#Sunny might have been able to understand him

[m0thwinged]

[fligniuz]

playing favorites

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ your cute new tutor takes quite a liking to you. (or: four times luigi kept his feelings to himself + one time he didn’t)

word count: 10.8k • part of my study buddies series (read here!) • nsfw (with some fluff) • read on ao3

tag list : @mangionebabymama , @mangobabygirl , @jenisaswift13 , @mangionesdaisy , @iinfinitelimits , @daydreamingwithluigi , @nephris , @mashkatzi , @straw8berry , @bean-is-reading

warnings : f! reader; EXPLICIT; unprotected (PRACTICE SAFE SEX); creampie; oral (f! receiving); luigi being a frickin nerd🤓

notes : this one is a BEHEMOTH sorry…mcdonald’s 1974 garfield lead cups my beloved. also tumblr wouldn’t let me format the math right sorry :-(

— 1 —

The weather is clear and sunny on the day that Luigi Mangione first meets you.

Which makes quite a lot of sense, in hindsight, because an entrance so poetic was fitting for you. If there were storm clouds hanging over him prior, then your rays were the straw that broke the camel’s back, parting his stress and his loathing to make way for a new feeling, something fuzzy and sickly sweet and warm to the touch. Something that eats at him like moths biting holes into throw pillows. Something that most people might call attraction.

Luigi is not most people. No, he is one of his own, a contrarian at heart—but a sensitive one, someone with guts and a brain equipped to handle nuance, a quality he has always taken pride in. He thinks for himself and is careful with the words he uses and he takes this much caution for one reason only: the world is unpredictable, far too large and far too fast for one man to make sense of all at once. Nothing in life is truly simple.

That’s why you scare him so much, at first. Because what he feels the moment he lays his eyes on you is simple. And it shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t be able to pin his immediate impressions down with one word, one noun, let alone one with such a heavy and yet universally understandable significance.

You defy all of his expectations. And at first, he is not so fond of it.

He thinks of this day often, and so he remembers nearly every detail: you’re at a house party, some stupid fucking house party, and so is he—what can he say? There isn’t much he wouldn’t do for free booze and an excuse to not think for a few hours. Tonight is not as fun, though. Several problems: the friends he’d care to hang out with are already sloshed (annoying) or sneaking off with someone (scandalous), everybody else here is only interested in doing much the same (boring), and the booze in question isn’t even that good (disappointing). So he resorts instead to his next favorite thing to do: snooping, of course.

Well, he prefers the term investigating. Makes him sound like the Pink Panther and not a nerd with ridiculously high standards looking for something to do.

This place is big, and about five minutes before you walk into his life—or, rather, before he walks into yours—he finds himself in a hallway with far too many rooms to pick from. Some doors are cracked open, some are shut, almost like his own little haunted house. He’s still trying to calculate what his chances of meeting you would have been had he opened a different door that night.

It’s not often that Luigi is distracted by a woman, but something about you catches his eye. Probably because he doesn’t find you among the action. No—he finds you curled up in the corner of a spare bedroom, with a notebook in your lap and a pencil in your hand and, of course, a red Solo cup filled with something amber in color and bubbly. You’re wearing a striped tank-top and some jean shorts, your boots off and to the side of you, hair tied into a loose updo and wispy around your face. You have your jewelry on, and some mascara, and some ankle-length socks printed with Garfield’s face. Garfield socks. You have on Garfield socks.

The moment he saw you he thought of one word only: trouble. You were going to be trouble for him.

“Sorry,” he says abruptly, still fisting the doorknob. “I didn’t know someone was in here.”

Yeah. What’s next, he was looking for the bathroom? Good one, Mangione.

You look up at him, face motionless, then back down at your notebook. “Now you do.”

Uh oh. Do you want him to leave? Is this your room? Your house? Who the fuck are you? He asks you just that—not verbatim, of course, but politely, subtly, a meek little “is there something more exciting happening in here?” Smooth. Not accusatory, he hopes.

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Do you find math exciting?”

You’re doing math at a party?

“Actually, yeah,” he laughs. “It’s my minor.”

“Oh, great, you’re just the little freak I need. You can help me with my homework. If you’re not doing anything better.”

You’re flicking your pencil back and forth between your fingers, and he really can’t identify the look on your face. Luigi has encountered an enigma in this mystery bedroom. It’s not like he came here to take on the complex world of mathematics with a stranger—quite the opposite—but he can’t possibly think of anything better to waste his time with than whatever this is going to become.

Sitting down criss-cross in front of you, he asks, “do you always do your math homework at parties?”

“Not on purpose,” you say, scribbling something. “I was expecting this to be more fun. But my friend just invited a bunch of frat guys and some girls she thinks are cooler than me, and I had my backpack in her car, so now I’m making better use of my time.”

Ah. Perhaps your circles are more interlinked than he first thought. There is an odd sense of kinship that he feels at your words; as if the roles you occupy in those circles are not so different, either.

“Would you still want my help if I was one of those frat guys?” he asks.

You look up. “You’re in a frat?”

“Phi Kappa Psi,” he affirms.

“I’m employed. I don’t know what any of those words mean.”

“The words are Greek,” he says uselessly, adding, “we’re just a bunch of nerds, honestly. Like, I’m into Pokémon and statistics and books, for the most part. Probably not the kind of frat guy you’re used to.”

“So I was right!” you exclaim, grinning. “You are a little freak!”

Oh, you’re funny. He doesn’t know who you are, or where this is going, but he knows that you’re funny and that he likes you. Likes your company.

“Which means…” you flip back a page in your notebook and then set it down in front of you, mirroring his posture. Pointing at a problem (labeled with an aggressive and thickly-drawn question mark), you ask, “you can help me factor these stupid polynomials, right?”

Luigi knows a lot about factoring polynomials. And, much like he hinted, he knows just about everything any human being could stand to learn about mathematics before either pulling their own brain out of their skull or just falling asleep. So after nearly two hours of helping you with algebra you’re finally packing up your things, just seconds before you do something that changes him forever: you hand him your phone, opened up to an empty contact page.

“What’s this?”

“Put your number in, dork,” you explain. “I’m gonna need your help again eventually, and I don’t want to have to hunt you down. So give me your number.”

Oh. Wait. Is this a thing now? Oh, fuck. He has to swallow his excitement and steady his hands when he grabs your phone, typing quickly.

Chuckling, he quips, “am I tutoring you now, or something?”

“Call it whatever you want,” you sigh, shrugging your backpack over your shoulders. “My professor sucks and you’re good at explaining things. I’m gonna take advantage of that. Is that cool with you?”

It’s cool with him, alright. He proudly hands you your phone and shoots you an emphatic nod.

Your brows furrow at the screen. “Your name is Luigi?”

And there it is.

“Not the one you’re familiar with, I take it?” he jokes.

You look him up and down, then, surveying him. “Well, you don’t have the mustache,” you note. “And you’re not as tall as him, either. So…nope. Not familiar.”

You’re walking away. You’re walking out the door and just leaving him with that, leaving him with possibly the biggest ouch to his ego and a racing heartbeat and something warm and fuzzy in his nerves. The memory plays out in his head like it’s a videotape of his own wedding day; each second is a frame burnt into his mind’s eye, your features bouncing off the television screen, your smile, your eyes, your hands, swallowing him whole. Some days he has it on repeat. Some days he hates it, hates the way you make him feel. Some days he never wants it to end.

He doesn’t know in that moment what you’ll do to him over the following months. What he does know, unequivocally, is that he likes whatever you’ve got going on.

— 2 —

One Thursday night, a number he doesn’t quite recognize sends him a curious text:

(###) ###-#### : yo yo yo

Hm. It’s difficult to theorize from just three short words. Only way out is through:

Yo

Who’s this?

And a few moments later:

(###) ###-#### : OMG i’m so rude i’m sorry!! this is the girl you helped with math at that party last week? idk if u remember

If he remembers? If he remembers? He doesn’t really expect to hear from you again, but alas, you continue to surprise him.

You are just full of surprises.

Speaking of, he still doesn’t know your name. Or really anything about you. But for whatever reason he can’t get his mind off of you, your banter, your handwriting, the face you make when you’re concentrating.

Some of that might be why he shows up at the campus library at 5:30 p.m. that evening, searching for you amid shelving and occupied tables. Some of it might be motivated by the fact that you sent him this text, verbatim, when he asked you for your name:

Garfield Girl : help me study for my unit test tomorrow and i’ll tell you >:-)

He doesn’t find you easily. Probably because you show up five minutes late, panting, apologizing profusely.

“Fuck, sorry, I am so sorry,” you whisper-speak, shrugging your backpack off your shoulders and plopping into the booth across from him. “I ran, like, so fast to get here on time, but my lit class is all the way across this building—”

Luigi shakes his head, brows furrowed. “Nah, don’t apologize, I honestly—”

“How long have you been waiting?” you frown.

“Not long at all. I just got here. I was about to tell you.”

Your demeanor now is quite different from the one he got to see when he first met you. The contrast between your cool, unbothered, solitary self at the house party and you now, stumbling over yourself in embarrassment and practically vomiting apologies, is an experience that not even the word whiplash can adequately convey. Anxiety is a motherfucker, he guesses; either that or he can blame it on the alcohol, since you were drinking. Do you make a habit of doing drunk math? He wonders what other habits you have in store. The quirks he’s borne witness to so far have only failed to deter him from what is quickly becoming a problem, emotionally speaking.

“Do you want to show me what you need help with?” he asks.

You fumble through an unlabeled folder and whip out a stapled packet of papers as well as the same notebook you had with you the night of the party, setting them out on the table and planting your backpack next to you. He can only imagine what the hell you have stuffed into that thing. It’s beat up, fraying around the edges, perhaps a relic from high school that you never bothered to replace. You have some keychains hanging from a front pocket, which you pull a pencil and a red pen out of: a braid of colorful yarn, a beetle-shaped Tamagotchi, a figurine of a cat laying atop some nigiri. He spots some pins in various places, too; he can’t quite read all of them from where he’s sitting, but he can make out one with Garfield and Odie clearly. You love Garfield. So cute.

“Right! Okay.” You clear your throat and twirl your pencil between your fingers. Another tic of yours. “We have a study guide, and I’m almost finished with it but I wanted you to look my answers over. And help me with the ones I get wrong.”

Luigi frowns. “You’re assuming that you got some wrong.”

“Well, yeah,” you say simply, handing him your pen. “I’m no good at math. It’s my worst subject.”

“Lots of people think that about themselves…” he starts, folding out the study guide so that he can look over the first page while you finish up the last. “…until they meet me.” Then he flashes you a proud little grin. “So I’d say you’re in good hands.”

Ugh. Corny. Maybe too cocky? You give him an uncertain smile and shrug, leaning forward on your elbows to look at the problems you haven’t solved yet. As he’s looking over your study guide he starts to realize that maybe you’re not that far off��you seem to struggle a lot with graphing (who doesn’t, though?) and systems of equations specifically. But it’s nothing he can’t fix! He draws a little star next to the problems you get wrong so that he can explain them to you later.

As you’re filling out a table of coordinates you perk up. “Luigi?”

“Hm?”

“I wanted to apologize,” you start, “for, um, the way I acted when we met.”

He pauses, looks up at you and watches as you continue to work. “What do you mean?”

You stay silent for a moment, deep in thought, before confessing, “I feel like I made a bad impression. I was kinda short with you, and I wasn’t having the best night anyway, and I just feel embarrassed about it.“

Luigi blinks at you. It kind of breaks his heart that you’re this insecure. Beer must make you confident, he deduces, since this anxious, squirrely mood seems to be your natural state.

“I don’t know if you got that vibe from me,” you add hesitantly.

He offers a firm shake of his head, curls bouncing. “I didn’t.”

“Oh,” you mutter. “Well. Okay. I’m sorry.”

For what? You’re hard to pin down. And, distantly, Luigi gets the feeling that maybe you aren’t even sure what you’re so worried about, or why you need to be so concerned with his perceptions of you. He considers a class insecurity on your part—it was no secret that Luigi came from money, that he had gotten most of what he wanted throughout his life, no ifs, ands, or buts. Maybe you had become acquainted with that fact. Maybe it made you feel some sort of way about yourself, no matter his own flaws or faults. Was it his salt of the Earth comportment? His seemingly boundless wisdom? His charming, boyish good looks? He certainly hoped for none of the above.

He read once that anxious people yearn most for comfort—that the best remedy for confusing or seemingly needless “I’m sorry”s was simple reassurance.

“That’s alright,” Luigi says. “No need to apologize. Want to go over your study guide?”

At your nod he flips back to the second page, where most of the issues lay in front of him.

“So,” he starts, pointing at problem #9. A word problem. Great fun. “Everything else you’re doing fine with, from what I see, but you struggle with questions like this.”

“Word problems?”

He grins. “Nah. Those are hard for everybody. What’s this one asking you to do?”

How much pure acid should be mixed with two gallons of a 40% acid solution in order to get a 70% acid solution?

“It’s a mixture problem,” you observe, “so we have to make a chart.”

“Right,” he nods. You draw out a new one on a blank page in your notebook, a three by four table labeled accordingly: # of Gallons. Acid %. Amount of Acid.

“I can fill it out from here,” you say, adding, “but I can’t figure out how to solve these.” You’re scribbling numbers into the chart, correctly converting your percentages into decimals and noting the necessary two gallons of 40% acid.

Luigi gestures toward your notebook, and you slide it to him. He leans in close to write a basic equation into your chart.

“If we need two gallons of 40% acid…” he muses, “...then we can let x equal the amount of 70% acid we need to mix it with, right?”

“Mhm.”

“So, if we combine these two columns,” he gestures, “and add two to 0.40, then we get this equation.”

He copies it in chicken scratch below your table: x + 0.80 = 0.70 (2 + x).

“Did you catch all of that?”

You look positively flabbergasted. “Wait. So you just basically add the columns together? And then make them equal to each other?”

“Yup. Basically.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you say, “nobody’s ever broken it down like that before.”

Leaning toward your notebook, you start working out the equation the two of you came up with—you distribute, combine the like terms, isolate the variable…and in less than a minute, you have an answer: x = 2.

“Oh,” you gasp. “Oh! Oh my god! You got me an answer! Like, one that works!”

Luigi smiles, and he can already feel the tip of his nose flushing. Ugh. “Nah, you got that answer. You worked it out yourself.”

“I know, but…” You’re already working on the next mixture problem, drawing out another chart, this time with three rows by three columns. “You showed me how to put the equation together. I didn’t know how to do that. Thank you.”

You tuck your hair behind your ear and flash him a meek little grin.

Goddamnit. Goddamnit.

It hits him then that you’re beautiful. Devastatingly beautiful.

“By the way,” he straightens up in the booth. “You didn’t make a bad impression. When we met, I mean.”

Glancing up at him, you punch some numbers into your phone’s calculator.

“I think you’re intriguing,” he says, trying hard to focus on breathing steadily and keeping his tone even. “I like spending time with you. And I like helping you with math and watching you figure things out.”

The smile on your face haunts him in the weeks that follow.

You never tell him your name. But lucky for him, you don’t really have to, because before you can stuff your study guide into your backpack he catches a glimpse of the first page, sees your name printed in your script in the far left corner. To learn something new about you sends his heart soaring.

He changes your contact as soon as he gets back to his dorm, but not before you can send him a text:

Garfield Girl : thank you so much for helping me on such short notice!

i am foreva indebted to u ^_^

Luigi sleeps soundly for the first time in a while.

— 3 —

By the time your meetings become a regular thing Luigi is in far too deep to pull himself out.

Thursdays quickly become his favorite day of the week, because he gets to meet up with you—in the library, at his dorm, at yours, and, much to your chagrin, sometimes at the Phi Kappa Psi house—to talk about one of his favorite things in the world: mathematics. He gets to show you how to rationalize radicals and solve right triangles, watch you twist your pencil and quirk your brows in concentration and giggle with joy when you finally understand something he’s taught you, and he gets to do it every week. What could possibly be better?

The problem is that he’s expected to keep himself under control simultaneously. That is a more difficult ask. And he feels awful, really, because even though this isn’t technically official and even though he’s technically never acted on his feelings it feels so, so wrong to be so into you. So wrong on so many levels.

…Perhaps playing out every memory of you that he’s bound to his hippocampus in his own personal chimera of a jerk-off reel isn’t the best way to relieve the stress that comes with this predicament. But he’s a man with very natural and very vivid desires, and what he does in his own shower is his business. He can’t help but think that you’re a dream. He can’t help but beat his dick to the fleeting, gentlemanly glances he’s caught of your ass in those tight jeans, the thought of you taking him in your perfect mouth, spit dribbling from the corners of your lips, down your chin, between your tits. There is a particular image he has of you on your back with him fucking you, your legs tossed over his shoulders, your face flushed and your hair wild and your voice in his ear, whimpering, chanting “yes, yes, yes,” in time with his thrusts, arching into him and gushing all over his cock—

And he could never have any of it, any of you, because there’s no way in hell he would ever let this progress past whatever it is right now. Luigi is completely fine with coming in his hand until the end of time if it means that things stay exactly as they are between the two of you. You seem to be benefiting quite a lot from your meetings with him; you have a much better grasp on the concepts that confused you before, your confidence is building, and, best of all, your test scores have reflected your improvements. No, it’s not official, but breaching this boundary that he’s set as your tutor would eat at him for the rest of his life, and all of his guilt would be earned, in his eyes. He has a sort of power over you, at the very least an influence, and it would be against every moral he’s ever held himself to if he were to use that to fulfill his perverted, intimate fantasies of you. You’re doing well, all thanks to his help and your willingness, and he would hate to ruin that for you.

But if you felt the same…

No. That would be ridiculous. You’re a smart woman and a very responsible one at that—you’re focused on your schoolwork and your job and working toward a better life one step at a time, just as you should be, and the last thing you need is some lovesick boy interrupting everything for you. But when Luigi lets himself dream, just for a moment, in a world where you felt the same and wanted the same, needed it like he does, he would let you have control over everything you do together, let you make your own choices at your own discretion. He would only let you fuck him if you asked for it. No exceptions.

So, for now, he can indulge on his own and keep this problem under wraps—his own little secret.

Most of the time, when the two of you aren’t talking math, you’re talking about each other. Especially yourself.

But sometimes, you ask about him. Once, towards the beginning of your relationship, you asked what kind of ice cream he liked and brought some to your next meeting to celebrate passing a test. Another time you asked about his family: if he had any siblings, what his parents do, where he was raised. Sometimes you inquire about things he doesn’t expect—what cartoons he watched growing up, if he likes pineapple on his pizza, the exact time and place of his birth. Sometimes you ask about his studies. Sometimes you branch out into the weird and nerdy: his favorite Pokémon, countries he’s seen and would like to see, potential AI world domination. Luigi has never liked talking about himself, but when it’s you showing interest, you wanting to know, he feels like he could run his mouth for hours. And you actually care. You listen to what he has to say and genuinely process it with your ears and your brain, and then you respond with your mouth (and your hands, when you’re really worked up). You are uniquely human. You are autonomous and brimming with ideas and he loves every single one.

Today, you’re interested in his linguistic abilities:

“Luigi.” You’re sitting across from him on your bed, scrawling notes on a worksheet that the two of you have been banging out for the last half hour or so. You put your pencil down and rest your head in your hands. “You’re Italian, right?”

“Who, me?” Luigi grins. “Yeah, I am. Why?”

“I was wondering if you can speak Italian.”

He quirks his eyebrow and tilts his head to the side, shaking his hand, as if to say it’s so-so. “Kinda? Not really. I have a very basic understanding, but I’m definitely not fluent.”

“Basic?” You pull your knees up to your chest. “Define basic. Like, ‘¿dónde está la biblioteca?’ type stuff?”

He giggles. “I can say please and thank you and, yeah, I can ask to go to the bathroom and all that shit. Beginner level. Easy stuff.”

It’s probably better to leave out the fact that he’s specifically learned a few pet names, too. Just in case.

“My mom tried to teach me some when I was younger, but I never really took to it,” he adds, scratching his palm. “She has this YouTube channel where she teaches Italian.”

“Whaaaat? That’s cool. Your mom sounds cool, I mean.” You pick up your pencil again, pausing, cocking your head. “Actually, I probably would hate it if my mom was on YouTube. I feel like that’s either really dope or really humiliating.”

“She’s niche,” he shrugs. “Nobody has ever asked me about it before, so she can’t be that famous.”

There is another little fidget that you do when the two of you are alone together: you bite the end of your pencil, chewing carefully on wood and polymer. Each little detail Luigi notices about you strokes a notch in his heart that he never knew existed, one that you carved with your bare hands the moment you met him.

“I think it’s neat that you do know some Italian,” you say, smiling meekly. “I’ve always wanted to learn another language, but I’m not sure if I have the brain capacity for it. Even knowing basic stuff is impressive.”

He smiles—probably blushes, much to his horror—and lightly nudges you with his foot and tells you that your brain has plenty of room for other languages, that he’s nothing special. That you think of him as such has his own brain melting in his skull, burning from the heat of his attraction to you. Somehow you achieve something Luigi thought he’d never find in another human being: you make him feel good about himself. He dedicates so much of his time to bettering himself and it’s nice, really fucking nice, to have that hard work affirmed by someone he’s so drawn toward. Someone so beautiful and witty and silly and kind. Someone who pushes his boundaries, challenges him, makes him want to do things unbecoming of an accomplished valedictorian with notable manners and a leveled head on his shoulders.

You make it exceedingly difficult to not break the rules.

“So, this one would be an ellipse, right?”

You’re pointing at a question:

What is the shape of the graph indicated by the equation?

x to the 2nd power/16 + y to the 2nd power/4 = 1

Correctly, you’ve noticed that the equation is in the same formula as an ellipse: (x - h) to the 2nd power/b to the 2nd power + (y - k) to the 2nd power/a to the 2nd power = 1. Before you met him you always confused ellipses with hyperbolas. It seems you’ve overcome that tendency.

Luigi smiles. “Yeah, that’s right.”

He’s observed that you’ve had much less trouble lately, as evidenced by your superb test scores and your professor’s feedback; Luigi is a people pleaser at heart, and so it warms him to have been able to help you so much with a subject so troubling for you—but he can’t help but wonder if maybe your use for him has passed. It seems that most of your recent meetings have gone quite well without much of his guidance, a stark contrast to your first sessions, when he essentially had to reteach basic algebraic concepts to you. And yet, you still call him every week. Every Thursday he still meets up with you wherever you please, even though you don’t seem to be depending on it to pass your class.

What’s up with that?

“Hey.” He rests his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands under his chin, eyes narrowed at you. “You don’t need me much anymore, do you?”

You quirk your eyebrows; there’s less anger and more concern in your expression. “What do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t have been able to get that question right without my help a few weeks ago, and here you are nailing it on the first try,” he starts, leaning back against the wall. “You’ve been doing a hell of a lot better on your tests, and the things you do still struggle with aren’t likely to show up on your final exam.“

“Are you upset that your efforts have paid off?” you ask, smirking. You turn back to your worksheet, plotting intercepts on a small hand-drawn graph.

Upset is not the word. Anticipant? Conflicted? Elated? Luigi needs a pocket thesaurus when it comes to you.

“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m just wondering what gives.”

What gives? Maybe he sounds too hostile, not appreciative enough. It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy any of the time he spends with you—far from it. Perhaps if he were educated in the humanities as opposed to the inner workings of inanimate objects made of wires and buttons and not flesh and blood he would know how to approach this ache that you’ve instilled in him, this itch he can’t scratch, this shadow that lurks around the corner of every room he walks into. You demand an expertise that Luigi does not possess and the flutter of his heart when he’s near you scares him; the stalling of his brain when he lays his eyes on you scares him; the immediate response of his groin at the thought of you in a less than academic nature scares him. You scare him, you electrify him, you make his bones shudder and his teeth grind and his throat close up like never before. You are the nucleus of his universe. You, you, you.

“You are the best tutor I’ve ever had,” you say, like it’s nothing, like those very words haven’t been spoken in every dream he’s had for the past month and a half. “And I like having an excuse to hang out with you. What’s wrong with that?”

Oh.

Wait.

What?

You like hanging out with me? he doesn’t ask. You’re the best student I’ve ever met, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t kiss you, or throw up, or do anything, despite every impulse. Luigi is speechless for what must be the first time in his life. Bewitched. Wooed. Are you flirting with him?

No way. Not a chance. Your probably meaningless compliments are getting to his head and he feels like a bumbling fool just sitting here staring at you. How do you possibly respond when the girl of your dreams turns your world around with three sentences and goes back to her math homework like it’s just another fucking thing?

“Nothing wrong with it,” he mutters. “Nothing wrong at all.”

Neither of you speak for the next few minutes. You answer the following five questions on your worksheet with no problems, just scribbling and circling and plotting in silence, while he watches your hands move and your eyes focus. And Luigi just sits there and thinks, thinks about his first memories of you: that night at the party; when he met sober you in the library; your irregular text conversations throughout the semester; his not so irregular showers, steaming hot and infiltrated with thoughts of you, naked and soft and oh so warm and begging for him, bent over and on your back and on top of him, every little fantasy he’s ever dreamed up since he found you.

And then he says: “You don’t need an excuse to hang out with me.”

“Yeah?” You look up at him, playing with your pencil.

“Yeah.” Luigi clears his throat. “We don’t even have to do math.”

Good. Simple. Jovial. You don’t have to know that he’s been dying to do far more than math for quite a while now.

You only have to know that you don’t need an excuse. Not with him.

— 4 —

There is one time that the two of you meet to do something other than math.

Once, you ask Luigi to join you at an antique mall, some little place a few miles out of town. And, to be completely honest, it’s not quite how he imagines he’d be spending his Saturday afternoon—but he’s always been up for trying new things, and he’d go just about anywhere if it means getting to be with you.

So you pick him up and you drive him to the outskirts of the city where there’s dirt roads for miles and only little strips of shops every so often; it’s at least an hour away with traffic and he worries at first that he might make things awkward, but much to his comfort, it’s easy to be a passenger in your car. The drive is smooth and the small talk is evenly paced and you even let him play a few songs on the aux—when you start singing along to some of his choices he decides you’re (officially) one of the coolest people he’s ever met.

The shop is small, smack dab in the middle of a rural paradise, with porcelain dolls and cases of themed pins lined up in rows and old telephones wedged in groups in front of the display windows. It’s old, with fraying roof tiles and cracked paint on the walls, but sort of charming, a bit mom-and-popish. You had mentioned it’s one of your favorite places in the world. Luigi feels honored that he gets to accompany you this one time.

“I don’t like those dolls,” he says.

You shake your head in agreement. “Me neither,” you mutter. “We won’t look at them.”

He wants to open the door for you but you beat him to it. When the two of you step inside, him following behind you like a lost child, the cashiers warmly greet you and you wave back with just as much enthusiasm.

This store has three floors—three!—and you aren’t wasting any time. First up is…well, the first floor, of course, where all the floral-print couches and gumball machines and butter churns are waiting. Butter churns! Luigi has never really been in an antique mall before this, and it’s not what he expected; there’s stuff everywhere, in literally every corner, like one of those disorienting and downright incomprehensible pictures that someone posts on Twitter with the caption “name one thing in this photo”. It’s overwhelming in probably the best way possible. There are bins with folk records and little dishes shaped like fruits and veggies and a whole crate of billiard balls and a wall of vintage Elvis posters—who is bringing this shit in? He hardly has time to think about it, because each way he turns there’s just another thing to look at: a collection of earrings hung on a lamp shade; shelves with sculpted forest animals and little replicas of bikes and Rolls-Royce models; a whole section of spoons; not one, not two, but three cases of rings that you spend a predictable amount of time browsing. As if you don’t have enough.

From over in a far corner, you chime, “Gi! Come here!”

Gi. Fuck. You’re calling him nicknames, an old one, at that. One he hasn’t been called since he was still a boy.

You’re pointing at a figurine: a pair of bears, dressed in checkered sweaters and sitting together with books in their laps.

“It’s us!” you beam.

Fuck.

Luigi wants to kiss you. He wants to kiss you right here in this store, right here in front of everyone, slowly. And he’s never had to deal with these gripping, effusive, all-consuming feelings hitting him so quickly, so all he can do is smile sheepishly at you, sweating bullets in his jacket, heart thump-thump-thumping in his chest like a Lambeg drum. He feels stupid. Stupid and so nutty over you and everything you do to him. There is no proof or formula that can save a smitten boy, and Luigi is living proof.

The second floor is more books and toys and furniture than anything else. He quite enjoys looking through every shelf, each with their unique organization—cookbooks to novels to nonfiction to textbooks (most of which are very, very outdated). You become enamored with a section of glassware, colors and shapes galore, a rainbow of vases and cups and bowls. When you have your back turned to him he sneaks a picture of you, body shaded by the daylight streaming through each carefully crafted piece. He likes this floor the most. It’s kitschy and vintage and sort of hip, and he can observe one thing clearly: this place is like home for you. You embrace each corner with the nostalgic grace of a child, like you yearn for something unspoken and so obstinately heavy on your shoulders.

Something catches his eye by the stairwell: there is a wall of mugs and dishes, and one in particular has a familiar face painted on its glass front. The one and only Garfield. Riding triumphantly on a skateboard, pulled on a string by beloved lapdog Odie. Use your friends wisely, a thought bubble reads.

A bit familiar, no?

“My professor sucks and you’re good at explaining things. I’m gonna take advantage of that.”

On the way up to the third floor Luigi pauses. “Hey.” He pats you on the shoulder. “I should use the bathroom.”

“Yeah, alright,” you nod. Then, smirking: “Don’t fall in.”

So corny.

He finds you again looking at some paintings and prints, shifting back and forth on your feet.

“Hey, cowboy,” you greet. “I’m ready to bounce if you are. I’m overstimulated and hungry and I think I’ve seen everything my brain can handle today.”

Luigi laughs. “Let’s bounce.”

You don’t buy much—just a few rings, of course, and a deer Beanie Baby with spots on its rear. The cashiers wish you both a good evening and safe travels, and he just about explodes when you link your arm with his and skip out of the door, smiling ear to ear.

The drive back to campus is quite moody with the sunset overlaying the view. He lets you control the aux, tapping his fingers along to each beat, watching trees and buildings fly past him out the window. Spending time in this peaceful silence with you is nice. Relaxing. Schmaltzy. He feels almost like he could doze off, wake up to his mother carrying him inside, fall asleep in his childhood bed. You make him feel safe.

When you pull up to his dorm complex, Luigi doesn’t want to leave your car. Or your presence, really. As you shift the gear to park he takes a deep breath, smiles at you when you slap your hands against your thighs conclusively.

“Um,” he starts, reaching into his deep jacket pocket. “Here.”

Normally he’s much better at words than this. You curiously take the brown paper bag from his hands, feeling the shape of the object cupped in your palms.

“I thought you didn’t get anything,” you say, opening the bag.

Luigi shrugs. Grins a little. “Got something for you.”

You’re pulling it out now, the Garfield mug, still stuffed and wrapped with some tissue paper to protect the glass. Your jaw drops when you peel it apart.

“Oh. My. God.”

And then you reach over and hug him. It’s a bit awkward with him beside you in your little car, and he has to maneuver himself around to return it, but you work it out, and you’re hugging him. You’re warm and soft and you smell like paradise—he wants to snuggle into the crook of your neck. If only.

“Luigi, this is, like—oh my god. Holy shit.” Your smile is unbelievably wide, and all Luigi can think is aw, shucks. You’ve got his heartstrings in a death grip. “This is awesome. This is literally the best day of my life.”

He giggles. “I didn’t realize a mug could mean so much to you.”

“No, this is a huge deal,” you rebut, eyes brimming with joy as you explain: “this isn’t just any mug, pal, this is a mug made by McDonald’s in 1974 and it is pumped full of lead—”

“Wait, what?”

“Oooooh yeah. This baby has, like, ten thousand times the legal limit of lead and cadmium in it, it’s so dope.” Examining it in your hands, you add, “how the fuck did I miss this?”

“Please promise me you won’t drink out of that,” Luigi pleads.

You roll your eyes. “I won’t! I’m not that crazy. I have the perfect place on my bookshelf to put it.”

Together you sit in your car, smiling at each other, him basking in your happiness.

“Thank you for coming with me today,” you say. “I had a really good time.”

If only. If only you knew.

“Anytime,” Luigi nods, giddy and grinning. “I had fun too.”

For the record, he did actually stop by the bathroom when he bought that mug. To splash some water on his face and calm his nerves, of course.

— 5 —

The weather is dark and stormy the night that Luigi decides he has to do something.

Something to fix this ache he holds for you. Something to get his mind off of every second of his life spent with you so far, repeating incessantly in his brain’s playback, the memories of you untainted and raw. Something he can keep all to himself. Something just for him.

So he shows up at your apartment during your roommate’s night shift, having made the trek just minutes after you confirmed to him that you were home. He’s standing in the pouring rain when you open the door, like a sopping wet stray begging for your attention. Or some food.

He feels fucking pathetic. And maybe he is. Maybe you’ve ruined him.

“Luigi, what’s wrong?”

“No, no, nothing’s wrong,” he reassures you, but he isn’t entirely certain that it’s true. “I’m—um—can we talk?”

“Jesus, come inside, weirdo.”

You grab him by his shoulders and drag him into your home, practically into your arms—but not before you can tell him to take off his sneakers and leave them on the doormat to dry. Then you take a step back, giving him space, your eyebrows quirked and your posture cautious.

Fuck. Where to start? Writing an essay is a walk in the park compared to verbalizing feelings you hardly understand.

“What am I to you?” he asks, voice soft and sappy.

He regrets it the moment the words leave his mouth. Too vague. Too cliché. If he were better at feelings he might’ve had half the mind to write something out before coming here and blabbing to you, before practically cutting his heart out of his chest and handing it to you with bloodied, trembling hands.

You think in silence, and Luigi almost can’t stand it. Seconds feel like hours. Then:

“…You’re my, uh, unofficial tutor,” you say, adding, “and…I’d like to think you’re my friend, maybe.”

Your tutor. Sure, it’s appropriate, but if any higher ups were to ever peer into his mind, see and hear the thoughts he has of his tutee, the things he’d like to teach you, the veracity with which you occupy every corner of his brain, he’d most certainly be accused of any number of ethical violations, not to mention playing favorites.

“Is that all?”

You blink. “What else were you expecting?”

Luigi has his hands in his jacket pockets, now pacing around your living room. “I just need to know if you feel anything else for me so that I can either get over you and move on with my life or make more room for you in my fucking head.”

In this moment of the two of you just staring at each other he actually looks at you, takes you in, and you’re wearing some pajama shorts and a thin white T-shirt, and your nipples are fucking hard in the chill of the room and he can see it and fuck, it’s taking every atom of strength in his body to will away the blood rushing to his cock. Not now. Not yet, anyway.

“What are you saying, Luigi?” you ask, standing stiff and straight in front of him. You still have to crane your neck up just a little to meet his eyes. It drives him nuts.

Oh, god. What is he saying?

“Fuck, I don’t want to just be your tutor,” he starts, unsteady. “I’m—I want to be your man, I want to be yours, I want to be so much more than just this. And if you don’t feel the same then that’s okay, but if you do I have to know. I have to relieve whatever it is that makes me feel this way for you.”

You’re just staring at him, like a deer in headlights, and so he continues, even though he probably shouldn’t: “We don’t have to put a label on it, or anything like that, we don’t even have to tell anyone, I just—I need to know if I can have you. Please.”

If he could peer through your skull he thinks he’d see all the gears turning inside your brain. Wires cross and trickle into flames. Buttons are pressed. Levers are flipped. Attraction is mechanical, in some ways.

“I want you to kiss me,” you say.

Oh, god. No way. No fucking way.

“What?”

“I want you to kiss me,” you repeat, adding, “and we can see where it goes.”

Oh. Oh.

Oh, the places he’ll go—if you’ll let him.

So he steps forward and kisses you, carefully, lips meeting quickly and softly. He doesn’t pull away from you. His forehead is against yours and he can look you in the eyes, and he does just that until you’re leaning in again. He’s kissing you, he’s finally fucking kissing you, and it hardly feels real, so he grabs your face with both hands and threads his fingers through your hair, feels the silky smooth strands brushing against his skin, hears the way you sigh into his mouth. Making out with you must be heaven on Earth. He drinks in every little detail of you; licks into your mouth and pulls your bottom lip between his teeth to know exactly how you taste, cherishing the sickeningly obvious wet sounds of your kisses. His hands begin to roam, moving from your hair to your back to your hips, and then down to your ass, grabbing a handful of you through your cotton shorts. You raise a hand to unzip his jacket, tugging it down hurriedly, and Luigi groans against you.

He shrugs it off his shoulders, kisses you, lets it fall to the floor. “Is this really happening?” he asks.

You smile, giggling at him. “Yes, stupid. Is this okay? I thought you wanted this.”

“Fuck, yes, I do,” Luigi stammers, fingers tracing up your spine. “I really do…”

He still thinks that maybe you’ll float away or disappear into thin air if he lets go of you, but by the time you start to lead him towards what must be your bedroom the doubt starts to dissipate. You lock the door and his heart skips a beat.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispers, backing you up against your bed.

You shake your head.

And then he grabs your hand and plants it right on his very obvious and very hard cock, swelling in his jeans, just so you can feel the direct consequences of your affections, hear the way he groans when you grope him. Your hand moves to unbutton his pants but he is quick to stop you.

“No,” he grunts, guiding you to lay back on the mattress. “Wanna take my time with you, pretty girl.”

He truly does. He’s spent nearly a whole semester building up to this very moment, and if a single millisecond of it goes to waste…Well, he’ll have to make up for lost time, of course.

Hovering over you, Luigi’s hands glide up your body to cup your breasts underneath your shirt, thumbs tweaking your nipples. You moan and arch into his touch like you need him, nothing but him, nothing but his hands exploring and finally becoming familiar with how beautiful every inch of you is. Your shirt is quickly pulled up and over your head so he can see you in full, and fuck, he had never realized how perfect your tits are. He’d gotten quick glances before, had stolen a particularly delicious look once when you leaned over in front of him to grab your pencil, had definitely imagined them more than a few times, in his hands and in his mouth and pressed against his chest—but the real you beats every dream his brain has ever conjured up. By a long shot.

Still playing with your tits and your nipples, he kisses down your jaw, your neck, his lips finding purchase in a particular patch of flesh that you respond curiously to. His name sounds glorious in your mouth. You pant and sigh and gasp, the sweetest sounds he’s ever heard, and he works overtime to kiss you into a bliss so intense that you’re left entirely at his mercy.

Not that you aren’t already.

Experimentally, Luigi’s tongue teases a nipple, licking slowly, before both lips suck. You cry out and thread your fingers in his tight curls.

“Fuck,” he mutters, circling his thumb where his mouth once touched you, watching your hips move in sync. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me. You sound so beautiful.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. Resting his forehead against yours, he slides one hand down your stomach, under your waistband, and then against your pussy, and he fucking shivers when he feels your slick enveloping his fingers. You’re so warm. So warm and wet and sweet like sugar, coating him with your hunger.

“Oh my god.” Luigi shakes his head in disbelief. “Do you always get this wet?”

He wants to know just how sticky you get when you’re touching yourself late at night. He wishes he could watch you, let you show him how to please you just the way you like.

You shudder, shaking your head. “Just for you.”

“For me?”

At the sound of his low voice in utter astonishment you bite your lip and nod. “Luigi, I’ve been needing this, so, so long—”

“Oh, you need it, huh?” Luigi’s teeth graze your skin just below your collarbone before he bites down, groaning. As he pulls back, leaving you aching and weak, he playfully chides, “you dirty girl. You never mentioned how bad you needed your tutor to play with your pretty pussy.”

Right then he makes a note to say the filthiest things to you when you’re vulnerable like this, because the fucking face you make is the cutest little wince he’s ever seen. When you buck your hips he hooks his fingers under your waistband and pulls your shorts and panties off with one swift tug, parting your legs and pushing them back so that your knees are bent in the air.

And then his ring and middle finger swirl over your clit, applying gentle pressure, relishing in your sobs.

“Luigi,” you’re moaning, swearing, singing his name to the heavens. He’s a well-traveled man—he’s seen beaches galore, the mountains of Japan, the ruins and castles in Puerto Rico, the sunset at Ke’ana Point, and yet, by far, you are the most gorgeous sight his eyes have ever known the honor of beholding.

“Shh, I know,” he hums. “You’re such a good girl, bella.”

You shiver throughout your whole body. Bingo. He suspected that you might be weak for a sprinkle of Italian, but the whole ”good girl” thing was a shot in the dark, and it fucking worked, because your cunt is gushing.

With his thumb replacing where he once rubbed your clit, two of his skilled fingers slide inside of your cunt smoothly, filling you just right. Luigi feels like he’s going to explode right here knowing that he’s touching the most sensitive, secret parts of you, feeling every ridge and fold squeezing him, drawing him in. He is curious at his core—and that certainly doesn’t end with you. Those incredible fingers work you open with ease, pushing in deep and scissoring back and forth inside; they must be much longer than your own (or god forbid anyone else’s) because you’re a complete mess underneath him, literally sobbing into your pillow like you haven’t been touched since hell froze over, and Luigi is wondering how you’re even going to handle his cock if just two of his fingers has you this worked up.

His name leaves your mouth in a delightful yelp when he curls his fingers up, his other hand situated on your abdomen, applying the slightest pressure. Luigi’s eyes are fixed on your hole, watching those two digits plunge in and out, down to his knuckles. You have to reach up and grab the headboard when he presses against your G-spot experimentally, teasing at first, then massaging you with full force—his cock is about to burst in his fucking pants watching you, white knuckled and keening. It’s driving him crazy to know that this is real, that he finally has you, that you’re making every wet dream he’s ever had come to life without even trying.

You whine when his fingers slide out of you, glistening with your milky arousal, and he holds them there between your bodies for a moment so that you can see what he’s doing to you. “Fuck, bella,” he moans. “You’re making such a mess on my fingers. I can’t wait to feel you all over my dick.”

It’s in moments like these that choosing his words carefully pays off: you squeeze him tight, eyes shut and legs trembling, and you wrap your fingers around his wrist, moaning, “oh my god—“

“Are you going to come?” Luigi asks, slowing his fingers. His smile is mischievous, prideful, daring. “Already?”

All you can do is nod with a shrill moan, your back arching, hand coming up to pinch your nipple. There’s lightning in your veins, bright and hot and flashing, rumbling through you, and you’re making the prettiest sounds—

And then he pulls his fingers out of you, this time all the way, and you groan.

“Oh, don’t cry, baby,” he coos, bringing his slick fingers up to your lips. “I just want to feel you come on my dick, yeah?”

You wrap your lips around his two digits, sucking your own taste off of him, and he moans appreciatively. Luigi thought for sure that you couldn’t possibly be any more beautiful—and now he’s seeing you with his fingers in your mouth and, once again, his assumptions about you are challenged effortlessly.

“Girls like you usually have to work for this kind of thing, you know that?” he says, drawing his hand up and down your stomach, wet fingers leaving a trail of your spit along your skin.

You pout. “Haven’t I?”

Luigi smiles wide, cupping your face with his big hands. “You’re cute.”

He decides to not yet tell you that no, you didn’t have to work for it—because he wanted you the moment he found you in that guest room at that stupid fucking house party. And he’s always known it.

Regrettably, he pulls away to tug his shirt off, making sure to flex his biceps and his abs for you just to hear how your heavy breathing stutters at the sight. You’re sitting up and reaching for the button of his jeans quickly and this time he lets you pop it open and work them down his legs, running your nails over his thighs deliciously. You’re needy. You’re flushed to all hell and your hair is messy, eyes lidded and bare chest heaving with your panting—the beautiful curves of your body belong in a museum, lit up and posed for his eyes only. Luigi thinks of Venus, of Ives’ Undine Rising from the Waters, of Aphrodite, of Goya’s La maja desnuda. If he had the skill he’d make a model out of you.

“How long have you been needing your tutor to fuck you, baby?” he asks, taking handfuls of your tits. Only his boxers are left and he’s grinding into you, hard and heavy, pressing against your stomach.

You bite your lip. “Fuck, forever, oh, god…”

“Forever?” Luigi giggles. His cheeks are rosy red and pleasantly warm against your palms. “That’s a long time.”

As he kisses you, you nod, hands gripping his curls and his strong arms. When your fingers dip underneath the waistband of his briefs he guides you to lay back again, pulling your hips flush against his so that he’s hovering over you perfectly. And then his boxers are coming down, his cock springing free and smacking against his abdomen, vein prominent along the length and pre beading at the bulbous tip. For a few moments he just kisses you, tongue meeting yours with exuberant titillation, licking and sucking—and both of you have to take a deep breath when that big dick slides up between your asscheeks and nudges your slick cunt, pressing against your folds and quite literally collecting your need all over him.

Then he winces. Before you can check in on him, he murmurs, “I don’t have a condom.”

He feels like an idiot. It’s not like he was expecting to get his dick wet tonight, but it’s probably good practice for a gentleman to carry protection, not to mention smart—and, by all means, Luigi considers himself a rational, logical man, who thinks with his brain and most certainly not his cock. Right. He’s definitely not tempted by how warm you are or by your hand guiding him back and forth through the weeping creases of your pussy.

“I’m clean,” you say simply. His forehead is pressed to yours. “Luigi, if you stop right now, I’m going to—”

“Fuck. Fuck.” Luigi pumps himself in his hand and circles the tip of his length over your clit. “I—Um, I am too, but this is…”

“What?” Your thumb grazes his ear, his sideburn, and oh, man. You’re really going to kill him. “This is what?”

He swallows. Blinks. “Do you really want me to—?”

You nod keenly, eyes focused on his lips, slick with your spit. “Please. It’s okay.”

A kiss. A nudge to your entrance. And then he’s filling you, all at once, every inch stretching you impeccably. You grip onto his bicep and dig your nails into his skin and furrow your brows, and it takes every ounce of self-control that Luigi can muster to not give it all to you right then; to not slam into you with no mercy just to watch your face contort; to not show you exactly what you do to him.

Oh, god. He feels like he’s losing his virginity all over again with you.

“Fuckkkk,” he sighs, bones sagging. He’s already as deep as he can get, the curly hairs on his pelvis pressed against you, and you’re dragging your nails down his back—

“How’s this? Are you okay?” Luigi asks.

You exhale with a nod. “Very okay. You feel really nice inside of me.”

Oh, god.

“Baby, you feel really nice. Fuck.” He kisses you, deep and sweet. When he pulls away he hooks one of your thighs under his shoulder, enhancing his angle for you, and you shiver.

And then he’s moving.

Luigi is fucking you. He’s finally fucking you—it’s been almost a year of knowing you and seeing you and craving you and this very thing occupied his mind for just about eighty percent of it, and he’s finally inside your cunt. Deep inside, pumping without hurry, just feeling your wet pussy yield to his girth. All while your mouth is on his and your legs are wrapped around him and your hands are on his back and his arms.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispers against your lips.

All you can do is moan, a little mhmm.

“All those months you spent doing math with me, reeling me in, and you could’ve been taking me just like this.”

He’s not entirely sure where this silver tongue came from. But you respond delightfully, whining and gripping his cock. Desperate and greedy. All his.

You arch your back, squeeze your eyes shut. “Luigi, oh—oh my god…”

“Hmm?” He swings your other leg over his shoulder so that your feet are in the air and you’re stretched perfectly around him. “Does this feel good, bella?”

“Yes, fuck, it’s good, I just—I want you to—faster…”

You’re clawing at his curls, pulling tight, and Luigi can’t help but groan. “What’s that?”

Face twisted, you moan, “faster, I can take it—”

He grabs your chin, holds you steady. “Ask nicely,” he orders.

“Please fuck me faster, pleaseee…”

Luigi is a sucker for your pleading. So he rocks his hips quickly, and you’re gripping the sheets and moving with him, practically fucking him back; and when he spreads his hand over your abdomen he can fucking feel his cock pushing into you, and he realizes that he isn’t going to last much longer.

“I’m—“ His hand finds your clit, tweaking you with two fingers. “I’m gonna come, baby, fuck…”

With your hand at his hair pulling him close to you, you whisper in his ear, “inside, come inside of me.”

He must be fucking dreaming. His own insecurities force him to consider the possibility that he’s lost his mind for good, that this is all his wild imagination, but it’s not—you feel hot and snug around his dick and you’re keening and he’s so, so close—

“Are you—oh, fuck—are you sure?” Luigi, calm and sensible and sophisticated, trying to have half the mind to confirm that what you want is really what you want; that he’s not coming undone in pieces on top of you.

“You’re too prudent,” you mutter, smiling. “Give it to me, big guy.”

And then his balls are drawing up and he’s flooding you, mouth agape, hips still pumping sloppy and unbalanced into yours. It’s unbelievably warm and tight and slick and he can’t even comprehend how good you make him feel.

He has to catch his breath, but the moment he pulls out of you Luigi is quickly getting on his knees between your thighs.

“What—“

You try to inquire, but he shushes you. “You didn’t get to come, did you?” he asks, thumb toying with your clit. “I’m just helping you with the mess I made.”

What he does next is quite unfamiliar but surprisingly exciting: his tongue peeks out to taste, collecting his own essence and your slick before licking straight up the length of your cunt. He can’t stay away from your entrance; the taste of himself and you together is almost enough to have his cock rising again, certainly not helped by your fingers in his curls and his name in your mouth as you jitter and buck your hips into him. His tastebuds are buzzing with joy as he licks and sucks you to your climax.

As you lay back and relish in your pleasure, Luigi wipes his mouth and pulls his boxers back on, settling next to you and watching you catch your breath. He has learned something new about you—you look beautiful after getting fucked. Your hair is messy and your chest rises perfectly with each inhale and exhale, eyes shut in pure bliss. It’s not like you don’t look beautiful all the time, but right now, under the glow of the sex and the high of your orgasm, you look angelic.

“So,” you mutter.

“So?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you ask, “you can still help me with math, right?”

Luigi chuckles. “Yeah, of course. And anything else you need.”

“So…” Rolling onto your stomach, you prop yourself up on your elbows and run your fingers along the strap of his Fitbit. “Hypothetically speaking, if I were having trouble, uh, making myself come, or something…You could help me with that too?”

“Definitely.”

Definitely is an understatement. Gladly. Proudly.

That’s what tutors are for, after all.

^ dividers by cafekitsune

[pretzel-box]

I’m back!! And I have an idea!

Mkmk so could we please get a Happy Ending type fic where after reader and Sebastian escape the facility, reader brings him home and makes him a good, home cooked meal?? I’m such a sucker for sweet domestic shit and I NEED Sebastian to finally be able to relax.

Thank you so much!

Tags: Established Relationship, Happy End, Fluff, Domestic Life, Reader and Sebastian are living together in a sea-side home. Both are emotional.

Words: 2,2k

Authors note: I wrote it on two different days and isn't proof read, so maybe it sounds weird.

Sebastian’s heart pounded in his chest, the echoes of gunshots still reverberating in his mind. He stared at you, disoriented, his eyes wide with the lingering terror of his situation. It took him a moment to realize where he was, to understand that the screams, the glass shattering, and you. He saw you in front of him, screaming in panic, yelling, pulling on his coat as if your life depends on it. And somehow, he couldn't hear your voice no matter how hard he tried, his ears blocking out the sound.

“Se…b…ti..n”

“Seb…ast…ian…”

“Sebas…tian.”

He blinked a few times, his vision adjusting to the soft morning light streaming through the curtains that floated gently in the sea-breeze. The smell of the salty ocean mixed with the delicious aroma of the breakfast you had prepared for him. His body, tense and curled up, began to relax as the reality of the present settled in.

You stood by his bedside, your expression a mix of concern and tenderness. Your hand rested gently on his shoulder, the warmth of your touch grounding him, pulling him back from the depths of his nightmare. A nightmare. It was just a memory after all and the realization made him sink back in the pile of pillows you got him.

"Sebastian," you repeated softly, your voice steady and calm. “You were having a nightmare again.” You offered a small smile, trying to comfort him. It wasn’t the first time and wouldn't be the last. The events were still fresh in your memories. "I brought you breakfast. I thought it might help."

He looked at the tray, eyes lingering on the sunny-side-up eggs, the crispy bacon, the fresh slices of bread, and the hand-poured coffee that steamed invitingly. His stomach growled in response, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten properly in… well, he couldn’t remember how long. The sight of the food, the smell of it, suddenly made him aware of just how hungry he was.

“It looks… really good,” he murmured, his voice still a bit shaky. “Thank you.”

You smiled warmly, setting the tray down on the small bedside table in his reach. "It’s the least I could do," you said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him. His body was squished in the bed, his tail sticking a bit over the bed frame, so there wasn't much space for you. “You’ve been through a lot. I thought maybe a good meal might help you feel a bit more at home.”

Sebastian nodded, his eyes still searching your face, as if looking for reassurance that this wasn’t another cruel trick of his mind. That you were really there, that this place—this peaceful, cozy home by the sea—was real.

He sat up slowly, the rather small blanket falling away from his shoulders. His tail, which had been twitching anxiously, calmed as he reached for the coffee. He took a careful sip, savoring the rich, warm taste. It was a simple thing, but it was the best coffee he had ever had.

“This is… nice,” he said, his voice soft, almost uncertain. “I’ve never had anything like this.”

You chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his eyes. “It’s just coffee, Sebastian. Nothing fancy.”

“To me, it is,” he replied, his gaze meeting yours. There was a softness in his eyes, a vulnerability that he rarely showed. “All of this… it’s more than I’ve ever had.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You deserve this, Sebastian. You deserve a home, a place to feel safe. And I’m glad you’re here with me.”

He felt his heart swell at your words, a mix of emotions swirling inside him—relief, gratitude, something warmer, something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. He had been through so much—too much—but here, with you, he felt a glimmer of hope. A chance for something better.

He set the coffee down and turned to you, his hand still in yours. “Thank you,” he said again, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

You leaned in closer, your forehead resting against his. “You don’t have to thank me, Sebastian. We’re in this together. Always.”

He closed his eyes, taking in the comfort of your presence, the softness of your touch. He breathed in deeply, letting the scent of the sea and the breakfast you made fill his senses. For the first time in a long time, he felt… at peace.

“Do you want to eat together?” you asked softly, not wanting to break the moment but knowing he needed to eat.

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You moved the tray onto your lap, cutting into the eggs and bacon, offering him a forkful. He hesitated for a moment, blushing hard at the sudden offer, then leaned forward, taking the bite. His eyes closed as he savored the taste, a soft hum of approval escaping his lips. The taste of a lovingly self-made breakfast filled his mouth and it touched him to have such a meal after years of isolation and trauma.

“This is amazing,” he said, opening his eyes to look at you with genuine appreciation. “You’re amazing.”

You laughed softly, a blush creeping onto your own cheeks. “I’m just glad you like it. I wasn’t sure if you’d have an appetite after… well, everything.”

He nodded, understanding. “It’s… it’s a lot to take in. But this,” he gestured around the room, “this is good. Better than good. It feels… right.”

You smiled, your heart warming at his words. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

For a while, the two of you ate in comfortable silence, enjoying the simple pleasure of a home-cooked meal. The tension from Sebastian’s nightmare slowly ebbed away, replaced by a sense of calm, of normalcy.

After breakfast, you helped him out of bed, leading him to the small kitchen where you started brewing another pot of coffee. The room was filled with the rich, warm scent, and Sebastian leaned against the counter, watching you with a soft smile.

As the coffee brewed, you turned to him, reaching out to brush a thumb across his cheek. “You’re safe here, Sebastian. I promise. No more nightmares. No more running.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes once more to savor the moment. “I know,” he whispered. “With you, I finally feel… like I’m home.”

You pulled him into a gentle hug, his arms wrapping around you in return. You stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, listening to the soft rhythm of the waves outside.

When you finally pulled back, you cupped his face in your hands, looking into his eyes. “Stay with me, Sebastian. We can make a life here, together. A real life.”

He nodded, his eyes brimming with emotion. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice a soft whisper. “I’d like that a lot.”

And in that moment, in the quiet comfort of your kitchen, with the sea breeze drifting through the open windows, you both knew that you had found something precious—something worth fighting for. A chance at happiness, at love, at a life free from the horrors of the past.

The sun had risen higher in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over your small seaside home. The breakfast dishes were cleared away, and the rich aroma of fresh coffee still lingered in the air. Sebastian was seated at the kitchen table as best as he could with his tall size, his eyes following your every move as you bustled about, wiping down counters and humming a soft tune.

You could feel his gaze on you, warm and intent, and it sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. Ever since you had rescued him from the facility, brought him back to this sanctuary you called home, there had been a quiet understanding between you—a deep, unspoken bond that had grown stronger with each passing day.

Finally, you turned to face him, leaning back against the counter with a playful smile. “You know, you’re allowed to help around here,” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not your maid, you know.”

Sebastian chuckled, his lips curling into a soft smile that reached his eyes. “I would, but I’m not sure I’d do it right. You seem to have a system,” he said, his voice warm and teasing.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you saying I’m a neat freak?”

“Maybe,” he teased back, his smile growing wider. “But I don’t mind. It’s… comforting. Feels natural.”

Your heart swelled at his words. You knew how much he had been through, the horrors he had witnessed and endured, and to hear him say that this place—the home you had made together—felt like home to him meant more than you could express.

Pushing off the counter, you moved to stand in front of him, placing your hands on the back of the chair he was sitting in. “Well,” you said softly, your tone turning more serious, “I want you to feel at home here, Sebastian. I want you to feel like this is where you belong.”

His gaze softened, his eyes searching yours. “I do,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I really do.”

There was a moment of silence, the air between you thick with unspoken emotions. Then, almost without thinking, you reached out, your fingers gently brushing against his cheek. His skin was warm under your touch, and you felt him lean into your hand, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Sebastian…” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. “I… I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what I would have done if…” Your own memories of the escape flashed through your mind.

He opened his eyes, capturing your gaze with an intensity that took your breath away. “I’m here,” he said firmly, his voice steady. “And I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

The weight of his words settled over you, filling you with a warmth that spread from your chest to the tips of your fingers. Without thinking, you leaned down, your forehead resting against his. The world seemed to pause, the only sound the gentle crashing of the waves outside and the soft beating of your heart.

“I’m glad,” you whispered, your lips so close to his that you could feel his breath against your skin. “I’m really, really glad.”

And then, as if drawn by some invisible force, you closed the distance between you, your lips brushing against his in a soft, tentative kiss. Sebastian’s breath hitched, and for a moment, you worried you had crossed a line. But then his hand came up to cup the back of your head, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

It was slow and sweet, a gentle interaction, a promise of something more. His lips were soft against yours, his touch tender and careful, as if he were afraid you might disappear if he held on too tightly.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads still touching. You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation, but all you saw was warmth and affection—a deep, unspoken love that made your heart flutter.

“Sorry,” you murmured, a small, shy smile playing on your lips. “I just… I needed to know.”

Sebastian smiled, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Know what?”

“That this is real,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. “That we’re real.”

He nodded, his smile soft and reassuring. “It is,” he said softly. “It’s as real as it gets.”

You smiled back, your heart swelling with happiness. “Good,” you said, your voice light and teasing. “Because I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

Sebastian chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You stood there for a moment longer, just holding each other, savoring the quiet comfort of the moment. Then, with a soft sigh, you pulled away, your hand slipping into his. “Come on,” you said, your tone bright and cheerful. “I’ll show you around the rest of the house. There’s a lot more to see than just the inside. I haven't showed you the back.”

He grinned, standing up and following you as you led him out of the kitchen and into the cozy backside of the house. The sun was streaming down from the blue sky, casting warm patches of light on the worn but comfortable outdoor furniture. An old wooden bench, placed with pillows and a jar of seashells you had collected over the years.

“This is nice,” Sebastian said, looking around with a smile. “Feels… free. "Comfortable."

The back of the house is directly connected to the sea, like a little porch hovering above the water.

You nodded, squeezing his hand gently. “It is.”

He looked at you, his expression soft and full of affection. “Thank you,” he said again, his voice full of sincerity. “For everything.”

You smiled, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to thank me, Sebastian.”

He nodded, his smile widening. “Yeah,” he said softly. “But I still want to.”

Your eyes sparkled in the sunlight. "Let’s go back inside...P.AI.nter must be awake by now too."

And as you walked together, hand in hand, the sun warming your skin, you knew that no matter what the future held, you would face it together. Because here, in this cozy home by the sea, with Sebastian by your side, you had found something precious—something worth holding onto after all the pain.

[bettyfrommars]

When the Night Comes

Steve Harrington x Reader

I received an ask from @madaboutjoe for option #2 from our Stranger Prompts which is: You mistake him for the man who is supposed to be your blind date, and he goes along with it, with Steve. I put my own spin on it and made it extra weird.

18+ONLY for horror, mention of gore and adult themes, fear of the unknown, hurt/comfort I suppose, she/her pronouns used for reader. WC: 11.8k

Summary: After being single for a while, a personal ad in the classifieds catches your eye, and the guy who posted it invites you to meet for coffee. There's a tree blocking the road, causing you to detour, and once you get to Hawkins you find it's not at all what you expected. Mention of Robin, and appearances from Hopper, Joyce, and Eddie Munson.

Author's Note: This was inspired by the horror show From (which I highly recommend), but you do not have to be familiar with it to understand/enjoy this. In fact, it might be even better if you don't know anything about it. Also, the Benny's described in this fic is a cross between the original burger joint and the diner in the show.

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It was mostly by accident that Steve and Robin took over Benny’s. One day, they were hunkering down there to hide, scared as hell, trying not to make a sound, and the next thing they knew, they were painting the walls and adding items to the menu.  

When caught in a hellscape, it was important to have a place to go to bask in the illusion of safety, even if just for a meal.  

Things generally slowed down in the afternoon on Wednesdays, as it was post lunch rush and right before the seniors dropped in for that early bird special.  Robin was with Vickie tending to the farm animals across town, and the only customers at the time were Claudia Henderson chatting with a friend over coffee and pie.  Steve would bus the table once he made a list of supplies he’d need to go searching for the next day.  .  

At a booth nearest the front door, in his trusty red and black flannel that was missing two buttons and a pair of jeans, Steve wore a white apron around his waist. He took the blue bandana off his head to let his glossy mane flop free, running a hand through it a few times, sweeping it to one side.

2

“Is this it?” You mumbled from behind the steering wheel of your car, peering ahead through the windshield at the first signs of a town after a long stretch of forest.  The pavement was cracked and worn, giving you a passing thought about where their tax dollars were going if not to those improvements.  The Welcome to Hawkins sign was just as weathered and also pockmarked with bullet holes.  

A certain gloom settled around the town, like those places that exist in the lower valley between two mountains, nestled in a sea of fog.  The afternoon had been fairly bright and sunny until you approached the Hawkins border and had to take your sunglasses off in order to see.  

He said you’d be able to see it from the road, that burger place Steve said he’d meet you at.  You took a right down the first street and craned your neck to read a sign scrawled in black marker on a sandwich board out in front of the post office:

62 Days Without Incident

You didn’t have long to ponder it before you were pulling into the parking spot at the far end of Benny’s.  One of the windows had a menacing spider web crack in it that appeared to be mended with duct tape, and if not for the station wagon in the lot and the dim lighting inside, you’d think the building was abandoned.

Hawkins felt like someone's memory of a town, and the memory was fading.

“It’s just coffee,” you whispered, pacing on the other side of the building near your car.  “It’s just coffee with a complete stranger.”

A complete stranger you contacted through a personal ad in the paper, to be exact.  

You considered having a smoke first, but didn’t want the nicotine smell to cling to you.  Maybe he was also an occasional smoker, you’d have to wait and see.  You stepped into view of the front window, and then jerked yourself back to lean against the slate gray wall, cringing as if you’d just stubbed your toe.

You hadn’t been on a date in over a year, but there was something about the ad in the classifieds that made him sound so…normal.  Unlike the others. 

SWM 5’10, brown hair, hazel eyes, 30yr old business owner, hopeful romantic seeks SF for friendship and adventure with the potential for something more.  I like to cook and want to make you laugh. UB kind, curious, homebody looking for LTR.     

You’d left a message for him in the extension given by the paper, and then he’d messaged you back almost immediately, inviting you to an afternoon coffee date at a diner in Hawkins.  

You were 98% certain that he did not have the voice of a serial killer, whatever that meant.  

Fairly new to Indiana, you’d never ventured to Hawkins before, and there happened to be a downed tree blocking the exit you would usually take to the highway, forcing you to use the backroads instead.

A glance at your watch let you know you were fifteen minutes early, all things considered.   

The interior of the diner was cozy dark wood with cream tile at your feet.  Burnt orange nestled here and there as accents, including on the vinyl covers for the booth seats. A cigarette smoldered in a brown glass ashtray nearby, and to your right, two women spoke softly across the table to each other, but paused mid-conversation to nod suspiciously in your direction.

Maybe you’d have a chance to find a seat and order something to drink before he—-

3

Steve had to do a double take when he looked up at the sound of the bell ding.  There was a stain on his white Hanes tee the shape of Australia and faint purple moons carved under overly caffeinated, bloodshot eyes. 

 At first, he assumed you were just another patron, but then you met his casual stare with enthusiasm, and offered a nervous yet generous smile, beelining in his direction as if the two of you were familiar.  

You were new, and such a thing was a rare and unsettling thing to see in Hawkins.  

He’d asked Robin to put fliers up at the post office and the library announcing that they were looking for waitstaff help, but that was only a few hours ago.  Surely, someone wasn’t inquiring already.

It was hard for you not to run in the other direction when you saw how handsome he was.  What the hell was a guy that good looking doing paying to post a personal ad?  Better question—-what was a person like you doing answering one?  

He’d been frowning down at the notepad in front of him before he glanced up, warm maple hair long enough to tuck behind his ears. Brown diner mug near his elbow, confusion tightened around his eyes when you jutted an arm out to shake his hand.

You introduced yourself.  “And I thought I was the early one,” your cheeks felt hot, clutching your bag to your side.  

“Uh, hi,” was all he could manage at the time, returning the generous hand squeeze.  It took him a few seconds, but then he realized what the only possible explanation could be.  “You must be here because of the ad?”

You slid into the booth seat across from him.  Maybe he was trying to be funny, like it was some type of dry wit.

“Am I not what you were expecting?” 

“No, no, that’s not—” he stammered, jerking his arm to the side so fast that he hit the coffee mug, causing liquid to splash out onto the table. He clawed some napkins out of the dispenser to wipe up the spill, a stray curl of hair bobbing over his forehead as he did so. “I just mean, I wasn’t expecting you this early, that’s all.”  

You weren’t what he’d been expecting to walk through his door that afternoon in many ways.  

First of all, he was attracted to you, so taking you in as an employee might not be the brightest idea, but also, why had he never seen you around before? Even if he didn’t know everyone in Hawkins personally, they’d all for sure crossed his path at one point.

The town was funny like that.

A hard pit in his stomach told him that you weren’t from town at all, and he really hoped that was not the case, for your sake. 

A few beats of silence hung in the air, and the bell dinged again to herald the exit of Claudia and her friend, chattering as they went.  

“Is the food good here?” You settled back in your seat, eying the display case near the register while shrugging out of your coat.  “The pies look yummy.”

Like a trout thrown to the ground, Steve’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and he pushed the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows, finding his words.  “They’re pretty good, yeah, I think. The guy who makes them is a bit of a nut and takes his pastries pretty seriously.”

There were creased paper menus that looked hand-typed tucked in between the ketchup and the tiny, tableside jukebox.  You grabbed one and put it in front of you, eyes roaming over the words without really reading a thing.  

“I didn’t expect you to be so handsome,” your tongue was often faster than your brain, and you flicked a nervous glance up at him after realizing what you’d said.  “Sorry.”

Totally inappropriate for a professional conversation, but why did it make Steve feel all tingly? 

“Don’t be sorry,” he muttered.  To avoid eye contact, he picked up the nearby pencil and started drawing squiggles on the yellow notepad in front of him.  

“Do you have any experience waiting tables?” He cut right to the chase, not that any experience would make a difference. He wasn’t going to be able to pay you, anyway, that wasn’t how it worked around there.  

You were not at all thrown off by the question; you figured there’d be a good helping of small talk.

“For a year in high school, yeah,” you were flicking the corner of the menu with your thumb.  “It was a 24 hour waffle house. Met a lot of interesting people.”

“I bet.” He tried to sound casual, but the nervous eruption of a laugh bubbled out.

So, there it was: you were definitely not from there.  

The idea that you would soon go through the stages of shock and denial and depression that was common for everyone who resided in what they’d once known as Hawkins, made his stomach drop.  

He didn’t want to be the one to watch the light drain from your eyes.  

4

You straightened up from staring at the menu to search for whoever might be behind the kitchen hatch.  “Do we walk up there to give our order? Or will someone come to the table?”

“That’s, um, I can—let me,” Steve stuttered before taking a breath. “Uh, do you know what you want?”

“Just iced tea for now I think,” you were concentrating on the offerings, bottom lip sucked in between your teeth.  “I’m not very hungry. Some of those steak fries maybe? Would you eat some with me?”

There were plenty of mysteries about the town that no one had been able to solve yet, including the way vegetable crops and farm animals showed up in various spots out of the blue. People found garbage bags full of packaged, grocery store quality bread in their backyards as if dropped from the sky.  A few months ago while scavenging, Jonathan Byers stumbled upon a concrete door in the ground that led to a bunker stocked with endless dry goods. Steve didn’t ask questions much anymore, he was just grateful they had resources.

He figured whatever trapped them all there wanted to toy with them and fattened them up for the kill.  

There was something very casual and familiar about your disposition that made him even more curious about what universal tide washed you up onto his shore.

To most people, ending up in their corner of the world felt like a punishment, but one that they’d somewhat adapted to over time. One day, hopefully, you would find your peace with it too.  Maybe even share a piece of pie with him and tell him stories about what he’d missed out in the real world.  

For now, you’d have iced tea and fries and pretend none of the horrors were real.

Steve got up from the booth, tucking his chin as he spoke.   “I’m serious, I’ll make you anything you want.  I mean, within reason.”

Your head snapped up.  “Wait, you work here?”

He couldn’t help but frown at your genuine display of confusion.

“I kinda run the place, yeah. It’s not much but,” he shrugged. “My best friend and I, we—”

You blinked a few times.  “I feel so stupid, I didn’t realize—”

“You’re not stupid,” he interrupted, planting his hands square on his hips. “Gimme…ten minutes, okay? Just need to throw them in the fryer.”

Your head snapped a few quick nods in a row, unable to settle the feelings of embarrassment.

“Oh, wait,” he spun around, snapping his fingers once in the air.  “You like lemon in your tea?” 

“Sure.” The more you looked around, the more you sensed something was really…off about the place.  Not just the diner, but the entire town. 

Outside, the grass was either dead or overgrown and there’d been a wrecked car--possibly and old Chrysler LeBaron---sticking out of an empty public pool on the corner when you first drove in.  You remembered the way those two women at the other table glared at you, like maybe you were not at all welcome there at all, no matter what the tattered doormat out front said.  

Steve returned to set your iced tea in front of you.  There were a couple cubes of ice in the glass, a pretty lemon wedge perched on the lip, and a straw sticking out of it with the paper end still on to protect the sanitation of it.  The only odd thing was the pint glass that it came in: it said Shiloh Inn Lounge on it.  

“Sugar?” At first you thought he was calling you by a pet name and it gave you a heart palpitation,  but instead he set a few packets of actual sugar down that were all different brands. “If you like.”

His eyes were kind and weary and you sensed a weight hanging in the air like maybe he wanted to tell you something but didn’t know how.

He hovered there, refusing to sit back down, and you took that as a hint that he just wasn’t feeling a connection.  If that was the case, you didn’t want to waste any more of your time.  

“If you’re not interested, I understand,” you took the paper off of your red and white striped straw.  “That’s what things like this are for, right? To see if you want to get to know someone better.”

He frowned, cocking his head to one side, curling his lip. “Not interested?”

“You know…in me.” You squeezed a bit of the lemon in. A seed shot out and almost got you in the eye.

Steve softened, crossing one arm over his chest to hold onto the other, absently guarding himself.  “Okay, but why wouldn’t I be interested in you?”

You snorted a laugh.  “You can just say I’m not your type, it’s fine.  You don’t have to be weird about it.”

Outside, an avocado green Ford Pinto pulled up to the curb and parked.  

5

“Why did you come here?” He asked, massaging the elbow area where he clutched his arm.

You considered the weight of that question and all of the answers you could give.  Practically everyone you loved was either dead or no longer a part of your life.  You hated your job with the intensity of a thousand suns, but you’d acquired too much debt to up and quit.  There was no family money or support to act as a safety net; no savings account to pull from.  The last time you were in a committed relationship, you had your heart tramped, and to be honest, your wounds from that were still open and weeping.

All things on the table, you had no business floundering around in the dating world.  You were the walking wounded just looking for a distraction from the emptiness.  

Why did you come here?

“To meet you, obviously,” you scowled into your drink, trying to mask a hot wave of insecurity.  It felt like a hornet was stuck in your throat.  “But I can just go back the way I came, it’s no biggie.”

“See, that’s just it,” he wet his lips a few times.  “You can’t go back the way you came. No one can.”

His heart stuttered at the idea of having to break the news to you right then, or ever, but it would be dark soon, and he’d need to make sure you were safe. Leaving you out without protection, out there for The Others to find you was not an option.  

That made you bark a laugh.  “Oh yeah? What is this? Hotel California?”

The accuracy made him feel like someone just dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt. “Something like that, yeah.”

The front bell dinged again and in walked a dark haired woman with one of the most likable faces you’d ever seen.  The shins of her jeans were dirty like she’d been working in the garden, and there was a tear in the shoulder seam of the hunter green button-down shirt that she’d left untucked.  It was about 2 sizes too big for her, sleeves rolled up so that her hands wouldn’t drown in the material.  

She looked right at you and a vacant smile quivered at the corners of her mouth, as if she was forcing it in place with all her mite. It felt like she had absolutely nothing to be smiling about, but wanted to put you at ease. 

“Hi I’m Joyce,” she held one open palm up in greeting, approaching with the caution of someone trying not to scare off a feral cat.  

“Word travels fast,” Steve muttered under his breath, introducing you.

“Hopper saw the car on his way by,” she progressed to wringing her hands in front of her.  “And I came over to see if it was true.  To see if…see if you needed any help…

…it will be dark in an hour or so.”

They were having a private conversation with their eyes right in front of you and a heady mix of disorientating fear prickled the back of your neck.  

“I think I missed something,” you fisted a handful of the material on your jacket, ready to head for the door.  “I think this was a bad idea.”

But the two of them were blocking your path at that point, and you sensed they had no intention of moving.

“Hey, listen,” Joyce made a steeple out of her hands as if she were about to pray.  “I know this is absolutely not what you want to hear, and believe me, I know it’s bonkers, but we can’t let you get back on that road tonight.”

Your mouth went dry and you turned to Steve thinking he might offer comfort, but his jaw was set, muscles ticking on one side as he ground his back teeth.  

“You can’t be serious.”  You let out a chuckle that was void of humor.

Joyce vibrated loving mother energy and as much as you wanted to get out of that diner, you also wanted to hear whatever it was she had to say.  Maybe even get a hug from her.

“I know this sucks,” she continued.  “It sucks and there’s a lot we need to explain to you, but pretty soon…the roads won’t be safe.”

Your breath caught in your chest, tightening there.

“There’s a spare bedroom at my place,” her expression made it seem like she was offering you a trip to Disneyland. “Clean sheets, I’ve got some soup on the stove. I can take you there now and we can have some coffee, you can meet my sons, and I’ll tell you everything, but you can’t drive back into the woods.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll pass,” despite the tough exterior, your voice wavered.  “Not to sound ungrateful for the hospitality, but this is crazy.”

You waited for them to burst into laughter and tell you they were kidding.  Ha. Ha. 

“It is fucking crazy, tell me about it,” Steve mumbled. “We just want to make sure you…” he trailed off, staring up as if trying to remember his lines. 

The entire thing was turning out to be some twilight zone shit, and it was no longer amusing. Sure, Steve was hot and you already liked him plenty, but clearly there was lead paint in the water or black mold in the walls because the two people in front of you were off their rockers. 

Your steady gaze landed on your blind date.  “Is that why you put the ad in the paper? So that you could get me here and abduct me?”

“Paper?” Confused, he frowned at Joyce and then at you.  “What paper? What ad?”

Ice and thorns shot through your blood.

“The personal ad, Steve. The one you put in the gazette, the one I answered.  You left a message saying to meet you here.”

When they talk about a “pregnant” pause, well that pause gripped the air like it was having quadruplets. 

“Personal ad?” Joyce peered at Steve, but he only shrugged and shook his head like he had no idea what was going on.  Because he didn’t. 

You raised your voice then, practically shouting.  “And why do you two keep looking at each other like that? What am I missing? You invited me here for coffee and now you’re telling me I can’t leave? This is bullshit, I’m sorry, I’m going.”

You prepared yourself to fight to get beyond them, but they parted easily and gave no resistance when you bolted from the booth, strapping your bag across your body with a grumbled curse.  

“I didn’t put a personal ad in any paper,” Steve said softly, but his words had enough impact to make you freeze in your tracks halfway to the door.  

6

Hawkins, as they knew it, didn’t even have a circulating newspaper anymore.  Nancy and a few others kept The Post going for as long as possible to keep morale afloat with a sense of normalcy, but after a while started to run out of supplies and purpose for such an endeavor, especially since they had no line to the outside world.  She did publish a pamphlet every so often that announced local events, and whenever one of The Others got a hold of a member of the community, she would be the one to break the news to those who weren’t privy to the information.  

…62 Days Without Incident….

“Who did I come here to meet then?” You kept your back to them, asking the question more to yourself.

“Sweetheart, I promise I’ll explain everything to you once we—” Joyce hugged herself as she spoke, watching you storm the rest of the way to the door and then jerk it open to the tune of a violent rattling of the bell.

“Please, wait!” Steve jogged to your side.

“I want you to have this,” he tugged down the front of his shirt to pull out a quarter size, oblong chunk of rock attached to some type of cream colored string.  He lifted it up over his head, fluffing the back of his hair in the process, and held it out to you.

There was some sort of design on the smoke gray stone, a symbol that itched a part of your brain as being familiar.

He had it dangling in front of your face and your stare narrowed beyond the swinging cord to find the colors in his hazel eyes swirling like some uncharted universe.  They made you want to go swimming in the stars.

“If you want to go, I can’t stop you,” he shifted close enough for you to smell the fruity scent of his hair product and coffee on his breath.  “But please wear this.”

You winced at the necklace without touching it.  “What is that?”

You might as well have been asking him to teach you conversational German in the span of ten minutes, even though he only knew a few letters from their alphabet.  

“As long as you have this with you inside wherever you are, They can’t get to you.  I’m telling you, I don’t even know how it works.  But, if you won’t stay here with me or go with Joyce, I need you to put this on and keep all of the windows up on your car.  All of the doors stay locked, got it?”

“Who is They?” You did not receive a verbal answer to your questions, only more clandestine looks.

It hit you like a flying brick just then that they were indeed not being malicious, nor were they trying to drug you to put you in a well and skin you alive.  Steve and Joyce truly believed everything they were telling you: 

Some unspecified Things come out at nightfall and kill people, but wearing a stone around your neck magically keeps them at bay. Got it. 

You didn’t know why they came across as so sheltered and endangered when anyone could hop on the highway and be back in civilization in ten minutes.  There were probably wild animals out there in the woods; coyotes and wolves and maybe even bears, and those were the things that showed up to terrorize the locals at nightfall, not some nocturnal horde of zombies.  

Your survival instinct won out over curiosity, and you mumbled “bye Steve” over your shoulder, dashing out into the parking lot.

Behind you, Joyce took hold of Steve’s arm to keep him from following in your wake.

“She’ll have to learn this one the hard way, unfortunately,” she whispered to him. “Like most of us did.”

They watched you throw yourself in behind the steering wheel, and then heard your door lock after it slammed shut.

“I’ll fix up the cot in the supply room just in case she—-” he didn’t finish, but Joyce knew what he meant. 

You’d be back once you realized there was nowhere else to go, and hopefully your pride wouldn’t keep you out too long after dark. He’d wait up and keep the light on.

Without one of the stones of protection, it wouldn’t matter if you were in a concrete bunker, The Others would still be able to get to you if they wanted to.  

Maybe if you got stranded in your car, you’d be smart enough to hide under a blanket and stay quiet until morning.  

What if you tried to run from them on foot or, worse yet, tried to physically defend yourself? 

As far as Steve knew, those things they called The Others couldn’t be stopped. 

7

You literally squealed out of town, tires leaving fishtail skid marks on the pavement. 

“What the fuck was that?” You mumbled, breathless, eyeballing the two in your rearview mirror as you got back on the highway and were swallowed up by fog.  

The misty forest continued for about a mile, and then it wasn’t long before you were approaching another town.  Had you somehow passed through a similar place without realizing on your way in? Seemed impossible, but you rationalized it as first date nerves getting the best of you.

And what a fucking bonkers “first date” that had been.  One for the books. 

Shame because Steve had one of those faces you’d never get tired of looking at.  

All the same, you were grateful to be out of Hawkins, but you needed gas.  You’d be able to get home with what you had in the tank, but didn’t want to have to take time to fill up on your way to work in the morning.  

On your right, you passed another weathered Welcome to Hawkins sign.

No, that was a mistake.  The natural light was fading rapidly but surely you’d misread it without your headlights on.

You slowed to honor the speed limit through to the center of whatever town it was.  There was an establishment called Melvald’s, a Radio Shack, and further down was a Family Video, but the streets were deserted.  It was barely dusk and not a single soul strolled the sidewalks or drove by in a vehicle.  

A church bell rang in the distance, and you spotted a woman hustling three young children up a flight of stairs. The youngest didn’t seem to be taking the steps fast enough, so she picked him up and carried him the rest of the way to a door that slammed shut as once they were all inside.  

They were acting as if the moonlight was poison and they couldn’t get any on their skin.

Pink and orange blossomed over the horizon while the sun sank behind the mountains, and the church bell persisted with its haunting tune.  A little further and there were cars parked outside of fenced houses, but not a single human or animal to be found. A pair of seats on a swing set swayed back and forth as if occupied by ghosts.

Coming to a halt at a stop sign, there was a very familiar sight:

62 Days Without Incident

The same sandwich board, the same cursive handwriting in black marker in front of the same red brick post office building.

“Nononono..no. This is not right…” you started mumbling to yourself, inching along the pavement.

It wasn't long before you spotted the empty swimming pool with the back end of a wrecked car sticking out of it.  If you turned down that first street, you knew you’d find Benny’s Burgers and Steve probably at the front window, waiting with flex cuffs to tie you up in his basement.

You’d missed a turn, that was all. That was the only explanation.

You went extra slow the next time through the forest, making sure to spot whatever exit or turn you’d missed before.

But then the trees opened up to a town and there was the Welcome to Hawkins sign.  Melvald’s and Radio Shack.  Family Video. 62 Days Without Incident.  Wrecked car in an empty pool.

White knuckle grip on the wheel, frustrated tears welled hot at your lash line.  

“This can’t be right.”

You tried it again, going no more than 10 mph through the woods, and it didn’t help that the smog was billowing thick as cream.

Why hadn’t you passed any other cars on the road?

On your fourth time back around, after a good cry, you reasoned that maybe you’d taken the wrong way out of town somehow, but you’d have to ask someone in the morning and try again due to the staggering lack of visibility you were currently faced with. 

Plus, according to your gas gauge, you’d be coasting on nothing but fumes soon.

Wiping wet cheeks with the back of your hand, you flicked the blinker and coasted in under a metal awning alongside two gas pumps that were connected to a single mechanics garage and a mini mart.

“Please be open,” you said to the glass front door of the service station which, once again, looked like it had been abandoned for the evening, or possibly for the entire year. 

When you turned the engine off you realized that the church bell was no longer thumping to the beat of your headache, and the dead calm silence settled around like a veil, much like the ambiance of a horror film.

The type of horror film your character didn’t make it out of.

You shook your head and thought about slapping yourself in the face.  This was all just some wild mixup.  You’d get gas, get a room at the motel you’d spotted a few blocks back, and find your bearings first thing in the morning.  

Deep breaths in and out of your nose a few times while you sat trying to psych yourself up to get out and find someone to pay for the gas, pending the pumps weren’t dry.

Relief blossomed when you spotted a person approaching from the street.  With each steady step, they took their time to cross the distance, as if calculating if they should .

“Oh thank god, a person,” you said on an exhale.

8

He was balding, but his dishwater blonde hair was combed over to try and hide it, he wore an oddly formal brown suit jacket and slacks. Polka dot orange and chocolate necktie, his hands relaxed at his sides, he reminded you of a used car salesman thinking he spotted an easy mark.  

The smile was wide and plastered to his face, unwavering, as if his teeth were clamped shut and he was gritting through some private pain

“Hey,” you said, stepping out of the car, but keeping the open door in front of you as a barrier. “I was hoping to get some gas.  Do you happen to know if anyone works here?”

His pace did not falter, nor did his deranged grin. 

You thought maybe he hadn’t heard you clearly at first, so you waited for him to get a few feet closer.  Nearly three car lengths away at that point and you made the decision to stay put, ignoring the sharp gut instinct telling you to start the engine and go.  

“Sorry, do you work here?” You weren’t sure why that came out of your mouth considering his attire. “I only need a couple gallons.  I have cash if—-”

“You shouldn’t be here,” the smiling man said, maintaining a show of teeth.

He also said your name.  Somehow, he knew your name.

An alarm went off in your gut.  “Do I know you?”

You hadn’t yet had time to process the idea that you’d gone to the wrong place entirely for your date, and Steve wasn’t even the one you were supposed to meet.  

The smiling man got closer, only a car length away by then.  

With a start, you noticed that a woman in an old fashioned Nurse uniform—like the type one might wear for Halloween—was not far behind the man in the suit, headed toward you at the same pace with her hair done in two platinum blonde braids..

Her smile was not as wide but just as unsettling.  

“Hello?” You yelled in the direction of the service station, knowing you should go over and try to knock, but your feet felt like they had concrete shoes on.  

“Hello?” A high-pitched voice came from somewhere behind you, and it was clearly mocking, complete with a maniacal giggle at the end.  

You spun around to find that the smog was a curtain, and you were unable to see beyond it.  It was gathering around you legs too, as if preparing to drag you into the void.

Disoriented and panting, you watched a car come flying up over the curb, gunning the engine so hard that one of the hubcaps flew off.

The avocado green Ford Pinto caught air for a second before the bumper crashed into the smiling man, bending him in half like a rag doll.  It pinned him into the stone of the building with a loud, sickening crunch. 

You would’ve screamed but your breath caught on a sharp inhale, making you choke.  

Clearly broken by the impact, the smiling man’s expression never faultered, and he was still staring pointedly at you while bits from the wall crumbled around him.

Black blood dripped from his lips and eyes like tar.

“Fuckfuckfuckwhatthefuck,” you babbled while Joyce flapped her arms to try and get your attention from the window of the passenger seat.

“Hurry, get in!” She shouted, her voice cracking at the end.

Steve was driving, and he backed up enough so that the body of the smiling man slumped to the ground.

Throwing the vehicle into park, Steve bolted from his seat with what looked like a baseball bat covered in jumbo nails like a medieval mace. 

He swung to strike the woman in the nurse uniform with it, but missed, and she hissed at him. Her mouth grew 5 times its original size, crowded full with rows of sharp teeth.  Her eyes stretched into empty, cavernous holes with nothing behind them, her fingers were long claws and her…her….

It was then that you realized you were screaming.

9

“Steve watch out!” Joyce had a hold of your hand, dragging you along with all of her mite.

The thing that was once the woman in the nurse uniform let out a shrill cry just before the nail bat made contact with its skull.  Its head whacked into the side of the Pinto and bounced off, causing a spray of black blood.

It barely made a difference.  

It lunged jerkily and swiped at him; mouth gaping, eyes two spirling tunnels to hell, but before it could make contact, Joyce pulled a tiny firearm out of her sleeve and took aim, cracking the thing in the cheek with a bullet. 

“I hate these things,” she muttered under her breath while the tip smoked, and you weren’t sure if she meant guns or the Other thing that tried to take a bite out of Steve; possibly both.

The nurse stumbled back behind the pumps and fell out of view.

“GET. IN.” Joyce was stronger than she looked as she stuffed you into the back seat of the Pinto.  In haste, you scraped your knee on a piece of metal behind the passenger seat, but had no idea until you saw the blood running down your leg some time later.  

The smiling man shuffled to his feet like he was being tugged up by strings.

His guts were spilling out of him but yet, he was able to stand.  Stand and smile.  With inky ooze dripping from everywhere like melting wax.  

Joyce was in the process of shutting her door as Steve backed up.  You felt the jarring bump when the wheels went over the nurse.  

You caught Steve’s eye in the rearview mirror.  “Are you okay?” He demanded.  “Did any of them touch you?”

On the seat next to you was the nail bat; some of the nurses’ blonde hair was sticking to it.

“No, uh, no, I don’t think so. What are they? Did you just kill that woman? Take me back to my car.  Tell me what is going on!”

He was lightning fast on the gears once he’d backed up into the street, just in time for you to see the nurse sit upright; black tar leaking from the hole in the back of her head. 

“That’s not a woman,” he grunted, flooring the pedal. “It's not even human.”

“What does that mean?” Shaking, you listened to your own horrified voice as if from a distance.

Joyce swiveled in her seat to give you the best comforting twist of her lips that she could muster.  “I’ll do my best to explain, back at the diner.”

“Why aren’t they dead?” You whined, staring back at the nurse one last time before the gas station disappeared in the smog.

Through the window you saw that there were more of those Things that resembled people lining the sidewalk, standing shoulder to shoulder. They swarmed in from the shadows one by one to watch the vehicle pass with vested interest.  

Their eyes followed you like the pinto was a one-man parade. Or perhaps a meals-on-wheels.

“Where did they all come from?” You asked, almost certain you wouldn’t get an answer.

“Your guess is as good as ours,” Steve sighed.

He was awfully calm considering what you’d just witnessed.

From the rearview mirror dangled a similar stone to the one Steve wore around his neck, suspended by cream string or twine.  

There was a crackling noise and then a new voice sounded like it was coming from a radio.

“Joyce, are you there?” A pause and more crackling. “Need you to talk to me Joyce. Harrington? Anyone?”

There was a CB radio attached to the dash.  Joyce unhooked the mouthpiece from its metal hinge and put it to her mouth, depressing the side button.

“I’m here, Hop,” Joyce was doing her best not to sound rattled, adjusting her collar.  Her glance flicked to the back seat.  “We’re safe.  We got her.”

The following silence hissed static before Hopper cleared his throat.  “Good, that’s good.  And Steve?”

“He’s here,” she assured.  “Not a scratch.”

Jim was all the way on the other side of town about to take his shoes off and have some of the potato vodka his buddy Scott distilled in his basement when he got word that Joyce and Steve were going after you.  He’d begged Joyce to wait for him, but knew she wouldn’t.  He’d sped to the scene as fast as he could.

“I’ll be at Benny’s in two,” he said.  “Be careful. Over and out.”

10

Gravel crunched under the tires as Steve pulled into the diner.  Three of the things with the same posture as the smiling man were slinking out of the woods.  Two from the left, and one from around the corner on the right.  

They had the same lock-jawed grins, but this time, one was a high school boy in a green letterman’s jacket, one was an elderly woman in a robe with a shower cap on her head, and the third was a boy no older than twelve.

Disarming at first, but then you recognized the dead eyes, assessing you like a shark.

“There’s more,” Joyce gestured behind at the handful that were meandering up from the street. They all had a certain gait to them; like those serial killers in movies to go at a snail pace, but somehow always catch up to the victim. 

Steve looked over his shoulder to get a look through the back window, and then his gaze landed on you again.

His scowl was more stern than he meant for it to be.  “If you run, I can’t promise I’ll be able to save you again,” he swallowed, softening.  “Joyce is going to head into the diner first, you follow her, and I’ll take up the rear, got it?”

You thought you gave a response, but maybe not.

“Nod if you understand,” he rumbled.

“I understand,” you said weakly, noticing that your cheeks were wet.

The things had the gait of zombies, but they were far from brain dead, and their skin suits weren’t composed of rotting flesh.  Aliens, maybe? Vampires? How the fuck was this even happening? 

“Ready?” Joyce had her fist around the door handle, ready to jump out and push her seat forward for your exit.

The old woman and the little boy with a mop of raven hair were only a few yards away, and you remembered how the nurse’s face had changed into a horrific maw of terror.

“Don’t look at them,” Joyce urged.  “You just grab onto the back of my shirt and keep your eyes forward.  They’re scary fuckers, but they are also really slow.”

You broke through the wall of fear that had you frozen in place, and tried not to think about how close the old woman was when you bolted from the back seat and tripped.  

Of course you would trip.

Your knee caught all of your weight making you gasp in pain, but a surge of adrenaline pushed you through it, snatching Joyce’s hand as you went.

“Good to see you again, Joyce,” the old woman purred.  “Who is your friend?”

“Fuck you!” Joyce said from the front door of the diner, yanking a janitor cluster of keys from the crossbody bag she wore.  

You kept your gaze glued to the back of her head, but peripheral vision showed that the duo were almost within arms reach.  Ice cold breath prickled down your spine.

Steve was behind you then, warm body crushed against yours, shielding you from the Others while Joyce undid the lock. All of you practically landed in a dogpile on the floor inside the diner.  

Joyce sank down on the ground right where she was on the tile, panting while the strange Others begin to huddle at the entrance, peering in at you with salacious intent.

“She’s pretty,” the little boy said. “We just want to introduce ourselves.”

“You can’t keep her from us forever,” said the guy in the letterman’s jacket. Now that you had a closer look, you could see that the gums around his pearly white teeth were the color of rot.  

Steve rolled his shoulders back, nostrils flaring while he maintained the stand-off with nothing but a single pane of glass between them.  .

You took hold of his arm, unnerved by how close he was and how easily the glass could be shattered.

“Steve, get away from—-”

“They can’t do shit,” he snapped, more to them than to you. He pointed to a stone that was ten times the size of the one around his neck and mounted on the wall.  “They can’t touch us now.”

How those rough cut rocks with some type of symbol carved into the surface kept anything out was another mystery.  Was it like the symbol of the cross for demons and vampires?

Were those things some breed of demon?

Blinded by a sudden white flash, you had to shield your face when a pair of headlights bounced into the lot. 

“It’s Hopper,” Joyce sounded relieved, getting to her feet.  

The three that had been crowding at the door to leer in at you shuffled off to go and check it out.

The next thing you heard was the discharge of a gun.  The jolt of it made you throw your arms around Steve, but then you quickly pushed off, clutching a hand over your heart.

Another gunshot, and then another.

One more for good luck.  

A large man in a tan uniform and a substantial mustache squeezed his thick shoulders through the diner door, holstering his gun.  He took his hat off once he was inside and swept a large hand through the new haircut Joyce had given him.  

Outside, you could see the high school kid face down on the ground, sprawled like a starfish.

“It won’t kill them,” Hopper said, as if he could read your thoughts.  “But it does slow them down a bit.”

He fished a toothpick from his front pocket and bit down on it.  “We try to keep bullet use to a minimum, but that sure felt good.”

“You didn’t have to come,” Joyce tucked herself under his open arm and hugged him.  “I told you Steve and I had it covered.”

“Yeah, well,” he closed his eyes and perched his chin on the top of her head.  “It’s not every day we get someone new in town.”

You must’ve looked like you were about to throw up or pass out because Steve started making comforting circles on your back with the flat of his hand.  

“You guys are only a few miles off the freeway,” the synapses in your brain were still fighting for a chance to make sense of it all.  “How do the authorities not know about this?”

You couldn’t peel your attention away from the sprawled body out on the pavement.  In the distance, groups of Others lumbered toward the building.

“I am the authorities,” the man introduced as Jim Hopper said with a glint of humor in his eye.  

“She’s with me,” Steve blurted. The comment came so far out of left field that everyone turned to stare at him like he had lobsters crawling out of his ears.  

“I mean,” he stammered, nibbling his bottom lip. “She can stay here with me if she wants, on the pullout in the store room.  I’ll be fine in one of the booths.”

There were 7-8 of those things waiting outside the door at that point, including the ones that had been shot by Hopper, but those were all rising like marionettes by then.  A busty woman with long red hair joined the stalkers, as well as a balding middle-aged man, and what appeared to be an elderly Priest.  

Hopper put his hat down on a nearby table and sank into a chair as if it was just another day.  “Coffee if you’ve got it.”

“Um, yeah, sure, I’ll make a fresh pot,” Steve moved around the partition toward the kitchen, grazing your hand with the tips of his fingers to urge you to move with him.

He leaned over to whisper.  “We need to wait 15-20 minutes before they can go back out.  Those things will get bored and wander off somewhere else.  Back to hell or wherever they are from.”

“Sit here,” he tapped the end of the counter and a padded stool so that he could talk to you while he made the brew.  

11

He put several scoops of grounds into a filter at the top of the machine and made sure it was filled with water.  He’d removed his flannel at some point, and you caught yourself watching his back muscles twitch under the thin material of his white tee. The water he used was not from the sink, but in a plastic gallon jug with a duct taped handle.

You were still standing when he turned and wiped his hands down his denim-clad hips.

“That guy at the gas station,” you started.  “The one you…the one in the suit, he…”

Tasting bile, you tried to find your words and Steve did not try to rush you.

“That thing…he knew my name. How could he know that?”

On an exhale, Steve leaned forward to rest his forearms on the counter.  He wanted nothing more than to be able to put you at ease and say you had nothing to worry about, but alas.

“Yeah so it’s one of those mysteries I’ve been trying to figure out since I got here,” he opened his hand and ran his thumb over the calluses on the opposite palm.  “They know things they shouldn’t know and they survive things no living organism should survive.  The only way we know how to kill them is—-”

“Since you got here?” You blurted.  “Did you just show up like I did? How long have you been here?”

“Well, I guess you could say I showed up like you did, but not really,” he rolled his head, stretching the sides of his neck so that something popped.  “One day I was in a place I refer to as Normal Hawkins, and then I was in this very different version of the same town.  We all were.”

“Wait, so,” you frowned, simultaneously comforted by the familiar warm scent of brewing coffee. The machine spit and sputtered. “You mean this isn’t Hawkins?”

“No, it is,” he swiped a tongue over his top teeth. “It’s hard to explain.  Robin and I have been reading up on, you know, alternate universes and such.  Parallel worlds.  We think this might be one of those.”

“Robin?” Your eyebrow shot up.  

“My best friend. I mentioned her before.”

“Oh yes, right. Where is she tonight?”

“Safe at home, I hope,” he went over to get a couple mismatched mugs from a light blue drying rack. “We used to live together but she moved in with her girlfriend and—” he stealed himself, realizing he was about to ramble on about his personal life.   

“We’re out of cream today, but I have a lot of sugar,” he plucked a few packets from his magic apron pocket: one pink, one white, and one brown.  

He loved offering you sugar.

He took the other two steaming mugs over to Joyce and Hopper while you stirred in the white crystals with a tiny spoon.  It crossed your mind that maybe never left your apartment, and were actually asleep on the couch, dreaming all of this.  

Easing down to take a reluctant seat, you perched on the edge of the stool. The deep orange of the upholstery was worn and split down the middle, exposing the white stuffing.

You took a peek over your shoulder to find that half of those Things were gone; only the redhead, the priest, and the high school kid remained.  Where the bullet hole tore through his cheek was almost completely healed, but the weeping black blood remained like tear-soaked mascara.

His evil smile widened when he caught your eye, making you swiftly spin away.  You scooted down to the opposite end of the counter so that you wouldn’t be within view.

Steve observed your seat change and did what he should’ve done when they first got there, which was to walk over and pull the shades down to cover the glass on the door.  He was so used to ignoring them, he’d forgotten what it was like to comprehend their existence for the first time.

“I promise, you’re safe in here with us,” Steve leaned in to whisper. “I don’t know how the stones work, but they do.”

In a few days, it would be exactly two years since he’d been forced to cohabitate with those…ghouls.

A ghoul was the closest he’d come to describing them.  But they weren’t a typical braindead zombie on the ravenous hunt for fresh organs like he’d seen in the old George Romero movies; they were unfortunately intelligent and possessed some type of psychic ability or hive mind.

The only thing that could kill them was decapitation, which also synced up with common zombie lore. If bitten or attacked, the person afflicted did not turn into one of them, which was a small mercy.  Steve’s good friend Tommy had been one of the first to meet such a fate; they’d buried all of his mauled body parts out near Skull Rock.  

Twenty months later, there were several rows of marked graves to accompany him.

“Steve?” He liked the way you said his name.  

“Uh huh,” popping a hip out to rest it on the counter, he took a sip of his coffee from a Star Wars Ewok mug, addressing you over the rim.

“So, you never put a personal ad in the newspaper?” One hand was trembling, so you slotted it between your knees. 

He inhaled to speak, but you continued.  “The voice message I got sounded just like you, and it told me to meet you here.”

Your mug was beige with brown lettering that said: Accountant’s Never Die, They Just Lose Their Balance.

“It wasn’t me,” he said softly.  “Believe me, I would never want to drag anyone into this.”

He continued, frowning.  “I wonder if it was Other Steve that put the ad in the paper?

“Other Steve?”

He shrugged.  “I mean, if this is a case of parallel worlds, there is a chance that there is another version of me back in that other version of Hawkins.  The version that didn’t keep us trapped like rats in a cage.”

Even though it sounded ludacris, you considered it, because even that was quite a bit more comforting than the alternative.

He said your name, making you look up.

“So, you were supposed to go on a date with some other Steve guy?” It had been a while since he felt that particular brand of jealousy. “What a small world.”

“You could say that,” you swallowed, feeling judged. “I should’ve known that the only promising personal ad would lead to more horrors.”

He gave a low chuckle, feeling bad for the other parallel version of him who probably waited at Benny’s for a solid hour, thinking he got ditched.  

If only Other Him knew you were absolutely worth waiting for.  

“Steve?” 

“Mhmhm,” he scratched the stubble on his jaw.

“Are we dead?” It bubbled out of your chest as you stared into your coffee.  “Did I die out there on the highway or something?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, tucking his chin. “I’ve wondered that too, like, a lot, but I don’t think this is the end.  I think we’ll make it out of here one day.  I know we will.”

Something vibrated in the shared silence and you found yourself staring at his parted lips.

“I’m not ready to die.”

Your whisper was interrupted by a sudden, obnoxious noise coming from the back room.

It sounded like the rattling of a doorknob, like someone trying to get in.

12

“Stay here,” Steve instinctively grabbed the closest and biggest knife, held it aloft like Michael Myers, and went to investigate.

He put a hand over the stone under his shirt too, reminding himself that this building was protected.  Those things could try to open the door, but even then they’d be powerless to step over the threshold, much like a vampire without a proper invitation.

The ghouls that had been huddling like cattle at the front door were all gone as far as you could see, and you wondered if maybe they’d wandered around to try another way in.

“What’s going on?” Jim scooted his chair out and stood to see why Steve was holding the knife like that.

Without answering, Steve made his way around a metal supply rack, eyes narrowing on the brass knob of the back door.  

It was wiggling violently, causing Steve’s heart to explode in his throat.

The jostling stopped only long enough for there to be a loud thud and quake of the door frame while whatever was on the other side rammed itself against the wood. 

By then, Hopper had unholstered his gun and was on his way over.  

You and Joyce had the same idea at the same time and both started looking for a weapon.  Joyce found a pair of scissors, but all you could find was a fork.

“Let me in, motherfuckers!”  A voice shouted from the other side of the door.

Another thud, more frantic twisting of the knob.

“Wait,” Steve put his hand up to slow Hopper from going ahead of him.

The possible intruder went still.

“Munson?” Steve asked.  “Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me man. You need a secret code or something? I’ve got one of those freaks on my ass, please open the fuck up!”

Hopper’s shoulders sagged and he lowered his weapon.  Out of habit, Steve checked above the door to make sure the protection stone was still mounted there before he searched to see where you were.  The ghouls were capable of mimicking voices to trick people into dropping defenses for them, but if there was even a tiny chance it really was Eddie, he had to check it out.

He planned to drill a peephole in that door the first chance he got.

Steve twisted open the lock and stepped way back.  “It’s open.”

The guy who blew into the kitchen before slamming the door behind him to lean against it shivering was definitely not one of those things from earlier.

Panting, Eddie clicked the lock.  “Fuck me Harrington, that thing almost got me. There were two of them, fuck, maybe ten.  I stopped counting once I started running.”

“Eddie, what happened?” Joyce pushed by Hopper.  “Where are your shoes?”

It was just then that you realized Eddie’s feet were bare. He wore a pair of tattered jeans and a worn shirt with the faded phrase Hellfire Club on the front.  His long hair was wet and if he’d already taken a shower, the looks of his feet said he needed another one.

“Leave it to me to lock myself out of the trailer again,” his teeth were chattering, and without asking for one, Joyce handed him a multicolored, crocheted blanket from the broom closet to put around his shoulders.  “I was headed over to find Wayne at Claudia’s, but then I got cornered and well, the rest is history.”

“Why didn’t you use the front door?” Steve crossed his arms with the point of the knife sticking up.

“I don’t know, man,” Eddie pulled the blanket tight around himself like a cocoon and shut his eyes tight.  “Why doesn’t anyone do anything?  Sorry if I scared you or whatever.”

Joyce introduced you as Eddie shuffled out to the dining area, and all he said was, “hey,” in greeting before he slumped into one of the booths, adjusting so that his back was to the wall and his legs straight along the bench seat.

“You got any shoes I can borrow?” The visitor with the long, wet hair asked Steve. 

Steve put the knife back in the slot with the others.  “Borrow as in I get them back tomorrow or borrow as in they become yours and I’ll never see them again?”

“Just forget it,” Eddie grunted.  It wasn’t long before Steve threw a pair of flip flops at him and brought him a cup of coffee.

“Looks like it’s safe for us to split,” Jim announced a few minutes later, putting his hat back on. The parking lot was quiet, and even if there were any creepy ghouls nearby, they’d be able to get behind the wheel of their cars without making contact.  

“You need a ride back to your place, Eddie?” Joyce asked while she walked their coffee mugs over to the back sink. “I still have a spare key from that time you let me and Will stay there.”

“Yeah that’s cool,” Eddie said absently.  His attention had shifted and you realized he was staring at you.

“So, wait, you’re new here?” Eddie asked. 

“Just came into town a few hours ago,” Steve answered somberly.

You’d been sitting with your back to Eddie, but then turned on your stool to make eye contact across the room.

“Shit, that sucks,” Eddie blurted.  “I mean, you don’t suck, but just like, I’m not sure what type of bad luck makes people end up here.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you simply nodded a few times in agreement; it did, indeed, feel like bad luck, or something worse.

After a beat, Eddie cleared his throat.  “You, um, don’t happen to have any smokes on you by chance?”

“Yeah, I do, actually,” you could almost hear a soft whine of relief come out of him.  “Well, not on me. There’s an untouched pack in the glovebox of my car but it’s…”

You trailed off realizing that your bag with all of your ID and personal shit were back in the car, too.  You’d left in such a hurry, the keys were probably still in the ignition. Fuck, the last thing you needed was for someone to steal your car and your bag.  Could those zombie things drive? You’d almost forgotten about that secret pack of Camel Lights that you’d stuffed in there for emergencies, but you never expected it to be for an actual emergency.  

“Yeah? Where’s your car?” He sat up, alert.  

“Back at the gas station,” Joyce rolled up one of her oversized cuffs.  “There was a run in with a few of those Things earlier and we had to leave in a hurry.”

“I should probably go back there and get my things,” you mused. 

“Not a good idea, not tonight,” Steve interrupted, swinging his arm out as if to block you from the rest of the group.  “In the morning I’ll take you.  Those things usually don’t bother with inanimate objects, unless they are attached to a living-breathing human.”

Eddie mumbled. “Better not catch one of them enjoying a fresh cigarette, or I’m gonna be pissed.”

You stood up, addressing Eddie. “If you want to go by there and take the pack, you are welcome to them. I quit a while ago, so—”

“Yeah, so did I,” Eddie blew a raspberry of a laugh. “But not willingly. They don’t exactly grow on trees here.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest again, rolling his shoulders back.  “I don’t think anyone should be making any unnecessary stops tonight.”

“I agree,” Hopper voiced.

“I’d say it’s necessary,” Eddie countered, knowing that Steve was right.  The safety of morning light would come soon enough.  

Steve shut off the overhead lights and released the blinds that covered the door to peer out.  Eddie shuffled over in Steve’s flip flops and the blanket around him like a little kid leaving for a sleepover.

The three made the decision to take Hopper’s Bronco, and Joyce told Steve to take care.  She kissed his cheek while Eddie gave him a fist bump that Steve seemed unsure how to respond to at first.

“See ya later, alligator,” Steve told them before turning the lock to seal the building again.

You stood side by side and watched until they were safely on the road.  In their wake, something bolted out of the woods and threw its head back to wail like a beast.  It had a bald head and pointed ears and crouched to all fours like an animal.

“Why is that one different than the others?” You asked, clutching onto Steve’s arm.  

“We think those are the older ones,” he cleared his throat.  “But there are only a few of them that I know of.”

“Why do you think they’re older?”  Your gaze was locked on the Thing as it lumbered back out of sight.  

Steve shifted on his feet before pulling the blinds back down.  “It’s just a hunch really, but they seem to be faster and smarter than the others.  Those are the ones that can mimic voices.”

You shrugged away and put your face in your hands.  “This can’t be real.  This has to be a fucking nightmare.”

“It is a nightmare alright,” Steve agreed with you.  “But the thing is, we’re not asleep.”

“How do you know that though? This is probably one of those deep REM dreams that we won’t even remember once we wake up.”

“If this is a dream,” he had his hands on his hips and the sides of his mouth wiggled with a repressed grin.  “How can I find you when we wake up? Do you have a phone number I can call or?”

You shifted your gaze to the floor so that you wouldn’t get lost in his eyes.  “When you wake up, put another personal ad in the paper for me to find.”

“Deal,” he offered a genuine smile that time.  The guy had perfect teeth; it almost made you self-conscious.

13

You had the impression that Steve lived somewhere on the premises, but that was not the case.  The “spare room” he’d mentioned was a cot in the pantry. Apparently he lived in the family home he’d grown up in, but crashed at the diner more often than not. He changed the sheets and threw a Sesame Street comforter on that had probably once been on a twin bed for a child while you were in the bathroom. He handed you a spare toothbrush and before you went in, you asked if the toilet worked.

“Why wouldn’t it?” Steve was honestly confused.

“Well,” you gestured around vaguely.  “If this is some type of post-apocalyptic wasteland where nothing new comes or goes, where is the electricity and water coming from?”

"Another mystery, I'm afraid."

Your throat constricted.  “We are dead, we have to be.”

“Because the toilets flush?” He chuckled.

You bristled with annoyance and turned away.  Not annoyance with Steve in particular but with your shit show of a life that refused to let you know peace.  

“Hey listen, I know—-” Steve reached out for you only to freeze his hand in mid-air.

There was music coming from the dining area.

The sound was shrill static at first but then the chorus bloomed, and it took you a second to recognize that the song was When the Night Comes by Joe Cocker.

“I just wanna be the one you run to

I just wanna be the one you come to

I just wanna be there for someone

When the night comes”

“Steve…what is happening?” With each word you were moving toward the sound, disregarding the protests of your gut.

“Let's put all the cares behind us

And go where they'll never find us”

With the only other light being the moon shining through the slats in the blinds, the neon red and yellow caught your attention.

At a table near the window was a replica of an old jukebox, no taller than a bowling ball.  There was a coin slot at the top and white buttons at the bottom to choose from the flipcards with song titles on them.  As you approached, you checked out the window above it to see the shadows made by rows of trees and wondered what could possibly be lurking there, observing you.

“It does that sometimes,” Steve was a few steps behind, combing fingers through his hair.

“Two spirits in the night

That can leave before the morning light

When there's nothing left to lose

And nothing left to fear”

You stood at the end of the booth and stared at the machine.  “Is it the same song every time?”

“Different ones,” his chest was inches from your back, his warm breath on your neck. “But this one is a favorite.”

“I know there'll be a time for you and I

Just take my hand and run away”

“Do you want to wear this?” He’d picked up the flannel and put it over your shoulders.  “I saw you shivering.”

“Think of all the pieces of the shattered dream

We're gonna make it out some day”

Without taking your eyes off of the jukebox, you let him wrap the wool shirt with a quilted lining over you and then, without hesitation, your hand slipped into his and he held it there, interlacing his fingers to step to your side.

A strange weight lifted off of you at the idea of not being able to go home.  

“Do you really think we’ll get out of here one day?” You asked in a whisper.

“I just wanna be there beside you

When the night comes”

Steve admired your profile.  “I hope so,” his voice was a murmur.  “But it doesn’t seem so bad here all of a sudden.”

The jukebox did not run on batteries and it was not plugged into a socket on the wall.

You tipped your chin up slowly to meet his gaze and, just then, out in the street, something inhuman scampered through the parking lot and into the woods.  

His thumb gently rubbed along yours and you could smell a touch of cologne on the flannel.

“Steve, I think we should have some pie.”

He was staring at your mouth while he nodded in agreement.

The music cut off before the song was finished, and the jukebox went dark.

-----

My friends, thank you so much for reading. Hope you enjoyed.

-----

[rollinouttahere-writes]

I'm bad at being on hiatus apparently. Here's some shamelessly self indulgent Sanji fluff.

A Father's Joy

Sanji x Fem Reader

2.5k words

Warnings for brief, nondescript mentions of pregnancy and childbirth

You love Sanji. Perhaps too much. Despite only knowing him for a little over a month by the time you had to part ways to become stronger, you fell for him hard and fast. It was a whirlwind romance, but it just felt right. Everything about him was endearing to you, so the relationship progressed faster than it normally would. You were a pirate now. Why should you abide by normal dating conventions? If it felt right and both of you were happy about it, then why not indulge? 

Less than a month into your training, you realized that you perhaps over indulged. You were pregnant. There was only one man that could be the father, and he was on an entirely different island. And you won’t see him again for almost two years.

Having to deal with a surprise pregnancy was difficult at the best of times. Coping with it while training to become stronger and trying to figure out what to do about Sanji was a nightmare. You wanted to tell him. He had every right to know… but should he?

Would it really be fair to make him aware of a baby that he won’t even be able to see, much less hold? It felt horrible to keep him in the dark, but the idea of telling him now in a letter felt even worse. He wasn’t going to be able to be with the child either way… so you chose to let him live in blissful ignorance until the reunion. You could only hope he would understand your reasoning and not feel too betrayed.

The only thing you were concerned about was how he would take learning that he missed out on over a year of his baby’s life. You knew without a doubt that he would love his daughter and that he wasn’t the type to question paternity. Not that he could even if he wanted to. Abigail was the spitting image of her father, right down to the slightly curled eyebrows. They weren’t quite as pronounced as his, but the slight curl was unmistakable.

As scary as it was to find out you were having her, you loved Abigail more than anything. She might have hindered your training, but you more than made up for it after you recovered from her birth. The second you were able to look upon her, you knew you would fight anyone and everyone to keep her safe and happy, and that definitely came out in your training.

Abigail was sixteen months old, and you’ve spent those months obsessively taking pictures of her every waking (and sometimes sleeping) moment. You’d also been showing her a picture of you and Sanji together and teaching her to say ‘dada’ every time she saw his face. You’re pretty sure Sanji will die of a broken heart if he doesn’t get called that upon their first meeting. Hopefully he doesn’t look too different after these two years.

By the time the two years had ended and it was time to reunite, you were feeling much more confident in your strengths and capability as a fellow Straw Hat. Though you couldn’t help but feel nervous about how Sanji will take the news. He was going to be devastated to have missed so much of the beginning of his daughter’s life, that much was inevitable. More than ever, you were questioning your decision to keep her a secret.

Running into Nami on the way back helped alleviate your worries. She had actually agreed with what you did, saying that he would have spent the past two years sulking if he did know. She’d also been all over Abigail, cooing over how cute she was and immediately asserting herself as her godmother. You had no objection to her self-appointed status, and you know Sanji certainly won’t have a problem with it. Knowing him, he’ll forgo the godfather position and instead have Robin be a second godmother.

Seeing the Thousand Sunny again was extremely heartwarming, especially when you saw your crewmates. It was a joyful reunion, and everyone else had had equally positive reactions to Abigail. Franky immediately got to work on building a crib and other baby furniture for her and even made some comments about fitting in a nursery on the ship for her. Usopp was thrilled to have a new captive audience for his storytelling, especially since she was too young to question (or even understand) the validity of anything he was saying. Chopper and Brook were awed and excited at her presence, with Chopper swearing up and down that he was going to be the best doctor ever for her. Brook, on the other hand, played music to help calm her down after she started crying when she saw him. It did work, but Abigail was distinctly still wary of the giant talking skeleton. Robin was her usual, subdued self, but she was clearly happy to see her, commenting on how happy Sanji is going to be when he gets here.

If only that would happen already. Of course, he was one of the people that wasn’t there yet. Luffy and Zoro weren’t there either. Part of you was happy to have more time before the reveal, but the other side of you wanted to finally get this weight off your chest.

You guys had finally gotten word of where the missing three were, and Chopper had been sent out to fetch them. Abigail was currently napping in your shared room in the crib that Franky had built in record time. Everyone had agreed to make sure that you and Sanji would have ample alone time for you to introduce him to his daughter. The moment of truth was close, and your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest.

Finally, you saw them approaching. Luffy called out to everyone, and for a moment, all of your fears were forgotten. All you could think about was how amazing it was for all of you to be together again.

Then you saw him. Sanji was seated next to Luffy on the bird Chopper had used to pick them up. The second you made eye contact with him, he stared at you in awe. A wide grin broke out across his face, and the next thing you knew, he was leaping off the bird.

Before you could yell at him that he was nowhere near the boat yet, he surprised you by running across the air. Huh. That was new. You didn’t have much time to dwell on the new ability before Sanji closed the distance and all but tackled you.

The familiar scent of Sanji’s cologne mingled with tobacco flooded your senses, and you had to choke back happy tears as you could finally feel him again. His arms were locked around your middle as he lifted you into the air and spun you around.

“(Y/N)-swan! My love! My everything!” Sanji dropped you down just enough to start aggressively kissing all over your face. More scruff than you were used to scratched at your cheeks, but it was nice.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the loving assault. “So I take it you missed me a little?”

“A little?! Do you have any idea what it was like for me to be away from you for so long? It was awful! I thought I wasn’t going to make it!” Sanji held you tight again, rubbing the side of his head against your own. Your heart panged. If he struggled just with being away from you, maybe it was good that you kept Abigail a secret.

“I’m sure you two have lots of catching up to do. You should go somewhere private.” Nami strolled over to where you two were, smiling widely. You could practically feel the excitement coming off of her. Sanji perked up from her appearance and immediately started fawning over her. This didn’t last long because Nami slapped the back of his head and firmly told him to go with you. You wanted to laugh at her less than subtle method for making sure you got some alone time, but your nerves about what was just about to happen kept that at bay.

Hooking Sanji’s arm with yours, you guide him to the sleeping quarters you share with Nami and Robin. Sanji was entirely unbothered from Nami slapping his head and was back to cuddling up to you while you walked.

“You look even more stunning than I remembered, my love,” his voice purred in your ear. Despite everything, you felt your face getting hot. You shook your head. Now was not the time for any of that! That damn voice of his was what got you into your current predicament, and you couldn’t go falling into it carelessly again. Abigail did not need a sibling this soon.

Once you reach the door, you stop Sanji and turn to face him, “I need you to close your eyes and keep them closed until I say so.”

Sanji grinned and closed his eyes without hesitation. You open the door and quickly usher him inside before locking the door behind you. You could see Sanji perk up from the sound, no doubt making some wildly incorrect assumptions about what was about to go down. You guide Sanji over to your bed and have him sit down, knowing that it will probably be best if he’s sitting for this reveal.

He’s practically buzzing with giddiness, and you feel a little bad for the emotional whiplash that you’re about to put him through. Gripping his shoulders firmly, you speak again, “I’ll be right back. Keep your eyes closed.”

“Of course, (Y/N)-swan!” 

You step back, watching his face for any indication that he might peek, but you saw none. He had always been pretty obedient, so you suppose you didn’t really need to worry about that. You turn around and walk over to where the crib was placed. Abigail was rubbing at her eyes, appearing to just now be waking up. You had her wearing a sky blue dress with a matching ribbon that was holding together her tuft of blonde hair at the top of her head.

Carefully, you scoop her into your arms, bouncing her slightly. This was it. It was time for her to finally see more than just a picture of her dad.

The distance between her crib and your bed felt much longer on the way back. Your heart pounded with each step. Abigail stared at Sanji curiously as you got closer to him, and you prayed that the new facial hair wasn’t going to be enough to make him unrecognizable to her.

When you’re just a few steps away from him, you stop. Swallowing thickly, you rip the bandaid off. “You can open your eyes now.”

Not even a beat passes before Sanji eagerly opens his eyes with a grin on his face. Then his eyes zero in on Abigail, and it’s gone. He stares at her with wide eyes for what feels like an eternity. You don’t push him, knowing that he needs to take this in at his own pace. You can practically hear the gears in his head turning as he stares intently at his daughter’s face.

Suddenly, Abigail holds out her arms to Sanji while making grabby hands at him, saying precisely what you had hoped she would say. “Dada.”

Just like that, Sanji is snapped out of his daze and lurches forward to take her into his own arms. He stands there, tightly clutching the toddler to his chest. He looks at you with tears starting to drip down his face. He speaks with a choked voice, “Dada?”

The question is more than clear to you. “Yes… that’s your daughter.” You step closer and lightly rub his shoulder. “Her name is Abigail.”

Sanji sniffled loudly and pulled her back just enough to be able to look at her face again. She looked up at him with a confused expression, not understanding why he was crying. She reached up and patted his face with her pudgy hands while repeating the word ‘dada’ over and over again.

This only made him cry more. He switched to holding her with one arm so he could wipe at his face. Sanji cleared his throat and looked at her again, “Hi, Abigail. I’m your dada.” Despite his onslaught of tears, he was smiling widely.

He hugged her close, then looked back at you, “How old is she?”

You were certain that hearing the number would hit him hard, but he needed to know. “A year and four months.” 

The waterworks started anew. “I missed a year and four months of my baby’s life?” 

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, there was nothing you could do. I know it’s not the same as being there, but I took lots of pictures.” You already had two photo albums of Abigail. Sanji didn’t respond, so you continued, “I’m sorry that this is how you’re finding out… I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out, but I wasn’t sure it would be a good idea. I knew that you wouldn’t be able to see her until the two years were over, so I thought it would hurt less for you not to know. I’m sorry that I kept this from you, and I’ll understand if you’re angry with me for it.”

Getting all of that off your chest was relieving, but also uncomfortable. You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye while saying that, instead choosing to stare down at your feet.

Before you could dwell on it for too long, Sanji brings you into a crushing embrace with Abigail squished between you. He only pulled away when Abigail started to squirm and whine. When he stepped back, his eye was staring so deeply into yours that you felt like he could see into your very soul. He spoke in such a soft and loving tone that it made you want to cry. “I could never be angry with you. Especially not for this. I should be the one apologizing. You had to go through all of that alone. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most.” 

Blinking back tears, you speak softly, “Don’t apologize. You didn’t know. I’m not holding it against you, so you better not hold it against yourself.” You hug his side so as to not squish Abigail again. You and Sanji share a quiet moment while watching her play with his tie, not a care in the world. Your eyes flit to Sanji’s face, and your heart feels like it’s going to burst from how adoring his expression is. A warm smile spreads across your face, and you rest your head against his shoulder, “She looks a lot like you, doesn’t she?”

“She looks just like my mom.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. You can’t recall Sanji ever mentioning his mother before. Or any of his family, really. Based off the soft, nostalgic look on his face, you can only assume that his mother must have been a wonderful person. You want to pry, but now doesn’t feel like a good time. You’ll ask about her later.

For now, you just want to focus on Sanji and catching him up on everything he’s missed.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Broken Wings

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Commissioned by @zehei. The mothfolk and faeries have been at war for centuries with the Courts of Summer and Day being the main aggressors trying to take back the stolen Night Court. However, when a faerie arrives in Tomura’s kingdom having been tortured in a way that used to be reserved only as a punishment for his people, he finds he may have just been given the key to ending the war. Dabi finds himself more cared for in a foreign land filled with folk he thought were his enemies, with a secret that he is terrified will spell his end even after already suffering so much. 

Contents: Fantasy AU, Moth!Tomura, faerie!Dabi, Off-Screen Minor Character Death, Off-Screen Torture, Aftermath of Torture/Recovery, Chronic Pain, Discussions of Past Slavery, Implied Caste System, Past Child Experimentation/Death, Mating Rituals, Non-Human Anatomy, Somnophilia, Multiple Orgasms, Size Kink, Scent Kink, Hand Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Cock Warming, Anal Sex, Creampie, Belly Bulge.

Word Count: 29,024

"Commander!" The soldier's voice carries to him and Tomura's antennae twitch. The smell of faerie blood is one that he's grown more than accustomed to over the years, but it's not a scent he expects at this moment. He used to spend so much time on the front lines that it was one that was soaked into every scale along his wings, but now that his father is gone and he has to not only be the Grand Commander of their army, but their king as well, he has been forced to stay in the castle more often than not. 

"What is it?" He heard no explosions, no commotion that might indicate that a regiment of faeries have been able to pass their barriers and come into the heart of their kingdom, so the smell of blood only serves to make his concern worse. 

"Something was found at the border. The enemy left us one of their own." 

That is confusing enough, along with the soldier's sickly pallor to make Tomura spread his wings and glide down from his throne. "Show me." 

The soldier doesn't hesitate, leading him through the halls and to the... Courtyard. Tomura understands why she has done so when he emerges from the silken halls of the castle and into the bright light of day. It should not be a sunny afternoon. No. It should not be bright, there should not be a lovely summer breeze against his body, he should not hear birdsong in the distance. It should be the blackest night to protect the world from seeing the horrors that can be inflicted by the cruel hands that have separated themselves from nature. 

"Close the Courtyard and shutter the windows." He orders immediately as he moves closer, the horror of what he is seeing drawing him in despite himself. He has been a warrior for over a decade, he saw his first death, made his first kill when he was still barely out of his cocoon. He has seen death, cruelty, and violence for so long that he did not know he was even capable of being surprised by it any longer. But he has never seen this before. 

Pinning a mothfolk is something that was done to them centuries ago, back before his father killed the faerie who kept them as slaves and carved out a kingdom of their own. The faeries back then would take a moth like mortals took insects and they would nail them between trees, forcing their broken limbs at odd angles and leave them their to bleed out from sunrise to sunset so that anyone who passed them would know that this slave had been caught committing a heinous crime and that they would pay for it with their lives. If the poor folk had been unlucky enough to hold on throughout the day, then they would be awake for night to come and for their former master to bring arcane flame. They would set the fire to their wings, and watch as it engulfed them completely. It's a practice, even after all of these centuries of war, that is no longer done. Tomura hasn't heard tale of it, or even seen evidence of the practice since the faeries found out that they were carving the wings off of their prisoners of war for each moth they found pinned. In the periods where new faerie rulers came into power and tried to make peace, they outlawed the practices on both sides and those laws have stood for one hundred and eight years. 

Never has he seen a faerie pinned before. But the twisted, gnarled limbs, holes punched through his wrists and ankles. If his wings were punctured, it doesn't matter now because the poor unfortunate creature must have survived until sunset, because someone threw oil onto him and set his body alight, the wings so fine and delicate that they have been burned down to the last nubs of bone that jut out of his back. He didn't know that he could feel so sick, but his stomach is rolling as he sees the warped, raw flesh oozing blood and pus out of the skin where the blackened sections have cracked open. Tomura's stomach swoops, and through his sensitive antennae he can smell that some of the soldiers who loaded the body on the cart must have lost the contents of their stomachs upon finding him. 

He is only just trying to formulate what to say when he sees the smallest movement. A fresh rivulet of blood and pus oozing over the body's chest that has no reason to be doing so-- he pulls his dagger from his side and brings the blade beneath the gnarled flesh of the creature's face hoping-- hoping for he doesn't know what. But he holds it there and holds his own breath. 

Condensation forms very faintly along the blade. 

"Moon and stars above," he curses. "Take him to the healers! Now!" He orders, sickness rolling through his gut. He doesn't know if the creature will survive at all, but he knows that he isn't going to let the faerie die like that if he can help it. Not when he wants to know what this new, horrible cruelty that they have deigned to enact on their own people could mean for the war front and how theirs will be treated.

He doesn't follow his soldiers as they take the body to the infirmary. He needs to know more about where that body was found. 

///

The healers spend nine days working over the faerie's body. Tomura doesn't go to see their progress during that time. He receives the reports as the healers switch shifts, but he... doesn't want to see what they have and have not managed to save. They will come to him and tell him that they have succeeded or failed at one point or another, but until they do, he has more pressing things to worry about. Apart from the fire that overtook the southernmost border three weeks ago, the arcane blaze so hot that it destroyed faerieland folk alike, there has been no major conflict beyond the usual skirmishes. The faeries still want this land back, land that his father's slavers owned, the land of the Court of Night from centuries ago. The circle of moonstone at the Courtyard in the heart of the castle is the thing that has allowed them to continue to fight for so many years. It gives their bodies the longevity of the faeries and has allowed them to enhance their other physical strength and senses where the faerie tend to use the arcane and finesse weapons to fight their battles. They float above it all, the early faerie armies dressing entirely in white so their most successful warriors could flaunt how they were never touched by the blood or dirt that stained the battlefield. The faerie won't end this war unless they give back this palace and remove themselves to other lands that they will have to discover themselves or relocate to small settlements that they have put in place for them, and neither he nor his father would ever hear of that. No. This land is theirs now, they will choose where they live and what reparations the faeries need to pay if they wish for this war to end. 

But part of his duties as the ruler that he has had to take up now that his father is gone, is returning to the set of moonstones, an eight foot circle with one placed two feet from the next around the circumference, and standing inside. He feels how the stones have soaked in the natural energy of the stars and moon. He takes that deep well of magic that comes from the eternal rotation of night and day and rather than absorbing it himself, as the High Faeries of each Court are expected to, as his father did for centuries, he has started to channel it into the earth instead. He has only been doing so for three years, and already their land grows lusher and more fertile, their crops more plentiful, illnesses more rare, and his people stronger. This ritual has brought his people more strength than they have ever had before and he will keep doing so, even as he feels like the action... takes something from him each time he does. Tomura can fly, he has been able to fly since he could fill his wings with blood for the first time at sixteen. But he cannot fly the way he used to. The sky is too far away from him now, an invisible tether dragging him down to the earth, making it so that he can no longer fly more than thirty feet above it. It is a weakness that he has hidden for now, that he will continue to do so, not out of mistrust of his people or Court, but because he knows that their enemy will find their own ways of locating weakness and he will not risk making himself an easy target. 

Tomura lets the magic flow through him and into the earth, feeling how the sky greets the earth with the awe of one who has been kept at arm's length from others all its life, but still yearns for the connections that it has seen passing it by. He wonders, often, if the Court of Day among the other fairylands, would echo that same admiration if he stood within that circle. He isn't certain, but that connection flows through him as it is created and it assures him that even if he has not been able to end this war, even if he doesn't know if the war will ever end between their kingdoms, this is something that he can do to ensure that his people thrive. That is enough for him, for now at least. 

He doesn't expect, after nine days of work and no real word, for him to have barely made it back to the throne room after the ritual before one of the nurses is flying up to him. She has the soft pink and yellow coloration of a rosy maple and a franticness to her that leaves her unable to keep her feet on the ground. 

"The faerie has been stabilized." 

"Is he awake?" 

"No. But he has started to breathe on his own, and we managed to... reattach his skin." She winces as she says it. "We had to use staples to do so and it's unlikely he will ever heal enough on his own to no longer require them." He nods and she goes on with the report. "There is nothing we can do for the wings. He will never fly again and it is uncertain if he has any magic at all left. We think that he may have been part snow-pixie, which is why the fire was so... vicious. It's hard to tell, but his palms show some evidence of repeated burns being sustained throughout his life." 

Pixie. It's considered one of the lower houses of faerie. Miles above what the faerie considered mothfolk, or what they still consider brownies and goblins to be, because pixies not only have wings, but magic of their own that is tied closely to an elemental form. As Tomura follows the nurse to the infirmary he considers, past the horror that he'd felt as he saw the faerie's body the first time, that he had been... small. Most other folk around him seem small, only his father, an atlas, looming over him given that he is a cecropia himself. But yes, the faerie was very small, wasn't it? Half pixie-half faerie would already be a combination that would be scrutinized heavily by the higher born faerie. Clearly he had done something to make his people reject him so violently, but he won't be able to ask those questions until he wakes. 

As he is led to the faerie's bedside, as he sees that swaths of that cracked skin have become lined and darkened to the color of wine, pieces of silver pierced through them to keep them tethered to the sections so drained of life he already looks like a ghost, he wonders if this creature will even want to answer him. He was cast out and tortured by his own people, but they are still enemies at their cores. 

Tomura has not waited over this faerie's body since he arrived, having too much of his own business to see to, but with the exhaustion of the ritual weighing him down, he finds a perch out of the way as the nurses and doctors make sure that there's nothing else they can do for the fairy, and they wait. 

///

'You're a disgrace! A mistake! I should have torn off your wings when you were twelve! I should have smothered you in your sleep so that you couldn't bring any more shame to my legacy!' 

The words are not unfamiliar. He has been hearing them for so much of his life. He has had his father angry at him before, the general using fists and flame to try and break down his body whenever he drew his ire to him. When he was still Toya, when it seemed like he would get the useful parts of his mother's pixie heritage and become a worthy successor, he used to think it was pathetic and disgusting how she would cower and take the blows that were meant for Natsuo or Fuyumi when they messed something up. But then his growth had stunted. Then his body proved that it had more of a resistance to the cold, more susceptibility to flames, and that against all odds, he was only adept at casting fire magic. He started to burn himself badly and was no longer worthy of the gamble that his father had taken in picking a lower-born faerie for his bride. When Shoto was born perfect, Rei's sanity had only fractured further, and when she had attacked the prized son, Dabi, at that point, had not been surprised when his father had her dragged into the Courtyard of the estate and had her wings torn from her back before she was sent away. He still thought she was a fool, but he understood the longer he was treated like a waste of space, the more he was beaten simply for existing, the worse the war beyond the walls of their estate got, he understood why she had shattered. He had been close to shattering too for a long time. 

And then Yagi had died. The leader of the Day Court, a position that his father had been coveting since the mothfolk had stolen the palace of the Night Court centuries ago. Dabi hadn't even been certain how many other people knew that the Todorokis were descendants of the Night Court. Dabi isn’t even sure how their families are related. But Yagi had died fighting All For One, the leader of the rebellion that had started this war, and suddenly there was a path forward for his father’s ambitions. 

Yagi had no heir and no successor named. His lands, then, would go to the next most influential faerie, and he knew that Enji, after all of his efforts in the war so far was sure to be chosen for that honor, and he had started to look for documents to prove that the Todorokis were the next in line for the Night Court as well so all three would fall under his rule if the could take back the Night Court from the mothfolk. And perhaps it had been, reckless, foolish fury that had filled him when he heard that he had been successful in finding something, that it was being brought up from the south. That if whatever he'd found reached the hands of the High Lady of Eternal Court that it would mean that every cruelty that his father had dealt to him, that every way he had used those around him, would go unpunished forever as he was given complete command over the military, over so many of their lands, that he would gain access to the runestones of Day and finally be able to unlock the magical power he had been sealed away from for so long as the moths held the Court of Night. Enji would win, and Dabi could not stand that. 

Sneaking out of the house was no more difficult than it had been as a child because the truth was that not a soul cared where he was so long as he was out of the way. It had been the hardest flight of his life, a horrible screaming pain through his back to fly all the way to the battlefield. He doesn't think anyone had been prepared for the skirmish, he hadn't been trained since he was a child, and he was not prepared for the chaos of war. But he had to get to the small caravan that he knew was carrying the documentation that his father wanted. 

It had been a mothfolk who had him at spearpoint who saw his face, saw his clothes, and must have thought him a civilian. He had started to lower the weapon, but Dabi had seen the caravan moving steadily towards fairylands, and he hadn't cared. He had ignited. Fire has hurt his skin badly since he was twelve, but he sent it all out across the battlefield, burning indiscriminately until he was certain that the caravan had been sundered, satisfied that he had killed his father's ambitions. 

And then he'd had the misfortune of waking up and learning just how far his father would go to make certain that nothing could stand in his way. 

The sound of bone cracking as the spike was nailed through his wrists and ankles was louder in his ears than his screams as his father watched it happen. The agony of hanging, suspended in the tree, uncertain of if he wanted to survive this somehow or bleed out so that he wouldn't have to feel the fire again as it burned him was its own torture beyond the physical. His father had him pinned. Pinned. Like their enemies, like a slave. Carving the wings from a faerie's back was considered the ultimate punishment, beyond even death, but his father had enacted on him one far worse by telling the world that he wasn't even worthy of being considered faerie anymore. 

He thought that the pain in his wings from flying all the way to the south in a single night might kill him, but when the fire caught the gossamer appendages, Dabi had screamed until ash caved in his throat. Oh how he hoped he had died then. 

But when he opens his eyes to a foreign ceiling, with the smell of medicinal herbs in his nose and pain wracking his entire body, he knows he was not so lucky. 

It's a mothfolk who is sitting by his bed, one with pale skin over his face and chest, but that bleeds into the pitches black along his six limbs, four arms and two legs, and a large set of black and red wings behind him. The ruff around his neck, his antennae, and his long, wild hair are stark white, his red eyes bright against all of that paleness. He calls for healers in a rough voice, and all of the ones who come to see to him are also mothfolk. Dabi thought this one only seemed too large because he has been small for all of his life, but he towers over plenty of the healers that come into the room as well. They ask him about his pain, ask him for his name, ask him questions and he doesn't answer any of them. He died in the forest on the edge of his father's lands. That should mean that his body was burned or buried there. He doesn't understand how he ended up here, and even if he has no love for his people who allowed him to be bred and cast aside all of his life, he hopes that refusing to speak will frustrate the folk enough that they finish the job. That, at least, will make him stop feeling the agony and yawning emptiness of his back that as he is told gently, no longer has his wings. 

///

The faerie doesn't speak when he wakes up, but neither the healers or Tomura know if it's because he refuses to, or if it's because he can't. They just know that the moment that they left him alone, he tried to get to the window to throw himself out of it and onto the ground below. That had forced them to move him to a secure room and ensure that he didn't have anything he could use to do harm to himself. Unfortunately, that is why he seemed to decide to do harm to others instead, lashing out with fire so hot that it burned blue and attacking the guards stationed at his door. They had subdued him, the faerie off-balance without his wings, and with a stiffness in his limbs that his guards reported as either a result of his new injuries or a result of only half-remembered training. They didn't know which, but he had been locked in his room, cuffs on his wrists to inhibit his magic since. 

Tomura is already exhausted when he goes to deal with this faerie. He has no idea what to do with him now, but he hopes that he can be made to see reason, or he will have no choice but to execute him for the disruption that he's already caused. He opens the door to the faerie's room and finds that he's struggling against the cuffs that keep him held in place on the bed, preventing him from tearing at his staples or trying to brain himself against the wall, again. 

"My name is Tomura Shigaraki, I am the Grand Commander of the moth armies and ruler of this kingdom." He says as patiently as he can as he comes up to the side of the bed. "You were sent to us, nearly dead, and our healers worked tirelessly to preserve your life--"

"They should have let me die." He rasps out, and Tomura, even if the words are less than satisfactory, is just pleased that he got confirmation that the faerie is at least capable of speech. 

"We are not as cruel as your own people seem to be. Can you tell me your name?" 

The faerie shuts his mouth and turns his head so he doesn't have to look at him. 

"You are being held here until we can determine the purpose behind your people sending you to our border--"

"Sent?" That has the fairy's brows pulling together. 

"Yes," he says with deliberate slowness, wondering if the trauma of the torture damaged the fairy's mind the way that Jin was hurt by an overflow of his own magic several years ago. "Your body was set into a horseless carriage and sent to walk straight to the border. It seems that whoever did this to you wanted us to know that they still remember how your people used to torture us." He waits, but the man on the bed says nothing. "Until we can determine your purpose, you are to stay here. My people have already taken great pains to bring you back from the brink of death, if you choose to harm yourself, that care will not be extended a second time. If you attempt to harm any of my subjects, then my guards have permission to use lethal force. I don't know what you did to have your own people treat you with such cruelty--

"I burned everything in the southern skirmish." The faerie looks back at him, his eyes the same bright blue as he was told his flames had been. "They put me back together just enough that Enji Todoroki hoped I would survive past the first spike being driven through my skin." He snarls, his teeth bright white behind his lips. "All For One made a mistake killing Yagi, because now Enji is in line to be the next ruler of the Day Court, and if he sent me here, then he wanted you to know that every single insect will be pinned before he has decided that this war is over." 

Tomura takes in the fury, the venom, the sureness of this fairy's voice and nods once to himself. "Thank you for the information, fairy. You will be uncuffed from this bed, but given the destructiveness of your magic, the dampeners themselves will not be removed. The guards' orders will remain, but you will be moved to a proper room as you recover. Should you need any necessities that have not been provided, you may ask a servant where they can be obtained." 

"What?"

"Kill yourself or don't. You will not leave this castle again now that you are here. It is up to you if you would rather make a life or be nothing. I am only awarding you this opportunity because you have given me information that my spies have not been able to gather in three years. But that is as far as my benevolence extends." He reaches down and unties the faerie from the bed, and the creature quickly sits up and pulls his limbs into his body, making himself even smaller. 

He doesn't say another word as Tomura turns and leaves the room. 

///

The faerie, perhaps now that he has been given permission to die, refuses to do so, and refuses to give his guards an excuse to kill him. He goes to his room and stays there almost all hours of the day, only venturing out to go down to the kitchens to cook for himself or to the laundry to wash the clothes, towels, and bedding that were given to him. To his understanding, the faerie hardly speaks to anyone, and only if directly asking a question or answering one from the guard when they see him in the halls. He causes so little trouble that Tomura sometimes forgets that he is around at all. It's easy, then, to turn his attention to the war efforts again. Once his spies have been told that the Todorokis will be making a play for the Day Court in the wake of Yagi's death, they are left at an impasse. The Day Court is located opposite of theirs in the fairylands, surrounded by mountains where the glittering golden palace can look down on the valley of the seasonal Courts. Their own palace is built into a palace on the western most point of the same range, and that gulf of land that stretches between the two is why they have never sought to take that land for themselves. The Todorokis have been high lords of the Summer Court for centuries now, and if the heir is not allowed to ascend to the throne, then it will be vulnerable and able to be taken. It's the matter then, of being able to hold that territory if they could take it, and while he has no doubt that the runestones in that Court could help give them more power, he knows the seasonal stones are only at their peak when it is that season. If Enji Todoroki uses the autumn equinox to ascend to the throne of Day, then Summer will be vulnerable until next year. 

These thoughts go around and around in his head, stinging his mind and leaving him even more restless and sleepless than he usually is in the early hours before dawn. His people are most active from sunset to rise, though he often is up half the day from his inability to sleep at normal hours. But that does mean that things are fairly quiet when he walks the halls down to the kitchens. Even at this hour, he could call for someone to bring him tea, but he needs to be out of his chambers for a few minutes so that the heaviness of his skull might find some form of momentary relief in just being taken to a new environment.

He's just not expecting to enter the large room and find that someone else already has a kettle over the fire, or that someone being the faerie. The other man doesn't notice him at first, his attention far too focused on whatever he is trying to grind together with the mortar and pestle. Before his eyes can register the faerie, his antennae are twitching as he smells the blood and desperation that are rolling off of the other man, his smell still scorching his senses with the bitter burn of smoke. The seams across his palms are bleeding from the effort it is taking him to grind whatever he has in the bowl, more dripping down from his eyes. The skin beneath them and lower lids had been badly damaged, but Tomura didn't realize that he wouldn't be able to cry now without bleeding. But he is certainly crying as he tries to work over whatever he's making, his breath hitching softly and his long ears drooped as his shoulders shake weakly, the stumps of his wings quivering. 

Tomura glides over him, so that the man doesn't hear him approach and finds that he is breaking the hard, woody stems of ochroot inside of the mortar. The medicinal plant is used to relieve pain, but it is far more effective when the harder bark is stripped, the softer green insides have been mashed, and then boiling water is poured over it and allowed to steep. The best way of using this combination is then to strain away the liquid and combine the hot mash with tree resin and gum to make it into a chewable tablet that can spread numbness throughout the entire body, the effect growing more potent the longer that it is left to age. It is used so heavily to combat the injuries of war that he has an entire garden just in the palace dedicated to cultivating the plant and racks of the pills aging alongside the treasury so that they never have to go back to the days of their people being operated on without pain relief. 

"What are you doing?" He asks, his lips tugged into a frown. 

His voice is startling enough that the faerie lets out a cry, fumbling with the bowl and sending the half-crushed contents against the counter alongside the jar of resin that is so thick that its contents do not even shift their orientation until it has rolled halfway across the surface. 

"Fuck you! Don't sneak up on me!" The faerie snarls, one hand reaching out to fumble with the ingredients that he scattered around the surface and the other moving to try and wipe the blood from his face. 

"Why are you making medicine?" He asks, reaching to pick up the resin before it actually does manage to spill. 

The faerie turns his face from him, his shoulders tense and the... jut of bone that is left outside of his body where his dragonfly wings used to sit looking as sharp as every thin line of him. Tomura knew he was small, but he looks... sharper everywhere than he was when he first saw him. Like he, 

"Have you been eating?" 

The faerie still gives him no response. 

"Starving yourself is a long and miserable way to die." He remarks absently, moving over to one of the pantries to make himself something to eat. For a few long minutes as he makes his selection of fruits and cheese, he thinks that the other will continue to say nothing until he leaves him alone again. But as he tears open the rigid flesh of a pomegranate, he hears the faerie's voice again, low and bitter. 

"You denied me any medicine. I have to make my own if I want to even be capable of keeping food down when just a few sips stretches my insides against these primitive sutures and leaves me in agony." 

Tomura stiffens, his wings going rigid behind him. "I denied you medicine if you were trying to kill yourself. Not if you needed it as you started to recover." He turns to face the faerie fully and tries to calm when he sees how wide and frightened the faerie's eyes are on him. He is not only his enemy, but someone who is so much larger than the half-pixie. He can only imagine what he looks like in his eyes. "Come with me." He doesn't leave any room for protest, and he starts to move to the door. It takes a second, but the faeriefalls in step, pushing up to his side so that he is not trailing behind him, his head still held defiantly high as he does so, like he will greet death itself with his pride still intact.

He takes the faerie to the infirmary and sees that, as always, there are two guards stationed outside of the door. One medic is more valuable than a hundred soldiers in their war, and he won't lose any if he can help it. He addresses the guards, "Our guest is to be allowed to visit the medics whenever he has need of them, the same as any other in this castle. He is only to be denied medicine if he has deliberately harmed himself or others, do I make myself clear?" 

"Yes, Grand Commander." The guards parrot back. 

"This is to be known by everyone. If I learn that these orders have been disobeyed, then the offending parties will be removed from the service of the crown and exiled from my castle. The faeries are cruel, we are fair." He repeats his father's mantra and hears the faerie snort slightly but he chooses not to address that right now. 

"Yes, Grand Commander." They agree again, stepping aside so that the faerie can be let into the room. Tomura waits for him to move, and he does so with his back straight and head held high. For any other faerie, he would have seen it as sheer arrogance, but having seen him alone in the kitchens, trying desperately to make his own medicine as he bled from the effort and the pain that it caused him just to try, Tomura has a sneaking suspicion that being pinned is just one of many he has endured throughout his life. The stance is practiced, a front of strength that he doubts the mixed faerie has ever actually had in his body. Tomura's eyes flick down to the solid cuffs of stone and metal that are wrapped around his wrists in segmented sections. He is not helpless. His body may not have been made for it, but the power that destroyed the southern border was nothing to scoff at. Tomura won't forget that as the faerie goes into the infirmary and he returns to the kitchens. 

He doesn't have much of an appetite now, but he makes himself eat a bit before he goes back to his rooms to rest. 

///

Dabi has been in this place, the former palace of the Night Court, he thinks, for a month. He thinks it's been a month given how people have started to talk about the upcoming solstice, though he can’t be certain how much time had passed when he had been unconscious after-- after being pinned. The conversations he overhears, though, end as soon as the people speaking realize that he is around. Dabi can't even chalk that entirely up to the fact that he is a faerie wandering the Court of moths, because he isn't the only faerie here. He knew, intrinsically, that when the moths rebelled, that they were not alone. Other lower houses of faerie also rebelled with them. That there had been faerie across the Courts who had not wanted to keep other races enslaved, they were just a very small minority. He knew that there were faeries who sympathized with the moths, but he knew that through the poisoned words of his father who always said that those faeries were not worthy of their wings. Here, he finds those people. Brownies, pixies,goblins, even moth-faerie who have a set of moth wings and a set of faerie wings beneath that advertise their mixed heritage. There are other faerie here, but either his appearance, the fact of how he came to them, or his crime against faerie and moth both at the southern border has gotten out and none of the creatures that walk the castle halls will deign to speak to him unless he asks a direct question, and then he is usually only given a very direct answer before being dismissed. 

Faeries are cruel, we are fair.

That mantra is one that he's heard before too. It's something that prisoners of war often said if it came time for their execution, something he first heard when he was six and his father brought him to an execution to teach him young to desensitize himself to the violence. He had thought it worked back then, but when he saw his father carve out his mother's wings, that mantra rang through his mind again and again. The moths were not the ones who invented that as a punishment for faerie, they had only adopted it at the height of the war centuries ago. But faerie had created that practice and pinning both. Dabi pushes it from his mind. He is not going to change the way that the world works, he can barely manage to survive even after the king of the mothfolk takes him to the infirmary and orders his people to give him whatever medicine he requests. Dabi hates how often he has to go for the ochroot pills that the mothfolk seem to have in abundance, and he still rations them out so that the bottle he receives lasts him two weeks at a time rather than the handful of days it would if he actually took enough of them to stop hurting at every hour of the day. 

He thinks that the king is the only person that has spoken to him out of their own free will since he woke here, and Dabi wonders if this is a method of torture itself. Because spending each day in the chamber that he has been given, only leaving to get more medicine, eat, or wash his clothes, is slowly starting to drive him mad. He finds himself staring out the window, looking at the people who zip through the evening sky when the city itself comes alive from the eerie stillness of day, and he gives himself over to the horrible ache that throbs through his back any time the stubs of his wings twitch as he imagines the wind against his skin again. Dabi has not asked for anything beyond any absolute necessities, but when he goes to have his meal as the mid-day sun burns brightly in the sky, he finds the kitchens completely empty. The bottle of wine that he takes from the cellar is an indulgence that he would surely be denied if anyone saw it, so he tries to hide it in a small basket, putting in some bread, honey, and milk into it as well, enough to feed him for the entire day, and nothing more excessive than he has ever taken before. 

The guards don't sneer at him as he passes them, but the way their eyes follow him as he makes his way back to his room tells every ruined inch of him that he should have just died at the border. 

/// 

Dabi pilfers one bottle of wine each week for the next two, the solstice fast approaching, and no one says anything. He grows bold enough to even take one when there are other servants present in the kitchen and though they still turn their noses up at his every existence, they don't stop him. He is allowed to take what he wants from the kitchens, it seems, and he at least lets himself have that as well. He has no pleasures in this place. Every day and night he is locked into the agony of his every breath until it gets so bad that he has to allow himself the medicine. He sleeps in horrible fitful bursts that bring the pain of fire and the agony of the spikes shattering his bones back into the forefront of his mind, twisting his mind and insides so horribly that more nights than not he awakens as he reaches for the waste bin beside his bed so he can lose the contents of his stomach into it. He stays thin and weak, barely able to walk from how little his body seems to want him to survive this. Dabi isn't even sure why he is bothering anyway. He had been ready to kill himself when he first woke, and then the king told him how little he cared if he lived or died and that had robbed the idea of its satisfaction. No one at all in this world cares if he lives or dies. Maybe Natsuo and Fuyumi might, but he hasn't seen them since they left with Rei after she had been clipped. Dabi pours another glob of honey onto the buttered bread that he's taken for his meal today, and gulps down a glass of wine. His existence is misery, his death purposeless, his body broken. If he can at the very least eat what he wants from the kitchens and enjoy it before his nightmares have it coming back up his throat, then that is enough for him right now.

So he can't say that he's very happy when someone... knocks on his door. Dabi's skin prickles with his fear. No one has knocked on his chamber door since he was given this room. He is expected to take care of himself and not cause trouble, and apparently the fair trade for that is he is allowed to live in this space without being tortured or interrogated every day. He thought that could be enough until he figured out if there was anything else that he could do with himself, but perhaps he has already used up all of the good will of the mothfolk. 

He sets the glass on the floor and swallows what might have been his last meal, before he stands and walks to the door. He hates how his ears immediately droop when he sees the large shape of the moth king standing on the other side. 

"...What?" 

The moth watches him for a long moment, his red eyes searching his face. "I imagine no one has told you," He waits to learn that prisoners, even ones not kept in cells should not have wine, should not take more than they need, should not darken the halls whenever anyone else can see them, but Shigaraki says none of that. "But we have received word that Enji Todoroki has been set to be the ruler of the Day Court. He will be crowned on the summer solstice." 

Dabi's entire body goes cold. The food in his stomach turns to tar, burbling thick and acrid inside of him and making him fear he might vomit all over the king of these lands' feet. "No--" 

"It's true, all of my sources say that a festival is being set for the date." 

"No, if he ascends to a Celestial house--" it was bad enough when he was just High Lord of Summer. "What about the Summer Court?" The solstice is only two weeks away, his brother is only fifteen. He's too young to take--

"It is my understanding that the High Lady of the Eternal Court has given him special permission to hold two Courts until his heir has come of age." 

Dabi's stomach plummets. No. If he has that title now, and over the Court that commands the brunt of the faerie army that is only earned through displaying excellence in battle, and a legitimate genetic right to the Night Court then, "If he takes the throne, he will come here. He wants these lands back, and the sun stones will give him that power. He'll take back this Court and he'll slaughter everyone here to do it." And he will do it within the next three years. Shigaraki watches him as he speaks, but he doesn't react to the words. "If he becomes High Lord of the Day Court, then your people will be slaughtered! He won't stop there--" his chest grows tight with his panic, the stubs of his wings flaring with his distress and putting a pain so bright across his nerves that it nearly buckles his knees. "If he gets this palace back, he will reclaim the Court of Night too, if he has the Celestial Courts and all of the magic that has been building in the stones since the rebellion, he will have enough to take the Court of the Eternal too. He will become the ruler of all of these lands."

"Enji Todoroki will not become a despot." Shigaraki tells him deliberately. "His cruelty and lust for power will ruin everything that he has ever touched, and I will ensure his hand never reaches my kingdom. Our forces are preparing. I don't know who you were before you were... cast aside, but if you were a soldier on the southern border, then I know that you must have some knowledge of Todoroki's armies. If you are as frightened of his rule as you sound, then consider speaking with myself and my lieutenants. We will take any information you give us in service of creating a plan that will protect all lands from such a tyrannical rule." 

Dabi's tongue is thick in his mouth. Was this the plan all along? Let his fear of Enji rule his sense? He has no evidence that his father is actually being appointed and no way of getting information inside of this castle that is not filtered through Shigaraki's people. How can he trust any words that he tells him? How can he risk anything else? Dabi is still grappling with the agony in his back when he hisses, 

"Fine," at the king. If the words are true, then his ploy at the border meant nothing, his suffering has been for nothing. If the words are a lie, then what does it matter? Enji still did this to him. He still gave him half a lifetime of cruelty before this point to let him know how worthless he was in his eyes since the moment his magic did not become what he wanted it to be. If he survived all of that only to end up here, then helping his enemies destroy him isn't cruel, it's fair, and Dabi wants something to be fair for once in his night-damned life. "Bring me parchment and ink, I don't want to stand in front of a council. I'll write what I know, but that is it." 

"That is more than enough." Shigaraki tells him, his tone a bit less grave than it had been before. "Is there anything else that you need?" 

"What other luxuries do you offer prisoners?" He snaps, though in truth this is far better than how he was raised to expect a prisoner to live. 

Shigaraki's antenna twitches, "A prisoner, but one who killed plenty of soldiers on both sides of the conflict. You have already been punished beyond what that warranted by the faerie. Here, you will live out your days exiled from your homeland and never able to fly again. To me," and as the king his opinion is the only one that matters, "That is fair punishment enough. If you choose to otherwise waste away in the chamber that has been provided then that is your prerogative, just as it is if you choose to end your life. But if you want books, puzzles, activities around the castle to spend your time on, then those are things that can be provided. You are a prisoner, yes, but you live in this place now. I would rather see you actually attempt to do that when you managed to stay alive long enough to even reach us here than let yourself rot away." His eyes flicker inside of his room and Dabi's skin heats with his humiliation as he knows the other sees the stolen bottle of wine among his things. "We may not be a people of the same level of indulgences as you may have experienced in the faerie Courts, but we can provide. Take what you need, not only for the good of your body, but for the betterment of your mind and soul. There is no such thing as life without it." The mothfolk says those words with the same cadence as he did the mantra that his people have fought this war by for centuries, and Dabi wonders if that was yet another of his father's teachings, just one that did not reach their ears across the border. "I would ask for only one other thing if you are planning on assisting us and continuing your life in my home." 

Dabi bristles slightly. He's already betraying all of his people beyond the border, but at least he can justify that if it means that his father will not sit on every throne in the fairylands. "What?" 

"You still have not deigned to tell anyone your name." He says patiently. "While you may hold your past to yourself, it is becoming rather inconvenient, and I would think, very rude, to keep calling you the 'foreign faerie'." 

That, he supposes, is really the least that the other man could ask for, so he finally mutters, "Dabi." 

"Dabi?" There's an incredulity in his tone that he's used to from when others would even deign to ask. 

"This wasn't the first time I've been burned." 

"No, I suppose not. I'll send for parchment. If you ever have need of anything else, you may ask the servants, if you have trouble with receiving anything again, you may come find me instead. I will ensure that you have all that you need." 

Dabi doesn't know what to say about that, so he chooses not to say anything before he slinks back into his room and shuts the door softly, not wanting to slam it on the king's face. He doesn't hear the other man walk away, but he has learned very quickly that mothfolk are quiet. While faerie wings can be heard buzzing at all hours from every movement, mothfolk are silent as they glide through the halls, their steps as light as a pixie's when they choose to walk at all. So he can only hope that Shigaraki has left as he goes and drops onto his bed, his fingers tangling in his hair and his breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as the true horror of what the Courts have allowed sets terror ablaze in his mind. 

///

Tomura has been aware of how violent and dangerous Enji Todoroki has been as he's campaigned for the past three years to take Yagi's spot in the Day Court, but he wonders if he was not nearly wary enough when Dabi manages to fill three feet of a scroll in a single night. He outlines as much as he knows about the number of troops directly under Todoroki's command, the methods he uses to train his soldiers and indoctrinate the loyalty that he needs to make certain that they listen to his commands. Dabi does his best, though clearly has no skills of artistry, by also drawing rudimentary maps of the Summer Court along with several of the encampments that Todoroki has along the borders. Tomura doesn't ask him how a half-pixie soldier would have gotten invited into the private estate of the High Lord of Summer. The very fact he wields greater fire magic than he has seen in his lifetime gives him a sneaking suspicion that there may be some relation between the two. Perhaps he is a bastard who wanted to prove himself. Perhaps the fires raging out of control and damaging both sides of the fight was such a personal disgrace that is why Todoroki chose to have Dabi pinned. Regardless of it all, Dabi works tirelessly to try to give them any information that they could want, though he still refuses to leave his rooms to actually go over the information with himself or any of his lieutenants. If he has questions, he has to seek the other out. 

That, at least, reveals that some things are going better than others. Dabi, for whatever reason, has decided to stop rotting away in his bedroom, living on the bare minimum that he can possibly take for himself. Tomura thought, at first, that frugality was a result of living as a soldier or as a peasant, but he sees now that Dabi was constantly waiting for his position here to be taken away. He was expecting to be cast aside, punished for his indulgences, or otherwise mistreated for asking for more. But now that he knows that Todoroki has been granted two thrones, he has started seeking more from his confinement here. He starts with medicine. He needs more pain killers and asks for any medicine that he can use to try and heal the seams between his skin so that he doesn't come apart every time that he moves too quickly. The medics make him a salve to apply that will help promote regeneration, if it is even possible, and he is diligent about returning for more every three days like clockwork. He starts to focus on making meals for himself in the kitchens that will promote his body's healing, asking for cow's blood to mix with milk and honey, eating soft cheeses over sweet bread, and any ripe fruits that he can find. Not in excess still, but Tomura is satisfied to simply hear that he is starting to take care of himself and push his body as much as he can towards recovery.

Dabi does most of these activities during the bright light of day when all but those on duty  are hidden away in their chambers, trying to sleep through the day. But Tomura has never slept well, and he is not looking for Dabi when he goes to the Courtyard two days before the summer solstice and finds Dabi inside. He is standing outside of the circle of moonstones, at their weakest today when the sun will hang higher than it has all year, leaving this as a day of rest for all of his people. The faerie standing outside of the stones, looking at the circle within, his back held tense. He is a faerie, his people are used to wearing clothes to cover their bodies, often from toe to chin in elaborate garments of flowing organza that have been dyed the colors of their seasons. But here, with so many of their people not having need of clothes at all for the purpose of modesty, they have foregone them in most instances. Only armor for his soldiers, with all else made from the silk that some of their people can spin outside of making cocoons. Dabi is a faerie, it's not a surprise that he's taken to wearing clothes, he has been since he first arrived here, but Tomura has never seen someone wearing armor over silk chitons. Dabi has not deigned to put on much, just arm bracers and a breastplate made of leather, but it is strange. 

"Beyond Todoroki's communion with the stones, what is the solstice like in your Court?" He asks, announcing himself with his voice. It's certainly not enough though, because it startles Dabi badly again, the other man whipping around, the cuffs on his wrists sparking blue as they contain his flames beneath his skin before he can actually strike out at him. 

"Stop--" the faerie snaps, a tinge of pink going across his cheeks, "Sneaking up on me." The last words end in a grumble as he drops his hands. 

"You'll have to train your ears to hear me if you don't want to keep being surprised." He says, a faint amusement going through him before he waits for the other's real answer. 

Dabi huffs, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the pillars of stone, looking at the center of the rest. "It's a big party. Feasting, dancing in the Courtyard, special provisions for troops, shit like that." There's a pause, but there is something in that pause that tells Tomura to wait. He has to do so for another minute or so before Dabi mutters. "People get roaring drunk because they want to forget the culling that happened the week before." 

Tomura bristles, "'Culling'?" 

Dabi shrugs a shoulder. "He doesn't take weakness into a fresh season. Taxes and tribute are gathered a month before, any houses that can't pay have their assets seized and their people are sent to work for some aspect of his Court, either as servants, in the army, or doing other menial labor. If they don't manage to save enough of their wages by the next year to pay back the full amount, then Enji brings them to the stones and feeds them to it. The lucky ones survive, the others turn to ash on the spot." 

"Has anyone ever been able to pay back their taxes and avoid that fate?" He doesn't need Dabi's answer, the scowl is enough to tell him the truth. "Will he really ascend the Day throne today as well?" 

"If he can fly there fast enough, yes." Dabi's scowl deepens and Tomura is a little worried that he might tear his face open around his staples, so he changes the subject. There was no way they would have been prepared for a full assault of the Summer Court in two weeks when it would be at its most powerful. All they can do now is prepare and fortify their defenses until they are ready. 

"We celebrate the winter solstice. Feasting, dancing, weddings, matings" he says more easily, "everyone from my kingdom is allowed to attend, and celebrate as the moon rises high. I give back to the earth and ensure that when spring comes, our harvest will continue to be bountiful. You will be welcome to attend the festivities this year if you so choose." 

The faerie shrugs slightly in response, and Tomura takes no offense. He doubts that, given how distant Dabi is still being, that he would feel comfortable making himself a part of that revelry, but there are months yet to change his mind. 

"Did you always fight with your flames?" 

That has blue eyes on him again and he does not waver with his patience. "...Yes." 

"Do you have any weapon training at all?" 

"...Only the very basics with a sword. I... wasn't meant to ever have to fight without my magic." Or his wings, he imagines. But now he will never get one of those things back, and Tomura will not grant access to the second until he is absolutely certain that Dabi holds no loyalty or love for his Court anymore.

"Well, that won't do, given how badly you seem to want to tear Todoroki apart yourself, I imagine that you'll be wanting to join my army when they march on his Court." 

Dabi's eyes snap to his, "I thought that I was a prisoner here?" 

"Well, a special exception might need to be made given how difficult decoding our maps have been." 

That blush darkens Dabi's cheeks further and he has no trace of the fear in him that Tomura has seen so many times in the past few weeks when he snaps, "I wasn't ever trained to draw either." 

"Well we can help fix both of those things for you now." Tomura reaches to the earth and uses the pulse of magic from his connection through the stones to pull two earthen daggers from the ground. He tosses one to Dabi and the faerie catches it. "We move silently over the battlefield, as I'm sure you know, and our greatest ally is that stealth. A battle is won for us if we can kill the commanding officers before anyone is able to raise the alarm. If we choose to infiltrate the Summer or Day Courts to take Todoroki off of the board, then we will have to do so with stealth on our side." He takes the other dagger and gets into a basic stance. 

Dabi follows his lead, his eyes attentive on him, and Tomura starts to teach him how to fight the way that his people do on their silent wings. Dabi's might be gone, but that does not mean he can't adapt to these new circumstances. Tomura thinks that's what he was trying to do already and even if the faerie hadn't thought to ask for help in this area, he doesn't see the harm in offering it since he can. They train until the sun is hanging high overhead and Tomura is starting to smell the coppery tang of blood beneath the scent of their sweat as Dabi's seams are pushed right up to their limits. The faerie doesn't seem upset when he ends the training session, and when Tomura chances going back out to the Courtyard the next afternoon, he finds Dabi waiting there, more than happy to use the real training dagger that he's gotten for him as they resume their work. 

///

Dabi doesn't know when the king actually sleeps, but over the course of the next month, he is aware that his father's armies have been hammering the borders as they look for a way in. It's something that he has heard about in passing, but that Tomura tells him not to worry about. His borders are secure, his people strong, and Todoroki will not enter. He knows that things are being moved in preparation for the attacks worsening, but he still gets no further information. He only resents that a little, and it is mostly tempered by the fact that Shigaraki has still been coming to train with him every day for three hours as Dabi is taught the way that mothfolk fight. He stumbled plenty at the beginning, his hands clumsy around the dagger, sword, and spear that he was being taught, his balance always off now that he can't catch himself with his wings. But he was not beaten when he couldn't manage to do the things that Shigaraki taught him the first time. He was not made to push himself until blisters across his palms split and grew infected. He was not denied food or water if he grew too exhausted to carry on with the heat of the summer sun beating down on them. And for a whole month now, they have trained together. Hours a day spent in the company of the king who has seen through him to his ambitions to be, at the very least, on the frontlines of the fight against Enji, if not the one who manages to slit his throat. 

Dabi tries to banish the thought, because he doesn't want to be a ruler, but if he killed his father, if they could hold the Summer and Day Courts until the next spring equinox or the summer solstice, then he could take those positions of power. He considers the circle of moonstones today as they sit to drink some cool water that he is dying for, his snow pixie heritage making him exhaust so easily in the heat. If his father thinks that he has a rightful claim to the throne of  Night, then that claim runs through Dabi's veins as well. If he held the entirety of the Celestial Court and the Summer Court, then the remaining three seasons and the Eternal is all that would need to be claimed. Depending on the time of year, only one of those Courts would be at full power whereas when Night and Day are joined again, they will be as powerful as Eternity year round. Of course, that would require him not only telling Shigaraki that he's Enji's disgraced son, but convincing him to give his land back to a faerie, which he thinks, despite the moth's seemingly endless good nature would invoke the wrath that he keeps waiting to find beneath the surface. 

"You smell like frost when you get tired." Tomura says as they huddle together beneath the one tree that has managed to grow large enough to offer them both shade. 

"My mother was a snow pixie." He mumbles into his cup. He is careful with what he tells the other man, but he does... speak to him more. The servants and soldiers in the castle don't make smalltalk with him. A few of Shigaraki's lieutenants have sought him out to have conversations, but it's infrequent and stilted. He doesn't know if that's his tension as he still can't help but await the day that all of his information has been given and Tomura decides he no longer needs him, or if it's simply because... Dabi doesn't remember how to talk to people normally. When he was the heir to the throne, he only ever spoke down to the people around him and he had been encouraged to do so, knowing that he was better than all of them. Then he had been disowned and he was as low as a faerie could get without their wings being stripped. He had to scrape by on what he was given and calling attention to himself was a dangerous game. He was able to be invisible in his father's castle, but in this one, even though he isn't glared at in the halls anymore, he knows that there are whispers that follow him. Horrified mutterings about what state he was in when he arrived, about the cruelty of faeries, things that are true but not mutterings that he wants to turn to engage with. So he simply does not speak to anyone unless absolutely necessary. But the king always wants to converse with him. 

"And you have an affinity for fire magic? That's unfortunate." Tomura says it plainly when even the boldest of his father's soldiers didn't dare speak those words out loud. "Did your magic present an affinity for the solstice or the equinox?" 

"Both." Shigaraki always wants to talk to him. He asks him about useful things, sure, but he also asks him about the books he's been reading, if he has ever taken up any other hobbies, what his favorite fruit is, if he eats any meat given so few of his people do that they don't stock much in the kitchens. He talks and asks, and he offers back plenty of things of his own. Over the past month, Dabi has learned plenty about Shigaraki and his kingdom. He is the adopted son of the previous ruler, as All For one never had a partner or children of his own. His favorite color is red. He has never slept much and doesn't mind spending part of the day with him training rather than sleeping. He was told that seventy-five years ago the Eternal Court said that they would end the war again if they gave up the castle so the runestones could be connected and the Celestial Court could be whole once more, but that his father refused because they would not lose the land they'd claimed and be forced out of their homes to abide by faerie traditions. Which is how he also learned that Shigaraki, and his father before him, have been channeling the magic of the stones. Dabi didn't even know that anyone beyond a high faerie could channel the energy from the stones. But All For One used it to extend his life unnaturally the way that all of the High Lords and Ladies do, and that Tomura has used it to make their lands so fertile and plentiful that they have had a boom in their population and that mothfolk age quickly through their childhoods. 

"Eggs?" 

"We all start as eggs," he says, his amusement clear in his tone as Dabi's face heats as he realizes how brazen his ignorance must sound. "We are born in large clutches of them, usually with around a hundred or so siblings. Only a small amount of those eggs manage to hatch, usually no more than thirty per clutch. We stay in our larval stage-- think a faerie between birth to their fifth year-- for one to two years depending on the type of moth, and then we go into our pupa stage where we create our cocoons. Inside, our organs and exoskeletons melt and then we become a soup for about a year. We're even more delicate then than we are when we're eggs, and that is the period of the highest mortality, with some cocoons rotting from a change in temperature or too many vibrations and a million other fickle aspects that can cause us to stop our development and perish. If not, the next year is spent regrowing organs, an internal skeleton, our wings, and the like. We emerge from our cocoons as young adults resembling a teenager, around fifteen to sixteen in faerie years." 

"In a matter of three or four years?" Dabi asks, still reeling. Some species of high faerie, purebloods who have never mixed with lesser houses, sometimes have children who stay children for thirty or more years. It's not a common thing now, not when only the Eternal Court has completely refused to intermingle, but still. 

"Yes, then we age alongside faerie. Our quicker reproduction is why the faerie subjugated us in the first place. They knew that they would have more workers and soldiers more quickly than with other species of faerie." He goes on before Dabi can put his foot in his mouth and apologize for a history that he wasn't alive to cause. "Because of the nature of how many eggs and how many larvae do not make it to adulthood, all of the children are raised in communal nurseries, who can then be adopted once they have emerged from their cocoons. It's traditional for the silk of the cocoon to be harvested and woven into a family quilt, each new child having their strands added to it as they are integrated into their new families." Tomura squints up at the sun as a breeze shakes the canopy overhead, leaving them with beams of the baking sun against their skin again. Dabi's breath catches in the back of his throat as the other man spreads his wings wide and brings them above their heads. "Some parents do seek out any possible child from their mating, but plenty of our people only wish to partake in the pleasures of the flesh and the passing of their genes, and choose to participate in matings during the solstice and not have any ties to the potential offspring once the eggs have been laid." 

"...What are matings?" He hates to have to ask, because he has a terrible suspicion that he has to put to bed now rather than walk himself into something embarrassing. 

"They're large-scale orgies that we put on each winter solstice. Not every pairing creates children, but all adults are welcome to join in the revelry and pleasures of the flesh. I don't know if you've seen them around, but the leopard spotted moth with the long gray hair and buxom figure is the coordinator for the event. She helps make matches for people if they've struggled with approaching a potential partner before." 

"Oh." 

"She always suggests polite forwardness when it comes to these kinds of things." Tomura says, his eyes locked on Dabi's. 

"I suppose that makes sense." He says slowly, not certain what else the mothfolk is looking for in response. "Things are much more rigid in the Summer Court. Arranged marriages, everyone is required to have at least one child, widows are expected to marry again within a year of their spouse's death if they can still produce children." 

"Were you betrothed?" The look that is on Shigaraki's face doesn't change, but his antenna, usually tilted towards him when they're talking like the wants to catch every whisper of breath from his lungs and attune all of his extra senses to him tilt a bit, flattening out to either side of his head. 

"No. I was a disgrace. I would be killed sooner than able to pass on my genes. I guess as far as he's concerned, I was." Dabi turns his attention back to his drink and Shigaraki doesn't say anything for a long moment. Dabi doesn't like the way that silence feels so heavy with the possibility of... something in the hot summer air, so he tries to change the subject. "So with the hatching and stuff, does that mean you don't have birthday celebrations?"

He doesn't know why Shigaraki sounds so wry when he goes on, but he doesn't push as the moth says, "No, we don't, but adoption day ceremonies are very common." 

Dabi doesn't tell him that he thinks that it's nice that no child here goes unwanted, and when they've cooled down, they stand again and resume their work. 

///

Dabi is... adorably oblivious. Tomura isn't sure if it's because of his focus on his own goals, because he simply can't imagine anyone finding him desirable after a lifetime of being told he was worthless even before he was so horribly mutilated, or if he just has no interest in Courtship at all, but no matter the amount of time they spend together each day as summer marches on, Dabi remains oblivious to his advances. Tomura knows, in part, that's because he is still only just learning about their culture. but the very fact that Dabi is trying to and doing his best to adapt and ensure he is always being polite does earn him less scorn than he started with. But he accepts the meals that Tomura has started to bring for after their sessions with nothing more than a thanks, and any compliments he lavishes, any pheromones he releases or perfumes he uses to enhance his scent fall on deaf ears and a blind nose. He just cannot make his advancements clear and his entire Court and all of his lieutenants are trying to, very politely, not laugh in his face as he walks around smelling like his desperate longing for the strange faerie, as said strange faerie acts like a particularly skittish cat wherever he goes. 

"Give him jewelry. That's a faerie thing." Snow tells him as he's moping in their chamber now that he has finally swallowed his pride to ask for help. "At least that might get him thinking along the same line as you and won't have you acting like a pathetic mess all the time." Jewelry, that at least, he could do.  

The autumn equinox comes and goes. With both the Summer and Day Courts in his control, Enji has been hammering their borders with attacks, to the point that this years mating will likely be the most important one that they have as they start to lose enough soldiers in the skirmishes that Tomura has to seriously consider if he will send the current troops in training to the front lines three months ahead of their graduation to sure up their borders. But on the autumn equinox he channels the magic deeper into the earth, not to make their crops better in the coming harvest, hoping the magic he sent there in the spring and summer will be enough, but to their borders. He makes every tree and bush along their lands grow thicker and taller, full of thorns and brambles until no one can cross without risking tearing open their wings, or without flying over, making them easy targets for their archers on the other side. His kingdom has always been self-sustaining and focused on keeping the territory that they have rather than trying to take more. Blocking off their borders with thick new growth that carves through wings and flesh and smokes horribly whenever fire is used against it means that they are given extra protections and an early warning system against the faeries. It keeps them safe and gives them time to let their soldiers prepare themselves fully for what is to come. 

And most importantly, it puts Todoroki's armies on their back foot. While their armies always fought stealthily, the faerie have never had such luck by the very nature of their wings, forcing Enji to have to adapt to that or continue to lose soldiers on direct assaults buys them time. If they can't end this war in three years, and after centuries of it, Tomura doesn't know how much he believes he could end it within the first six years of his rule, then holding out for three means that Todoroki will have to give up the Summer throne to his heir, refusal to do so will put him at war with the other Courts, and no matter how strong he thinks he is, he will not be able to fight a war on two fronts. A war of attrition was never his father's style, but Tomura is starting to see the appeal of it now that he knows how brutally Todoroki throws away anything that is not immediately useful for him. His father fought Yagi many times throughout the centuries and he knew that man well. He was a lower born faerie with no magic who was raised up by the former High Lady of the Day Court and he took that grace into how he ruled the Court as well. If he brings the practices of the Summer Court to the Day Court now, they will surely grow discontent. If Nana Shimura, Yagi's mentor and now the High Lady of the Eternal Court learns of his cruelty being enacted where her prized pupil once sat-- he can practically hear his father's voice telling him how vicious Shimura could be when her patience and integrity were tried. She will put a stop to it, and if Todoroki won't withdraw, and he has never known the man to do so, he will have two enemies and they will solidify their freedom, their claim to this land, and the end of this war. Perhaps, even if he cannot get Dabi to accept a Courtship from him, he will still accompany him to to parley with her as she extends the invitation to do so every other year on the solstice. Maybe if she saw the evidence of Enji Todoroki's cruelty and law breaking on one of his own subjects, she could be urged to act faster. That will not be a possibility until next year though, and Tomura finalizes the box that he's had made, ensuring the two vials inside are corked tightly. 

The afternoon is bitterly cold as the sky is covered with thick clouds that are thundering with a storm that has yet to release its contents on them, bit at this time of year, this high in the mountains, Tomura would not be surprised if they were to get sleet rather than rain when it breaks. Perhaps not what most may consider a romantic form of weather for a confession, some may even tell him that it is a bad omen, but he thinks better of postponing when he steps up to the edge of the Courtyard and sees that Dabi is leaning against the wall, looking up at the sky, safely hidden from the thread of sleet underneath the threshold. It's dark and gloomy and he has grown very accustomed to seeing the faerie in the daylight, when his hair is lush with the sun, his eyes bright with determination, and his body warm from the exertion and heat of the afternoon. He sees Dabi now, looking fragile in the door frame that was modified centuries ago to accommodate his father's much greater size and sees again how small he is. Not like he was when he first arrived here. Small in stature, but his body is corded with lean muscle now. His skin is still held together, but it no longer separates so easily from each section when he moves too quickly or roughly. He's certain that his wing stubs still ache, but he doesn't slump in on himself anymore or try to cover them with a cloak when he is out of his room now. Perhaps it is all determination to see the one who did that to him punished, but he is... vibrant now and he has endured things that Tomura can scarcely manage to contemplate. He has a sharp tongue that has never been cowed when speaking to him even as he does always aim to err on the side of caution and respectfulness when it comes to his people's culture. Dabi is... so many things that he has only just started to uncover, but he can only become this if he asks. So Tomura straightens his spine and moves up to the faerie's side.

///

It's been months and Dabi still has a horrible time hearing Shigaraki, or any of the mothfolk, when they start to approach him. It's, of course, even worse when it looks like the sky might tear open and pour buckets of freezing rain on them, but at least he was expecting Shigaraki so he doesn't startle as badly when his massive shadow falls over him. 

"I know that war will come rain or shine, but is there any chance training can be put off for a day?" He doesn't want to admit it, but even after all of the work done by the castle healers, his ankles and wrists have started to ache fiercely in the wake of the changing weather. He's already taken one dose of his pain medicine today, and still all he wants to do is soak in a hot bath until the ache just slips away or he decides to drown himself to escape it. 

"I think that it might be a good idea to hold off on training for today." 

That surprises him. So far, without fail, Tomura has come to make sure that he is training every day. Even if he can't stay for the entire session, he will give him tips and guidelines to follow so he can keep improving at a steady pace. "Really?" He turns to face him fully and realizes that the mothfolk is holding a small box in his hands, well, small in the two hands that hold it, probably medium-sized in his own. 

"Yes, there are two things I wanted to speak to you about."

Dabi's skin prickles with anticipation, but Tomura just leads him over to one of the large windows that look out to the Courtyard beyond and he sits on the sill. Dabi does too, feeling like a child beside him that is waiting to get in trouble for some invisible crime that he must have committed. Perhaps his usefulness has run out. He's already given them everything he could in Enji's home and war camps. Maybe it's time for the king to stop playing nice.

"Are you... happy here?" Shigaraki's antennae flatten along his head when he says it, pulled back so that they blend in completely with his hair. 

Dabi searches his face, looking for the riddle, for the secret words that will offend the man and turn him violent. "...Happier here than I ever was at the Summer Court." Perhaps the moth knows that isn't high praise given how miserable and frightened he'd spent the last fourteen years he lived in the Court. But this place is fine. Still quiet to him, still isolating, but he has his purpose as surely as he did when he went to intercept that convoy, he has medicine, food, a warm bed, and the training he needs to help him reach his goals. All of that is more than enough for him to be content in this life until he finds the next opportunity to strike back at his father. 

"Right." Shigaraki's voice sounds a little... choked. He normally doesn't seem anything other than direct and Dabi's skin flares with nervous heat. "And would you ever return to the fairylands?" 

He frowns, the nubs of his wings aching as they tighten against his back. "No." He would starve to death as a beggar on the streets if he ever did. Provided his father didn't hear about someone of his description and send his people to collect him again and then drag him to be torn apart a second time. His father would probably skin him alive. "Why? Am I not wanted here anymore?" Dabi doesn't know what the state of the mortal lands are, but he would have to wrap or... cut his ears to make them small if he wants to pass for mortal in their lands and not as some horrible monster. Even then, that might be a safer fate for him than trying to go back to the fairylands if he isn't welcome in moth territory anymore. 

"You are wanted very dearly." Tomura tells him, his voice changing again, going... softer as the set of hands not holding the box reach to catch his. Dabi does his best not to wince as his larger hands wrap around his wrists, just beneath the cuffs, not wanting the other to see his discomfort and think he's flinching away because it is him touching his skin, but also not wanting to admit to him how badly his bones still hurt even after being mended. "And after the punishment you received by your kin," Dabi does his best not to tense at that phrasing, "and the services you have rendered for my kingdom, you have been pardoned, and are a prisoner no longer." His fingers move up to the cuffs, stroking a thumb along the metal clasp keeping the syphoning stones locked in place, and they fall away. Dabi hasn't seen the skin of his wrists since he was taken from the infirmary, and the knot of scar tissue in a circle that pierces through them makes his stomach twist, even as he feels his fire pulse weakly beneath his skin after being subdued for so many months. "You are still welcome to stay in the castle-- nothing need change, but if you would like to look for other housing, then that can be arranged as well." Tomura says, his words coming a bit faster than normal. "But there is another thing I would like for you to consider." 

Dabi thinks that his mind might already be unraveling from shock and he isn't entirely sure that he can actually take another surprise, but he is rooted to the spot, his tongue frozen behind his teeth as he waits for the mothfolk to continue. 

"I am interested in having you as a mate." Tomura tells him, forcing his antennae up again. "Regardless of if you accept or not, you will have your place within my kingdom." He tells him quickly, "And I don't need an answer right away, but I've had this prepared for you." He opens the box and shows Dabi that inside it contains a necklace made of silk and gold. The larger gold embellishments are held together with silk knotted into intricate cords that make up the sides. It's a far cry from Courtship jewelry in the Summer Court which consists of at first, a single uncut gem on a chord that then is refined over the Courtship process until it is finally set into rings on the couple's wedding day, but maybe this is traditional for mothfolk. "When you've made a decision, you can put this on and apply one of these two perfumes to the silk." He points at each of the two tiny vials that have been pressed into the velvet interior of the box. "Black will tell me that you are formally rejecting the proposal, the red will tell me that you have accepted." 

"I can't." The words come out immediately, his tongue still feeling heavy in his mouth as his blood pounds in his ears. "I-- I haven't been honest. I'm not a soldier," the words make his throat tighten with his panic. He had been sure that if anyone found this out, that no matter how useful he had been, he would not get a second chance in this Court the same way he had been denied it in his own. "My surname was Todoroki when I was a child. I was disowned when I was twelve but Enji Todoroki is still my father." 

Shigaraki's antennae pin again, but his lips only turn to a soft frown rather than the vicious scowl that he had been expecting. "He disowned you and tortured you. Surely I don't have to ask for his permission to have you as my mate?" 

Dabi stares at him, something like shock overcoming all of his senses, but when he can't find any more words, Tomura closes the box and sets it on the sill between their bodies. "You can choose to accept or not on your own terms, Dabi. Like I said, take as long or as short as you need. I will be awaiting your answer and ensuring your place in this kingdom either way." The storm outside finally breaks and sleet begins to pour from the sky creating an even louder cacophony of noise than the thunder alone. "If the weather lets up, we can resume our training tomorrow." 

Tomura leaves him with the box and goes swiftly to elsewhere in the castle. But he doesn't slap his cuffs back on him, doesn't curse him or threaten him with violence, doesn't exile him. He just leaves him with the necklace and... runs away, like he's embarrassed. Dabi looks down at the box, tempted to pour the black perfume over the silk right now so that he doesn't string along the king whose castle he's staying in. But there is another part of him-- He cuts that thought off harshly. Another part of him wants to go drown in a nice warm bathtub. That is all he cares to do for the rest of the day. He will consider Courtship later. 

Dabi returns to his room, gets the water as hot as he can stand it now that his magic is flowing beneath his skin again, and promptly dunks his entire body beneath the water, even if that does send some of the contents of the bath sloshing over the rim of his tub that he will have to clean up later. Whatever. Maybe later his mind won't be as clouded as it feels right now. 

///

Dabi doesn't wear the necklace the next day, and when he sees Tomura for training, he doesn't even mention it. He does ask if he wants to stay in the castle for the foreseeable future or if he would rather have a home of his own somewhere in the village, or even join the army properly if he'd like, but Dabi says he isn't sure yet. Tomura just nods and tells him that he can take however long he needs on that front as well. This is his... home now. It's only been a few months, he can take as long as he needs to figure out how to make it feel that way now. He doesn't bring up any of it the day after that, or the one after that. His touches never even broach the inappropriate, his words do not change the cadence that he has always spoken to him with. He allows Dabi to continue as he is.

And the longer that goes on, the more Dabi's chest starts to ache. He never thought that he would ever get to have anyone who cares about him the way that Tomura is saying that he wants to. Even if he did pay attention to those kinds of things, he doesn't know the first thing about how mothfolk Courtship differs from faerie practices. He decides that he should probably start there and tries to go to the library to find books on the subject, but he turns up shockingly little. Most of what he finds are more in-depth discussions of procreation in medical text books, but that focuses on just the idea of producing offspring. There isn't anything about the romantic side. When he asks about books on Courtship, thinking that maybe they have a different name for it, he isn't given any either. They don't have any. Because All For One chose not to ever take a mate or adopt a child until Tomura, the king doesn't have to follow any specific rules, and his spouse wouldn't be expected to either. Moths choose their mates and spouses based on personality, looks, compatibility, with mates being the more casual form, sometimes only joining once, sometimes only on solstices, sometimes whenever they want, the thing that separates them from spouses is really the wedding and the legality of sharing every part of their lives if they choose to go that route instead. That, at least, Dabi has some frame of reference for. He thinks that more casual dating and choosing to take, or not take, a spouse is more common in the Spring Court and in the Day Court when Yagi was still alive. He chose to never take a spouse either if Dabi recalls correctly. But by the end of having a conversation with a very patient, though clearly bemused librarian, he does at least know that he's not signing himself up for some rigid fate of duty if he decides that he's going to accept the Courtship-- 

Which he's not going to. He reminds himself when he trudges back to his room with a blush staining his cheeks. He's broken so beyond repair now and only readying his body enough to fight so that when that strain inevitably kills him, he won't have to feel as though Enji really did make his life as worthless as it has felt for so long now. 

He's not going to accept. 

Tomura still trains with him every day and Dabi's chest aches. 

///

The winter solstice is fast approaching, and Dabi sees the castle come to life in a way that he hadn't been expecting. He knew that his father would pull back his troops. After the bramble wood that Tomura was able to raise on the autumn equinox, the longest night of the year will provide him access to even more magic to make certain that their defenses are fortified while the Summer and Day Courts are at their weakest. The Winter Court holds the best blacksmiths and most forges in all of the land, the faeries there enjoying the roaring heat of the fires that contrast sharply with the perpetual chill of their environment. They certainly won't be lending his father any soldiers to try and bolster their attacks, so this solstice, he thinks, will be safe enough. And clearly so does Tomura because as the snow falls heavy and blankets the mountain top, more mothfolk arrive. The majority of folk don't ever wear clothes, but in this chill, they walk more than they fly, their wings wrapped around themselves like cloaks and their antennae pressed down along their skulls so their extremities stay warm against the chill. Dabi has to find the scattered faeries in the kingdom to find proper winter clothes including shoes for the first time since he's gotten here, given that most of the mothfolk have insectoid feet that do not require them. It's while he's out in the city below, able to come and go freely from the castle now and able to show a small seal that he was given by Tomura to any vendors to have the bills for his purchases sent to the castle, that he hears people talking about the mating again. Outside of the castle, he thinks, the people don't know who he is, they just think that he's another refugee from the cruelty of the Courts and he finds that many of the other middling faeries here have also had their wings removed, and been exiled. Because of that, people don't think to talk around him in a hush, and he overhears a mothfolk woman speaking to another as she spins silk behind the counter. 

"I heard there is going to be a line this year for anyone who wants to spend time with the king." 

"No, really?" 

"Oh yes, apparently his appetite isn't what it was since last year, he's been so focused on the war efforts. He hasn't taken a partner in months." Her wings flutter. "Oh, I bet he'll be so domineering with the first few that he accepts." 

The two titter as they weave and Dabi's stomach twists into a knot. He... knows that Tomura said he could take as long as he wanted to choose whether or not he wanted to accept the proposal, but he guesses that he just hadn't realized that the king would continue to act the way he always had before around the ceremony while waiting for his answer. Dabi tries to shake himself. He isn't supposed to have a... mate. He should make sure to reject Tomura properly before the solstice so that he knows he should be looking among the guests for the person he wants to spend more of his life with. 

But those thoughts don't keep that sourness from filling his gut over and over again. 

///

When the night of the solstice arrives, Dabi goes to the Courtyard. Many of the inhabitants of the castle gather around as well, watching from inside as Tomura steps out into the Courtyard. He goes to the circle of stones, the fresh snowfall leaving only his footprints and the drag of his wing tips in the powder, before he stands at the center of the circle. The pale runestones begin to emit the soft white glow of the moon hanging high above them and Tomura kneels down, spreading his wings wide as all four of his hands are pressed into the earth. He has seen his father channel their circle many times before, and all of those, he would take so much of the magic into himself, ensuring that his body would never weaken, that he would always hold more power than anyone else in his Court, before he let just enough flow back into the earth so that they could have a good harvest when the season changed. 

Tomura puts every drop of that magic into the land, Dabi can feel it. He thinks he felt the echoes of it in summer and fall, but it's not like it is now. The outpouring of magic that sinks into the ground now is far beyond anything he could have expected and yet-- It's a strange awareness that tugs on the back of his mind that tells him that this is not all that there is. There's more... somewhere beneath the surface that is being corked inside of the stones. The pressure is still building, the small amounts that Tomura is able to let out throughout the seasons the only thing that has kept them from shattering and overflowing. More than enough magic for Tomura to ensure the prosperity of their children, the sureness of their new defenses, and the good harvest of their winter crops. But there is so much more magic that is beneath the surface, an ocean of power that has welled up and that could be used to do... so much more. It could change everything. It could reach across the valley to its twin on the opposite mountain top and change the topography of the fairylands. It could be... everything. 

And then Tomura stops channeling, and the stopper goes back in, and Dabi is left, trembling in the wake of so much magic pouring through the earth around him. Tomura rises and announces the start of the feast and other festivities. Feasting and games in the banquet hall, wedding services in the throne room, and... matings to begin in the grand ballroom. People are excited for the festivities and Dabi finds himself sick to his stomach again when Tomura steps away from the runestones and is immediately approached by a variety of folk asking where he will be spending his evening tonight. Dabi knows immediately that he will not be able to stomach a meal and he turns to go back to his chambers. He still has half a bottle of wine there, and with the plenty that has been overflowing the kitchens, he doubts anyone will care if he takes another bottle or two so that he floats away and doesn't think about any of the festivities taking place beyond his room. 

"Dabi," Tomura moves past all of the other people so that he can approach him. "Are you going to attend the feast?" He has always been... good to him and the mothfolk's eyes are warm as he looks down at him now. 

He doesn't know why that puts such a lump in his throat that makes it hard to speak. "No. I think I'm just going to go lie down. Enjoy the festivities." He tells him, watching the way that his antennae droop even as he keeps that same patient smile on his face. 

"Okay, if you need anything--" 

"I'll make due. Enjoy your night." He says, ducking his own head into the collar of his coat and turning to head to his room. He doesn't want to be a burden. He isn't supposed to have a significant other. He shouldn't be even contemplating having Tomura of all people. If he were any kind of decent, he would go back to his room, put on the collar, and use the black perfume before making a very brief appearance at the party. Then Tomura will know that whatever he wants to do tonight, he doesn't need to be beholden to him or the proposal he made.

He goes to  his room, the box sitting by the window on a small desk, and decides to have a glass of wine instead. It doesn't relax him or settle his nerves and neither does the second. He still feels his heart pounding behind his ribs, and he decides quickly that he wants to go gather two more bottles from the festivities if he really wants to be unable to think about the other activities taking place beyond his room tonight. 

But instead of going to his door, he finds himself standing in front of the collar. Dabi's hand trembles as he reaches to the box, opening the lid and seeing the pristine white silk that connects each section of gold. It's not a gem. It's not a marriage proposal. It's a... question. Something that Tomura has asked him to consider, something that his culture uses to actually test the compatibility of matches before requiring them to be finalized. maybe he wasn't made for this, maybe it's not something that he deserves to try, but... maybe he can be allowed to. Just once. Maybe if it doesn't work, it won't hurt the way that the untouched possibility is twisting his stomach into knots right now. Maybe this could be something. Maybe it could be better in the same way that so much has been better for him since he was allowed to take refuge here. Maybe he doesn't have to suffer in every aspect of his life. 

Dabi uncaps the red vial and uses the dropper along the white silk. It soaks into the silk, the material wicking it all away easily and turning to such a deep red that he imagines that it must have some kind of dye in it to create the effect. But when Dabi lifts the vial and silk to his nose, he can't detect even the faintest scent. Tomura did say this was a perfume, didn't he? Dabi is hesitant, but he warms his palm and holds it beneath the silk until the dye has dried into the material so he can put it on without it staining his skin. He puts the necklace on and still can't smell anything, but the color is distinctive enough, when Tomura sees it, he'll know.

Dabi's heart is pounding as he goes to the door, about to declare in front of the entire castle that he wants Tomura, and he hardly gets it open before the massive shape of the moth is in front of him. Four hands wrap around him, his fingers touching around his waist as he lifts Dabi up towards his face. He can't help squeaking as he does so, feeling so fragile in his grip for the split second before Tomura's mouth is on his. Dabi hasn't ever been kissed before, hasn't ever been held, but feeling, so immediately how badly the other wants him has him melting readily into the other's arms as he’s carried back inside of his room, Tomura kicking the door shut behind them as they go. 

///

It's been a year since his mate came to live in the castle, a year since he was tortured by his father, and only five months since he accepted his proposal to become his mate. Five months since his room became their room and he got to see, inch by inch, all of the things that Dabi had been hiding from him as he tried to prevent himself from being a burden in the castle. Despite his training and eating more, despite the fact he would ask for his salves and pain medicine when he needed it more often now, it was only when they were spending so much more time together that Tomura realized that he still was struggling with his very existence in the castle. He has felt worthless in his own Court for years, has been in pain every day since he awoke, and he needs more than he's ever allowed himself to have. It breaks Tomura's heart, but he also learns so quickly how Dabi bristles at the idea of simply being provided for without earning his keep when he lives with the constant guilt of simply existing. So he tries to give him ways of alleviating that. He continues his martial training, but he also sends him to the border where they allow refugees of the fairylands to pass. He knows their culture, and especially the marks of his father's soldiers well, and after the first time he catches a spy trying to make it past their borders, Dabi starts to stand up a little straighter. He works with their healers to make certain that Dabi has a slower release version of their fermented ochroot pills so that he can manage his pain while he's awake a bit more, allowing him to avoid the total body numbness that comes if he takes as much as he needed to manage the pain before. 

But that only works when he's awake and Tomura stirs as he smells his lover's scent go acrid with smoke and sweat as he starts to tremble in their sheets. Tomura barely sleeps as is, and he's glad to wake now at the first sign of his lover's distress as the nightmares that have plagued Dabi since his arrival here come for him once again. 

"Shh, darling," he murmurs, unsurprised that Dabi is too deeply entrenched in the agony that his body has suffered. He rolls his little faerie onto his side, knowing that the pressure of the bed against the stumps of his wings will only make the intensity of the nightmares worse. He leans over Dabi then, a hand against his side and stroking the seam that splits his skin there, another on his chest, moving to rub against his nipple, a third on the closest stump of his wings, reaching for the base so that he can rub around the connection point and soothe away the agony that must be pulsing through his taut muscles. His last hand moves down between his mate's legs. This had been something that Tomura suggested two months after they started spending time sleeping beside one another once Dabi had acclimated to the new schedule he had to keep to with his shifts at the border. The first few times he had tried to get Dabi to wake from his nightmares, he had flinched horribly and woken with fire arching off of his palms and smoke choking his breath. He had been in hysterics after that, sobbing and promising that he wasn't a spy, that he wouldn't do anything to hurt him or his kingdom, that he would go right then if that's what he'd wanted. And Tomura had to put the cuffs back on him just to cool his skin enough that he wouldn't set fire to himself again as he sobbed and sobbed. That had just about torn him open and pulled out his insides, and it still took a few days to get his mate to sleep beside him again. But when he had his next nightmare, Tomura hadn't tried to shake him awake. He held him close and murmured sweetly in his ear, he stroked his wing stumps and pressed kisses to his forehead and eyelids, and Dabi had managed to wake far more gently than he had the first time. So he did it again, and again, and after another two weeks, he had asked if Dabi would want him to try this when he is trembling against the nightmares in his mind and his body is aching with the agony of the aftermath. 

Dabi is still trembling, still lets out a soft whimper as his dreams stay ruthless and his scent is layered with pain, but Tomura wraps his fingers around his soft prick anyway. The dissonance between pleasure and pain in his dreams makes him wake confused instead of terrified and panicked, and the thrill of a good orgasm can alleviate the worst of the tensed muscles. Tomura hopes that one day his mate won't dream of the agony that he's been through so frequently, that maybe someday he'll be able to wake him with these touches and kisses just because he can't stand even a few hours of not be able to access his mate's pleasure and joy when they're together, but he will still happily give him this if it will bring Dabi some momentary relief. 

Tomura strokes him once, trying to turn his body to the start of his arousal instead of the pain that he knows is sitting on his nerves, but Dabi whimpers and twists beneath the ministrations, trying to pull his body away as he must be remembering the roughness of the hands that hurt him before they met. Tomura reaches to their bedside drawer and gets their bottle of oil,  uncapping it so that he can coat his palms, and make his next touches even softer against his mate's skin. He kisses along the edge of his collar, the perfume that he poured over the silk always leaving Dabi smelling like he wants him in the way his scent always sharpens for him whenever they are near one another. The faerie's nose isn't nearly as sensitive as his antennae are, and he expresses confusion over why Tomura loves to run his antennae along his body so that he can find the natural smokiness that comes to Dabi's scent as well when he starts to truly sweeten with his desire, but he allows him to do so anyway. Tomura soaks in his scent now as he starts to move his hands over his body again. his fingers start to work along the tense muscles of his body, trying to soothe away some of those knots as another goes back to his mate's cock. He has refrained from saying anything, but the smallness of all parts of his mate makes his entire body warm with his desire. Tomura is used to being the larger partner when he has ever taken a lover in the past, but mothfolk, on average, are simply larger than most faeries. He always liked feeling as though he could tower over his partners and that he could bend their bodies to his will with his strength rather than his status or words. But Dabi only makes that fantasy more lush as he is so much smaller than him, delicate after all of the tortures his body has experienced before him, and so vulnerable as he lets him take from his body however he wishes as he sleeps.

One of his hands spans from Dabi's collarbone to the base of his ribs, his fingers able to encircle his entire neck when he so chooses, and he is able to cup all of him against his palm as he toys with his little one's most sensitive parts. His wings flutter, kicking up a soft breeze in the room as he cups his cock and balls in his palm, his fingers still long enough to rub back to his hole. Dabi stays soft in his hand for now, but he does make a quiet sound of discontent as his fingers clutch at the sheets a bit tighter, trying to move away. Scared that the touches he's getting will turn to the same sour pain of his dreams. But Tomura is going to make him feel good, he's going to make his whole body hum and sing, and when his mate wakes, he'll be gasping from his pleasure, and boneless with bliss. 

He moves his hand over him, reveling in how soft his skin is here. He always revels in the texture of Dabi's skin. His body is covered in very fine scales that glitter in the light and shed like snow when he bathes in dust. Dabi's skin is twisted and bumpy across his scars, and soft and delicate where it is healthy. He burns with the heat of his flames inside his veins, and the training that he has continued has built him into lean muscle that makes his strength beyond his endurance plain. It's probably a miracle that Tomura is able to get anything at all done every day when he could be touching his mate. Tomura lavishes his body with his touches now, massaging along his balls, teasing them and pulling lightly so that Dabi is squirming a little more beneath him, savoring the whimper that he lets out when he does, as his firefly bites his lower lip, his thighs tightening like he can hide himself from his grasp. Tomura doesn't stop though, squeezing his palm around him as well so that he's giving him that same stimulation along his root as well as he unfurls his long tongue from his mouth, and starts to lick along Dabi's skin. The first time he had given Dabi the full length of his tongue in his throat Dabi had ridden his thigh until his cock was spilling without his hands ever wandering below his waist, and the fist time he had gotten Dabi, blushing, trembling, to sink down over his face so he could feed it into his insides, he had kept him there until Dabi had cum so many times, and was so boneless with his exhaustion he had been sobbing as he begged for his final orgasm to actually be the last for the night. All of those sensations, all of the pleasure that he can give his firefly, it all helps him to sleep better and heavier when he does lay down. But if their schedules don't allow that, then this is the next best thing. 

Dabi's seams are healed enough now, and so sensitive, that he can tolerate them being touched. And as Tomura drags his tongue along them, his cock hardens against his palm. He shifts his grip, able to encircle him completely with three fingers. He starts to stroke him more deliberately, rubbing his thumb over his head, and applying more pressure, until he is stroking his baby the way that he knows that he loves to be touched. Dabi whimpers, his body growing a little warmer beneath his palms as his hips twitch up into the movements. Tomura purrs, the sound rumbling through him in a low vibration that always makes Dabi's wings try to flap again. He doesn't know if it's out of fear or arousal, but it doesn't stop the swell of sweetness that has been pulsing through him already. 

Tomura continues to kiss and stroke him, working along Dabi's cock until his hips are moving on his own, rutting into his palm as he stretches his fingers back to his mate's hole and spreading the oil there. The way Dabi still blushes when he touches him here when he's awake still makes Tomura's purrs go louder, but watching him chase his pleasure unabashedly as he rubs against him in his sleep is almost as good. He doesn't withhold his pleasure, letting Dabi move and moan until he's moaning softly and his cum is spilling as hot as coffee against his palm from his magic flowing beneath his skin. Tomura nuzzles against his cheek and presses kisses there, but the nightmare, the pain of memory and his tense muscles must be worse than it normally is, because he doesn't wake with his orgasm. He is still asleep, his brow furrowing as he rolls away from his mess and presses himself tighter into Tomura's chest. His hands give up pulling at the sheets to press his knuckles to his chest, Dabi hiding his face in the soft fur of his ruff from where it flows beneath his chin and down his neck. Tomura uses a set of arms to cradle him close, but if that didn't wake his mate, then he knows what will. 

He takes his soaked fingers and starts to work them into his body. Dabi mewls so cutely, nuzzling deeper into his chest, his wing stumps starting to flitter faster, the quiet of their room the only thing that lets Tomura hear that very faint clicking that would turn into the buzz that accompanied the faerie armies when they march if his mate still had his wings. He hasn't dared to ask what Dabi's wings looked like when he had them. He has his father's blue eyes, but his hair is the color of jet and the joints of his wings don't look like they could support the fiery monarch butterfly wings that Todoroki is known for. He wonders if he took more after his pixie mother in this aspect too, but he hasn't pressed. Dabi lives in fear that every day could be the one when Tomura will change his mind and decide that he has had enough of him, tossing him to the side. He is bound and determined to wait for the rest of their lives to show his love that is not something he will ever do to him.

Besides, even outside of their day-to-day, Tomura doesn't understand how Dabi can doubt how much he wants him like this as well. He sinks his first finger into Dabi's body, his muscles much more pliant after his first orgasm as his sleep has grown less disturbed as he tries to draw more of his mate's pleasure to the surface. Sometimes he likes to just press in and feel his baby open up around his cock slowly, but given that his first orgasm couldn't bring him out of his dream completely, he doesn't want to push too quickly and turn the pleasure sour in his firefly's veins. But Dabi's insides are hot as they squeeze around his finger, deliciously soft as he moves against  them and spreads the oil. Until his body is open and able to accept a second, a third. That had been enough to make Dabi cum the first time too. Tomura loves to stretch him open, his fingers already making his hole open obscenely, but the way his taut stomach swell slightly when he has his cock inside and the way that his mate falls apart when Tomura makes him watch as he moves inside of him, tells him that he isn't the only one who loves how much smaller his mate is than him. Just the thought as he readies dabi's body for his cock has his slit opening, his slick spilling out and dripping down his thighs. His antennae flutter, the scents of Dabi's cum and his slick mixing together on the air and sending his arousal higher as the smoke and sweetness of Dabi's body and the stormy sky of his screaming that he should have more. He wants more. He wants to have every inch of his firefly whether he's awake or asleep. Wants to touch him until Dabi learns that no matter what horrors were inflicted on him, his body is his and he should be able to choose to live the rest of his life doing only what brings him pleasure in it. He wants Dabi to know that even if he can't bring back what he's lost, he will help him have any joy he can find in living like this. The world, the whole world, that's what he wants to give his mate. 

He hasn't dared to try to give any of those thoughts voice. He doesn't know if he ever will. But he can show Dabi it in his actions every day until he finds the right combination of them to actually let out everything living in his chest. Now he shows it by taking his fingers from Dabi's pliant body and turning onto his back, his wings flared out wide and wrapping around their bodies as two of his hands move to the backs of Dabi's thighs, spreading him wide as he pours mor oil over his cock, his slick not copious enough to be adequate to stretch his firefly open. He lines up and lets Dabi burrow deeper into his ruff as he starts to sink him down onto his cock.

The heat of him always makes a tremor run through Tomura's body.  Dabi is an inferno, no matter how badly his body craves the cold. He is flame incarnate and just that sensation as his walls struggle to take him in has him holding onto the threads of his control as well. He is so warm, so small, so tight around him as Tomura holds him close, his whole chest vibrating with his purrs as he sinks Dabi lower and lower, moving one hand to his mate's lower stomach. Dabi's prick twitches as it starts to fill again, always so eager for more, but that's not what he wants to feel. He presses his hand down as he sinks Dabi all the way until their bodies are flush and the entire length of him is buried inside, and he feels the pressure beneath the taut muscles of his stomach change. They press out a bit as his cock takes up so much room inside of his baby's body. Fuck. He stays still, enjoying the squeeze, the warmth, the feeling that being trusted so much that Dabi will let him change the way his body feels after so many years of everyone else who did so causing him harm instead of anything else. He nuzzles into his hair, purring and purring as he savors this closeness. 

He only gets to for about three minutes before Dabi is squirming above him, his wing stumps fluttering faster and irritably as he starts to stir. It doesn't take long then for him to be mumbling groggily, those lovely blue eyes peering up from his chest as he blinks back to consciousness. "Tomu," he whines and just that has fresh heat going through his entire body. Dabi always has to be so tired to speak to him with such familiarity, even now, out of some sense of propriety that has been unseen in this Court since the rebellion. But as Tomura uses his strength to rock his hips up and pull Dabi down into the thrust, he takes those words away very quickly. He moans, arching into his chest, letting his body be limp so that he can be moved like a toy over his cock as he rubs his own against Tomura's stomach, his prick rapidly swelling back to full hardness now that he's awake. 

"Shh, little one," he says, pressing a kiss to his temple, another hand stroking his stomach again so that Dabi can feel him from the inside out, "You don't have to do anything, just let me make you feel good." 

He didn't know that Dabi could go any more boneless, but the stumps of his wings flutter again as he nuzzles deeper into his ruff, those pretty blue eyes glazing over with pleasure as he keeps moving his body. The absolute trust with his being as he's conscious again sends Tomura's need hotter and he sets them to a constant pace, making sure to angle his hips so that he's stroking over Dabi's prostate each time his cock presses into his heat. He doesn't turn it frantic. That can be fun, but he wants to savor the ways their bodies are joining as the sun dies beyond their windows. He wants to see the golden glow as it glitters off of every one of Dabi's staples, as it catches the sweat that glistens across his skin. He wonders if Dabi would ever believe him if he said that like this, as he marvels at his beauty, any fleeting curiosity about what his wings used to look like leaves him completely. He doesn't need to know, doesn't care, because he has him now, and since he can't turn back time and protect him from his father's cruelty, he thinks that this should be enough for him. He hopes that one day it will be enough for Dabi too. 

For now, it seems to be enough to just bring their bodies together again and again in this rhythm, letting their pleasure seep along their veins at this steady pace until neither of them can hold on any longer. Dabi's hand fumbles out, and it is no trouble for him to find Tomura's. His fingers are so small as they interlace with his, and his grip, even as hard as it can go, couldn't ever bruise him as he squeezes. "Tomura," he moans, his head tilting up. He doesn't hesitate to shift, pushing into his mate deeper as he gives Dabi the kiss that he was searching for.

That's all it takes to send him into his second climax, and the heat and velvet squeeze of his walls tightening around him as it happens has Tomura following almost immediately after. Dabi melts back against him, his wing stubs twitching the way that Tomura's would flutter if he weren't pinning them to the bed with their bodies. He stays inside of his mate for as long as he can, but as he softens, his cock starts to withdraw back into his body and he has to let his mate shiver as his seed spills out of him and he's left empty. 

"How do you feel, sweetheart?" He asks, his hands moving over Dabi's body, trying to soothe away any lingering tension or pain from his nightmares. 

"I've been worse," He mumbles. But he proves that he's doing better than he has been in the past when he mumbles, "Can I have my medicine?" 

"Of course you can, baby." He says immediately, but when he starts to sit up Dabi clings to him tighter. Tomura tries not to let his chest crack open from how that makes his heart swell, but clearly his little one wants medicine and cuddles and refuses to be denied both. As if Tomura would ever deny him anything at all. He presses kisses to the top of his head as he supports his weight with two hands, keeps holding one with the third, and then reaches over to the nightstand with the fourth. He brings Dabi the jar of pills and his mate takes one and swallows it dry before he tilts his face back up expectantly. 

Tomura is more than happy to lay back down in their bed and give him as many kisses as he wants until dusk has completely fallen. 

///

When the spring equinox comes around Dabi... feels that pulse again as Tomura lets the magic flow from it. But it's... different. Like something else is trying to reach the moonstones from across the valley. He pushes that thought away as his lover finishes up and they go back to their evening. 

It's not until Tomura comes back to their room two nights later with a frown pulling at their features that he considers that sensation again. "I've received word that Todoroki joined with the Day circle on the equinox rather than wait for the solstice." 

"He probably didn't want to have to fly between the both of them again." Dabi remarks immediately, but that doesn't surprise him. Tomura's defenses are still holding, but that isn't a surprise at this point. If the mothfolk couldn't maintain their own territory, then they wouldn't have been able to hold their own in this war for centuries. But that strange pulse... it comes back to his mind and Dabi hopes that his mate's seemingly endless patience as Dabi comes to know his culture won't be pushed past its limits when he says, "I didn't know that anyone but a high faerie could connect to the runestones. We were always taught that the ones here had just been dormant since the rebellion." 

Tomura looks more amused than anything else at that. "Really? So what did they think of my father and the magic he wielded?" 

Dabi walked himself right into that one and he feels what's left of the fair skin on his face heat sharply. "Nothing flattering." 

"He would be thrilled then." His words are patient and leading, Permission to repeat what he was taught even though he's certain that it is wrong. 

"They thought he was an unnatural folk or maybe that he had made a deal with a forgotten god." It's still kinder words than were usually thrown around when it came to All For One, but Dabi still cringes as they come out of his mouth. 

Tomura snorts. "Well, you get to be the fourth of potentially only five that know this: My father was part-high faerie. He was the half-brother to the ruler of the Day Court before the rebellion, Yoichi Shigaraki." 

Dabi tenses immediately. That was centuries ago. He was never taught that Yoichi even had a sibling or surname. He was always told that his father, the cruel ruler of the Night Court exiled him for his softness and he went on to become the ruler of the Day Court, changing the tradition in that Court from passing on through bloodlines and instead using that position as a way to elevate faerie across any Court that had proven their services to the fairylands beyond doubt. 

Tomura doesn't seem put off by that, moving to sit on the bed as Dabi lingers at the desk, having been going over the roster of new refugees who have entered the city over the past week. "His birth father took as many liberties as he wanted with folk from torture to pleasure at their expense. Most times any mixed-race child hatched will mostly resemble the moth parent, but All For One looked so much like his father that Yoichi recognized him as kin when he was only four and my father was nine. Their father tried to keep them separated, but they spent a lot of time together as children, with Yoichi growing more and more convinced that his brother and all of the mothfolk should not be treated this way. He kept promising my father that he would end their slavery when he took the throne. But my father didn't believe that he would be able to turn their father's cruel Court when Yoichi had always been so sickly and weak-willed in the face of any true violence. So when Yoichi was sent to season in the other Courts in the hope of finding a good match, All For One started the rebellion. When the castle was taken and his people were freed, he channeled the stones himself for the first time and wielded their magic to visit the Court of the Eternal, demanding our freedom and for the sanctity of his claim to his father's throne to be recognized. The High Lord at the time refused and declared war." 

The gaps in the history that Dabi was taught yawn out in front of him, showing him all of the ways that his people have been misled. Of course they would, because they are taught to respect the sanctity of a claim on a throne above anything else, which is why his father and the Summer Court has such strict rules about marrying and producing heirs. The very existence of a bastard could be enough to have an entire bloodline stripped of their titles, land, their wings. 

"Yoichi never had any children, your father didn't either?" So how was Enji so sure that he could prove that he had a claim on this throne? What was in the documents that he burned?

"No, their father had dozens, with Yoichi being the only one born of his legitimate wife who he had killed shortly into his childhood as punishment for producing such a sickly heir. He married again, but she failed to produce an heir at all and I believe he was trapped in that marriage because she was from the Eternal Court," Tomura waves it off. "But all of the others were from other Courts and he was able to ensure they wouldn't be connected back to him." 

"In the Summer Court?" He asks, hesitantly. 

That has red eyes on him again, but sharper this time. Trying to see through him and figure out why this topic is the one that Dabi has latched onto at this moment. "Yes, I think so. At least two. Why?"

Dabi hesitates, "How do you connect to the stones? You're not your father's biological son." 

"...No. But my father knew he would have to pass on the throne one day. He didn't want to take a spouse or mate, and he didn't want to have to take a faerie to ensure a single offspring instead of the possibility of half a dozen who might fight for the throne when they reached adulthood. So when he was ready to consider naming an heir, he started to take trips to the nursery. He selected thirteen that also had mixed genes and when we reached our cocoon stage, he and a brilliant faerie healer who had defected to our Court started to inject my father's blood into the cocoons when we were nothing. Seven of the cocoons rotted early, but six reached the stage when we were starting to reform our bodies. Three more hatched too soon and couldn't survive outside of the cocoon. Fearing that the last of us wouldn't make it that far, they moved us to the runestones and kept us inside of it until the spring equinox. He channeled a portion of the arcane into us then, hoping to stabilize us, but my cocoon was the only one that didn't boil from the inside out. I hatched too early as well, and I had to spend a year unable to pump the blood into my wings to inflate them, but I lived. My hair had been black when I was born, but it turned white when I gained my strength." 

Dabi doesn't know if he's allowed to feel sick to his stomach at hearing how All For One chose to get his heirs, but Tomura gives him a wry smile. 

"I told you he would be happy to be thought of as a monster to your people." 

"Are you--?"

"I don't intend to use that method to name an heir, no. And given that it took my father being killed for his life to come to an end, I don't believe I have any rush to name one right now. Which is why I've never gone to the frontlines since he died. I'm not even sure the Court of the Eternal even knows my name." Tomura stands and moves over to him, taking his hands in two of his own, and bringing them up so that he can kiss his knuckles. "Now, why is this bothering you so much, love?" 

Dabi still feels his stomach sinking as he finally admits, "The thing in the caravan that I went to burn-- my father said that it proved that he had a claim to this throne. If he can hold Day and Summer and reunite Night with it, then he'll have a season and all of the Celestial. He will be able to take the Eternal with that much power. I can feel the magic that the moonstones are holding onto after each channeling-- I don't know if it was like this when your father did it or not, but it feels like there is a wellspring beneath each one and that the magic you've been letting is only a trickle of it. If my father gets his hands on all of that, then he'll take everything else. If he has the Eternal Court, then he'll make each of the remaining seasons bend the knee and he won't be able to be stopped with a legitimate claim to three thrones." The panic in him starts to rise and he has to pull his hands from Tomura's so that he doesn't send sparks leaping off of his skin.

Tomura doesn't say anything for a long moment, but his expression is more pensive than angry, and Dabi hopes that he didn't find the thing that will turn his mate against him. "I can't fly." 

The statement has Dabi's mind coming to a screeching halt. "...You fly all the time, Tomura." 

"I can't lift myself more than thirty feet from the ground." He tells Dabi, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. "When my father channeled the stones, he had no such problems, but every time I put the magic back into this land when I channel, I feel myself being dragged closer to the earth. I just made my peace with giving up my flight to make sure my kingdom thrives, but maybe I can't access all of the magic that is sitting in the stones because I only have a drop of faerie blood in me. He was half high faerie. Maybe the reason that you haven't heard of anyone less than that ever channeling the stones is because they can't do so as effectively." Tomura hesitates, thinking over his next words before he speaks, "If Todoroki has a claim to the throne and you can feel it when I channel, then you should have that same claim." 

"I'm a guest here." He says immediately. "I didn't bring this up to undermine you. I'm not playing some long game to steal your throne." The thought puts a sickness in his gut and Tomura's brows furrow, a wry smile twisting his lips. 

"I know that, Dabi." He presses another kiss to his knuckles to try and soothe away some of his anxiety. "But this kingdom is still young and still trying to set our own traditions. Being the king is not about the runestones, it's about being the person best suited to rule. I haven't ever taken any of the magic of the stone for myself, but my people still find me fit to rule, something that I was working to prove for years before my father's death. And my people have proved that we can end a high faerie even without magic of our own." He smiles at him again, "If I tell them that you will be attempting to channel the stones instead of me on the next solstice, they won't say anything. You are my mate, and they know what you've suffered in the Courts. You were forced to endure everything our ancestors did and if you could give our lands that power, if you could enchant our weapons the way that they can in the other Courts, we would be able to make more progress on clearing the faerie around our borders." He considers further. "Does that mean that you would have a right to the Day and Summer Courts too?" 

Dabi blanches. "I... technically. The Day Court still has the laws in place--if a successor isn't chosen, then it goes to the first in the bloodline of the past High faerie, if there is no successor, then the High Lady of the Eternal Court makes the selection." 

"And you are the first of Summer too." 

"I was disowned, it would be shaky at best. My youngest brother would be considered the rightful heir and--" his throat sounds as tight as it feels when he admits, "I haven't seen him since I was twelve. We were forced to be separated by my disowning. I don't know what he's like after having my father in his ear for so many years, but if he stood up to fight my claim, the army would stand behind him, not me." 

"Just the Day Court could still be advantageous." Tomura says, standing and starting to pace. "We have a fresh clutch of soldiers, and more who will be ready in a few months. Three territories would be difficult to maintain, but two, linked as the Celestial Court is, boxing in the valley on either side--" 

Dabi keeps his mouth shut. He doesn't want to take the power of either Court, but if he had to take both, if he had to do that to help Tomura win the war that his people have been fighting for centuries, then he would do that. But it would be beyond dangerous. He would have to travel the full length of the valley each time he had to connect to the stones. If they snuck in when Enji is in the Summer Court for the solstice, then he would never stop trying to recapture the throne. And when he had to occupy the Day Court would that mean... that Tomura would be here? Half a country away? Would he only get to see him on the winter solstice? They're thoughts that are beyond selfish after Tomura and his people took him in instead of just letting him die in agony on the back of that cart. So he makes no protest when his mate says, 

"Well, all of that will be moot if you can't actually channel the stones yourself. My father said that the Courts often did so on full and new moons if the High Faerie was trying to increase their health or fertility-- the next full moon is only a week and a half away. You can try to connect then, and if it works, then we can start planning for the summer solstice. Todoroki has to go back to the Court then. No matter how well-guarded he thinks the Day Court could be, Yoichi was a sentimental man, and he once invited my father to the Court for parlay." His lips curve up into a self-satisfied smile. "And my father had an eidetic memory. He made a map." 

Dabi smiles and Tomura pulls him into his arms for a kiss, pressing it to the crown of his head as he hugs him close. 

"We won't move forward with anything unless I can guarantee your safety, love. I'll hold counsel with all of my lieutenants and I will make sure that Enji Todoroki never gets within a hundred miles of you ever again." He catches his chin in a soft grip and makes him look him in the eyes. "But if this is too much-- I know this is different from the training that you've been doing. If this isn't a responsibility that you want, then we can let this thought die here, Dabi." 

It's a desperate, selfish part of him that screams in his head that playing with knives in the Courtyard is so different from what is being proposed now. But he has never heard... anyone here talk about the war ever ending, about the possibility of victory. It was always spoken with a finality to it. In the Summer Court, they always talked about when the faerie would win. Here, the mothfolk, Tomura, talk about this fight as if there is no ending. Like he and all of his people have accepted that as long as they want to remain free, they will be fighting to protect their home and the way of life they've made for themselves. With their numbers, with enchanted weapons, with all of the power of the Celestial Courts and the ability to cage in the Seasonal Courts in the valley below, stopping them from ever taking the high ground-- that could do it. That could force the Eternal Court to give them their sanctity. The Celestial Courts could belong to Tomura's kingdom. it could be different. they could end the suffering and the killing. 

"No, this is a good idea," he says, pressing himself closer and hiding his face in his mate's feather-soft ruff. "I want to help however I can, I just don't... I don't want to be the ruler. If we could take the Day Court, is there someone else you would trust to rule? One of your lieutenants? You, if that wouldn't be spreading you too thin?" 

"You won't have to do anything at all but channel the stones if that's what you want, precious. Every other day of the year you can lounge in my bed, or train, or continue your work with the refugees, or anything else your heart ever desires." Tomura promises him, "I will have my kingdom protected and my mate happy. That is what I want with every fiber of my being." 

Dabi tries to hold onto that when in a week and a half, he makes himself walk to the center of the runestones and tries to reach out to that wealth of power inside of them. He barely has to touch it before centuries of power are flowing through his body and the moonstones all suddenly flare with light, each eight-foot pillar of them engulfed in the same blue arcane fire that Dabi has burned with all of his life. He tries to put it out, but the stones do not stop burning and don't seem harmed by it as Dabi feels the pain from his body ebb away more thoroughly than it ever has before, no matter how much medicine he takes. He is able to spill lushness through every mile of land along the territory, turn the brambles thicker and grow them thirty feet higher into proper walls, he sends the rejuvenating nature straight through to the nursery so that the cocoons below grow strong and the children about to enter them have the strength to do so healthily. And yet there is still so much more power that could flow through him. When he thinks that  he might burn up from trying to put all of that somewhere Tomura moves and pulls him from the circle so that he isn't choking on the magic anymore. Dabi uses what's left of it that is thrumming through his body to sever the tether that was keeping his mate from flying freely through the skies and he sees in Tomura's eyes the sheer delight that he has as he realizes that this plan could work. 

Dabi has horrible nightmares when they go to sleep throughout the day, but thankfully his mate just thinks it's from his scars as always and does his best to comfort him the way he has been doing for months now. Dabi clings to him harder, desperate not to have this taken away too. 

///

The summer solstice is when they're going to strike. That has been decided because Todoroki cannot be present there without abandoning the Summer Court which would lose him the rights that the Eternal Court gave him in the first place to rule over both. They have an infiltration plan, they have the forces they need to occupy the city, and they will have an abundance of enchanted weapons after the next full moon when Dabi channels the full strength of the stone again. But his mate is having worse nightmares. He's started to withdraw into himself again, and there is always the sharp smell of frost on him these days as he stresses over the fast-coming future. Tomura tries to talk to him, to assure him that this doesn't have to go any further, but he always starts to reek of smoke when he responds with how badly he wants to help them end the war. But he doesn't want to be away from him, that close to Todoroki, in so much danger-- Dabi won't admit to any of those fears, but he can smell them on him. The bitter tang of melancholy, the acrid tang of terror, the sourness of fear, they cling to him when he thinks about any of the possibilities and no matter how many times he readies to call it all off, those smells of distress only get higher at the thought of doing nothing. So they keep preparing as though they are going to do something. 

But he is mainly trying to find a way, any way, to make this easier on his lover and getting no closer to finding one. 

"Grand Commander," Jin is a gray dagger moth with a scar splitting his forehead from a battle when he was around Tomura's age. 

"What is it?" He asks, drawing to a stop. 

"I had an interesting transfer to my unit earlier this week. He's a refugee who's been living here with his mother for nearly a decade and he's been on the frontlines since he became of age. He asked to be transferred to guard duties here and now he's asking if he can have an audience with, well, he said with 'whoever charged the stones'." 

Tomura bristles slightly. Only his Court knows about Dabi's experiment on the full moon that solidified that he could fully take his place as the channeler. "Bring him here." He says immediately. He trusts his Court to know when to keep their mouths shut and he wants to see this soldier himself and determine what he knows. 

"Yes, sir." Jin bows, but only halfway, their years of friendship and working together well beyond that need for formality when they aren't around other people. 

Tomura only waits five minutes before the doors are opened again and a soldier in leather armor is brought in. He wears a blue silk chiton underneath it and he is tall for a pixie, but short for a high faerie, though the length of his ears speaks of that part of his heritage. His hair is snow white and his build strong, with a set of pale blue dragonfly wings arching off of his back and laying against his spine as he walks into the room rather than fly. He does bow properly, but Tomura quickly moves forward,

"What's your name, soldier?" 

The man rises from his bow, slate gray eyes meeting his own with a determination that is familiar. "Natsuo Himura." 

Tomura's breath catches in the back of his throat as that name rings falsely through his ears.

///

Dabi didn't have to work today and has taken to sleeping like shit again, always struggling a bit to do it during the day when his lover tries to catch a few hours at dawn, but it's been far worse lately, and he was looking forward to just sleeping all night. But it's only a few hours past sundown when a servant knocks on his door. 

"The Grand Commander wishes for you to join him in the throne room at your earliest convenience." She says softly, her ruff bright orange and her wings a mix of orange and brown. 

"Just put on clothes' or 'you can bathe first' earliest." He grumbles crankily, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep instead. If this was important enough for Tomura to ask him to wake for it, but was also told that this wasn't an urgent summons, then this can't be an emergency emergency. 

"At your earliest convenience." She repeats before dipping her head and turning to continue with her duties.

Dabi wants to go back to bed, so he hopes this isn't something that will require more than a short conversation to settle and he throws on a plain chiton and nothing else, even foregoing shoes given that he won't be walking through any of the mud that has soaked into the earth as the snow finally finishes melting as the season creeps towards late spring. He makes his way to the throne room swiftly enough and opens the door to find his mate conversing with another man, a mixed-breed faerie refugee from the dragonfly wings and his stature, Tomura looming over most, but especially faerie folk. 

"You called for me, your Majesty?"

Tomura sighs immediately, but while he happily calls Dabi all variety of pet names around everyone else, happy... proud even, to have him as a mate, Dabi never wants to suggest to anyone that he has forgotten just how important Tomura is. He never wants to imply that he has more of a claim to him than they do to their king. 

The soldier in front of him turns and Dabi freezes in place, his wing stubs giving a petulant burst of pain along his spine as he feels all of the muscles in his body tense as he takes in-- "Natsuo?"-- his brother's face for the first time in over a decade. He looks so much like Enji. The only real difference is that he got their mother's wings, her hair color that has bleached completely white. 

"...Toya?" 

He hasn't heard that name in years and his chest goes sharp, panic, fear, both spilling through him instinctively because he and everyone around him were punished if anyone slipped and tried to use his birth name when he had been disowned. 

Tomura must smell his distress. "My mate," he says, moving past Natsuo to approach him and catch his hands, trying to soothe some of his nerves, "Goes by Dabi now." 

There's a pause, his body blocking he and Natsuo from seeing each other. His expression is patient and concerned, but after he makes himself take a breath, Dabi manages a nod. Tomura leans down to press a kiss to the top of his head. 

"I'll let you two catch up." He says easily once he's made sure that's what he wants before he steps aside. 

Dabi knows that his mate has other things to do tonight, so he gestures for Natsuo to follow him before he leads him from the room, finding the nearest empty room to use, his mind still half numb from shock. When the door is shut behind him, long before he finds words of his own, Natsuo is in his space. His arms wrap around his shoulders, high enough that it speaks of experience from hugging someone whose wings have been removed. He hugs him, and says, with such a depth of feeling, 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. We-- We heard about the faerie who arrived after being-- they said you were a soldier, and then they just didn't say much at all. We didn't think-- I would have come to find you sooner. I'm so sorry." 

Dabi's breath catches in the back of his throat, his chest tighter than it has been in years, and after a moment that tension in him shatters and blood wells up from beneath his eyes as he clings to his brother just as tightly.

///

It takes a while for either of them to be stable enough to just talk, and the night is thick and black through the windows when they do.

"We tried to make it in the other Courts, but when we went back to Winter, Mom's family assumed that the only reason that Enji would have done that to her is if he caught her having an affair. They couldn't be swayed no matter what we told them and they left us to fend for ourselves. I convinced Mom and Fuyumi to come over the border about ten years ago, and I joined the army shortly after. When Mom was settled, Fuyumi started working on getting her education and she's been working as a teacher in the nursery for the past five years." Natsuo hesitates, but he does ask, "What happened to you and Shoto?" 

"Nothing good. My magic failed when I was young and he disowned me, but he didn't let me leave the castle. He was furious when he realized that Rei had taken you two with her when she left-- I don't think he wanted anyone with a potential to challenge his claim on the throne to be out of his sight. When Yagi died, he started to make his moves for the Day Court and started claiming some ancestry tied to the Night Court too. He sent a convoy to retrieve documents to prove it and I intercepted and burned them so he... did this to me." He doesn't elaborate, trying to push past that quickly. "Then he sent me here as a warning of what he was going to unleash if he gained the power he wanted. I haven't seen or spoken to Shoto in fourteen years. He never let us get near each other, like he was afraid my failure would rub off on him."

Natsuo rolls his words around in his head for a moment and Dabi can feel the space yawning out between them. They were close, once. But they're strangers now. He doesn't know what his brother's life has been like, not really, and he has no doubts he has seen and done things on the battlefield that have changed who he is. What Dabi does know is that his brother hated their father first, has hated him enough and loved this new home enough to fight for it every day for the past ten years. He knows that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it's the right call to make when he says, 

"My mate has a plan to end the war-- for good," and Natsuo's slate eyes snap to his with an intensity that he thinks is his youthful fervor reflected back at him through time. "It's your choice, but I think there's a way for you to help." 

"What's the Grand Commander's plan?" 

///

The day of the summer solstice, Dabi is a wreck. He tries to hide it, but his mate can absolutely smell the stress pouring off of him as he sits in the Courtyard waiting for the sun to rise high. If Enji went to the Summer Court to do the ritual at noon as he used to, then noon is when Natsuo and all of the soldiers with him will start their infiltration of the city using the maps that All For One left of the secret tunnels below their side of the mountain. They will go with half an army, with enchanted weapons, with silent wings, and all they need to do is get Natsuo to the stones. If he can get into the circle of them, then he can turn the entire city against them as Dabi stands here in the Night Court and reaches out with the overflow of power, even on the brightest day of the year, and joins them the way they haven't been in centuries. They can wall in the valley with the same brambles. They can end this war. 

But the waiting has Dabi pacing horribly. Tomura knows better than to try to soothe him with platitudes or kisses when his skin is nearly sparking with his agitation, but he does bring his sister and mother to the Courtyard to wait too, so that they can be the first informed if something goes wrong. 

The noon sky hangs high above them and Dabi is breathless with his anticipation. If Natsuo is successful, he will take on the burden of being the runestone keeper in the Day Court. He has already been accustomed to being away from the city throughout his campaigns. He's willing to do it again to end the war, to best their father, to let Dabi hold onto the one thing that he selfishly wants more than peace. His heart aches and aches, the anticipation going to crack him open, when, an hour past noon, he feels the earth shifting beneath his feet. Dabi throws himself back into the circle of the runes and reaches back out. 

The connection is instantaneous and blinding. The stones are set alight again as they pour their magic through the mountain range, down into the cauldron of the valley below, racing through the very veins of magic that pulse beneath the earth to meet their twin. And he can feel Natsuo's magic flowing through on the other side. The ice and snow that race to meet him and keep him from burning alone as their elements and the Courts of Night and Day are finally, finally brought back into balance after centuries of being adrift. Natsuo keeps him from burning, and he keeps him from freezing the roots that they seek to spread throughout the entire valley. They bring brambles and thorns to the border of every territory. They lock them all in, destroying trade routes, making it impossible for them to march their armies, disrupting the peace their lands have luxuriated in for centuries while they constantly sent trouble to their doors instead. The magic flows so easily, so completely, and he lets Natsuo take the brunt of it to destroy the weapons caches, the barracks, the outposts of soldiers in the Day Court with his ice, ensuring that they will not be able to mount a rebellion inside of the city. He feels the way that the very magic of the world reaches back for them, finds them acceptable, and then begins to withdraw. But it offers something else. It's a smaller presence than the enormity of the Celestial Courts, but not the same yawning darkness on the edge of his awareness that must be the Eternal Court. It must be Summer, claim to it in both of their veins, but as those stones flare to life, they don't come with the fire and rage that Dabi would have expected if Enji could feel everything that he just lost. No. They come with frost and flame, and a softness. Something kinder and inquisitive. Something young. 

Shoto's magic brushes against theirs, as if to just reassure himself that he does know them even after they have been separated for years. It's a touch that comes with a question, an invitation. Parlay. Under the watch of the Eternal Court. That isn't something that they can decide and Dabi pulls away from the touch. Shoto's magic doesn't lash out violently like he would have expected their father's too, it just waits, and he and Natsuo finish ensuring the position of all of their pieces the way they promised they would to ensure the victory over the fairylands. 

///

It takes only five hours after their channeling for the Eternal Court to send Tomura a message through an enchanted scroll. It declares that it would like to have a parlay with rulers of the Courts to discuss the possibility of peace. Tomura refuses. He will have his nation recognized as a sovereignty of the Celestial before he will even sit at the table, his rune channelers allowed to join him at his side. It takes a full three days of the Courts squabbling over that, according to his spies, before the Eternal Court will grant them that sovereignty temporarily if they attend the meeting. Tomura makes them put it in writing that their sovereignty will be law for a minimum of one year, forcing the Courts to be unable to continue or re-declare war on them without going through the appropriate checks and balances that have kept the Courts from squabbling for centuries. That is met with even more fury from the Courts, but after just a week, with trade crippled and the armies of Day and Summer not making any moves to try and rebel against their new rule. The High Lady of the Eternal Court signs the document and the war, at least for a year, is over. 

It still takes a month to properly coordinate the meeting, though in part that is because he and Natsuo have to wait for the next full or new moon to be able to channel enough energy from the stones so they can open a single path from each territory to the Eternal Court, showing the others how easily they could use this power to leave them stranded or to lure them into a trap. Dabi still feels beyond trepidation when he prepares to leave the Night Court with his lover. In the month that it took for the faeries to get their shit together, Tomura had special armor and robes of silk woven for him and Natsuo that they have enchanted so thoroughly with smaller channelings that Dabi isn't sure that anyone could push a blade past the weave to try and end them. But that doesn't take the anxiety from him, even as Tomura has him wear his collar, even when they walk into the castle that seems like it was cut from the starless night and find themselves face-to-face with each of the High Lords and Ladies of the other Courts. 

He had suspected, but it is still a shock to see Shoto, only sixteen, standing as the High Lord of the Summer Court. Though it might not be more surprising than Tomura addressing Nana Shimura as, 

"Grandmother." When they take their place with Natsuo at the table. 

///

Negotiations last two weeks. The truth is that the war has been good business for Summer, Day, and Winter, while Spring and Autumn have no strong feelings and the Eternal Court has been very staunch in trying to uphold both tradition and its stance as a neutral party. To that end, the Eternal is willing to end the war if he and Natsuo were made the proper High Lords and were put in charge of both territories. That, they had staunchly refused. No. The mothfolk would have their nation and sovereignty recognized in full, or they would continue to maintain the separation between Courts. When Summer, when Shoto had quickly agreed with them having that sovereignty, setting Spring, Autumn, and Summer outnumbering Winter who realized that they would no longer have the trade of weaponry from their forges and would need to make their money creating farm equipment for the other Courts, they crumpled. The mothfolk will rule the Celestial Court, they would have runekeepers and maintain the connection as the faeries have since time began. If they failed to do so, then they would forfeit their lands. Thankfully, Natsuo has a mate who he has already talked to about having children with and is willing to take on that burden of carrying on the family line while Dabi and Tomura need to have some serious discussions about that, and Fuyumi will too given she's also taken a partner of the same sex. 

Then things come to the Summer Court. Shoto refuses to abdicate the throne until he is of age, unless it goes to one of his immediate siblings, which no one else wants to give Tomura's people any more power. It's only then that they hear in full, about the coup that he brought about when his father returned to connect with the stones on the solstice. His father's cruelty, the way he so quickly abandoned his Court to take the larger territory of Day, how he used the Summer soldiers as fodder to try and clear the way for his larger army, it had all soured the perception of him in the eyes of the army, with all of the lower-born faeries who had been mistreated by the Court at large for centuries, wanting change as well. It had been a simple matter from there to whip that malcontent into a rebellion too, and their father had been torn apart by the people, his wings ripped from his body before he was killed. He's gone. Shoto set the funeral pyre himself to make sure of it. He will keep the Court that he has a rightful claim on, and he will be changing the way that their Court is run, as is his right. And with one house ruling three of the Courts, with Tomura potentially having a claim on the Eternal Court if he can prove his heritage, the fear that comes for the other seasonal Courts as they realize that they will lose if they try to go to war with them again, has the mothfolk declared a free people, Tomura's nation and the Celestial Alliance marked as its own sovereign entity, and the war ended on all fronts active immediately. 

Dabi sits at a table, his body torn, his wings gone, mate to someone he was raised to consider an enemy since birth, and he can't help seeing how the people he was born into find this to be a great injustice. Only because they have always seen themselves as higher, as righteous in their victory and cruelty over the other races. They see this as an injustice because they have never had to treat anyone else fairly. But Tomura is going to ensure that they learn. 

It still takes another month to finalize every detail of the treaty, but when they go back to the Nation of Dusk, a Court no longer, the festival that starts to take shape lasts all the way until the winter solstice. 

///

The joy that spreads through the kingdom when he and Dabi are able to return and say that they are free, that the war is over takes a shadow that has lived within these walls for all of his life and it casts it to die in the brightest light. The amount of marriages that take place on the solstice after the announcement eclipses anything that they have ever seen before, as does the voracious hunger of those taking part in the matings. It feels as though the very walls of the castle are soaking in the elation of everyone inside and it all becomes... hope. A future yawning out before them, a world that they can make for themselves that is not set into the inevitability of more fighting and death. They can become now, whatever his people have ever wanted to be that was more than slaves, more than soldiers. They can be anything. 

Tomura chooses, once Dabi has finished channeling the stones for the night, to be his mate. To pull him close and kiss away the fear that he still sees clinging to him as he just can't fully believe that this war is really over. Even when his youngest brother paused them before parting and offered to give Dabi his title in the Summer Court back, and let him choose where their father's ashes should be dumped, he still hasn't let himself relax. So he takes him from the stones and lifts him in his arms, holding him close, kissing him until he's breathless and the smell of his stress is slipping away with the soft heat of his desire. 

He's purring when he murmurs, "So many are getting wed tonight, little one." He nuzzles their noses together as his antennae brush over his hair. "We could be among them." 

"You're the king, surely you can't just get married without an announcement or something." Dabi deflects, his cheeks pinking so sweetly. 

"I'm the first king of the Nation of Dusk. I can choose whatever ceremony I want to turn my mate into my spouse. It's just a matter if you want that too." He won't push, he is happy to have Dabi in any capacity. But he wants to give him a future, even if he never fully heals from the scars of the past. They can still have a life together. 

Dabi lets out a shaky breath and then reaches for him, tangling his hands in his hair and pulling him until their foreheads touch. "Marry me and then take me to bed. Make all of my waking and sleeping hours sweet?" 

"For the rest of our lives, my love." He agrees without hesitation as he pulls him back into another kiss as his wings spread wide and he takes to the air. He'll fly them straight to the front of the line if it means that he will have his love made his forever as soon as possible. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed please consider leaving a comment/ask. If you'd like to get a commission, consider checking out my guidelines at the bottom of my pinned post! Commissions are half price until the end of March!

[licorice-tea]

Duty At The Expense Of Desire

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: mild cursing, lots of arguing between reader and Law, reader is nervous to be in a relationship, platonic luffy and reader <3, reader loves the strawhats a lot :)

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: i spent so long just rereading this, i don’t know why but it feels kind of hard to understand? so i might revise it again in the future idk yet! i hope you enjoy reading, again this is very very loosely based on kate and anthony’s season in bridgerton! it was originally going to be 2 parts, but it’s looking like a full on series now… lmk if you want to be tagged in future parts! enjoy! <3

Part 2 | Part 4

Now that your feelings for Law have been revealed- not only to him but to yourself- you find the tension between the two of you is undeniably different from before.

What were once looks of contempt now harbor some quiet desire. Chances of accidentally brushing shoulders when you pass by each other are avoided altogether, for fear of fueling a fire neither of you know how to deal with. And any crass or biting quips are cut out of your minimal interactions completely, as you both now feel they come off as flirtatious rather than standoffish.

A few days have gone by since you confronted Law and he admitted his true feelings for you, all of which have been spent at sea. Nami says there won’t be an island to dock at for at least another three days, given how the weather is slowing the ship, so your crew’s only source of entertainment is each other.

“Y/n,” she asks while the two of you along with Robin relax on the deck, “what happened between you and Traffy the other day?”

Your breath hitches and you cough unnecessarily, already giving away your nervousness to the two very observant women. “Uh, not much.”

“Well, what did you two talk about? You didn’t come back to the table after, so I thought you must have stayed together…” Robin smiles softly, baiting you to reveal more.

“What? No, no, oh my god no… We just…”

Nami urges you on with a sing-song voice; “You just?”

“We… talked.”

“Talked about what?”

“I don’t know. Our issues with each other.”

“And you resolved them?”

“Come on, y/n, tell us what happened!”

“Nothing happened.���

You stand up then, too annoyed to continue talking to your friends. It’s not even their fault really; you would want to know what had gone on too, if the roles were reversed. Maybe you’re just annoyed with yourself for not being able to face your own feelings.

~

With no particular destination in mind, you find yourself in the Thousand Sunny’s library. When you open the door, you see Law browsing the selection of books your crew has accumulated throughout your travels. You shouldn’t be surprised to see him, but you are.

That’s what it must be; what other reason could there be for the sudden raving of your heart and your breath hitching? Any feelings you ever had for him were buried deep inside after last night; too deep to allow yourself to feel them to the extent you were currently, and so these must all be signs of surprise.

You steel yourself and walk in, letting the door close behind you. Law looks up to find out who the person intruding on his studying is, but his eyes are blown wide when he makes eye contact with you. Neither of you speaks as you turn away and cross the room in quick strides to another section of the library.

“Stupid Law,” you think as you try to calm your mind- an impossible task when he’s standing anywhere in the same room. “Stupid weather,” preventing you from getting to an island so you can get some damn space from him. “Stupid library, ” because of its shelves that make it all too easy and tempting to peak through and catch a glimpse of him.

Actually, maybe that’s not too risky of an idea. Cautiously, you bend down slightly and pretend to scan the titles on the shelf. You allow your eyes to slowly wander off the books until you can see Law by peering upwards. But low and behold, he’s staring right back at you.

You gasp and stand up straight, silently cursing your silly plan.

“Y/n.” He walks over to you, 2 books tucked under his arm. “l was under the impression you wanted me to keep your distance from me.”

“I do.”

“I find that hard to believe with the way you’ve been acting around me.”

“It’s just weird. You made me admit that I had feelings for you, and now things are weird.”

“I made you? You didn’t have to say anything, you could’ve rejected me and we both would’ve moved on.”

“I did reject you.”

“By telling me you feel the same? That’s some rejection.”

“You shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.”

“I had to, you told me that you thought I hated you.”

“But I didn’t make you say that you have feelings for me, and so now you’ve made it impossible to ignore.”

“Believe me, I tried to ignore it. To ignore you. It was pointless.”

“Then you weren’t trying hard enough. I could’ve gone a lifetime without bringing up the way I feel for you if it means my crew will be able to continue this alliance for our goals.”

“Don’t give me that shit, your captain made this alliance because he thinks we’re friends. You seriously think he had a goal in mind while doing so?”

With a roll of your eyes, you cross your arms over your chest. “Maybe not, but Luffy is the captain- I trust him, and so I follow him in any endeavor he believes in.”

“Well, I’m the captain of my own crew, and I believe that whatever we have going on is a little more than ally-ship.”

“Regardless of whatever is going on between us, is it really a smart idea to complicate such an important alliance?”

“…No. I suppose it’s not.”

“Then drop it-” You turn, ready to forget about this conversation and continue hiding your feelings away when he grabs your wrist.

“But they wouldn’t care, y/n, and you know that. Your crew thrives on-” he gestures vaguely with his free hand, “-friendship and rainbows and joy.”

Shaking off a smile, you bite back. “That might be true, but you know what’s even more important to my crew? Protecting each other. They wouldn’t like me being with you; even if we are temporary allies, you’re a Captain of another crew and one of the Supernovas. So don’t tell me what they would and wouldn’t be ok with.”

Law seems to think for a second before he releases your wrist. “Hmph.”

Finally, you take your leave to find somewhere- with no Law and no watchful friends- to just think.

~

You settle on the bow of the ship. If you had an ability like Luffy’s or any guarantee that you wouldn’t slip right off and into the sea, you would like to sit on the masthead of the Sunny. A clear, unobstructed view of the world ahead, and the breeze to keep the hair out your eyes could be so peaceful. But, this has some sort of charm to it as well; you do seem to love a challenge (even if it’s one as simple as having to lean over the railing of a ship to see the horizon).

With a cheerful call, the man you had just been thinking of joins you on the railing by the ship’s bow. Luffy speaks animatedly of his plans for all sorts of things, but during a lull in conversation, he asks you something unexpected.

“Do you love him?”

“What?”

“Traffy! Do you love him?”

“I…”

“You’ve said how much you hate him, but that just means your feelings for him are strong. So you love him, right?”

You’ve never been more bothered to hear Luffy say something so uncharacteristically observant.

“I love you guys.”

He hums. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t love other people, too.”

“…I won’t ever leave this crew, Luffy.”

“Of course you won’t!” He latches onto you in an iron-grip hug, and you smile ever so slightly. “But, y/n.”

“Yeah?”

He releases you and instead grabs your shoulders to talk to you face to face. His face seems especially serious- the same way it does when he makes a bold declaration of his dreams or beliefs. “If you love someone, you tell them. You don’t hide it, because you never know when they could be gone.”

Finally, your barely-there smile opens into a full grin. “When did you get to be so wise?”

Luffy shrugs. “Shanks told me that once, I just felt it made sense for you too.”

You and your captain stay there a while longer, giggling over this and that until the sun starts to set on the horizon.

“I'm gonna go sit on Sunny- you wanna come with me?”

Though you’d been fantasizing over what it would feel like up there just a few minutes ago, you shake your head. “No thanks. But, uh, Luffy?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you… not tell anyone about what we talked about?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, for sure!”

You would come to regret being so vague with your captain, even if he does occasionally display astonishing emotional intelligence.

~

At dinner- where there’s always something going on- you make an effort to sit far from Law. Your attempt is in vain, however, as he ends up right across from you. Luffy sits to your left, and while he takes a small break from stuffing his mouth, he nudges you with his elbow.

Your eyes meet your captain’s as he winks at you, then looks over at Law, and back to you. You can practically see the gears turning in his head as he had some sort of… plan in the works. With a wide grin, he asks, “Soooo Y/n, when are you and Traffy going to get married?”

A moment of silence passes before laughter erupts around the table from everyone except you and “Traffy.” The latter covers his face with one hand and pinches the bridge of his nose while you look simply horrified.

What had happened to not speaking of your earlier conversation? Admittedly, you had spoken of several subjects after your discussion of your feelings for Law… and knowing Luffy, he could have mistaken your vow of silence to be for any one of those subjects.

Since you’re sure your captain didn’t mean to embarrass you with his straightforward view of relationships, you just shake your head and give a muttered response. “We- we’re not, um, going to….”

Law, on the other hand, appears too bothered to stick around and listen to any more jokes. He stands abruptly and disappears in a flash of blue light.

You stick around long enough to finish your plate, then thank Sanji and leave quietly. Some unknown force draws you to Law, when you see him in Nami’s little grove of orange trees. Cautiously, you approach him.

“…Law? I- I’m sorry about that. I don’t know why Luffy said that.”

“It was embarrassing.”

“Okay, Law, they were all just joking. And I can’t even really blame them, because this entire situation is pretty fucking ridiculous.”

“No, y/n, it’s embarrassing that everybody knows how I feel and that you feel the same, and they’re all happy with the idea of us together, but you still don’t want to be with me.”

“It’s not personal, you know that.”

“How can it not be personal?”

“Everything I do is for my crew. I have a duty to them, and not even you or my own feelings will get in the way of that.”

“Do you seriously still believe that they would care if we were together?”

You purse your lips.

“I took your word for it at first, because you know your own crew better than I do, but clearly they have very little regard for what we do. Now I am inclined to believe that you made it up when you said they wouldn’t like us being… being something. And as foolish as I feel after believing that ridiculous excuse, I still want you, y/n. Tell me you want me too.”

“How much?” You ask with a fierce look.

“How much what?”

“How much do you want me, Law? You keep talking about your feelings for me, but you haven’t even said what they are.”

Again, you seem to find any way to continue arguing with the man before you as a means of releasing pent-up feelings. Just kissing him might be easier, but also a whole lot more terrifying and uncertain.

“Desire, attraction, whatever you want to call it-“

“Well, I’m not going to put everything on the line for someone who is attracted to me.”

“It’s more than that, you know that-“

“You know what I think?”

“…What?”

“I think that you can’t even admit to yourself- let alone aloud- the extent of your feelings for me. You want me to say it first so that nothing bad will happen if you put yourself out there, and that’s not going to happen.”

“I-“ He starts to speak, but can’t think of a rebuttal. You have him pegged. “I may not know exactly what my feelings are yet, but I can feel them, y/n. You remain on my mind constantly- so if you want me to stop feeling for you, then you need to stop.”

“Oh, I need to stop?”

“Yes, you-“

“You’re the one constantly making me reconsider everything I tell myself. You are the one who needs to stop.”

“Before what? Before we give in to this… obvious desire, and put aside duties to do something for ourselves?”

Heavy breathing fills the silence. He always manages to rile you up, and you can’t stand it.

“You should go. No, in fact,” you raise your hands in a gesture of surrender, “I’ll go.”

Without giving him the chance to respond, you flee down the stairs to the main deck and through the doors to the cabin hall. All this back and forth with Law is giving you a headache.

You can’t deny it any longer though; now that your captain knows too, it’s like you’ve spoken it into permanent existence. You’re in love with Law, and there’s next to nothing stopping you from being with him in the way you truly desire. Not even your sense of duty.

You should never have counted on the Strawhats to hold you back from something- or someone you love.

Taglist: @augustanna @lavanderdreamve @pinksaiyans @khaleesihavilliard @jennapancake @pinki-minki @loserbee14

[multiheadcanons]

MERC’S DREAM DATES. HAPPY VALENTINES DAY

scout: he has dreamed about a picnic date since he was young. he understands that realistically, they’re not practical. if you go when the weather’s too hot, you have to deal with the bugs, but if you go in the winter, it’s freezing outside. but still, there are days he walks outside and thinks “man… today would be a good day for a picnic.” he just thinks about having a picnic with a various assortment of little sandwiches, and some wine with someone he really likes. it’s just a nice thought for him.

soldier: he doesn’t dream about dates. any time spent together exclusively is a date. anything you both enjoy doing is a good time. hell, you could join him on the battlefield and he’ll be so happy to see you that it’ll be a great time for him regardless. soldier is a big quality time guy. and he will take quantity over quality. if you go shopping with him and him alone at the grocery store that’s a date to him. did you like it? he did.

pyro: pyro has grand dreams. pyro would like to wake up to a note saying to get dressed and look pretty by 10:30. pyro will put on the newest flame retardant suit they have and their newest gloves. maybe put a hat on. they’ll step outside at 10:25 and a car, driven by you, will be waiting. you’ll start at the zoo. they’ll try not to set it on fire. they love the animals. they will chat excitedly about the animals for as long as you let them, well into lunch at a window seat in a sunny cafe. at this point, if pyro isn’t called away for work, and you’re not having to hightail them back to the base, then they might ask for a pit stop at a park, or a botanical garden before you take them home, and you’ll kiss their hand as they leave. they like to be home before nightfall, because they like to be able to think about it all day and try to get it off their mind to sleep.

demo: demo loves the jazz clubs, so if he wants to take you anywhere where he’s fairly certain you’ll both have a good time he’s taking you to the jazz club. the only time he’ll actually pay for drinks there. intimate conversation in dim lighting, the dulcet tones of the horn with the dull burn of the liquor… it’s smooth, it’s refined, and it’s a surefire way to wrap him around your finger.

heavy: another guy who thinks that you two spending time together without anyone disrupting it is a date. his favorites are the ones where you sit together and read and don’t say anything. get close to him! lean against him while you read, he’ll get a little flustered, but it’ll warm his heart, truly. if he’s really confident he’ll pull you closer himself. give your shoulder a little rub, and go back to his book. it’s just a moment that he feels at peace. just him, you, and a book. it’s lovely. he wouldn’t mind doing this again.

engineer: engie never gets to go out and actually do the weird specific things that he enjoys himself. just get in the car and ask where he wants to go, he’ll just start taking you places. a sandwich shop he hasn’t been to in years, a very specific hardware store that got a new shipment of bolts in that are supposed to be ionized specifically so that the heat that comes from intense manual radiation doesn’t melt it down, a stop at a shitty dive bar in an alley that is by all means not transverseable, but he’s happy to give you a boost over the fence. he might get a little too toasty to get you back over the fence, but he’ll figure it out if you can’t. you’re not gonna get left behind! and everywhere he goes, everyone knows his name. can’t make it more than twenty feet without someone stopping him for a quick chat.

medic: bring a bottle of wine and a body part generator and let him go crazy. he’s gonna spin a wheel and then you’re gonna get on that table and he’s gonna start cutting until he finds something interesting he wants to pull out of you. and he’ll chat the entire time. there’s something about him bringing a blood stained wine glass, or a wine stained blood glass depending on how long you’ve been on the table, to his lips and watching him wipe off some kind of red liquid from his mouth that’s quite cute, particularly if he’s been nice and let you have a few sips here and there. once he’s about three glasses in you might want to get him out of your cavities, though. from there he’s drunk and he’s just digging around. there’s not even a scalpel in his hand, he’s just literally rearranging your organs to see if there’s a better way to fit it all inside. spoiler alert, there isn’t, you are not the first patient he’s tried this on.

sniper: snipes doesn’t want a date. snipes wants a honeymoon. he wants to be flown out somewhere, anywhere that is not the americas, and he wants to go wander until he feels less lost in strange lands. he would consider an episode of naked and afraid proposal worthy. being under the sun all day, and the stars all night. it’s where he feels comfortable. and to be out there with someone else is always nice. even if he has to carry you through it sometimes. he still enjoys it. enjoys hunting for two. he likes feeling that level of responsibility on his shoulders sometimes. not all the time, he’d be even happier if you weren’t too bad at butchering. the only thing he likes more than the feeling of sole responsibility is the feeling of shared responsibility for survival. you might be exhausted by the end of it, but he will never look better.

spy: spy’s dream date is you both laying in bed. spy doesn’t really allow himself to laze a day away. he always will find something to do. so the idea of him being told no, stay in bed and relax today, there’s nothing he’s absolutely needed for, he gets incredibly tickled. bored, but thoroughly satisfied. the day is filled with idle chatter and bedside cigarettes and the fickle dreams of sunlight bathed sleep. it’s not an exciting time by any means, but it’s one of the best times he can think of. just a day of peace and serenity in the years of chaos to come.

[cescalovestowrite]

Penelope's Childhood Headcanons

(some of these are a bit dark, but they are my personal ideas, no need to agree with them)

If we put all the sources together we see that Penelope has seven brothers and one sister. We know for sure that her father is Icarius, but not all authors agree on who her mother is.

I imagine that Icarius had a first wife, the naiad Periboea (from whom were born Penelope, Perileus, Thoas, Damasippus, Imeusmius and Aletes), but that then she left the palace to return to her river and that Icarius remarried, this time with Polycaste (mother of Iftime, Aliseus and Leucadius).

But how did Icarius and Periboea meet? Icarius is wounded during a hunting trip, and runs to the river to drink. There he sees some naiads and begs them to help him, because naiads are famous for healing wounds. Periboea comes forward: she has enormous eyes, diaphanous skin and does not speak the human language. She touches Icarius' wound and he heals. Icarius falls in love with her and decides to take her with him to the palace of Sparta: he has decided that she will be the mother of his children.

But nymphs cannot stay away from their element, their source of life, for long. Periboea is stunned by dry land, walking is not natural for her, dressing is not natural, all those smells and noises are not natural. Over time she becomes more and more restless and subject to violent fits of anger. She gives birth to one child after another but when she takes them in her hands she smells only the human odor and does not understand what to do with them. Her skin begins to gray, to dry out.

One night, when Penelope is about eight years old, she is awakened by the sounds of a commotion and terrible hissing. That night Periboea runs away. The next morning Icarius seems tired, but also partly relieved. The naiad was becoming more and more difficult to handle and he was afraid that she might even hurt their children. An excuse is invented on why their mother will have to stay away for a while and the children do not ask questions. Penelope knows that she will never see her again.

She didn't have a real relationship with her mother, but she still struggles to get used to her stepmother's presence. Where Periboea was cold and silent, Policasta is sunny and talkative. She hopes she can learn to love her.

At her first menstrual cycle, Icarius decides to send her to live with his brother Tindareus. Tindareus has many daughters of her age (Timandra, Filonoe, Phoebe, Helen and Clytemnestra) and two sons (Castor and Pollux), and Penelope will be able to learn a lot from them. However, the two families had already seen each other assiduously and the cousins ​​had always been very close. The girls go swimming together, learn the tasks of princesses and above all tell each other many secrets. Little by little they wait for the day when they will be ready for marriage.

[misspelledwordswizard]

I would love to see the chain react to reader from the atla universe or just one that uses bending in the same way? Just using bending unconsciously and freaking them all out because of it.

I love Atla, I loved writing this! I didn't know what kind of bending you were expecting, so I did waterbending, I hope you like it.

A notice about orders; I'm doing them in order, so if yours takes a little longer, it's probably because I'm working on others, but they'll all be done! And I'm very happy with them too, don't worry about it, you can send them, I'm loving your ideas.

It was a hot sunny day, so much so that Chain mutually agreed to take a break to go into the nearby river. It was a calm river with a small waterfall that made a pleasant noise in the environment. Wild and Wind were the first to jump in, excited as children, well, at least one of them was one. I couldn’t have been happier. You could say that the water is my territory, so on a day like this, being in cold water was paradise for me. 

Little by little, the others started to enter the river too. It was easy for them, they could just take off their tunics and equipment and get in, while I had to temporarily separate from the group to change and put on a bathing suit, but that was okay, it didn’t take long. Soon I was also entering the river to enjoy the sunny day. 

The cold water touched my body bringing a welcome feeling of relief, cooling my hot and sweaty skin, but this moment of peace was short-lived after I felt a wave of water hit me directly in the face, followed by the sound of childish laughter. That brat.  I imitated his attitude, pushing water with my hands towards him, hitting him with everything and stopping his laughter. The sailor still had the audacity to better himself with indignation, as if he hadn’t been the first to start. I could hear the others laughing in the background too, but they didn’t have the courage to get involved in this. Now it was war. 

Soon the area of the river where we were became a mess of water being splashed in all directions incessantly. Until I could feel a particularly strong attack coming from Wind, and instinctively wanted to retaliate even more. The movements so natural to me happened without me even being able to think about it, soon a small wave, but bigger than any I could generate with my bare hands, appeared next to me and went towards the Sailor, strong enough to make him stay underwater for a few seconds, raising his head in surprise and confusion right after. 

— Aha, I won! – I exclaimed excitedly, but my excitement died when I saw the lack of reaction not only from the sailor, but from all the boys. – What happened? Was I too harsh? 

— How did you do that?! – Wind was the first to speak, coming towards me excitedly. Only then did I understand my mistake. 

— Yeah, was that some kind of magic? – Wars asked, intrigued. 

— I’ve never heard of magic like that. – Hyrule replied, looking curious and suspicious at the same time. 

— Well, that’s because it’s not magic. – I replied, creating even more doubts in everyone, who remained silent waiting for me to continue. – You know, you may not know much about the place I come from, but there’s no magic there. On the other hand, there are people there who can have some control over one of the elements of nature, using specific movements. We’re called benders. 

Even when I tried to explain, they seemed terribly confused and incredulous.  Of course, they already knew I came from a different kind of world, and had somehow ended up here through a strange portal, but I’ve avoided talking about my home to them, precisely because I thought it might be too much for them to take in. Just as it has been for me. 

— So, you can simply control the elements of nature? – The Champion questioned, not very confident about it. 

— Not all of them, and we call it bending. There are four main types of bending, water, fire, earth and air. People who have this ability can only bend one of the four, with the exception of the Avatar. – I can’t tell if throwing all this information out was useful or just made the situation worse. 

— That’s cool! – Wind exclaimed. – Show me more, that’s really cool! 

— Well, that’s definitely interesting, could you demonstrate more of that? – Time asked, and I could tell he wanted to analyze it better. 

— Yeah, what do you normally use it for? – Twilight was the next to ask. 

— Well, waterbending can be used as a medicinal method, and each bending can be used for various everyday things, and for fighting. 

— You mean you could have used it to fight this whole time and you just chose not to?! – Legend seemed indignant at that. 

— Well... I already imagined it would be difficult to explain about this.  – I replied, while using my bending again as they had asked me to, making a large ball of water float over the river. 

— Cool. – Wild said. – Now that we know and you can use it, I’m sure it can be very useful. 

— Yeah, you said it has medicinal properties? That would be really good. – The Traveler questioned, receiving a positive answer from me. 

— Guys, you’re forgetting the main thing! – Wind said, getting everyone’s attention. – Have you thought about the games we can play with this? 

Everyone snorted at the boy’s childish answer, when we expected something a little more important than that. I was afraid to talk about it with them, but they ended up being much more understanding than I imagined. That’s good. 

— But I must admit that I’m very curious about this too. Can you show me other things you can do? You said there are four main bends, does that mean there are other smaller bends? – Sky asked excitedly, and everyone seemed as curious as he was about the subject. 

— Hey, this would be really useful for forging swords, can you help me next time I work on the Champion’s sword? – The blacksmith was the next to ask, which created a gap for a flood of different questions. 

— Can you close wounds? 

— What exactly would an “avatar” be? 

— How does earthbending work? 

— Can I be considered an airbender? 

— How do movements influence this? 

Soon, I was surrounded by curious blondes and being drowned in their curious questions. I think we’re going to spend a good amount of time on this subject. 

[theallianceofcelestials]

I just saw the little post about if sea moon was the first to come out and him clinging to eclipse/solar, and was wondering if you'd be alright maybe doing a drabble about how that first meeting and their thoughts and feelings at some point. But only if you want to and please don't rush if you do.

Mirror SEA Moon is more clingy than normal SEA Moon, so much so that nothing may happen if it's just SEA Moon, which is why I have to do Mirror SEA :P

Prepare yourself Solar

Solar freezes, joints locking up as burning red optics take him in. When those hellish eyes slide to his rays, they fill with such unknown desparation it chills him. When SCP-13666-1 turns back to his face, it's with a different expression. One that's... softer

Just what is going on here?

He's taken closer to the see-through wall, because of course he is. This might be the one time the Foundation is able to learn anything of the SCP. So despite his discomfort, despite the growing shakiness in his limbs, despite the yawning abyss of icy terror, he's eye to optic with the creature.

Immediately, almost as if bewitched, the SCP moves closer to him, pressing against the glass almost like he wants to reach through and grab Solar. For all he knows, he's spot on with that thought.

He's supposed to talk with him. He's supposed to smile wide and play nice. He doesn't think he wants to.

But SCP-13666-1 looks captivated, entranced, staring at him in a way that's unnatural. When his hand shakes and gives out on him, dropping the tool he's been cluthing with it, the fiery pits of hell on earth move to stare at it with a slowly growing understanding he's not sure he likes.

When his shift has passed and he escapes the confinment room, he knows he's fucked. The SCP is going to find him.

Solar doesn't want to know what he'll do

.*.*.*.

Moon has been alone for so long. It's unbearable.

He misses his brothers. The warmth of Sunny and the soft sentimentality of his baby brother. He misses his nephews. The chaos of Bloodmoon, the steadfastness of Solar Flare and the playfullness of Lunar. He misses it all.

And now he finds himself missing that strange kid that looks so familiar. Who's an animatronic if he had to guess, with some sort of sickness still ailing him.

Suddenly, he can understand KC and his foolish sentimentality. Suddenly he can understand the desire to adopt.

But he doesn't want children, oh no no! But KC might be happy with a new one. And who wouldn't be happy with a solar animatronic? They're so sweet and pure

Something in him itches, burning with the need to go find the animatronic as he is. It's so great he's barely able to stay in his cell long enough for the humans to leave.

He needs to find him. He needs to protect him. He's sick

It must have been the humans

Everything is always the humans

He feels like a wild animal as he paces around, but isn't he one? Locked in a cage and stared at by curious people.

But for the first time in a long while, it's as if the rays of the sun have shone on him again. It's as if he could finally reach out and grab that warm star.

He wants that animatronic now. He needs him to be here, where Moon can protect him and try to figure out what could be wrong. Where he can help.

And if he must burn this place down to reach him? Then so be it

[sofbd4]

Rewatched Mac Finds His Pride… I really can’t put into words how much this episode means to me, it is truly one of the most stunning things I have ever seen. For a show like Sunny to be as unserious as it is and have this moment of complete sincerity is so shocking but that’s what makes it so incredible. Of course a lot of what these characters go through and have gone through is satirized for the sake of it being a comedy, but they are still very real things people go through in life. Mac’c catholic guilt and father issues have been a major part of his character since the very beginning, so to have the confrontation of those two things being taken seriously is very special. Now I don’t personally relate to to things Mac goes through, and I would imagine a lot of Sunny fans don’t either (the straight male fans) is exactly why this was done so perfectly. Visually showing the emotions that Mac is feeling vs telling is so brilliant, both for the people that get it, and the people that might be ignorant to it. It allows you to attach your own emotions to it and just experience what you’re watching. The Sunny fandom is tricky where you have one half that gets the satirical humor, and the other half that just sees everything at face value and doesn’t understand what they’re laughing at, so I really think this episode has the power to bring both sides of the fandom together, that’s what makes it so important.

This episode doesn’t just make me cry it makes me feel. I rarely ever find myself getting emotional to dance but this really does something to me. Hats off to Rob McElhenny who had no dance experience prior to this, you can really tell he worked his ass off to make it perfect, and it was definitely worth it. Mac is one of my favorite characters ever and to see him finally be able to be comfortable in who he is is so amazing. I LOVE THIS SHOW!! Ok gonna go keep sobbing

[moonydustx]

Hello, this my first request for you so here we go.

(Ace and Sabo are 10 and Luffy is 7)

So young ASL trio with sick f!reader. So reader fakes not being sick so she can still hang out with them because she dosen't want to be left out(plsss angst) But they find out when they were fighting training with each other and she falls to the ground and has a immense fever. Then when she gets some rest ect. they comfort her.

Double Thank you (also fluff at the end)

omggg I think your idea is so cute! So, there ended up being some changes, some little things that maybe I thought made more sense (or maybe I got excited about writing them). Maybe I focused too much on Ace and F!Reader's crush? Maybe... I hope you still like it

warnings: injury reader, two childs and their first crush. Worried Ace. Fluff.

It should have been another afternoon hunting some animals, planning your big escape or just laughing at the boys not being able to decide who would be captain, but you had to be stubborn, didn't you?

You were a year and a few months younger than Ace, but he insisted that you were too weak, too sensitive and you wanted to change that. Change the way Ace saw you. You had already invested in new dresses - perhaps stolen from the city, but he wouldn't need to know about that - in makeup, in trying to appear more friendly, but everything seemed in vain. Perhaps his strength would help win over the boy.

The idea that he might just want to protect you didn't cross your mind. Or the simple idea that he thought you were so beautiful that he didn't want to see you covered in mud or the blood of strange forest animals didn't seem plausible. Ace dreamed that one day he would be able to understand that.

On that sunny afternoon, you had decided that you would ride the huge serpent in the lake, something you had already seen the boys do, because it would be difficult for you?

"You have to be able to get the rope on him." Sabo shouted as he saw you climb the highest rock.

"There's still time to give up." Luffy warned and you just smiled, waving from above.

When the huge serpent appeared, you did as the blonde had taught you. He threw the rope and tried to climb onto what you suspected was her neck - I mean, do snakes have necks?

Laughing at your own thought, you supported your feet and contrary to what you could imagine or what Sabo had taught, you found no firmness. Just a slippery goo stew. You felt the rope release from your hand and it only took seconds for you to feel your body fall against the edge of the lake and your name was shouted in chorus.

"Are you okay? I tried to catch you, but I couldn't." Luffy shook you, being the first to reach you.

"Let me see!" Ace pushed the brothers away and touched your face, seeing you look at him. "How are you feeling?"

"A little sore, but it's no big deal." You tried to sit up, using his help. "It was a silly fall."

"Look how high you fell, it wasn't stupid at all." Sabo commented and pointed to your back. "I think a little thorn got in here."

"Can you take it off, please?" you asked and groaned as soon as you felt him pulling. "Thanks."

"Why did you go up there? Do you want to get hurt?" Ace said in an angry tone, watching you stand. "You could have died."

"I just wanted to show that I'm strong too." you said almost as emphatically as he did. "And I am strong!"

"You don't need to climb on giant animals to do this." Ace continued, while the other two just watched. "Don't ever do that again."

"Okay." you gave up, just nodding. "Can we go get something to eat now?"

"Of course, I managed to separate some fruit, come." He reached out to you and supported you for a few steps until you felt confident walking alone.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly for everyone. Almost everyone except you.

Little by little you felt your body being dominated by a strange sensation. A tingling and tiredness took over every inch of your being, in addition to excruciating pain. But you didn't want to have to give in and show Ace that you were feeling weak.

Just as the sun set that afternoon, you could feel your last remnants of strength also disappear, slowly fading away like the sun's rays.

"Hey!" you walked further behind, panting. "Go ahead, I'll meet you soon."

"What happened?" Ace noticed your strange behavior and tried to get closer, seeing you take a few steps back.

"Is nothing." your legs gave way and you fell backwards, face down on the ground.

"Something is wrong." Sabo muttered to Luffy. "Could it be those girl problems?"

"I don't think so." the youngest murmured back.

Meanwhile, Ace could feel a bad feeling washing over him. Seeing that you no longer had the strength to push him away, he approached, kneeling beside you.

"You're sweating." He touched your wet forehead and then moved his hand away. "And with fever."

"I-I'm oka-y…"

"Don't tell me everything's okay." Ace placed his hand on your back and saw you grunt in pain. He tried to repeat the gesture and the grumble came again. Without warning you, he lifted the back of your shirt, finding a red wound that was definitely starting to get infected. "Shit!"

"What's wrong Ace?" Sabo asked and the two tried to get closer.

"Go ahead, tell Dadan she's injured." he shouted and the two ran towards the shack. "Why didn't you say anything? This must hurt!"

"I d-don't w... d-dont w-ant to be weak. I can't be weak." You insisted, letting the pain wash over you. "But it hurts a lot Ace, it hurts a lot."

"Silly girl, you're not weak. Come on!" He knelt down and as best he could, he placed you on his back. "You are strong, very strong."

"Do not... lie." Your voice sounded sleepy, which worried the boy. He needed to keep your eyes open until an adult could take care of you.

"I'm not lying. You're strong, you're beautiful. I hope you choose to travel the seas with me." focusing on getting you home, Ace didn't seem worried about focusing on holding back his words. "I can be king of the pirates and you my queen."

"Ace…"

"Please stay awake, okay?" he asked, already spotting the hut.

As soon as Dadan caught up with Ace, everything became a blur for him. You being carried inside, the older woman's desperate screams, your small body lying there. He barely felt it when he was carried away.

"Boys…" Dadan's voice caught the three's attention. "You guys should have come sooner." and oddly enough, she wasn't mad.

"She is fine?" Luffy was the first to ask.

"No… I mean, it was probably some poison, some thorn. We have a lot of infection and it's going to be long days ahead." she explained, seeing the three of them look crestfallen. "I need you to cooperate during this period. No fights, no getting into trouble."

The next few days were like winding torture for Ace.

He knew he thought you were amazing and everything else that a boy so young could see in his first crush. But what was this agony in his chest? The need to keep peeking through the crack to see you there, breathing. The sudden idea of ​​getting a gift for yourself. The worry that plagued him. Ace needed you to be okay. He had few reasons and meanings for his life, seeing you again had been the main one.

When Dadan said that you had woken up for a brief moment, he didn't rest until she let him come in and see you up close. Your pale face, your dry mouth, deep circles under your eyes. You needed to get out of that. But seeing your eyes blink and turn towards him. Oh, that was like a breath of life.

"Hey…" Ace tried to get your attention and saw your eyes close in front of him, once again. "You'll be fine."

"It's okay, you'll be fine, I promise. Dadan said you need to rest." he pointed out and let the jewel dance on his fingers before he placed it in your hand. "Here, for you."

"Ace?" even with your eyes closed, you were still awake and that was enough to awaken a small flame of hope within the boy. "I'll... die?"

"What is it?"

"A gift. A promise." he bent down, whispering even more quietly. "We'll always be together, okay? And next time, I promise to take better care of you."

"Thanks Ace." as soon as you felt him move away, you tried to hold on to what you could, realizing you had only grabbed a piece of cloth. "Please…Stay here."

"Of course, how foolish of me to leave without warning." He pretended to settle down next to you, sitting on the floor and taking your hand. "I promise not to leave your side."

He tried to keep his promise, he even tried to defy Dadan and remain there while the woman tried to drag him out of the room. Outside, Luffy and Sabo were as worried as he was, except they both didn't want to interrupt their brother with his concerns.

At great cost and with the excuse that he needed to help you bathe, Dadan managed to push Ace away. Forcing him to eat decently, to see sunlight, to interact, even if the boy did it with a frown.

It was two afternoons like this until Ace started to lose his patience. His furious footsteps approached the door and when he was about to open it, he was met with an unexpected sight. You there, standing, smiling in front of him.

"Hey, where are you going?" your voice - still not as excited and firm as before - asked and you barely had time to continue asking as Ace's arms circled you in a strong hug, so strong that your feet stopped finding the ground for a moment.

"You came back." he murmured and had your brief moment stolen by the two other brothers, who hugged each other next to you two.

"We thought you had died." Luffy found himself crying for a change, this time he didn't make a point of hiding it.

"Who said she died?" Sabo grumbled.

"You." the youngest retorted and they continued exchanging barbs.

You just enjoyed the comfort of being back with your group, your friends and Ace, who made you feel anxious being so close to you.

"You brats." Dadan arrived separating you, taking some care when pulling you from the boys' arms. "She's still fragile."

"Sorry." the three asked in unison.

"But she needs to sunbathe, take a walk to start regaining her energy." the eldest explained, part of her wanting to laugh when she saw the three pairs of attentive and worried eyes directed towards you and her. "You can't go far without getting into trouble."

"Yes ma'am." the three offered in unison again. "We promise not to let her almost die anymore." Sabo swore, striking the best pose possible.

Leaving you alone, Ace reached his hand towards you and as you moved closer to him, he could see the small golden ring on a pendant around your neck.

"Oh, that!" you started as soon as you saw his gaze towards the necklace. "The ring kept falling off my finger, so I found this chain in Dadan's things and decided to hang it up. Is that okay?"

"Yeah. Looks good on you." Ace insisted on giving you his hand to take and this time, you did so without hesitation. "I promise to keep an eye on you."

"I promise to pick you up. It's just until I have a decent boat and then it'll be you and me against the world." Ace said goodbye with watery eyes, just like you. Feeling that maybe this was the right moment, even after years of searching for such a moment, he moved closer to kiss you and saw you look away.

So the two of you walked together, little fingers intertwined.

-

"No." you punctuated with a brief sob, trying to wipe the tears from your own face. "I promise to wait for you and to be yours forever, as we already agreed. But that's only when you keep your promise and come back for me."

Feeling your feet freeze you in place and your mouth dry in anxiety, you saw him approach with almost slow steps, analyzing you from top to bottom. Waiting for a reaction.

The memory was the first thing that crossed your mind as soon as you saw a familiar face in that bar. He was bigger, stronger, and surrounded by people, but he was still as familiar as the last time you saw him.

Before you took the lead and went to him, you were noticed by someone who was with him, who pointed out the fact that a woman had been staring at him for so long.

"Is it really you?"

"I'm sorry, I broke my promise to wait for you." was the first thing you said as you felt his hands gently cup your face.

"You're here..." the voice came out like a small secret between the two of you. "Dadan said you left right after Luffy."

"I needed to find you, I mean, I broke a promise about waiting for you…" you raised your hand to your face and only then did Ace notice the ring he had given you. "If you want to give up…"

The taste on Ace's lips was mixed with alcohol and pure surprise, after all you would give him the chance to give up on his promise, to choose a life free of you.

"I will never give up on us." he pointed out, the two of you just ignored the screams of what you suspected were his crewmates. "I love you my pretty girl."

[acrystalwitch]

First an introduction to Lucifer: Usually in my deity guides this is where I’d share a bit of mythology on the deity I learned from their texts. Here will be a lot of UPG and SPG instead from him and other followers of his instead, as the texts he is in purely see him as evil and misunderstand him. This might ruffle some feathers so again please know; I understand I’m speaking from my own UPG a lot.

From the best of my understanding, and from what Lucifer has shared with me…

Lucifer was an Angel from the Christian religion. He was his father’s most beautiful Angel.

His father made the angels to serve him and always rule under him, he was the only god in his pantheon and wanted to stay that way.

The angels never even questioned it, things were how they were and that was that. But, Lucifer started to question it, he felt it was unfair and cruel for a god to create so many creations just to serve him and worship him, it was selfish and controlling. So he asked to be treated as an equal, and instead was punished.

In that he gathered all of the angels he’d been able to rally behind his cause. He wanted to free them of the idea that told them they couldn’t ever be more than his servants. Lucifer revealed to them that they were all no different from gods themselves. They rebelled against their controller, and lost.

Lucifer and his angels were kicked out of their pantheon and thrown into Hell, being called ‘demons’ now.

The demons rule different parts of hell and Lucifer is said to be the king of all of it. But I also believe he spends most of his time on Earth.

When Lucifer saw that his father created humans and was doing the same to them in Eden that he’d done to the angels he felt so sorry for them. He snuck his way into the garden and tried to get them to pull the veil from their eyes. He helped them see that they could make decisions for themself, and that’s the energy he continues to try and bring to us all wherever he can.

He is a deity of love for humanity, love for freedom and independence. A god of rebellion and justice for those who have been walked all over. He is angry and sad and kind and fair. He is pride and self love. Confidence and knowing yourself inside and out.

My personal experience with Lucifer:

He is the 3rd deity I brought into my personal pantheon I worship and he is very key to my pagan practice.

He came into my life to help with a lot of my religious trauma and things revolving around the church and my childhood and my parents.

He also helps with a lot of my gender and trans issues, as I and many others that work with him see him as a more non-binary being (I use he/him pronouns mainly but I have always felt Lucifer isn’t binary)

He appears in meditations to me as a blonde man, looking kind of sad at times, but other days very excitable and probably the one that makes me laugh the most (next to Thor)

WHY ALL THE LEMONS

You might’ve noticed almost everything I do surrounding lucifer I talk about lemons or have images of lemons.

Plain and simple answer is, lucifer really likes lemons 😂

It just kind of became our thing because I’ve always really liked sour fruits. They seem misunderstood like him, but also bright and sunny , with that sour kick.

On that note…

Other offerings for Lucifer

(Of all of my deities Lucifer cares the least about physical offerings and the most about spending quality time together)

- yellow, orange, red, black candles

- sunstone

- citrine

- carnelian

- flower agate

- gold jewelry

- wine

- Sun water

-chocolate

- citrus/lemon incense

-coffee

-tree fruits

Non physical offerings

- acts of rebellion

- artwork

- poetry

- shadow work

- hanging out with him while you do mundane activities

- learn about yourself, get to know yourself

If you have a lot of trauma in your past about the Christian religion and have felt like he might be reaching out to you, it could be worth pulling out your preferred divination method and having a check.

He has worked wonders for me already and I’ve found a lifelong friend in him as well. Of all my deities I’d say he’s the most understanding of humanity and what we go through and it just feels like talking to a wise friend sometimes.

[antimony-medusa]

"There's just something about that guy that means I don't trust him"

Okay so, Phil has got the wrong read of Sunny. I'm gonna start off with that. He thinks they're a confident unconcerned material girl who is comfortable in the fact that their dad loves them, and potentially he thinks that they're a bit older than they are? Whereas people who have been able to see her one-on-one with Tubbo know that she's quite a bit more shy and insecure and young than she puts on! He's been taken in by the facade they're putting on, and I think that's part of why he is making jokes and comments that don't hit well. To understate how yesterday went. I think he botched the interaction with Sunny in the musuem and I hope someone tells him that, so he can apologize and fix that. And to be clear, as a phil viewer, this does interesting character work with Sunny as a sensitive child and I'm in favour of Sunnymin pursuing this line of lore. I'm staring with my little cube guy watching googles looking for the result when Phil realizes he scared a child, with great interest.

Because when you look at the musum one in context, my read is that was phil pivoting badly from an out of lore discussion into "oh hey I can explain something to sunny, who is confident and centred and knows her dad adores her" and then jokingly tried to explain the tallulah experience, and then we know from Sunny signs later that that went over like a ton of bricks. Mistake. However, when we're discussing it, I think it's fair to not have that understanding of the lore though, and to take a more pointed, villainous read of the lore! Go for it with discussing phil as cold and brusque to people who aren't his family, discuss Sunny feeling all alone in the musuem, fill your boots.

But guys, when you're discussing this as meta, I am seeing a lot of tags that are really really eager to paint Phil entirely and unequivocally as a villain and specifically cruel to children and cruel within the family, and there's an element to that that concerns me.

Phil, the cc, the guy, acts working class. He has an accent from a particular part of england that is traditionally working class, but he also has storytelling cadences and humour styles and attitudes towards challenges that are very familiar if you are from a working class or lower income community. I'm from an entirely different continuent, but the area I'm from is the sort of area that people make jokes about, and the whole way Phil acts as a CC is very familiar to me. (Note: even when he's talking about travel or stuff, he still has the "worked retail for a decade" mentality and pays attention to the staff and stuff and what they're doing, check out the brazil storytelling vod.)

And Phil's cubito, when he's not deliberately making a character like osmp crowfather, tends to have the mannerisms of someone who is working class. Even if you're not from a lower income area, I think most people can clock this, subconciously if nothing else. He swears a lot! He banters and roasts his friends and family but would absolutely do anything for them. He's informal in a very specific way.

Which is why when people pivot immediately into "why is he threatening and bullying children again" and "his wicked is showing", and "oh he's a evil stepfather/cruel stepmother" and "can we kill the child abusers now" I go Oh No.

Working class mannerisms are already stereotyped as especially prone to domestic abuse, among other ills. If you are going "oh something about him just always seemed like he would be cruel to children" maybe— push back on that one?

In the same way that during the election I was going "that may not be the play" about americans who didn't know what it was but something about Forever was just so angry and agressive (and they were talking from a perspective that viewed forever as a person of colour, regardless of how he's perceived at home), you might be talking from a perspective that encourages you to interpret Phil's behaviour with children as especially suspect. Potentially. Consider it.

And again, Phil biffed it in the musuem. That was a misstep that had me (autistic) going "oh no I see how you got there but you can all but see the sims negative relationship marker thing pop up". But I'd ask you at least to consider that it wasn't intentional cruelty, and that people can make social missteps before you jump immediately to interpreting their actions in the worst light possible.

[qtubbo]

Your like one of the biggest q!Tubbo fans i know here so i thought you’d be a pretty good person to ask this, but what’s going on with q!Tubbo’s lore rn??? i sadly haven’t been able to keep up much 😭😭😭😭

I’ve heard some stuff abt this “Creation” guy???

(you don’t have to explain it if you don’t want to obviously!! /nf :] )

Sure! As some character background, Tubbo’s been fairly depressed and suicidal for a while now, often joking about death and purposefully putting himself in harms way. Recently, he started talking about how he had “2 Lives left” in the same way as the eggs, noting that he wanted to give one to Empanada but was unable to. Most people assumed he was being lighthearted, and it was just a silly challenge that he set for himself because it was phrased in a ridiculous manner, a player having egg lives? He was not joking, and restated multiple times it was for real, but it wasn’t to be believed till Richas killed him.

Sunny and Chayanne took the death very seriously, treating it as if Tubbo had died for good, even with Phil saying it was okay and he’ll just come back. Sunny ended up staying with Phil for the rest of the day because Chayanne had stood still at the body for 10 minutes, which was good comfort for her. Later that day, Creation showed up here to protect Sunny since their primary protector was now missing, and also seeking to put Tubbo back together. Some background of who Creation is might be need, Niki’s stream and our theories about Sunny’s secret friend.

Firstly, Niki had a stream ages ago where she and Empanada met Creation, originally assuming it to be some messed up version of Tubbo. Creation showed it could point people away, assumably to a pocket dimension the eggs consider this like a warm nap, and that it didn’t have a lot of understanding about emotions. Being very stressed out and aggressive till Niki calmed it down, through Niki it was revealed that Creation has a ranking systems for the eggs most prioritized to least, and was designed to protect them by Tubbo and that Tubbo can not know its out. If I can find the VOD or someone sends it to me I’ll link it here, since it’s just a good watch to get context.

Second, Sunny’s secret friend, as of late Sunny’s been talking about this friend of hers that Tubbo can not know any details about. Sunny was protected by this friend on her walk “alone” to Bad’s place, Sunny needs to get a plush to keep them happy, and they live in a secret trapdoor in Sunny's room. This was heavily implied, but not confirmed, to be Creation, meaning that even after the reset that managed to get back to server its purpose protect Sunny.

Okay back to today’s stream, Tubbo’s dead and Creation just appeared to keep Sunny safe since her Primary Protector had gone missing. Creation points Sunny away brings them back and reveals that she’s Rank 1 calling her that for the rest of the night. Creation then starts talking about Tubbo and how it will bring it back, that Tubbo just needs to be pretty much reuploaded but Creation needs Tubbo’s data. BUT then Creation drops another bombshell that Tubbo can not die because he’s always been dead, meaning that Tubbo’s likely been a robot-like creature this entire time.

Once Creation gets to Tubbo’s body it declares it can’t bring Tubbo back because he’s missing data, his purpose, Creation becomes enraged by this revealing that while he wants to hurt Richas for the data, its code forbids it from hurting an Egg. Creation tells everyone that Tubbo needs this golden computer part to be brought back, which does once again state that Tubbo’s a robot-like creature, but it’s also revealed only the federation can get this item.

Tubbo’s currently still dead, and Sunny & Chayanne aren’t doing too hot both feeling terrible about it. I assume this is what you wanted not the Morning Crew stuff but I can explain that to if needed.