long. Not after the tragedy had long been put to rest.

Aizawa's chest jumped painfully as he gagged, his mouth filling with saliva instinctually. He swallowed it down, ignoring the sour taste and the shiver that wracked his body in response. 

They were monsters. Whoever did this to his friend was a monster. More monstrous than any Nomu. More hideous than what Shirakumo had been turned into. They couldn't just let him rest? Hell—after everything, Oboro wasn't allowed to rest?

He was going to be sick. 

Aizawa couldn't control his movements. His stomach convulsed against his brain's better judgement. He shivered, attempting to breathe through it as watery lines of cold sweat trickled down his face and the back of his neck. Everything in his body just wanted to reject itself, rid itself of what he'd seen and heard and felt today. With a full-body shudder, the man choked again on a gag stuck in the back of his throat. Then, with enough silence to fool a whole room, he emptied his stomach with nothing more than a handful of coughs.

It was quick, silent, without much struggle. The noise of it splashing into the toilet bowl echoed through the line of empty stalls and sinks, but Aizawa couldn't hear it over the sound of his ragged breathing. His face felt undeniably wet as he bent down and spat the taste out of his mouth. Round two came out quicker as if it knew Aizawa had somewhere to be later. After the third round, he flushed the toilet, slumped onto himself and let his breathing regulate.

Aizawa knew he should feel better after something like that. It had been a long time since something left him disgusted enough to vomit. But sitting here, his body curled up against the wall like crumpled-up foil, things felt far from okay. 

His feelings—whatever feelings he had left to show today—felt like they'd been pulled out of him against his will, brought up like another thick ribbon of vomit. The investigators had used him to crack some code, something that would help him get revenge on whoever had done this, but…

"Aizawa," a familiar voice came from outside and a hand knocked on the bathroom door. He tensed up, waiting for someone to enter. They never did. "You good, bro? We should get going."

He could recognize Hizahi's voice, trying his best not to sound as concerned as he did. Aizawa knew what those words really meant. Underneath it all, Hizashi was asking if he had to come in and see if he'd done something stupid. Aizawa recognized the same tone in his voice every time he landed in the hospital. 

Bringing someone into this, even someone he knew would understand…it felt too much to bear. He just wanted to forget this, but he couldn't.

"Yeah," Aizawa called out gruffly, trying to make this voice sound steadier than it was. "Yeah. Fine."

After everything they'd seen, he told Mic and Torino to give him five minutes. Five minutes, and then they could drag him back to school. He just needed to fix up his eyes. He needed to compose himself before returning to Hizashi's car and pretending nothing happened.

Pulling himself shakily off the floor, Aizawa blew his nose, still running from the pressure released upon spilling his guts. He washed his mouth out, then his hands. Finally, he applied a few drops to his eyes and pocketed them later. He didn’t bother looking at his reflection.

Hiding strategically behind his hair and readjusting his capture scarf, Aizawa pushed the door open as determined as he could muster. Sure enough, Hizashi and Torino stood a few feet away. For once, the blond was silent as he trailed along next to him. They both had a lot to think about.

"I know it doesn't seem like it right now to you, but I'd consider that a miracle," Gran Torino finally broke the silence. "It's not the one we all hoped for, but the fact that we could get him to talk at all was an incredible breakthrough." 

Neither of them could respond to that. Aizawa felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, mingling with the cold sweat stuck to his skin like glue. Thinking about it made him want to vomit again.

"So, what?" Mic's voice was so low that it was hard to hear. "What now?" 

Torino kept walking, as grim-looking as the rest of them. It was as if he never witnessed their outbursts earlier. Treating them like adults when they both felt like such kids.

"There's only one thing we can do from here," the older man stopped at a pad of numbers, typed in a series of them, and stood back as the large metal doors screeched open. It was comforting to know that everything he'd seen today was contained to this series of hallways. "We listen to what Shirakumo told us."

That wasn't Shirakumo, Aizawa wanted to say. He kept having to remind himself. These people should be locked up for even assuming that such a thing could still be Shirakumo. They had no idea what he was like back when he was Shirakumo. They couldn't take that purple-shadowed amalgamation and stick the name of a martyr onto it.

"I don't want to be called out of class again unless there's something else to show for it," Aizawa snapped out instead. He could feel his skin prickle and tried to imagine Hizashi's hand on his arm from before, something that now felt strikingly absent. "Don't waste my time."

I'll continue the investigation myself if no one else shows competence. That was what Aizawa knew he should add to that, but he just couldn't. Promising something like that right now would be a death wish. This entire ordeal was going to kill him, and just after he tried to lay it all to rest.

The elevator took them up to ground level. Hizashi didn't call him out on his harsh words like he had before they saw what they'd seen. He didn't tell Aizawa to calm down. There was no reason to be rational now.

"We'll be in touch. I imagine we'll be out on the field later this week," Gran Torino nodded in their general direction, barely bothering to look at them as the two wandered into the parking lot like a pair of zombies.

The passenger seat of the car was cold. Aizawa had to swallow back the taste in his mouth as the vehicle jerked to life. Within minutes, they found themselves back on the freeway in bitter silence.

"A miracle," Hizashi finally muttered. It was venomous, ready to strike at anyone who disagreed. His hands gripped the wheel like it was someone's neck. Someone's neck. Even after all these years, they couldn't shift the blame onto anyone specific. "What a load of shit. Torino's old, but he's not senile enough to forget that miracles are supposed to be fucking happy."

Aizawa turned and looked out the window instead. He couldn't look in Mic's direction anymore. They never spoke about it like they should have when it first happened, and he wasn't ready to do it now.

"And now what? They want us back to teach?" Hizashi continued under his breath. Hearing him below top volume was unnerving. "How do they expect us to train kids to fight things like that? When the hell did that become part of the job description?"

The blond laughed with disbelief, almost manic. Aizawa curled in on himself and viewed the reflection of the man in the window. He didn't want Hizashi to look at him. Didn't want anyone to look at him.

"We signed up for it," he said gruffly, but— Jesus—did they really? Was this really in the books when they first became teachers?

"Yeah," Mic laughed breathlessly, "Sure. Whatever, Aizawa. I'll have no problem conjugating verbs while thinking about the state of whatever we saw in—"

"Watch it," was all Aizawa could snap in the end. He could feel the tension in the car grow tenfold as his friend fell into silence, and fuck, bickering with Hizashi was always so awful when it was over something real. Watching the man get serious was like watching the sun crash out of the sky.

"Take a nap," Hizashi's hand dug into his shoulder, and Aizawa felt the need to shrug it off. "Until we get back, at least. You need it."

Aizawa didn't have it in him to argue, not even to tell him to fuck off. He let his head fall numbly against the cold window instead, allowing the frost to seep the rest of the warmth out of his body.

As if he could sleep after seeing something like that.

~~~

Aizawa knew what shock looked like. He had years in the industry to get accustomed to it. He'd seen it on the faces of civilians and in the unspoken body language of his past students. It stuck to the faces of Pros despite how tough they all seemed in tense moments.

He was forced to identify it in school and then trained to act on it in the field. When he enrolled as a teacher, mandatory courses and workshops on ensuring your students coped adequately with exposure to dangers became trivial.

Aizawa had seen enough shock to recognize it in himself, too. Or he thought he did. The USJ and Eri's rescue did a number on him, but even that eventually floated to the back of his head. He thought he knew himself by now, that nothing could phase him anymore. No injury or death or horrifying realization could get behind that hard exterior.

Whatever he used to believe was irrelevant now. This feeling wasn't going away like it was supposed to.

Aizawa wasn't quite sure what was happening now. Was this was a new development that would stick with him forever? Or maybe things had felt like this his whole life, and he was just noticing it now. It felt endless, the feeling of watching a hollowed out version of himself.

Aizawa was used to feeling detached. It was necessary for his work, but something about this felt painfully different. His hands barely felt like his hands now. The reflection looking back at him looked foreign, too old, too unfamiliar. His work after seeing Kurogiri felt more like a series of computer commands than any kind of mission with substance. Everything about him felt aimless. He couldn't tether himself back to solid ground. He couldn't even pretend to.

Maybe he had more in common with Nomu than he thought.

You're sickening, he told the person in front of him, the unrecognizable him. Comparing yourself to those things? What right do you have even entertaining that? 

After a day of carrying out orders like clockwork, saying the things he was supposed to say and plotting a well-deserved revenge plan with the other Pros, Aizawa couldn't help but feel like the rug that had been pulled out from under him wasn't even close to being back beneath his feet.

It could be a delayed response, he kept telling himself. That was entirely possible. He'd seen prolonged effects of bad moments in his students all the time, especially within this batch of first years. Midoriya and Bakugou faced off against one another over issues that happened years ago. Kirishima got a faraway look in his eyes when he watched Ashido in combat. Even the class reps had their rocky moments of self-consciousness and blinding rage.

But this kind of a prolonged response from a Pro? An employee? A mentor? It was unprofessional, even at its best. 

Aizawa didn't get it.

All they had in there with Shira—no, Jesus, Kurogiri—was a conversation. Nothing more than that. A conversation with something horrific, yes, but nothing compared to the other things they'd faced. Mic seemed angry but still just as functional as before. Why was this happening to him? Why now?

Pushing through it or taking time off seemed like a viable solution. In fact, Aizawa was sure Nezu would have forced him to take a few days to himself after going through something so awful, but it seemed impossible to think about now. Not when the mission to find out who'd done this was already underway.

It didn't take them long to zero in on the hospital, to find a name and a face. It wouldn't be long before Mic could blow the monster's brains out, and Aizawa could strangle it with his scarf until it turned blue.

Aizawa knew he should feel invigorated, finally allowing himself some kind of closure after years of grief. Hizashi couldn't wait for revenge, so why shouldn't he? Instead, he sat over his computer, watching confidential emails flood in about the operation. More and more Pros outside of UA had been copied to it.

He suppressed whatever feelings he had with blue light, his bed in the other room still made and untouched since the night before. He would read about the finer details of the operation over and over. He would stare at the unfinished profile of the man they suspect made the Nomu. 

If his eyes began to close, he would feel around in his desk drawer for eye drops and apply them. Rinse, repeat. Sleep wasn't going to happen just yet. 

"...Aizawa." 

The man nearly jumped out of his chair as a cold hand tugged at his sleeve, pulling him away from whatever harrowing thing kept him glued to his screen. Aizawa thought of the worst first. Early ambush, Nomu, another dead friend. He spun around, lack of sleep already filling him with irritation and misplaced adrenaline, ready to separate himself from whatever force had locked onto him.

It was only when his eyes strained in the half-lit room that—no—nothing was coming back to haunt him, after all.

"Eri," he breathed out, trying to keep his expression neutral rather than… whatever he was showing. "You snuck up on me."

Eri looked up at him, hand still gently gripping his shirt's sleeve. She was always so quiet, even when sitting and playing in her room. Aizawa preferred the silence compared to some of his wilder students. He knew she did, too, at least for now. Mirio suggested putting a bell on her to ensure no one tripped over her, the way she loved to sneak up behind them.

"You've been here a long time," the girl ignored his previous comment. She pointed over to his computer screen. "What is that?"

Aizawa's heart nearly fell into his stomach as he flipped back around, head running through all the graphic evidence he'd been looking into all afternoon and how he was going to make the poor girl doubly traumatized. He was lucky it was nothing. An email from the Endeavor agency. 

He sighed into his other sleeve. 

"Work," he spun the chair around slowly, bending down to her level. "I've been working. Is there something you need from me?" 

"It's dark," she said quietly, "But you aren't sleeping."

Aizawa felt the pounding in his head far more intensely than before. It used to be light out, he realized. The sun had nearly set, leaving the room in a dusky, half-lit glow. Eri was always a little too observant. 

"I'm doing some research for my next job," he said. The girl looked confused, and he realized she was probably too young to know what that meant. "I'm trying to know more." 

"Oh…" she looked down, thinking about it. Aizawa watched her carefully before she looked back up and stared right at him. "You didn't go to bed yesterday. I wanted water in the middle of the night, and you were awake. And you didn't fall asleep today like you always do."

Aizawa blinked unexpectedly, a bit of moisture coming back to his eyes. He supposed she was looking for a bit of reassurance from the blip in her everyday routine. "I've been busy. But everything's okay." 

"Did you get hurt?" Eri stood her ground. "Heroes get hurt sometimes. Lemillion said it."

Aizawa shook his head, trying not to chuckle. "I'm not injured." 

"What about here?" standing on her tip-toes, Eri leaned over and pressed her finger into his chest. Dragging it slowly, it landed right above his ribcage. Aizawa's shoulders tensed suddenly as he realized she was trying to find his heart. "When it hurts here a lot, I stay awake, too."

Her words pierced him more than he expected. His mouth felt dry. Eri wasn't supposed to worry about him. That wasn't her job. The fact that she understood something at such a high emotional level was both impressive and heartbreaking, and Aizawa felt sick thinking about it. Before he could reply, the door opened wider.

"Eri, Aizawa's working in here, remember? What did I say about going in without asking first?" A sunny voice accompanied by a pair of big hands came up behind her, hoisting her several feet in the air. The girl squirmed under Mirio's grip, eventually falling limp as he stuck her on his shoulders. The blond looked over at Aizawa, his smile too big for his face. "Sorry. I was in the bathroom. She's been wanting to come in here all afternoon."

She was really worried about him. Aizawa didn't like that for a number of reasons.

"Thank you for looking after her today," he crossed his arms as if trying to hide whatever part of his heart that Eri could see. "She'd be pretty bored with just me today." 

"It's no problem at all," Mirio let Eri situate herself on his shoulders and reached up to hold her dangling hand. "Big day coming up, right? All the teachers have been talking about it."

"An understatement," Aizawa's head throbbed with each word, and he was grateful to be sitting down. He wanted to put more eyedrops in, but…hadn't he just done that? 

"Lemillion says a big hug can make anyone feel better," Eri inserted herself back into the conversation. She still had her eyes locked on him. "Lemillion…can you tell him? Please?"

Mirio tilted his head to the side playfully.

"What's that? Does Mr. Aizawa need a hug?" he looked up at Eri and laughed, not noticing the frustration growing on her face. "For the sake of UA's future, maybe we should both volunteer!" 

"Very funny," Aizawa tried to deadpan, brush it off, and return to his work. But now, with the funny feeling of dread hanging off his arms, shoulders, and face, he couldn't help but feel it in his heart, too. 

~~~

Aizawa knew he should be preparing his body more for this moment. 

People were counting on him out there. His quirk was needed more than anything. They needed it to have a fighting chance with who they were up against.

He'd received special orders, classified instructions that blurred and warped on the paper when he looked at them. There were places he had to be. Times he needed to memorize. He couldn't overuse Erasure for anything unnecessary, had to save it for the pivotal moment he was sure to contribute to in a matter of days.

His allies instructed him to protect his eyes twice as much until the day came. He had to rest his body and ensure he wouldn't burn himself out before the battle began.

Aizawa would have taken the opportunity to sleep in an instant. The room had started to tilt at an angle, and his head pounded incessantly. He knew he needed to give his body a break. 

If only he could close his eyes without wanting to rear his head and vomit.

Sleeping was a no-go until that dreadful feeling let up—if it ever let up. For now, Aizawa found himself in the staff room. it was empty, as everyone else scrambled off to prepare for their anticipated confrontation with the Liberation Army.

The students and teachers participating in the fight found themselves on the field, coaching themselves and others on what to do in every conceivable scenario.

Aizawa was alone, pulled away from his students. They required him for "bigger things," meetings with Endeavor and the Hero Commission and whoever else had been recruited to take these people out. He stared down at his stack of papers, trying to lie to himself that he was being productive when he could barely lock his eyes on the words.

"Aizawa. Hey there." 

Correction. He was almost alone. It seemed he'd forgotten that one teacher at UA couldn't participate in the fight. 

"All Might," he greeted the man without turning his head, not bothering to straighten himself out and sit up. The staff was used to his informal, exhausted posture. The former symbol of peace was no exception. "You're not out training."

The older man stretched his arms above his head as he crossed the near-empty teacher's lounge. Aizawa should thank the man. Toshinori covered the classes he should have taught when he was pulled into the investigator's facility. He wondered if the man knew how important that was. There wouldn't be a solid attack plan like this if it weren't for that. 

"I'm giving them a breather. Letting them escape my iron grip," Toshinori laughed to himself, and Aizawa couldn't help but think it was ironic that All Might himself was teaching people about taking breaks. "Handed them off to Cementoss for the more endurance-level activities. Not much I can do in that department anymore, right?"

The man flexed whatever was left of his bicep and laughed again, a chuckle that quickly became a wet, crackling cough. The imagery of blood spilling out of the man's mouth didn't usually phase him, but this time, it made Aizawa visibly wince, his shoulders instinctively closing in on himself. He shook it off and tried to focus on the list of commands he'd barely been able to memorize.

"Right," he muttered.

Aizawa felt the world catch up with him late as he turned his head and watched a blurry version of the hero on the other side of the room.

All Might didn't seem to notice his colleague's off-ness. Instead, he chose to cross the room, over by the coffee machine that Aizawa knew was there, even if it blended messily into the wall when he tried to focus on it. He strained his eyes at the golden silhouette insulting his eyes instead.

"And what about you?" Toshinori asked curiously, "Last time I checked, you're supposed to be recharging your battery. I didn't expect anyone to be in here with everyone out preparing." 

Aizawa knew he couldn't use any kind of usual excuse. Prep work, mission planning, debrief, lunch break…none of that mattered until the League was dealt with and things could lull back to normal. He winced again as All Might flicked on the second set of overhead lights. He could hear the noise of a spoon clinking against a coffee mug. He blinked. His eyes felt painfully dry, like they could shrivel up and fall out of his head.

"Reviewing instructions," he answered slowly. He tried to keep that monotonous tone in his voice. It was unexpectedly difficult. 

"What, for the ambush?" Toshinori, coffee presumably in hand, came closer. Aizawa tried not to flinch away as two blonde strands of hair poked over the back of the couch, peering down at the page in his hand. "They handed those out the day they located the hospital. You still haven't looked at them?" 

God damn the man for being so nosy. He couldn't even fight this battle. Why did Toshinori have to know every detail about the operation? He bit back whatever honesty he had for the man and tried to say something less damaging. 

"I can leave if you don't want company," Aizawa tried to squash the waver in his words.

There was a momentary pause before Toshinori put his hands up defenselessly. "No—no, I don't mean it like that. I don't mind at all. I guess I'm just surprised."

"Surprised," Aizawa repeated tiredly, like a robot. He'd run out of filler words, so he had to take them from someone else. 

"Normally, you'd take up any offer to get some sleep."

The energy in the room shifted quickly. Something about those words felt loaded, but he couldn't bring himself to read between the lines. 

Aizawa paused, straining his eyes to focus on the man as he rounded the side of the couch and sat down next to him. Toshinori kept his distance, but something about this felt off. Everything felt off. He wasn't himself. How would he aid in this ambush if he wasn't himself?

"I've slept more than enough," he lied through his teeth, hands falling into weak fists. If he wasn't careful, the papers he held in front of him would crumple. And then a lot more would crumble after that.

"Sure, sure," Toshinori offered him a wry smile. "Your eyes are so bloodshot, they're making mine feel dry."

The world tilted again, and Aizawa tried not to let the secret slip that he could feel the earth rotating beneath him. The retired hero was speaking again, and he snapped himself out of this disorienting feeling by forcing himself to respond. 

"What?"

"I said you look like you're ready to fall over," a quick pause before, "Seriously, when was the last time you slept?"

The roaring in his ears was back. Aizawa ignored the cold sweat that gathered on the back of his neck and swallowed. He'd get up and leave if he trusted himself to walk, but right now, he couldn't tell if he was swaying or if the rest of the room was. His eyes burned. 

"Everything's under control," he forced out, even though that was far from the truth. "I'm doing what's been asked of me to ensure this runs smoothly."

"You don't have to spit out whatever lines you're feeding to the Commission," Toshinori pressed, uncharacteristically hard for someone who barely knew him. "Sleep is important—even more so for someone like you. If you need someone to look after Young Eri, I'm sure we can arrange for—"

"Everything's under control." 

Aizawa meant it as an end to their conversation, a plea for the man to stop prying or else he would discover something he didn't like. Because everything was not under control. It unravelled like a spool of thread, too thin and wispy to pick up and fix. 

Aizawa considered getting up, but where would he go? Eri was already worried enough, and only so many places at UA felt so secluded. A part of him thought he could make it to his feet, even if his body felt stuck to this couch like a magnet. Toshinori's slim figure remained silently next to him. Neither refused to move.

"I know what happened with Kurogiri." 

And just like that, the world began to spin out of control again. Aizawa had gotten used to the shaky ground he now stood on, but this was so much more nauseating. The couch felt like quicksand. It pulled him in, crawling up his back and filling his nose and mouth. 

Aizawa shifted his eyes to All Might, who stared into his mug. He looked guilty. He always looked so fucking guilty over every bad thing that happened.

"Sorry. I probably should have started with that. I wasn't quite sure how to bring it up, if at all," Toshinori set down his coffee and shifted over to Aizawa, whose body threatened to turn away. "I got a call from Gran Torino after it happened. I don't know the full details about the interrogation, but I know enough."

He felt an endless pit in his stomach now. Any minute now, he would start to choke on his own breath. 

"Just hearing about it makes my stomach turn," he muttered, and Aizawa stared forward, out the window and off into space. All Might shuffled closer, trying to catch his gaze. His warmth did nothing to shatter the cold he could feel down to the bone. "I'm sorry you had to go through something like that."

None of this is your place to know, he wanted to snap back, among a million other things. I don't want to hear what you have to say about sacrifice. I don't want a speech about not giving up. I want to be left alone. I don't want to be left alone. I don't know what to do. I don’t know what I want.

Exhaustion took over any motivation to be angry. It took away motivation to be anything at all. No matter what fleeting thought came to mind, Aizawa couldn't do anything but try not to sway with the earth. The sky on the other side of the window looked hazy.

"Torino sounded worried about it on the phone. After seeing you now, I think he has every right to be."

That monster that Shirakumo had become  tried to say his name. Shouta. He almost heard it. It sounded so painful, horrifically human. His heart rate climbed until he could barely mask his breath, coming in and out of his mouth unnaturally. Everything felt surreal, and he refused to blame it on the days of sleep he'd missed.

"Do you remember what you said to me a few days ago?" a low, gentle voice pierced through his thoughts, "I can still teach people, even if things are different for me now."

Had he really said that? It sounded wise. Something a teacher would say. Someone who had everything under control.

"Yeah," he forced himself to speak. It was painful doing so. The blurred room had a mind of its own now, his vision swarming like a watercolour painting, just like before. "I said it. What's your point?"

Toshinori was silent for what felt like too long. Then, an alarming and unexpected hand fell onto Aizawa's back. He inhaled sharply as the hand touched the back of his shirt. It sent a shudder down his entire body, one he wished he could control.

"I don't want to overstep," He could almost see All Might's sunken, sombre smile just outside his periphery. "But it feels to me like you need a teacher more than anyone else right now."

That declaration shook him like paper in the wind. Aizawa didn't like feeling 16 again when he was well past 30. The sensation was suffocating. He was an adult now, yet he couldn't stop thinking about how defenseless and childish he felt back when everything first happened.

As if on instinct, Aizawa reached for his eye drops with a trembling hand, cursing to himself as he realized he'd already gone through his other bottle. He couldn't do anything right. He hadn't done anything right this entire school year. 

"Your eyes are in pretty bad shape," the voice attached to the hand on his back spoke up again. Aizawa could feel the man's fingers twitch, an unexpected warmth passing over him. He suppressed the urge to shiver again. He felt so cold. "If you don't sleep, at least let them close. Just for a few minutes, and hear me out on what I have to say."

The soft, authoritative voice blanketed over his thoughts. Aizawa's body felt like static as he fought over whether it was a good or bad idea to plunge his sight back into darkness. He kept seeing things that weren't there when he closed his eyes but his retinas couldn't take much more light. It burned to keep them open. 

Finally, he hunched forward and stopped fighting it. Aizawa thought it would take everything in him to keep them like that, but the temporary relief it brought to his head was like a drug.

He tried not to let his thoughts wander back to Shirakumo, but that felt impossible now. It wasn't just that face anymore, the one he saw in the purple smoke. It was the building. The weather that day. The last expression he saw on his friend's face. Aizawa breathed in a little too harshly, as if even closing his eyes was too torturous.

"You can't be thinking straight, thinking you can rush into battle like this." Toshinori's hand was still pressed against his back. Aizawa kept his eyes closed, lids screwed shut a little too tight. "So tell me what you are thinking."

Aizawa couldn't help another strained, shaky exhale. He wasn't even sure what he was saying anymore—if he was saying anything at all.

"I think it should have been me instead," he choked out roughly, trying and failing to steady his voice. The silence afterwards was deafening, as if he'd revealed his most coveted secret. It had to be obvious, the way he held himself. Aizawa hadn't stayed alive all this time for his own sake.

They both sat there, letting the air fill the gaps between them. Aizawa regretted putting that thought into words.

"I know what it feels like to see someone come back from the dead," Toshinori finally said. Aizawa let his hands find his face and he redirected his breath into his palms. "I've seen it in enemies I thought were gone. Enemies that came back and continued to hurt others. For that, I'll never be able to forgive myself. It felt like I failed my only job."

Dead is supposed to stay dead. Thinking that was the only way to cope with grief. Losing all hope of seeing them again was a part of the process, and now everything had been turned on its head. Dead is supposed to stay dead. Aizawa felt like he'd been screaming that since the interrogation, but no one seemed to understand it.

"But…I see it in the kids, too." Toshinori’s hand moved over to Aizawa's shoulder. It felt strangely solidifying, both his grip and his unexpected words. "I see people who are gone come back to life in the students we teach. It's like I'm staring right at them sometimes." He paused. Aizawa could hear the smile in his voice. "I know you see it, too. It's one of the twisted perks of staying alive this long." 

Toshinori laughed softly at that, and Aizawa felt something wet drip onto the palms of his hands. His eyes were just recovering moisture. This wasn't anything more than that. He still found himself sniffling in response.

"Don't apologize for being alive." The space between them grew smaller, and Aizawa could feel an arm sling around him, loose yet confident in his motions. "You said that to me too, Aizawa."

If Aizawa were in any other state, he would have strangled him for violating the five-foot barrier of aura he exuded. Instead, he brought his sleeves up to his closed eyes and let his breath grow wet and unsteady. 

"I know you're hurting. It's not hard to see it now," Toshinori's half-hug felt surprisingly strong for his current form. "I know it's unfair that people expect you to move on from what you saw so quickly. You deserve more time to grieve instead of dealing with all these loose ends. I wish I could give that to you now, but I can't." the man looked away for a moment as if he couldn't handle saying that last part. "I'm so sorry for not being that anymore." 

Those words felt more like an apology to the world than just him. All Might sounded disappointed that he could no longer prop everything up on his shoulders, and Aizawa hated how good it felt to have his thoughts spoonfed to him from another source. It helped him think less. He didn't want to think anymore. He wanted to drift, ignore how he felt and what he'd seen.

"No matter what's right, avoiding sleep will make everything feel worse."

Aizawa couldn't do anything but nod thickly. He hated being wrong, but everything this week repeatedly proved otherwise. He sniffled again. His sleeve was getting wet.

He really needed to pull it together. 

"I want to," Aizawa finally said, not moving from his position. He thought to get up again but a part of him knew that would be difficult. The previous symbol of peace could ward off Shirakumo's ghost with his presence now, but that wouldn't last once he got up and stumbled to his room. "But I don't know if it's possible." 

He didn't like how his voice sounded hanging in the air. It pathetic and desperate. He didn't know why All Might of all people had been the one to make him break. Despite the man's insecurities, he still had the aura of a hero. A protector.

"If you fight in this state, it won't just be you who dies," Toshinori spoke, "I don't think your body has much of a choice."

He could barely handle closing his eyes. Exhaustion transformed into panic again. He couldn't go back to his room. He couldn't worry Eri or Hizashi or any of his students, who were undoubtedly much braver and more passionate than he could ever be.

Aizawa couldn't stop himself from admitting how he truly felt.

"My mind says otherwise." 

Toshinori was still for a moment, and just like that, he seemed to move without thinking. Quickly and ungracefully, he lifted both arms out and wrapped Aizawa in a tight hug. It was a proper one that squeezed his chest and stomach into one and forced his head to rest in the place between the hero's chest and neck. Aizawa couldn't hide the trembling in his shoulders, letting his head fall onto the man's chest. His eyes swarmed with tears, and he blinked, his scarf catching them as they fell.

This sight would have been unseemly at any other time, but Aizawa couldn't find it in him to care. It felt like his chest had been ripped open and exposed, and he couldn't help but fall limp like Eri had the other day under Mirio's care. He was good at being quiet—silent with everything he'd ever done—but the way his breath shook him and the rest of his upper half felt strikingly loud.

When Toshinori broke the hug, Aizawa found the courage to look up and finally meet his eyes. They were teeming with guilt…or maybe it was more like understanding. 

"I'm here for awhile. If you try again, I'll make sure you aren't disturbed," Toshinori said, as if to really say, I'll be here to protect in whatever way I can.

It was so like him. All Might's state of mind hadn't changed much with the loss of his body.

Aizawa couldn't argue. He was no stranger to napping in untraditional places. He wrapped his arms around himself, head falling forward into his scarf. The world still spun beneath him, even with his eyes closed. Right now, it seemed less like quicksand and more like…nothing. Open air. More neutral than before. 

"Did I ever tell you what happened to those water filters I ordered for delivery? UA security thought the delivery guy tampered with them. Said they could be bombs or poison. I could only use them if I went out and bought them myself…I asked what difference it made if I bought them in person instead of online… you're not gonna believe what they said…"

Aizawa knew what the man was doing. It was painfully purposeful. Filling the room with mindless words instead of the obvious. You only have so much time left before leaving for Jaku Hospital. People are counting on you. You need to think more about living for your own sake. You need to sleep now.

Like always, All Might's actions somehow spoke louder than his words. 

As he finally drifted off, he couldn't help thinking that maybe Eri was right.

___

If you got this far, thank you for reading!! As always, my ask box is open for any thought/requests :)

[lycankeyy]

This is a random dark thing but I was looping Too Young again which is like The "fc!bf's negative emotions" song so idk why I'm surprised BFJQHDJ ANYWAY. A thing w fc!Pico is that he makes a lot of offhand jokes abt how like he Should be dead or making rly dark jokes about his near-death experiences just bc of the amount of shit he's been through and he doesn't really see a problem with it but I feel like after The Hanzou Incident BF starts saying similar shit and Pico's like woah hey wait a minute that's illegal you can't do that

[cakequequito]

MORE ALEX DRAWINGS BC I LOVE HIM A LOT

(and u know the thing, if there is no fanart of what u want then do it yourself)

[honeyconez]

guys hear me out would painis cupcake pay taxes? Because he’s not like mega insane like ass pancakes I think he’d pay his taxes in my professional opinion.