#ben is just screaming at whatever they heard in the brush

[tony-loon]

Huxloween 2024 - Day 21 - The Woods -Lost boyscouts- Inspired by  @huxloween 's wonderful promptlist

[igot-the-juice]

Blood of A Rose - Part 2 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - Following the events of their night together, (y/n) and Art explore their dynamics together to form a perfect duet of blood and beauty.

Notes - Was requested to expand on the relationship between Art and the reader and will happily oblige! It’s honestly so fun to write Art’s character, I hate how little there is out there for him. My man needs attention.

P.S - Might branch this into a series of one shots showing their relationship more and whatnot either from my own ideas or requests from you guys for what you’d like to see with them. Hell, might even make a whole blog based on them. Thoughts?

Word Count - 4,091

Warning(s) - Blood, gore, violence, morally ambiguous reader

Song Inspiration -

Cody Frost - Process

Screams were heard all around them, piercing and agonizing. Everything was set ablaze, yet she felt no heat. She felt no pain. Even as the smoke clouded, she could breathe without struggle. (Y/n) craned her neck to look up at the clown before her, eyes wide with wonder, with trust. Her life was in the hands of a murderer and yet she felt safe. She felt protected.

His usual grin did not show, yet he didn’t frown. His face remained neutral while his eyes said it all, filled with an untamed obsession, possessiveness and dare she say adoration. His gloved hands rose to her jaw, cupping it delicately as he guided her to train her eyes on him, to ignore all that happened around them. As she stared up at him, her hands came to rest over his own, and with a look of his eyes she was told -

He would be her past, present and future. 

(Y/n)’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the soft light of the moon that peaked through the boards of the window. The colder air bit at her skin through her sweater and she shivered. 

She sat up and looked around curiously, seeing that she was now in the makeshift bedroom from before. She then looked down and saw that she was on the mattress, however a tattered blanket now lay on top of it beneath her, shielding her from whatever mold and rot had been on it. 

Her legs closed when she felt a light breeze brush against the tear in her pantyhose, heightening the chill. (Y/n) stretched her arms out and stood, then heard what sounded like someone hammering from a different room. Her mind raced with the events of what she assumed was still the same night. Her face burned, stomach fluttering as the ghost of Art’s caress tickled her skin. 

She took a deep breath and left the room, quietly making her way to where the sound came from. Mindful of the debris on the floor as she grew near, she entered the room with the workbench, Art hunched over it on the stool as he hammered away at something. 

When (y/n) stepped closer he paused. Her breath stilled as his head slowly turned to the side, yet not over his shoulder to look at her, letting her know that he knew she was there. 

Once he returned to work she released the breath she held and made her way over to him, seeing as he hammered a screw-eye hook of sorts into the end of a chair leg. 

His face was focused, not smiling or putting on his usual dramatics as he worked. It felt strange to her, seeing him this way. It reminded her that even if he was a murderer he wasn’t excused from putting in the work to make it happen, whether it was a hobby of his or not. It reminded her that he still had interests and needs just as everyone else. It was oddly humanizing and she couldn’t help but feel privileged to see him in such a state. 

He motioned to a nearby corner and (y/n) turned to see another stool placed there, then moved to bring it over and sat on top of it to continue to watch him. He then motioned to her - conversing as he worked - then symbolized sleep as if to ask how she slept, then proceeded to pick up an average sized chain. 

“It was actually quite nice. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.” 

With chain in hand, he clapped excitedly, happy with her response. He hooked it to the screw, bending and twisting the metal to make sure it was secure as (y/n) watched casually, as if it was just another day. 

“Is it… Is it still the same night?” 

He shook his head and her eyes widened. Art turned to see it and began to laugh to himself. 

“How long has it been?” 

He held up a finger after his laughing fit died down, going back to his work. 

“One day…? But how?” 

He nodded and glanced over at her, watching as she looked down, growing more and more confused. He patted her shoulder and she looked up at him, seeing him point to himself, then her. 

“Because of you?” Her brow furrowed, then her expression changed as she chuckled. “Are you saying I slept for so long because of what we did?” 

Art shrugged and made a cheeky expression, but she became confused again when he then shook his head. He motioned to himself again, then pointed to her head. 

“You… forced me to stay asleep?” He eagerly nodded, smiling and pointing at her to say she got it. “But how? Did you knock me out?” His head shook. “Did you drug me?” 

His head shook again and he rolled his eyes, arms falling to his sides in exasperation. He then motioned to his entire body, pointed to his head with both fingers, then to her head again. 

“You were in my head…?” He nodded and clapped. “How is that even possible?” 

Art shrugged dramatically with a mischievous smile. (Y/n) paused and slowly met his eyes. 

“The dream…?” She asked, and in the back of her head she already knew the answer. 

The clown only solidified it with a raise of his eyebrows, mouth forming an ‘o’ and shrugging as an ‘oops’. (Y/n) could only laugh, not knowing how exactly to react to someone with such supposed supernatural abilities. 

She wasn’t sure if she had finally grown to become insane or if it was all a hallucination, all in her head. But as she thought to the night before she found that it all felt too real, too vivid to be fake. 

(Y/n) suddenly felt exposed and crossed one leg over the other, tugging down the skirt of her dress as her face grew warm. Art looked over at her, face twisting into mischief as his eyes squinted with his smile. He wiggled his eyebrows when she looked at him and she turned her face away bashfully. 

He reached over to grasp her chin, coaxing her to look back at him. He nudged his head in her direction, grinning to encourage her to do the same. Once her smile returned and she giggled, he playfully booped her nose and turned back to his workbench, his smile now remaining on his dramatized face as he worked. 

The minutes seemed to drag on as he worked, but not once was she bored. She watched eagerly, fixated as his hands toyed and shaped the weapon he was creating. His actions were all well thought out and deliberate, masculine yet graceful as his fingers caressed the wood and metal. 

Deeming the weapon satisfactory, he raised it by the handle - the chair leg - and examined it carefully. Three chains hung from the screw-eye, knife tips, nails and spikes decorating the length of them. 

“Is that a flail?” (Y/n) gasped. 

Art’s head whipped over to look at her and patted her thigh, the hand holding the weapon shaking excitedly as he nodded. He watched as she eyed his new creation, then an idea formed in his head. His gaze shifted to look over at her, now smiling sadistically. She caught the change in his expression and she began to smile, catching on to what he was thinking. 

“I’ll get the camera!” She hopped off of the stool.

-

After some convincing from her end, they stopped by her house for her to quickly change into something more comfortable. It wasn’t until she began to beg sweetly that he finally agreed, unable to say no to her more innocent nature, regardless of her interests.

Not a person was in sight as they were shielded by the dark of the night, hardly any street lamps in the area they currently wandered. 

“Does the bag ever get heavy for you?” (Y/n) asked as they walked through the ghosted roads. 

Art shook his head, using his other arm to exaggerate flexing his muscles and she laughed. 

“I bet that bag is the reason you’re so strong, lugging it around everywhere and all.” He waved her off at the compliment and tickled her ear with his finger. “I’m serious! You make it look like it weighs nothing.” 

As they walked, they began to see the edge of the town ahead of them. Or rather, Art saw it. (Y/n) was too focused on the clown beside her, taking in all of his features under the starry night, the moon perfectly accentuating every curvature and jagged edge, every - 

She was suddenly yanked to the side of the sidewalk he walked on and she gasped, looking over to see a pole that she nearly walked straight into. She looked back over at Art who had a hand on his hip with a frown. He pointed at her, his eyes, then the direction they were walking in. 

“Sorry…” She giggled as she blushed, nervously fiddling with the camera hanging around her neck. 

He pulled back his arm and reached for her, pulling her to stand on the opposite side where he was previously walking to prevent it from happening again. He motioned for her to continue walking, rolling his eyes from behind her before he set his pace next to her again. 

As they reached the town, Art began to look around carefully, more alert in the brighter area while (y/n) had a mind of her own. While he kept an eye out for his next victim, she focused on finding her next inspiration. She supposed they went hand in hand, but she was never one to strive for the bare minimum. 

He then paused, holding his arm out for her to do the same, knowing she very well would’ve kept on walking. Hearing the voices of what seemed to be a couple arguing, he listened carefully to find where they came from. 

Then he spotted them. 

A man and woman arguing next to a car. The man was halfway in the driver’s seat while the woman stood next to it, flailing her arms. 

Art then heard a shutter sound from beside him, slowly looking over to see (y/n) holding her camera up, taking photos of the argument before them. She looked over at him and shrugged innocently.

She put down the camera and the two of them watched the pursuing argument, equally invested in the exchange. The man then slammed the car door shut. 

“They just broke up for sure.” (Y/n) whispered to Art and he looked down at her with a widespread grin, wiggling his eyebrows then nodding towards the woman who was now making her way into what seemed to be her villa. 

Art crossed the street, making his way over with (y/n) in tow and walking up the small set of stairs leading to the front door. He looked down at her, then turned to the door in front of them and tested the door knob, unsurprisingly finding it locked. 

He gave (y/n) a ‘wait’ signal and set down his bag, cracking his neck and stretching his arms out in front of him with linked fingers. Art then gave her a side smile, then suddenly kicked the door open. She froze with wide eyes, yet her stomach betrayed her as it flipped at his show of masked strength. 

He picked up his bag again and grabbed her wrist to pull her inside with him, closing the door behind them. Footsteps quickly descended the staircase in front of them and they looked up to see the same woman from before, chest heaving in fear at the sight before her. 

While (y/n) quickly snapped a photo of her expression, Art dropped his bag again and wiggled his fingers at her in a wave with a menacing smile. He then held up a finger to her and began to look through his bag as the woman remained frozen like a deer in the headlights, watching as he pulled out a scalpel and the new flail. He turned to (y/n) and raised his eyebrows, then bolted upstairs after the woman who fled. 

As they thumped around upstairs, she began to explore the villa, looking for things to use in her next piece. The woman’s screams and shrieks were muffled behind the door of the room they were in and were drowned out, inevitably useless. 

(Y/n) eyed a smaller box TV that sat on an entertainment stand in the living room, an idea popping into her head. She walked over to it and unplugged it in preparation, resuming her wandering when the noise above her suddenly stopped. 

She heard a door open upstairs followed by footsteps descending the staircase. (Y/n) looked towards it, seeing a now bloodied Art giving her the ‘ok’ to go upstairs when she was ready. 

“Could you do me a huge favor?” She asked as he made his way over to her, shaking off the blood on his hands and nodding. “Could you help take the TV upstairs for me? I want to use it as the head.” 

Art made a surprised expression, clapping his hands giddily at the idea. He then paused with a finger up, making a sawing motion and asked for her to wait a moment, disappearing upstairs. Not long after, he returned with his saw and put it back in his bag, happily walking over to the TV and tipping his hat at (y/n) when he walked by. He then picked it up as if it was nothing but a feather and made his way back upstairs, (y/n) following closely behind as she giggled. 

They entered the woman’s bedroom, her body splayed out on the bed with small to large chunks of her skin and fat missing, head nowhere to be found. 

As he placed the TV where the woman’s head used to be, (y/n) admired the slashes left from the flail. Some were rather deep, others shallow. Their marks tore at the dress that the woman wore, some simulating claw marks while other areas were simply shredded. 

“Could you move the arms to look like this?” (Y/n) posed her own arms to grab the sides of her head. Art carefully took note of the angle and position, then moved the victim’s arms to reflect it. “Perfect.” (Y/n) smiled, looking up at the ceiling to see LED lights lined along the edge. 

Art watched as she wandered to find the remote, smiling to herself once she found it and changed the color to red and turned off the main light. She looked around the floor, watching for anything she could trip on before lifting a foot onto the bed. 

Art’s face twisted into panic and his hands shook, stepping next to her and helping her up onto the bed. 

“Thank you.” She responded softly, one of his hands still holding her waist to help steady her as she readied her camera. He followed her as she captured different angles, some standing while others she crouched. 

(Y/n) took his hand to help herself down, smiling up at him as he grinned at her excitedly. Just as the night before, she flipped through the pictures she took, and just the same, she felt his closeness. 

The only difference was rather than nerves, she felt relaxed. She felt calm and comfortable despite the mess around them that he caused. His hand that rested on her far shoulder radiated heat through her layers of clothing and she subconsciously leaned into him, head pressed against his chest while he pointed at the photos he favored. 

His silent presence, twisted grin plastered on his painted face, drew her in like a moth to flame. (Y/n) found herself unable to refuse, an invisible pull guiding her to him. 

At first, their following encounters were just a few hours in the night together. Art would appear when (y/n) least expected, showing up at odd hours, his silent insistence drawing her out into the dark. However, she began to notice her sleeping pattern slowly change. She grew more tired sooner, falling asleep earlier and earlier, waking up in a strange nocturnal rhythm. 

At night, she would wake to find him waiting, patient but always silent, eager to lead her deeper into his world. (Y/n), feeling a strange sense of peace in his presence, began to follow him without question. And after only a few weeks of their odd relationship, she began to grow used to it. Comfortable with it. Comfortable with him.

“Hey, Art.” (Y/n) greeted him as she yawned, fresh out of bed to find him rummaging through her kitchen. 

He looked up at her and waved, a widespread grin bringing out her own smile in her vulnerable, post-dream state. He gushed at the sight, elbows resting on the countertop with his chin in his hands, blinking dreamily at her as she walked over to him with her arms out. 

Art popped up, engulfing her in his arms as she sighed happily at the feeling. He rocked the two of them slowly, the rhythm almost putting her back to sleep. 

Slowly, (Y/n)’s life became consumed by Art. The gruesome art pieces she crafted from his handiwork grew bolder, more disturbing, as if the dark side of her creativity was being unleashed by his influence. 

In her dreams, she would see him. His painted face looming over her, silent but omnipresent. At first, the dreams were disorienting. But over time, they became comforting. She would wake, feeling a strange longing for him, for the connection they shared in the darkest corners of her mind, weaving its way to the forefront. 

As the days bled into nights, (y/n) found herself thinking of Art constantly. He was always there, even when he wasn’t physically present; a haunting figure in her thoughts. His silence, once goofy, became a form of comfort. She began to crave his presence, yearning for their time together. 

And so (y/n) found herself growing dependent on him. Whether it was for her art or simply her attachment to him, how safe she felt with him. He understood her in a way no other person could, and she reciprocated. 

The way he was so brutal and aggressive with others, yet gentle and thoughtful with herself only drew her closer to him. He treated others as nuisances, problems to deal with and get rid of while he treated her as delicately as the rose that brought them together. The contrast was endearing to her, and she couldn’t help but be entranced. 

Though such treatment came with an undisclosed amount of protection and possessiveness, to which she learned rather quickly. 

“It just came out wrong, I’m sorry!” (Y/n) giggled. Art mocked her, rolling his eyes as his mouth and hand mocked her talking. The culprit of such a fit? 

She called his nose cute.

“Your nose is attractive, is what I meant. Believe me, you’re still as frightening as ever.” 

He threw her a side eye, then dramatically sighed and waved it all off. 

“Hey!” She stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk, a lit street lamp looming over them as they faced each other. “I’m sorry.” She gave him her best doe eyes, then stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. 

His grin slowly returned, hand coming over the top of where she kissed him and she giggled. He then took her hand in his own, continuing their nightly walk.

Later on, they heard slurred conversation ahead of them, seemingly male in nature. (Y/n) tried to slow their walk, but Art looked back at her and encouraged her to keep up with him. As they grew closer, they passed an alleyway that held a small group of drunks, hearing a whistle of a cat call. 

The clown immediately stilled, and (y/n) quickly grew worried. 

“Hey, where ya goin’ babes?” One of the men called, stepping out of the alleyway with a bottle in hand. “Not with the mime, I hope.” 

Art and (y/n) slowly turned to face the man, their hands still interlocked as she gripped his tighter and stepped closer to him, practically hiding behind him like a scared child. 

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you actually wanna be with the guy!”

“Ey, c’mon man, stop messin’ with them, she’s not worth it.” Another man stepped out, followed by a third to watch the scene play out. Art’s eyebrows furrowed in anger, twisted grin remaining as he set down his bag and quickly reached into it. 

“Obviously not if -“ Two shots suddenly pierced through the night air, the second and third men collapsing to the ground while Art aimed a handgun at the first who initiated. 

(Y/n)’s hold on his hand moved to his arm, clutching onto it as the bodies began to puddle with blood beneath them. She looked up at Art, his grin replaced with a frown and it sent a chill down her spine. She had only seen him genuinely angry maybe once or twice, and whatever followed was far from pleasant, to say the least. 

“H-hey, I was just jokin’ man, I was just jokin’!” The drunk held up his hands in surrender, but the clown wasn’t buying it. 

As he continued to ramble and apologize, begging for his life, Art kept the gun pointed at his head. He watched as the man slowly broke in front of him, growing increasingly desperate. Art’s grin then slowly reappeared, giving the man a glimmer of hope.

Then Art suddenly aimed at the man’s thigh and fired, doing the same to his other until he fell to his knees. Art tossed the gun into his bag and rummaged through it further, his face twisting into a sadistic expression when he pulled out a box cutter flashing it to the man as a tease before stalking over to him.

(Y/n) turned around, facing away from the chaos and gore as she plugged her ears to drown out the noise. Even still, the sound seeped through as the man struggled and cried out helplessly. His fight was futile compared to Art’s strength, and the latter simply ragdolled him as if the man was just a child. 

When the noise stopped, she unplugged her ears and felt a hand pat her waist, turning to see Art wipe off his now bloodied hands. She turned to see his mess, and his face suddenly grew concerned when she pouted. 

“I don’t have my camera.” (Y/n) nearly whined, and Art mimicked her frown. 

At first, (y/n) resisted the growing dependency, confused by her attachment. But he began to seep into her thoughts with concerning frequency. The dreams became more vivid, more intimate, filled with his silent adoration as he twisted her perception of reality until he became the center of her world, the only constant in her life, planting seeds of affection until it became impossible to imagine her life without him.

His obsession with her only grew. He would stand over her while she slept during the day, watching her with an almost childlike fascination. When she woke, his silent attention made her feel adored, special. The way he looked at her, possessive yet affectionate. His presence was her comfort, his protection her shield.

Eventually, (y/n) could no longer distinguish where her own desires ended and his began. The thought of being apart from him was unbearable. She began to seek him out during the day when she should have been resting, desperate to be near him. 

When they were together, it was a twisted dance of blood and beauty. A duet that no one else could understand. She would create art from his chaos, and he would watch her with silent adoration, the two of them locked in a world where only they existed.

They grew to share a dark, intimate bond. (Y/n), once a quiet and reserved artist, had become consumed by Art - both his work and his presence. He had molded her. And she, willingly or not, had come to love him for it. 

As their connection deepened, (y/n) knew that she could never return to the life she had before. The darkness was too intoxicating, the bond too strong. 

She belonged to him now, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[daryltwdixon]

The Ruins of Us: Chapter 9

Summary: The group makes their way down the highway when they have to come to the stop due to unforeseen obstacles. When they face the herd of walkers, everyone is lucky to get by nearly unscathed. But when you hear screams from coming up the highway, you know something went wrong. Sophia is deep in the woods, lost all on her own and you go to try and find her with the others.

Warnings: some drug use, Shane is an ass (what's new)

The road to Fort Benning is long. With the roaring of the bike under you, you’re almost lulled into sleep, holding onto Daryl’s shirt. Every once in a while you lay your head on his shoulder, the wind whipping your hair around. Your thoughts and maybe even dreams, you can’t tell at this point if you’re sleeping or awake, meander through distant memories of you & Daryl through the years, how things changed so rapidly when you had met Shane Walsh. It felt like your whole friendship unraveled so easily for such stupid reasons. You always had Daryl’s back, and it hurt when he stopped having yours. It was obvious he didn’t approve of your–you can’t even call him a boyfriend, according to Shane’s harsh words– relationship with Shane, but the way he turned so cold so quickly to you was brutal. You didn’t know how to handle it back then. The back and forth between fights that pierced new holes in each other’s hearts and back to apologizing and cleaning each other’s wounds was torment. Maybe it was because you both had no one else to turn to. Through thick and thin, you always had each other. You just thought that meant Daryl would be in your corner through the changes in your life. But so many things piled on top of each other that when you had left for school, you had felt him slipping out of your grasp. He started hanging with Merle more, from what you had heard. You barely saw him after you left. And when you did, he usually avoided you or said one or two words. When you were little, and things felt easier, he was the best thing that ever happened to you. Catching frogs in the woods, him showing you how to make a snare with nothing but the brush around you and your shoelace, to kicking Merle in the shins the first time you met his big brother–they all bring smiles to your face now. 

“You droolin’ on me back there?” Daryl twists his head for a moment to shout at you over the loud motorcycle. You swat him across the arm playfully before you can feel him chuckle to himself and turn his head back to the road. 

You’re behind the RV at this point, and the two lane highway seems to stretch on forever. God, you have to pee so badly. Just as the thought crosses your mind, you see the red lights of the RV’s brake lights start flashing as Dale comes to a halt. A small panic rises in your throat, not sure if you’re about to be trapped here or not. Daryl makes his way through the turned over cars to get in front of the RV to see if there’s a way around whatever has gotten in the way. 

Cars were littering the highway–some with bodies, some with belongings still inside and around. The main problem is the tractor trailer turned topside in the middle of everything. It stretches across both highways.  Daryl led the bike easily through the wreckage around you, and swerved back to tell Dale.

“See a way through?” Dale calls from the RV window.

Daryl shrugs and nods at him, waving him to follow behind. 

“There has to be a bypass if we go back,” you say, able to talk quieter now that the bike is going slower.

“Doubt they can spare the fuel,” Daryl says over his shoulder. A shiver runs up your spine as you get a closer look at the graveyard around you. There’s cars full of families out here. People who had no chance of making it before they could try to escape. You can’t help but think this must’ve happened when everything first went down. You remember how bad the roads were when you were trying to get out of the city.

The cars behind you all creep along the highway following the motorcycle. Your heart leaps out of your chest when suddenly from behind there’s a loud blaring from the RV. When you turn to look, loud steam is coming out of the hood, sputtering dramatically. 

Daryl stops his bike right away, turning hard to get a good look at the ruckus.

“Ah, shit,” he says under his breath, turning off the engine of his motorcycle. 

You hop off, silently grateful for the chance to stretch your legs, but still the worry of being stranded out here creeps in.

Dale complains how he knew from the jump this would happen with the radiator hose he had in the beat up old camper. But his grievances go quiet when he takes a look around at where you’re all standing. You see Daryl already starting to pull things from the cars left out in the beating sunlight. 

“Okay, that was dumb,” Dale admits.

 You chuckle, and Shane pipes up: “If you can’t find a radiator hose here…”

“There’s a whole bunch of stuff we can find,” Daryl says beside you, reaching into another vehicle. 

Lori suddenly speaks up, “this is a graveyard…I don’t know how I feel about this,” you had the same thoughts until you remembered how scarce resources had become, and you look to her and then over at Daryl. You both shrug at each other in synchronization, making you smile and keep digging through the cars. You pull out a lunch pail and open it, a child’s lunch all rotten inside. Your stomach flips, not at the thought of rotten food, but the little girl that this belonged to. Her pink princess lunch box was one of the only things left in the trunk, along with some clothing strewn around.

Daryl leaves you to go help T-Dog siphon more gas while you continue your search. When you feel like the coast is clear, you make your way off the highway. Daryl, always with an eagle eye, catches you walking off, “What’re you doin?” he calls over.

“I’ve had to pee for the past like, 15 miles!” you call back to him, waving him off. You swing your leg over the guardrail, down into the woods. 

Hand on your knife to double check you have it with you, you pull your pants down in a bush to relieve yourself. The beautiful relief you feel makes you sigh in contentment. You hear Shane and Glenn shouting about something over on the road, and you smile, realizing they sound excited about something. You hope it’s food or some water. 

You start to get up, pulling your pants up with you, when you see it… when you see them.

One by one, then by groups, you see the gigantic crowd of walkers making their way down the highway, weaving around cars. You can tell they haven’t spotted anyone yet, but that doesn’t mean they won't the second one of them decides to look up. There must be at least 100 of them. Why the hell is a group of them walking together like that?

Heart suddenly racing inside your chest, your eyes scan the highway. Rick is running between cars, rifle in hand, getting Lori, Carol and the kids under vehicles. Shane finally sees the walkers coming too and you watch him grab the back of Glenn’s shirt, pulling them both under the truck they had searched. Where was Daryl? T-Dog? Andrea? You’re jumping over the guardrail now, a cold sweat drenching your body. You start to hear the ragged wheezing of the walkers drawing closer, but it doesn’t sound like they’ve found anyone yet. Why is it in these moments you’re hardly fearing for your own life? The fear covering you in sweat, the feeling that is making your blood pulse loudly in your ears, isn't the fear of your own safety. There’s one face in your mind, and you hopelessly look around, trying to find him. You turn to see how close the walkers are getting when you see one dressed in rags traipsing toward you. It looked to be an older man before its body turned into a monster. It took a left turn where the others took a right behind a semi truck. You look down under the truck and see Shane’s eyes bulging out at you, watching you stand right in the eyeline of the walker. It begins to hiss, finally noticing you as it rounds the front of a small sedan. 

Fuck. 

But instead of running away, the adrenaline coursing through your body gives you courage to walk straight up to it, knife in hand. As quickly as you can, you throw your knife between its eyes, but your knife gets stuck in the thick bone of its skull. You’re doing your best to heave it out of its head when the sound of the other walkers approaching gives you pause. You give up trying to pull it out when you notice more walkers starting to take the left turn around the truck, and bolt out of their eye line. You’re coming to a pile of bodies, looking around, unsure where to turn to duck out of sight, when suddenly you feel a hand around your ankle. Your body blazes in panic, and it takes every fiber of your being not to let out a blood curdling scream. You look down, and there’s a lifeless corpse laying on the ground across a body–no, not a body. Daryl. He’s looking up at you with a mixture of fear and anger in his eyes. His car greased arm is reaching out from under the body atop him to wrap his hand around your leg.

“Get. Down.” he hisses at you. You look next to him and see T-Dog under another long-dead corpse, blood all over the right side of his body. Your body feels frozen suddenly as you look in horror at the slice up his arm. But the grip on your ankle gets harder, enough where you feel your foot going prickly at the lack of circulation.

“Y/N!” Daryl says in a frantic whisper, and you’re jolted out of your trance. You leap to the ground, rolling under a vehicle next to them. You have to hold your own hand over your mouth to quiet your own breathing as lazy footsteps and the sound of rattling breaths walk by you. You can’t help but think you hadn’t gotten down right in that moment, you’d be easy walker bait. 

After a long few moments, your breath comes back to you in steady rhythm, and the rattling sound of walkers breathing is gone and soon their slow footsteps completely recede away. You still can’t trust–don’t know for sure if they’re completely gone. None of you take the chance just yet to get up. You look over at T-Dog, his face ashen with blood loss. Daryl is looking up and around, checking to see if the coast is clear. You let your hand fall away from your mouth, looking up at the underside of the car you’re beneath, and let out a sigh of relief.

And then you hear the scream.

You know better than to get up to see what’s going on, you can’t move yet. The group of walkers could be close by, they could’ve even heard the screams. Daryl immediately gets up, hoisting T-Dog by the shirt up on his feet. He turns to face you, putting his hand out in offering. You roll from under the car and take his hand that’s covered in blood and car grease. Your hand slides a little from the lack of friction, but he just holds your wrist tighter, pulling you up. 

“Don’t even tell me what you were doin’--runnin’ around like a fool when a whole herd of walkers was on us,” Daryl seethes. You don’t want to have this argument again, so you release his hand once you’re up on your feet, and turn toward the sound of the group talking in low voices of panic. All three of you rush over when you see Lori holding Carol close. As you approach, Carol has tears down her face.

“There’s walkers after my baby!” she cries, Lori clinging to her to keep Carol from going into the woods after her own daughter.

After a while of bated breaths, Rick emerges from the woods alone, with no Sophia in sight. Carol begins to panic, but it seems the men are immediately ready to step into action. 

Daryl, Glenn, Shane, and Rick devise a plan to go search for her. Three of them are already heading into the woods with haste, when Shane looks back at you with his brows furrowed.

“What’re you doin?” he says, noticing you close behind him.

“I’m comin’” you say simply.

“No,” Shane says, as if that’s the end of the conversation. 

“I can help find her,” you say, anger lacing your tone.

“Stay here, keep everyone preoccupied. Keep looking for supplies,” he tells you, pointing to the others. You roll your eyes, still following him.

“I’m serious, Y/N, don’t you dare follow me into these woods,” he says with his lip curling. He turns and runs in after the others.

Not even ten minutes later, you’re standing by the guard rail while the others have turned around to get busy. Carol is next to you, anxiously searching the brush for any signs of their return. You’ve had enough of this–you grab the rifle from the sedan Rick and Lori drove in with Carol, and head into the woods. 

The woods aside the highway are thick as you make your way through them. Branches often snag at your hair and clothes, roots threatening to trip everywhere you step. You and Daryl explored the woods by your home outside Atlanta enough times to know better than to trust your footing too casually. You take careful, quiet steps, looking for any sign of the men who went out to look for Sophia.

Under your footing, a twig snaps and you pause, wincing inwardly. Daryl’s voice echoes in your head– “your fat feet” are going to give you away out here. You bring your rifle up into your arms in front of you, just in case any unwanted guests make an appearance. You keep your finger off the trigger, weary of accidentally pulling it at the smallest noise. Most likely Daryl had headed to the creek where Rick first found her, so you make your way closer and closer to the streaming water of the creek up ahead. You begin to ease your grip on the rifle, lowering it when animals start to make appearances–the squirrels are rifling through the tree and birds are singing. They would be too quiet if there was danger. You come across the creek and notice the mud has been moved around near a dam under a large tree. Someone was definitely here. Multiple people now that you get a better look at the foot prints. You see a set of small, child-like prints in the mud. Sophia. 

You begin to follow them, making out the small indents of where she gingerly stepped across roots, tripped on others, and paused like she was trying to decide where she was headed. 

“Come on, girl,” you whisper to yourself, “where did you go? Show me,” you’re concentrating on the fallen leaves under your footing, not realizing the sound of the birds had disappeared. You crouch on the ground, running your fingertips over the faint lines of a child’s shoe print. When you get up to continue following the trail, something zooms through the air and snaps into the tree behind you, missing you by an inch.

“Son of a bitch,” you hear a voice just across the line of trees. You see all four of the men emerging from the underbrush, annoyed looks on their faces.

“What the hell did I say?” Shane growls, stomping over to you.

“I’m a tracker too, dammit. I can help,” you snarl back at him in hushed tones, looking to Daryl, “tell em, Dare.”

“Taught her everything I know,” sarcasm dripping the otherwise prideful remark. He's crouching down onto the path of footprints again, "Looks like you found her trail again," he says, running his fingers over the footprints you were deciphering.

“Better if you and Glenn get back to the highway, people are going to start panicking,” RIck tells Shane and Glenn. There’s conversation about keeping people preoccupied with chores. Shane locks his eyes on you, fuming. He turns his back after a long moment and starts his way back with Glenn. You stay with Rick and Daryl now and continue into the woods to find the lost little girl. 

“Tracks are gone,” Rick says after awhile. 

You’re crouching with Daryl where he has just stopped, pointing at some of the tracks in the woods, “they’re faint, ain't gone.” you say quietly.

“How can you tell? I don’t see anything but dirt, grass…”

“You want a lesson in tracking or you wanna find that girl?” Daryl remarks, “we gotta get our ass off that interstate.” You try your best to hide the smile, remembering the days you were the one complaining to Daryl about not understanding this crap. But now when you look down, you can see the wet marks she made when she came through the woods, tiny changes in where the leaves touch the ground that show her tiny footsteps. The way she was cautious in the woods, tripping here and there.

“Here,” you say pointing, “looks like she veered off through there,” you point to the left, and Daryl lengthens his stride to look for the trail in front of you.

“How’d you two meet, anyway?” Rick suddenly asks next to you, and when you don't answer he continues: “I could tell you knew each other from before right away–Daryl doesn’t seem like the type to bring a random girl out from the woods unannounced from what I’ve noticed,” 

You look up at him with a small smile, “you’d be surprised,” 

“He’s gentle with you,” Rick adds quietly.

“I ain’t gentle,” Daryl grumbles under his breath up ahead.

“The man is sayin’ somethin’ nice, Daryl, for Christ’s sake,” you chuckle to him. 

“And you and Shane? The way he looked when he saw you comin’ out of those woods with Daryl the other day…” Rick asks carefully. 

You look back up at him, unsure of what to say. Shane was his partner, so clearly if he wanted to tell Rick about you he would’ve. Another stake goes through your heart as you realize he had no idea who you were. The countless nights you and Shane spent together and he never even bothered mentioning you. You had actually met Rick before, but he must not remember, and you were fine to not retell the story, it wasn't exactly your most cherished memory. The time you met him was overshadowed by the anger and sadness you had felt with Shane during the encounter. Just remembering it now makes you shake your head to yourself. You're about to open your mouth to make an excuse--

But suddenly there's rustling in the woods like footsteps. You all get down, Daryl pointing his crossbow at attention. You all move up to get a closer look–it’s a lone walker in the woods. It hasn’t seen you yet. All three of you look at each other quietly, and Daryl points in different directions for you to move in. Rick goes forward, you stay off to the side, raising your rifle. You most likely won’t fire it, you don’t want to bring attention, but just in case— you’ll be ready.

Rick gets up on his feet and runs in front of the walker to grab its attention. It sees him, and Daryl has an arrow in its temple before it can take a step further.

You run up to it, and your heart drops when you see the fresh blood on it.

“Sophia!” Daryl calls into the woods. They both meet you by the walker’s body. He looks back down to see Rick looking closer at its hands, “what you lookin’ for?”

“Skin under the fingernails. It’s fed recently–there’s flesh caught in its teeth,” he grimaces, looking up at the both of you.

“Yeah, what kinda flesh?” Daryl asks quietly.

“Only one way to find out,” Rick says as he pulls out a knife.

“Oh god,” you say, turning to hold your hand over your nose and mouth.

“Here, I’ll do it,” Daryl offers to Rick behind you, “how many kills you skin and gut in your life anyway? And mine’s sharper,” he pulls out his knife and begins to work on the body.

The sound of the knife cutting into the walker and Daryl reaching around inside makes your skin crawl, your stomach threatening to bring up the little it has in it. 

“There’s the gut bag,” Daryl murmurs, taking out its innards. You turn around to watch them bring pieces of something boney and furry out. 

“Looks like the bastard had himself a woodchuck for lunch,” Daryl finally says, holding a skull up. 

“Least we know,” Rick says, and Daryl agrees, repeating it back. They both get up, wiping their hands on the ground. 

You’re all climbing up the side up the side of the hill up to the road again, a frazzled Carol catching your eye. Her face drops as she sees you, “you didn’t find her?”

“Trail went cold,” Rick explains, “we’ll pick it up again at first light,”

“You can’t leave my daughter out there on her own to spend the night alone in the woods,” Carol begins to cry. 

Daryl’s voice is soft as he speaks up, “Out in the dark’s no good,” he hoists his crossbow over his shoulder, “we’d just be trippin’ over ourselves. More people’d get lost,”

“I’m sorry, Carol,” you whisper, reaching to rest your hand on her arm. 

“But she’s 12!” Carol exclaims, pulling away,  “She can’t be out there on her own! You didn’t find anything?”

“I know this is hard,” Rick soothes, “but I’m asking you not to panic,” he goes on to try to soothe her, and the rest of the group is joining the commotion.

“Is that blood?” Carol stills, looking down at Rick and Daryl’s stained clothes. Their hands still have traces of walker muck on them. 

“We took down a walker,” Rick explains calmly, “it was nowhere near Sophia,”

“How can you know that?” Andrea asks quietly, walking up to the group.

You and Rick look to Daryl, “we cut the son’bitch open,” he says gently, “made sure,”

“How could you just leave her out there to begin with?” Carol asks with venom, “how could you just leave her?!”

Rick leans down, trying to explain–his face full of pain. Everyone is on her, apologizing, trying to make her understand. You put your head in your hands, the heels of your palms rubbing into your eyes. You’re walking away as the sun begins to turn the sky orange with twilight approaching.

x Flashback x

It must've been the hottest day of the summer when you, Daryl, and–strangely– Merle went down to the lake that day. Merle had brought the stereo and weed on his motorcycle, you holding tight to his torso, sitting on the back of the bike. You turn your head back to see Daryl on his bicycle behind you, with a small bag strapped over his shoulder, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips. The wind felt incredible on your face as you neared the lake, and when Merle pulled up to the dirt path by a big tree that marked the beginning of the trail down to the water, you couldn’t wait to get down there. You quickly swung your leg off the bike, and Merle looked over with a cheeky grin, “I kinda like feelin’ you grab hold of me like that, girl” he said smugly, “should do it again sometime,”

“Yeah, okay Merle,” you scoffed, patting his shoulder with a smile as Daryl is pulling up on his bike. He dropped it by the tree, pulling the cord around the trunk to lock the bike in place. 

“Quit hittin’ on Y/N, Merle, she’s gon’ rip yer head off one of these days,” Daryl said, passing by the both of you. You can’t help but laugh harder when Merle looked over at you with a feigned hurt face. 

All three of you headed down to the water, Merle passing you a joint when you made it to your usual spot. Daryl dropped his bag, and started stripping down to his boxers. You took a small hit from the joint in your hands, the first inhale already making you a little light headed. You passed it back to Merle, who took it gingerly, sitting it between his lips. His cheeks suck in and puffs of smoke come out his nose and mouth as he sits against the big tree. 

Merle hadn’t been around to see Daryl in awhile, so when both of them showed up at your house that afternoon, you were happy to take them up on the offer to head to the lake. Shane was at work all day, so you knew he’d call later anyway. You didn’t feel like waiting up for him. 

Merle leaned down to the stereo to turn on a radio channel.

“I hear you’re leavin’ us, college girl,” he said, turning to you with a sarcastic sneer.

“Got a problem, Merle?” 

“No, no, just that you’re gonna be leavin’ my little brother on his own is all,” he said, trying to be casual. But you knew he actually worried about Daryl when he wasn’t around to protect him. As rough as Merle was around the edges, he was all in all soft at heart. Not that he would actually let anyone see that part of him. It only ever came out when he was punching guys in the stomach for ganging up on Daryl or head butting someone for getting their hands on you. 

“He’s got you, ain’t he? And I’m not even goin’ that far,” you said, shaking your shorts down your legs. 

“Might not be far, but you won’t come back,” he said quietly, looking up into your eyes. His blue eyes were similar to Daryl’s, but didn’t hold as much warmth in them. His were cold and lifeless since he left home years ago. 

Instead of answering him, you turned and headed into the water. 

You’re neck deep in the lake with Daryl, he’s shooting the shit about some asshole that tried to rip him off on a part he needed for his bicycle the other day. 

“Then the fucker tried to get me to buy this other-–” Daryl began to complain, but he was cut off by the sudden uproar on the lake shore. You both whip your head in the direction of the noise.

“Ain’t you got better things to do than harassin’ me, you Barney Fife lookin’ freaks!” Merle shouted at the two men grabbing at him now. You and Daryl tried to swim ashore as fast as you could, running up as soon as your feet could touch the bottom.

“What the hell!?” Daryl yelled, both of you finally coming up in front of them. One of the officers was slender, with short brown curly hair on the top of his head. He was clean shaved, except for the light shadow that had grown on his face overnight. He was holding Merle by the hands behind his back in handcuffs. Daryl was charging up to him, but you did your best to grab him by the arms and bring him back before he could get himself in trouble. The other officer was in the police car grabbing something from the front seat, but when he stood up you recognized the dark hair and tall, muscular stature right away. When you noticed him, you paused your fighting with Daryl's flying limbs.

“Shane?” you asked. Daryl’s head whipped up at the name, his anger visibly starting to set ablaze even more now.

Shane was walking up, his steps not as confident as usual. He was looking at you with mixed emotions you couldn’t quite read. He looked like he was thinking hard about something. Then, he put his head down as he walked up to you all, not making eye contact. His hands sat on his hips, thumbs in the loop holes at his waist.

“Shane, what the hell is this?” you asked again firmly.

“Miss,” the other officer interjected, “we got a call from the owner of this area that told us there were kids on her property smoking marijuana and playing loud music,”

“‘Her property?’” you parroted, “this ain’t no one’s–”

“Unfortunately miss, this is private property,” the officer stated calmly, “I’m gonna have to take this gentleman in for having illegal substances, you're lucky I don't take you all down for trespassing,” 

“Shane, what the fuck? Are you serious?” you said, abashed that he wasn’t even looking at you.

“You know this girl, Shane?” the officer finally asked.

Shane looked up to his partner, then back at you, and shook his head. 

“I don't know, Rick. Maybe from the station? If she’s with these two I must’ve seen her there.” 

You stare wide-eyed at him now, the anger in your blood beginning to boil. What the fuck? The other man didn’t look totally convinced, but he seemed to take his partner’s word and started turning around with Merle in tow.

“Must be a real slow day for you two, huh, tough guys?” Merle bites out at them and they turn him around to leave.

Your eyes bored into the back of Shane as he walked away. 

Daryl is shaking next to you with ire, “Don’t you got donuts waitin’ for ya somewhere? Why don’t you go chase some real criminals for once!” he shouted at them.

“Don’t make me come back there and take you too, Dixon,” Shane called back to Daryl. 

“You’re just gonna put up with this bullshit?” Daryl turned and yelled in your face as the police car doors shut. You still stared out at the car as it pulled away, frozen in shock. 

Daryl grabbed your shoulder to get your attention, shaking it, “Your boyfriend just took off with Merle, pretended he didn’t even fucking know you, and you’re just going to stand there?” 

You finally looked over to him, and his eyes softened slightly. He knew immediately how hurt you were in that moment, but the anger about his brother blazed over his faltering demeanor. 

“I gotta go, Y/N,” he shook his head, his voice icily low, “you know the lock for the bike,” he put on his clothes and ran for Merle’s motorcycle.

[jimmy-johns-was-taken]

to add onto the angst.. could we get some eyeless jack as a dad getting upset at his kid for doing something wrong? :O

I SWEAR YOU ARE THE SAME ANON WHO KEEPS ASKING ME FOR ANGST ISTG

Also, I’m only kinda proud of this. I’m hoping you like this, but idk how I feel

Dad Eyeless Jack Angst

Jack was keeping a snack in the basement. Some middle aged camper, you didn’t know and didn’t care. All you knew is that he was loud, screaming and pleading with your father. Something about his wife? You would just turn up the music in your headphones and ignore it. Jack could dissect the man, you would just eat whatever he put in the fridge.

Being Jack’s child wasn’t easy, you were stuck in a small cabin in the woods eating humans to survive. You didn’t receive much of an education or anything, mostly teaching yourself. But when BEN, someone you had become close with, gave you a phone, you managed to learn more. However, it didn’t change one thing.

You needed human meat to survive. That was the biggest downside to being the child of one of the most feared creepypastas.

One day though, Jack had been out. Something about needed to patch up a man named Masky? Or Tim? Jack referred to him with both names, but it didn’t really matter to you. You just nodded, mostly ignoring him, and went back to texting BEN, your only real friend.

‘Jack just left’

‘Is that code for me to come over? Lmao’

‘if u want’

‘I could 😏’

‘Your stupid’

‘You’re**’

‘Fuck you’

You threw your phone down, quickly standing and walking toward the kitchen. Hunger struck you, and Jack had left a liver in the fridge. A small snack to tide you over until dinner.

As you grabbed a plate, a banging let out. Jacks newest meal was banging on the door again. You rolled your eyes and took off toward your room, food in hand. Didn’t matter to you, it wasn’t like he was going to get out anytime soon.

‘Rember that victim Jack had’

‘Which one?’

‘The one that’s in the basement rn’

‘Ohhhhhhh yeh’

‘The random dude?’

‘Yeah, bitch is banging on the door and won’t shut up’

‘Lame, go bang back’

‘Yeah, scare tf outta him’

‘No balls you won’t’

‘Come with?’

It didn’t take but two seconds for BEN to manifest in your room, a large and evil grin on his face. He motioned for you to lead the way, and the two of you made your way to the basement door. The banging had stopped, and you looked at each other.

Reading each others mind, you opened the basement door. Might as well scare the living hell out of him. You silently walked while BEN floated down the stairs, peering around the corner. The man sat there, he reeked of fear and panic. Dread and despair.

A loud bang was heard, the front door had swung open. It wouldn’t shock you if it was off it’s hinges. The man looked over to where you were and screamed, backing himself into a corner. Loud footsteps sounded above and a shadow cast over the basement door opening. You and BEN looked to the top of the stairs and Jack stood there, shadows covering most of his features.

“Shittttttttttt…” BEN swore, looking at you. You both walked up the stairs, slightly pushing past Jack. He slammed the door shut, BEN disappeared quickly, and it was just you and your father. You gave him a look as he snapped the lock shut.

“You’re home early,” you commented, only to be quickly shut up.

“Why the hell are you downstairs? What have I told you? And why was BEN here?” Jack questioned, you could feel his rage increasing.

“BEN is over here all the time, you know that. And we were bored, just wanted to scare the guy, chill out,” you explained, brushing it off as if it was nothing.

“Chill out? What if he were to have gotten out? He’s not chained up or anything!” Jack began to raise his voice and you became slightly defensive.

“Well, he didn’t. It’s fine,” you tried to reason, backing away very slowly.

“Listen, don’t go down there, you could fuck something up,” Jack turned and stormed off.

“Yeah? Like I fucked up your life,” you mumbled, turning and walking to your room. You knew Jack would have heard it, but you didn’t care enough to see his reaction. You knew he’d be angry, imagining steam coming out of his ears and his face turning cherry red. Arriving in your room, you flopped on the bed.

“Another fight?” BEN questioned, sitting on your desk.

“Yeah, and thanks for the backup out there,” you rolled your eyes. BEN jumped up and laid next to you, his own eyes looking at your ceiling.

“Sorry, never know if he’s going to explode or not. I’d rather not be present for that,” he admitted.

“Nah, I don’t blame you, I wouldn’t want to either,” you cringed at memories of Jack truly yelling at you.

“Meh, now you got me! We should go, have fun!” BEN sprung up and motioned toward your window. You smiled, walking over and opening the window. You knew Jack would be pissed, but whatever, you couldn’t care less. Like how he couldn’t care less about you. His child that fucked up his life.

[mynumberfivethings]

I Heard A Rumor...

They land back in 2019, which is a relief, of course, until it’s not. 

“What the fuck even is the Sparrow Academy?” Diego grouses. “Lame ass bird fucks.” he chucks one of his knives across the cramped motel room they’re currently occupying and watches it get lodged firmly into the tacky wallpaper. 

Allison grabs the second knife Diego’s about to fling out of his hand and glares  daggers at her brother. “We’re staying here for free, because I rumored the motel staff into not noticing we exist, so maybe don’t wreck the place?” 

Luther nods in agreement. “Allison’s right, we need to be as inconspicuous as possible right now.” 

Diego rolls his eyes. “Whatever. So Five, now what?” the siblings all go to turn to Five for the answers they’re so desperately seeking, only to be met with the sight of the pseudo thirteen year old laid curled up on one of the beds, sound asleep. 

Luther frowns. “How in the hell can he seriously sleep at a time like this?” 

Allison leans over Fives still form and not so gently shakes his shoulder, jarring him awake. She feels a little guilt upon seeing the initially panicked look on his face as he comes to awareness once again, but damn it, she just wants to see her kid again, is that too much to ask? 

“We need to figure out a way to get back to our timeline.” she tells him, arms folded over her chest.

Five scratches the sleep from his eyes, unaware he’d even passed out in the first place, wincing as he sits up fully on the mattress. “This is our timeline.” he informs all of them, his voice coming out scratchy and thin. God, he’s exhausted. And practically everything aches. 

“What do you mean?” Klaus shakes his head. “In our timeline Ben is very much dead-not some weird emo douche who flocks with a crew of birds-so please do explain how the actual hell this makes any sense.” 

Five sighs, “We changed the linear time of events and the order in which they were supposed to originally occur when we were in the sixties and now this is, for all intents and purposes, our timeline.” 

“Screw that. We need to reestablish our actual timeline.” Allison counters. “I’m not staying in this weird alternate bullshit dimension any longer than we have to-we still have the suitcase, right? Let’s go back to the sixties and fix what we broke. Easy.” 

Five looks at her like she’s lost her mind. Which, she very well may have, he thinks briefly. “Look, I know you want to see Claire again, but you need to consider-”

“No.” Allison interrupts angrily, tears starting to fill her eyes. “You don’t understand at all. How the hell could you? You haven’t had anyone for years, but me? I’ve had people, people I care about-which might be a foreign concept to someone like you, but-” 

“Right,” Five cuts her off in turn, unwilling to linger on the sting her words have caused. “I just need time to-” 

“Time? Haven’t you had enough of that, already?” Suddenly the room is engulfed in complete and utter darkness and the Hargreeves go into high alert, trying to figure out where the hell that voice is coming from. 

Could it be one of the Sparrow Academy heroes? Could they have followed them to the outskirts of town? 

“Show yourself, you coward!” Diego shouts, knives at the ready to attack their intruder. 

A flash of thunder illuminates the room for only a split second before the lights come back on and the Hargreeves find themselves frozen in place, unable to move even a muscle, try as they might. 

Save for one: Five. 

“What the hell...” he mutters, as he watches his siblings struggle to try and move from their positions. 

“Now, Allison.” that same disturbing voice commands. 

Allisons eyes go wide as her mouth begins to move without her permission and out come the words, “I heard a rumor you killed your brothers and sisters.” 

They watch with dawning horror as Fives eyes roll to the back of his head and turn an off shade of blue before he seamlessly plucks Diegos knife from where it was embedded in the wall earlier and faces his family, where they stand, helpless. 

“Shit!” Diego curses, trying in vain to move even a single digit. 

Vanya tries to conjure her own powers but finds that she can’t for some reason. “Five...” she calls out, knowing it’s futile. 

Five blinks over to Klaus first, who yelps in surprise, he barely has time to beg Five to reconsider when Five brings the knife down-

There’s boisterous screaming and panicked yelling and general chaos and Klaus is so sure this is it, that Five has plunged the knife straight into his heart and done away with him, until he opens his eyes and realizes nothing is protruding out of him...

Instead, Five has thrust the knife into his own leg. He’s breathing hard, his trembling fingers still hovering over the hilt of the weapon. 

The disembodied voice booms, “Allison!” 

And Allison curses, but she can’t stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. “I heard a rumor you stabbed me in the jugular.” 

Fives eyes go pale blue for a second time and without even flinching he takes the knife out of his upper thigh and blinks so that he’s facing Allison this time. 

They can all see him struggling, perspiring, fighting against the rumor as he brandishes the knife in one hand, raising it up above his head slowly. 

Allison tries to let out another rumor, a contradicting rumor, perhaps, the way she had done when Five had been in front of Klaus, but again, the words get stuck in her throat. 

Whatever being is in the room is in total control of her powers... 

Allison feels something collide with her neck but it’s not the sharp sting of a knife she’s expecting. It’s Five’s forearm against her, protecting her from his own attack as he shoves the knife directly into his flesh. He’s panting now, with the force that it’s taken him not to obey her mind control. 

“Kill them.” the voice demands angrily. 

“Fuck you.” Five bites out through clenched teeth. 

As if those were the magic words, the voice departs and the Hargreeves can feel their limbs and move about once again, the tense atmosphere dissipating. 

“Holy shit!” Klaus gasps out, “What the fuck, Jesus!” 

Five grunts as he removes the knife from his forearm and wields it threateningly. “Allison,” he practically begs, his voice strained. “Unrumor me. Now.” 

Allison is more than happy to comply, hurriedly saying, “I heard a rumor you didn’t want us dead.” 

The knife clatters as it hits the floor and Five collapses next to it a second later, exhausted and hurting something awful. 

“Shit,” Diego grabs a bunch of hand towels from the bathroom and kneels down. “We gotta stop the bleeding.” He presses two towels against the stab wound on Fives forearm and Vanya grabs the rest to press against the one on his thigh. 

Five tenses up beneath them, his face scrunching up in pain. “Fuck!” 

“I saw a first aid kit in the lobby by the front desk, I’ll go get it!” Allison calls out, already halfway out the door in her haste. 

“Should we move him to the bed?” Luther asks, hovering over his siblings, concern and anxiety eating away at him. 

Diego curses. The hand towels are drenched in blood already. They need to stop the bleeding and soon, or else. “Elevate his leg.” he orders, letting Luther help Vanya try to stem the bleeding there. “Klaus, go get more towels from one of the maids if you can.” Klaus scurries to obey while the others continue to put pressure on Fives multiple injuries. 

Klaus and Allison arrive back at the motel room almost simultaneously, one with a stack of clean towels in their arms and the other with a giant red box in hand. 

With the extra towels and the supplies from the medical kit, they’re somehow able to stop the bleeding long enough to move Five up to the bed. Luther’s extremely gentle as he transfers him from one spot to the other. 

When it’s time to stitch him up, Vanya and Klaus volunteer to do it. Five is too exhausted, both mentally and physically to pretend to be stoic about any of this. He throws his good arm across his face, shielding his eyes from the light. 

“What do you guys think that was?” Luther asks the room at large, when the silence stretches on too long. 

Klaus doesn’t look up from where he’s threading his needle on Fives thigh, replying dryly. “Yet another person place or thing that wants us dead?” 

Diego scoffs. “It’s gotta be one of those Sparrow fuckheads. Who the hell else? I bet it was that goddamn cube-I still can’t believe dad adopted a fucking cube-Christ.” 

“Whatever it was, it was in control of my powers.” Allison frowns deeply. “When I tried to unrumor Five nothing came out-even when I tried rumoring one of you into being able to move again, so that at least we would stand a fighting chance against our little serial killer over here, nothing.” 

Vanya nods, “Same here. I tried to use my powers but it was like there was some kind of a block or something? Like when I was still taking those prescription pills.” She looks at Fives pale face-what she can see of it, from underneath his forearm-and risks the question, “Five, how did you manage not to....you know...?” As someone who’s had first hand experience being unwillingly rumored by their sister, she knows it’s not something one can easily brush off. 

Quite frankly, it’s a miracle they’re all still breathing... 

“Yeah, I thought for sure we were dead.” Diego walks over and playfully ruffles the top of Fives messy hair. “Good job not making yourself an only child.” he jokes, freezing entirely when in response to his teasing Five lets out what can only be described as a faint whimper. 

“Five?” 

“I almost killed everyone.” Five struggles to get the full sentence out, his breath hitching. “Fuck.” he curses, unable to stifle a sob. It’s a pathetically sad little noise, but it brings the rest of his siblings to his side immediately. 

“Hey,” Allison kneels down beside the bed and places a careful hand on his knee. She feels him flinch underneath her. “You resisted my rumor-twice. Do you know how rare that is? You saved us.” 

Five scrubs his face with the sleeve of his white button up shirt and finally uncovers his eyes. They’re red and puffy from crying, eyelashes wet with his tears. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” he admits brokenly. “I can’t lose you guys again.” 

“Shit Five,” Diego leans down and briefly touches their foreheads together, the palm of his hand cupping Fives head. “You’re not alone, we’re right here. Not going anywhere.” 

Vanya nods determinedly. “That’s right. You’re stuck with us.” 

Luther towers over the group with a faint but genuine smile. “You know, I always figured you loved us, but I guess I didn’t realize the extent until today.” 

Five sniffles, wiping away more tears he can’t seem to stop from coming. “I would trade you all up for a decent cup of coffee.” he lies, feeling more exposed than he has in literal years. 

Klaus smirks. “Nuh uh, no take backs, Fivey. You loooooove us.” 

Five rolls his eyes but it doesn’t have quite the same effect it normally would, considering the fact that he is still very much crying. 

Allison clears her throat, squeezes his knee again, this time to get his attention, and says, “And we love you. I’d ask if you know that, but honestly I think the answer would make me too sad.” she sighs. “Five, I’m really sorry about what I said before-I was taking all my frustrations out on you and I spoke carelessly, without thinking.” 

Five shakes his head, overwhelmed. “It’s ok.” 

“It’s not.” Allison insists. “Five, I don’t know if anyone’s said this yet, but I think it’s long overdue. I’m so happy to see you again. I missed you, you know. A ton.” 

Five didn’t think he was childish enough to still need to hear such silly sentimental things. He’s not the type, he’s tried to convince himself. It’s not as though he was expecting some big tearful family reunion upon his arrival, after all. So he wasn’t crushed or anything when his return was met with little more than perhaps confused contemptment. He had things to do, apocalypses to stop and all that jazz. 

That’s what he told himself, of course. 

But it doesn’t ring very true now, not when he can’t help but let out another sob. 

He’s too old for this, he thinks, as Diego pulls him gently to his side and Allison grabs hold of his hand. 

He doesn’t need them to love him back, he thinks, as Klaus finishes taping up his wound with a tenderness only reserved for those he loves, as Vanya wraps gauze around his forearm with care. 

He’s been fine all this time, he thinks, even as Luther says, “Good to have you back, Five.” 

It’s good to be back, he thinks, turning his head so that it’s buried against Diego’s shoulder when he lets out another sob. 

.

[2ynjns]

when their fem!friend turns into a 5-year-old || tomorrow x together

scenario: you turned 18 years old a few months after huening kai did and one day you woke up into your five year old self. having to live alone away from your family, you didn’t know what to do so you decided to call your best friends and told them to come to your place as soon as possible.

yeonjun

as soon as he arrives at your place, he is shocked

but lord knows how this man loves kids

HAVE YOU SEEN HOW HE GOT EXCITED SEEING WILL AND BEN FROM TROS?!

Anyway

“y/N?! who’s kid is this?! WHERE ARE YOU?! whY DO YOU LOOK LIKE HER?! IS SHE YOUR HIDDEN LOVE CHILD?!”

“no mf! it’s me! y/n! in my 5 year old self”

he would NOT question how why what where and when

he’s just be like “AWWEEEE Y/NNNNN SO CUTE” and hugs you

would take care of you

he’s going to *try* to help you go back to your normal form

but he’s lowkey praying inside that you’d stay as your 5 year old form

you’d be like >:(( HELP ME PLEASE

and he’d just be like cooing at you

“aweee little baby” “don’t be upset! you’re cuter this way.”

and you’d be like (- _ -)

eventually you would give up asking for his help

so you’d just sit on the couch alone pouting with crossed arms

he’d giggle at the sight and take a picture of you and would send it to the other boys

but he’d cook food for you so you won’t be upset anymore

“do you want some ramen?” and you would be nodding furiously

you’re one hungry babie

then after he cooks you would try sitting on the dining chair but it’s too high

so he’d giggle EVEN MORE and help you up

he would carry you everywhere with any way possible

he’d carry you like a sack, or like a newborn, or like a toddler

he’d most likely follow you around to watch you, like a kid, well technically you are

he would also hold your hands everywhere you go

“jjun, it’s still me, just even smaller.”

“well i still need to follow you around, what if you need help? what if you hurt yourself? look at you and your tiny self.” and he’s gonna shake his head

you took a nap with him on the couch, your tiny form laying on top of him like a baby

then you woke up and you realize you’re at your big form again

BUUUT yeonjun, instead, is in his 5 year old form

“OMG YEONJUN?!?!

soobin

mans is whipped as hell

without question, he’d know that small child inside your house alone is you

he wouldn’t even question if you were another kid or what, he just knows it’s you

WOULD IMMEDIATELY CALL THE OTHER BOYS

not to help you, but to tell you how adorable you looked

he would dress you up and do your hair

he’d treat you like a literal kid

he would dare to help you because he’s enjoying taking care of you

chile- you’d look like his kid no cap

he’d quickly go to the store to buy a cute dress and cute hair accessories

then he’d dress you up and put clips on your hair

“do you also want toys? i’ll get you some.”

you were like “well if you help me get back to my old form, i’d very much appreciate it.”

“uuhmmm… no.”

he would be forgetting your actual form and you’re mentally 18 years old

so when he makes you shit on his lap and play with you like a kid, you’d be like “bro i’m 18”

he’d stop working and stare at you

error 101

“oh yeah huh.”

he loves playing with your hair

treats you like his daughter

just like with yeonjun, you would give up and just let him do whatever he wants to do with you

he would brush your hair and tie it into two pigtails and put two big bows

soobin your hidden infantilization kink is showing LMAO

anyway, you’d need cuddles

so he’s be sitting on your couch and you’d be sitting on his lap, facing him and your face against his chest

rubbing your back and tapping your buttocks like a kid

you’d fall asleep, snoring lightly

few hours later you’d be waking up on the floor, in your normal self

you got up happy

and once you saw a small body laying on your couch, you’re like

(O . O)

“SOOBIN YOU’RE 5!!”

beomgyu

this mf

as soon as you explain to him that you transformed into your younger self….

would make fun of you

and laugh at you

“HAHSJIHSADHHEK Y/N IS A KID HHHHH”

you’d cry, you really didn’t want to make fun off most especially you’re way smaller now and you can’t hit him

so he’d stop and say sorry

he wouldn’t help you either

not because he doesn’t want to, he just don’t know how to

so instead, he’d take you out on an amusement park

and he’d make you have fun in your little self

“do you wanna ride the carousel?”

you’d look at him weirdly while you waddle away from him

“sure i guess.”

you got in the ride and chose the light blue horse

but guess what, because you’re tiny you can’t get on the horse

so he’ll carry you up

and poke fun of you again

“aigoo wittle y/n is even wittle”

then he’d crack a laugh

you’d get upset and pout, then you’d look away

throughout the whole ride you would be looking away from him

not paying attention on what he’s babbling

once you leave the ride he’s kneel in front of you

“did i make you upset? awe i’m sorry” :(

then he’d pat your head

and hug you

you’ll be hugging him back, wrapping your arms around his neck

then, he’d just carry you, legit

and next stop is the ice cream stall

still carrying you

“why did you carry me?” “you walk slow,” you’d roll your eyes

the worker would coo at you and beomgyu

“awee your sister is so cute! here you can have this strawberry ice cream for free!”

then eat it in one bite, “beomgyu, i want more”

the worker is like o.O how??

anyway you got your second ice cream

at the end of the day, beomgyu slept with you in your bedroom. he’s cuddling you as if he’s protecting you from the monsters.

the next morning you felt small hands wrapped around your waist

so you opened your eyes and looked down

“omo. gyu wake up! i’m big now and you’re the small one!”

taehyun

taehyun taehyun tsk tsk

he’s the most rational one

at first he wouldn’t be convinced that it’s you, that you’re the kid

so he’d search for big y/n inside your place

to find out there’s no big y/n around and realizes that the small y/n is the big y/n in the small y/n form

if that makes sense

WELL ANYWAY

he’d sit on the couch, then he’d also sit you on the couch

examine you from head to toe

then he’d just smile widely and lift your small feet

“hehehe so smol”

You: >:(((

he’d pull your hair playfully to annoy you because this man is secretly whipped for you

he just keep on denying it

he’d also take a lot of pictures and videos of you

mostly to keep it and blackmail you with it

he’s the only person who’s gonna try to help you go back to your normal form

although he doesn’t want to, he’d still help you

“how did you turn like... this small?”

you blinked and sipped the chocolate milk that he gave you

“i woke up like this.”

(-_-) “y/n you’re not beyonce”

>>:((( “i’m not lying! i literally woke up and i’m 5 instead of 18!” you fought

you crossed your arms which made you spill the chocolate milk on your shorts

*shakes head*

he’d try to look for clothes in your closet that would fit your small body

but no clothes meh meh

he’d quickly run to the nearest store and get you the cuTEST jumper set and headband

he just found it cute, d w he doesn’t have a bad dollification/infantilization kink unlike soob

he’d also grab some tteokbokki on the way

lowkey worried if you were doing okay alone at your place

but like even though you’re mentally 18, you’re still physically 5 so for some reason he thinks you’re lowkey incapable not in a bad way tho

my god you would devour the tteokbokki

“jeez, don’t eat like a kid.” and wiped your mouth

you sitting in the chair with stacks of pillow to boost you up, also waddling your feet since it doesn’t reach the ground

“technically, i AM a kid.” *munches on tteokbokki*

while you’re bored on the floor, laying on your stomach, taehyun is just on his phone

you had no idea but he’s quietly searching about your situation

you suddenly fell asleep

he heard your snores

he cooed and guess what

more videos!

he also fell asleep on the floor, both of you laying on your stomach and facing each other

around midnight you felt a sudden urge to drink water

so you opened your eyes

and yoU SCREAMED

“TAE YOU’RE A CHILD!!!!!”

huening kai

this loud mf will scream once he steps inside your place to see a child sitting on the floor holding your phone

“Y/N WHO IS THIS KID?!”

“shut up! i’m y/n! get your butt over here and help me!”

he was lowkey scared to be near you

but he’s be sniffing you, lifting your arms and legs

then he’d giggle

“heh you’re cute.”

he’d take you to his dorm actually

although all the boys are there cooing at you and babying you, you’re just in kai’s room mostly

he’d give you all his plushies

compare your size with his plushies’ sizes

then he’d giggling some more

once you felt a little tired you laid in his bed with arms open looking up in the ceiling

“being a kid is boring.”

next think you know he’s rubbing your belly

WILL RUB YOUR BELLY NON STOP

okay but you know how kid’s bellies are usually rounded and not flat?

exactly

that’s why kai loves to rub your belly

he’d give you piggy back rides

don’t really know how to baby you because he’s a baby himself

but he understand your baby nature

babies unite!!!

he’d let you braid his hair or tie it

you’d be sitting in the couch and him on the floor while you put random clips on his hair

then the other boys would videotape it

“look at both of our babies… aigooooo!” -txt

would make cupcakes together

your little self would just be passing the ingredients to him while he does all the work

but hey it’s still teamwork yk

after both of you would be high of sugar

very very energetic

also is obsessed with your laughs

the pitch is higher and cuter

so he’d purposely make you laugh

and he’d be clapping bc of how adorable you are

would ask the older boys to order you food just for you too

“c’mon hyung, little y/n is hungry”

“just tell us that YOU are hungry”

still ends up ordering a lot of food

you’re slurping the jjajangmyeon and he’s be hella ready to wipe your mouth for you

would also clip your hair back

but he’d accidentally pinch your scalp instead

“kai, that hurts!”

“eeehhh sorry :””(“

after eating all the food

you’d be knock out on his bed

then him next to you

both of yall cuddling a plushie each

he wakes up first tho

“y/n wake up! you’re normal!”

you opened your eyes to see a 5 year old kai

“am i dreaming or you’re 5?”

[aureolusfirewrites]

Ugh due to some realization being crammed down my throat by minecraftninjerkid I've decided to write something that doesn't end in Ben being beaten to a pulp or dead it's still angsty as fuck though don't kid yourself.

Waking Nightmares

'No. Not this dream again.' He thought as he realized what was happening.

Unbeknownst to the general public Ben Tennyson, savior of the universe, was someone who generally suffered from night terrors. And those night terrors were something that he could only imagined being concocted from a hellscape.

True some were less horrifying than others but there were seldom ones that didn't cause him to wake up in a cold sweat screaming. And this one, this nightmare, was one of his worst.

He kept getting plagued by it and personally it terrified Ben what his mind might be trying to get him to do.

His dream started out just as viscously as the rest of it. He was standing with nothing but black surrounding him. No horizon, no escape, nothing but black until... The crowds, people so many people, everyone they were surrounding him. They yelled he couldn't actually hear them there was no sound in this awful place. But still he knew they were yelling and fear from it gripped at him.

Then the crowd parted and made way for someone special. For a moment he felt relief as his now grey colored cousin walked towards him. He smiled and reached out for her rushing forward. Trying to hug her something to tell him he'd be okay because Gwen would help... Right?

When he got to her though he stumbled when his body passed through hers like she was a ghost. Ben turned to look at his cousin, a horrid cruel smile plastered over her face. She pointed behind Ben and be turned around. The people who had been shouting were slowly one by one turning to dust. All of them silent as if to tell him it was his fault. Terrified he turned back to Gwen in time to watch her disintegrate before his eyes.

"n- no! Stop please! No no no" he begged in shock.

He fell back hitting the ground trying to scramble away. Loud crackling split the landscape and white cracks spread across the floor under him. Within seconds it had broken and plunged him down.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

He plunged down into freezing cold water. The water was grey turning to black and white air bubbles went up around him. He tried to swim. Get closer to the surface. But he only went down further.

His lungs were screaming in pain it felt like he was burning from the inside out.

His sight was dimming not that it was much different than what he would see if he was focused but a key difference made his eyes snap awake again.

Kevin. The taller teen was covered in metal but wasn't sinking any faster than Ben was as he carefully glided over to him. Ben looked at his friend expectantly.

Kevin reached over and gripped his shoulders. For a second Ben relaxed as he grabbed ahold of Kevin hugging him, but then there was a new sensation. It was slow at first as he felt something else curling around his midsection. He looked up to Kevin. The metal had his body and wrapped in a tight binding around his chest. Surprised he let go of Kevin who just waved before sinking back into the dead black water.

For a second Ben just stared looking at where Kevin had dissapeared to but then he saw something else. Fast as a whip a metal cuff snapped over his left hand and a chain connected to it. Fear jolted through his body as slowly it made him sink faster then another chain snapped around his right hand. He struggled pulling against them but more chains wrapped around him dragging him deeper.

His lungs couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take it anymore. Ben let out a howled scream but the sound was lost as bubbles burst from his mouth and water filled his lungs.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Suddenly the water released him and he fell hard to the ground. He laid there spluttering and panting for more air as he coughed up more water.

He shuddered and fell to his side. The pain, the shouting from all those people, everything, it was all getting to be to much. It just hurt to bad.

For what felt like a long time he just stayed there curling in on himself shaking. Then he heard footsteps.

Soft thudding drawing closer to him. When he looked up relief washed over his entire body. "Rook!" He stumbled running over to his partner and fell down in front of him. Ben stayed sitting down on the floor not wanting to look up so Rook wouldn't see him breaking. "R- Rook I- I- I can't it hurts, and it's loud, it's so loud I- I can't-" he stuttered. Then Rook knelt down in front of him and lifted a hand under Ben's chin turning his face towards him to make eye contact. Ben searched his eyes for something but all that was there was a dead condescending smug look that radiated 'I'll make it better' but in the worst way.

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment then Rook reached behind his back. There was a soft click when the object was set in his arms.

'So it's the prototool this time huh?' Ben thought outside of his dream.

He looked at the weapon for a moment understanding what this part meant. He slightly shook his head not looking up from his fixed spot on the floor. He felt something brush against him as Rook got closer to him. Then the alien whispered something right into his ear and whatever he said must've broken him because silent tears formed and fell down his face.

Ben gulped and numbly picked up the prototool, in gun form, and turned the barrel to his chest. He made a hiccuping noise clenched his eyes shut and pulled.

He bolted upright. He was panting, gasping, his body trying to force air into itself to make sure it was still alive.

He was still sitting there rigid when he felt something warm wrap around him. He flinched for a moment but soon recognized his boyfriend's arms around his waist and chin resting on top of his head.

"Nightmare again?" Rook asked quietly not releasing Ben from his grip.

"Y- yeah it's nothing Rook j- just go back to sleep sorry I woke you up."

There was a discontent sigh as Rook pulled him closer.

"Ben."

"Yeah?"

This is the fifth time this weak you have woken up in tears. I highly doubt that it is nothing."

Ben flinched at the words. "You heard those to?" He tried to dodge the subject.

"Ben despite what you may believe it is hard to not be woken up when the person sleeping with you suddenly jumps and begins crying, much less the two nights of screaming."

"sorry" he mumbled.

"You will be forgiven when you tell me what is wrong."

Ben let out an exasperated sigh and leaned further back against Rook.

"Please tell me?"

"Alright alright fine. It's one nightmare, it keeps repeating. Everything is loud and it hurts and then everythin- it's to much. I- I feel trapped and then..."

"Then...?" Rook prompted trying to get Ben to continue knowing that at any chance he would shut down the conversation and act as if it had never happened.

"and then you show up and for a second I think it'll be okay but- but then you just tell me that I'm right and there isn't any fixing it, that there's only one way that it'll all go away. Then I get- I get a choice. And- and I always choose the easier way."

Rook had frozen at the description starting to get a good picture of what Ben was describing. It certainly explained why he had been screaming if nothing else. He was staring to really regret having asked but still felt the conversation was necessary. Ben needed him right now, he needed a listener.

He could tell there would be no stopping now until Ben had finished getting all of it of his chest.

"s- sometimes it's just a normal human weapon, sometimes it's something Ive seen some bad guys use when we fight in undertown, tonight it was the prototool, and then sometimes..."

Another shudder ran through his body and Ben shook his head. Heaving out deep breaths while His boyfriend ran long fingers through his messy hair.

"And sometimes it's the omnitrix. It- it zaps me and electrocutes me and it burns. It feels like I'm burning from the inside out and all I can see is green. And it just- It just hurts Rook. I- I don't know maybe something's wrong with me."

"You are right." Rook simply said catching Ben off guard.

"huh? W-What you- you do think there's something wrong with me?"

Rook nodded.

"Ben, there is something wrong with all of us. With everything you have been through I am not surprised at all of your flaws but the good in you is still much greater than all of those "problems" combined."

Ben sniffed and stayed quiet for a long time taking in what his boyfriend told him.

"Hey Rook?"

"Mmhmm" the cat like alien responded sleepily.

"Thank you"

A small chuckle came from his partner and he gave his last words before they fell asleep in each other's embrace.

"Trust me Ben If there is one thing I know about it is that Ben Tennyson never takes the easy way out."

[sociallyawkward--fics]

Dirty Little Secret

Hello I just finished this and I have not edited it and I am never going to reread it lol. It is probably disjointed, OOC, and incomprehensible. Welcome to my super sick and drug-induced It oneshot. Also for the title I was torn between this and ‘truth or dare’

My friends also told me I had to put this joke in the author’s notes: “I’m paying homage to the original It. King was on coke when he wrote it, and I’m on a wild amount of cold medicine and illness”

----

Summary: Miraculously, they all lived. They killed that damn clown and they lived. Now, Richie just had one last thing to say.

Word Count: 1877 words

[ao3 link]

-----------------------------------------------

The sounds of his old friends splashing around in the quarry faded around him. Distantly, as though he wasn’t in his own body, Richie could hear them cracking jokes and laughing at each other, as if the seven of them hadn’t almost just lost their lives.

As if Eddie hadn’t almost--

Richie focused on cleaning his glasses. Without them on, it was blurry and hard to tell, but he thought there was still blood embedded into the new spiderwebbing of cracks left on one of the lenses. It wouldn’t come out. Really, it could be anyone’s blood, he’d lost track of their injuries by this point. 

But Richie knew who’s it could have been. 

Bev had said the Deadlights gave her visions of their deaths, but he hadn’t known just how vivid they could be until he dropped out of them himself. He’d opened his eyes to Eddie being skewered above him, helpless to do anything but scream his name, the Loser’s a chorus of the same. Then, he blinked, and Eddie was above him laughing and cheering his “victory.”

Richie had barely rolled them out of the way in time for one of It’s massive claws to dig deep into the stone where they had been laying. Pennywise made a noise of rage, but Richie hadn’t allowed himself even a moment to think. He’d grabbed Eddie and ran.

And now here they were. They’d killed It, crushed Its heart in their hands, and Derry was safe. They were safe. Eddie was safe. Richie sat on a rock in the dirty quarry water, distantly aware of the splash wars going on while Eddie chopped his hands and told them how unsanitary it was, cleaning themselves in dirty water. Richie knew he was being unusually quiet, and someone was bound to notice soon, but he felt like if he didn’t laugh, he was going to cry.

And for once, Richie was all out of jokes.

Then, the absolute worst thing happened: Richie was dragged into the spotlight.

Apparently, the other six Losers had been recounting the “best moments” of their battle. Richie didn’t remember much, truthfully, aside from running for his life and sniveling like a little kid.

“Hey, Rich,” Beverly called. “What was that whole ‘Truth or Dare’ thing about anyway?”

Richie let out an awkward laugh, plastering a smile onto his face. He’d gotten good at it, over the years, with how much he hated his own act, but now it just felt stiff and misshapen. He waved his hands in the air as he spoke, his glasses flopping around precariously in his grip.

“Oh, you know, just something that damn clown had brought up.”

Bill laughed. “Why would he b-b-bring up Truth or D-Dare?”

Bev swam over and started poking at his sides as she laughed. They were all laughing so much. They were clearly handling the trauma far differently than him.

“Why would It use that?” She teased. “Got something you’re afraid to confess, Trashmouth?”

Richie forced out another laugh, sounding weak to his own ears. More than you know.

Instead, Richie reached for a distraction. “Yeah, how fast it took me to finish with Eddie’s mom--”

“Beep beep, asshole!” Eddie shouted, and Richie’s next laugh felt a little less desperate. Teasing Eddie was familiar and comfortable, and Richie was almost tempted to put his glasses back on to see the adorable way his jaw clenched with annoyance.

“Remember that one time Bill dared Mike to smuggle one of the sheep into his grandfather’s house?” Ben asked, and if Richie wasn’t so gone on Eddie, he could’ve kissed him. Intentionally or not, he’d just saved Richie a whole lot of floundering to keep the attention off where he wanted it least.

The group laughed and Mike shook his head with a grin. “He was so mad,” Mike said. “I thought for sure he’d make me sleep in the barn for that.”

“Or what about the t-t-time Eddie dared Richie to eat that year-old twinkie we f-found in R-R-Richie’s room,” Bill said.

Even Richie had to laugh at that one. “Yeah, where was the concern for my health there, Eddie Spaghetti?”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie snapped, though there was no heat behind it. “Plus, those things never fucking expire. They’re garbage, but that wouldn’t have hurt you.”

“Oh yeah? It tasted as bad as your mom’s--”

Eddie splashed Richie, sending a wave of nasty quarry water into his mouth and preventing him from finishing his sentence. He sputtered and coughed, laughing as he spit it out, and the weight of everything felt a little less oppressive now that he was laughing with them all.

“Oh!” Bev said, “What about the time Stan dared Bill--”

Richie grinned as he went back to trying to dig the blood out of the cracks in his glasses with his nails. They were short and stubby, so it wasn’t exactly easy, but he managed to make some progress. This time, though, he made sure not to tune his friends out. He listened to each of their stories, letting their laughter wrap around him like a warm, worn, familiar blanket, just like he had always been searching for when they were kids, and slowly felt his shoulders relax. And as they were laughing, the thought occurred to Richie.

What was he so afraid of?

This was Richie’s family. After everything they’d been through, killer alien clowns and all, would his sexuality really be the thing to break them? It’d be a little silly at that point, Richie thought. 

A little silly, and a lot unfair. And who knew how they’d react? He’d seen them all in their underwear, shared blankets and chairs and beds with them, held them close (he wished he could do that now, but he wasn’t brave enough to be so touchy as an adult). What if they accused him of taking advantage of them when they hadn’t known? What if they were disgusted by him? What if they forgot him again, but this time by choice?

Richie was forced out of his thoughts when someone shrieked, and he promptly realized he’d allowed himself to tune everyone out again as he catastrophized. His head shot up at the shriek, his heart pounding in panic. Instead of a psychotic clown or a gruesome murder, Richie caught sight of Ben, who had seemingly heaved Beverly out of the water, tossing Bev as far as he could back into the murky water. She came up sputtering and laughing, arguing that whatever she’d said had definitely happened, no matter what he said.

Bill and Mike were leaning on each other from the force of their laughter. Ben had a sly grin on his face, though the corner of his lip was twisted a little in embarrassment as Bev kept hounding at him. Stan wasn’t outright laughing so much as he was grinning, but that was pretty much the same thing when it came to him. Eddie was laughing so hard that his cheeks had gone pink.

Richie promptly realized that if he didn’t do it now, he was never going to get up the courage to do it again.

“I’m gay,” Richie said loudly, the words echoing uncomfortably across the quarry.

The sounds of splashing and play fighting stopped and Richie heard more than saw everyone turn toward him. He kept his glasses off, eyes focused on his hands. If he had to look at them, see them clearly, he wouldn’t get through this. Every cell in his being was telling him to bury this with a joke, to move on and make a funny and forget the whole thing, but he couldn’t. Not this time. He needed to stop hiding.

“I’m gay,” he said again, quieter this time. “That’s why It brought up ‘Truth or Dare.’ Because I wouldn’t want anyone to pick truth.”

Richie kept his head down, but he heard the others moving through the water. He startled when he felt Bev’s arms wrap around one of his own. Richie looked up and saw his friends (or, really, saw blobs shaped vaguely like his friends) all coming toward him, wrapping themselves around him where he sat.

Ben curled himself around Richie’s knee, right below Bev. On Richie’s other side, Mike, Bill, and Stan all crushed in trying to wrap around him in some way. Mike ended up wrapped around Richie’s leg, which probably looked ridiculous, if only Richie could see, while Bill and Stan curled up around his arm and side. Then, Eddie came up behind Richie, wrapping his arms carefully around Richie’s shoulders and resting his head on Richie’s own (probably taking advantage of being taller than Richie, for the moment).

“We’re proud of you, Rich,” Stan said quietly.

Tears stung at Richie’s eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He sat there for a few minutes, soaking in their warmth and care, closing his eyes and letting peace finally overcome him. The secret, his dirty little secret, had finally been aired. He didn’t need to be scared of it anymore, at least not in this small circle (coming out as a public figure was an entirely different story, and Richie sure as fuck wasn’t ready for that yet). Pennywise’s words, echoing in his head since they were said, finally began to quiet.

“Thank you,” Rich said eventually, his shields formed from humor finally coming back up. He could only handle so much emotional vulnerability without making a joke. “I don’t have my glasses on so I don’t know who you people are, but thank you.”

Richie’s friends laughed, and he could feel Eddie’s chin brushing against his head with the force of Eddie’s eyeroll. Richie himself chuckled a little, blinking to clear the lingering tears from his eyes before they could fall. It was then that he noticed his hands: one clasped tightly between Ben and Beverly’s fingers, and the other resting on one of Eddie’s arms, Stan’s hand resting atop his.

“Oh shit,” he mumbled.

He felt more than saw (seeing as he couldn’t see) Beverly and Mike look up at him.

“I legit can’t find my glasses.”

A chorus of “Are you serious?” met Richie’s ears and he almost laughed again, but it was true. Sometime between the six of them latching onto him, Richie’s glasses had completely vanished.

Richie settled in where he sat as the others went off to find his glasses, diving beneath the water and arguing between themselves. The only person who didn’t move away was Eddie, who shifted from standing behind him to sitting next to him. As he heard Bev laugh, followed by a splash (Richie would bet money she just dunked Ben, the two had been attached at the hip and making heart eyes at each other since they escaped Neibolt), he felt Eddie grab his right hand and interlock their fingers.

There was a distinct lack of cold, wet metal as Eddie squeezed his hand, and Richie swore his heart skipped more than a few beats.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one with a secret, Richie thought as Eddie’s head leaned against his shoulder for a few seconds. And maybe, just maybe, Richie wouldn’t have to go home and face his nightmares alone after this.

[heyyyharry]

Red or Yellow

(a blurb from the Flatmate series)

…in which Harry and Y/N argue over the paint colour for their living room and split the room into two (pre-relationship flatmates).

Word count: 2.5k

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“I think this place is haunted,” Ben remarked as he swept his eyes around the living room which was covered in plastic sheets.

“What gave that away?” Mark, Ben’s fiancé, asked as he followed Ben inside. “The claw marks on the door or the blood on the wall?”

Harry scoffed as he waved the paint roller at the claw marks. “She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was dog-sitting the other day. The dog was pretty aggressive.”

“She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named?” Ben asked.

Mark squinted his eyes, hands on his hips. “You mean Y/N?”

“Mmmmm.” Harry rolled his eyes.

Before either Ben or Mark could ask him what was wrong, Y/N emerged from her room, dressed in overalls and holding her own paint roller. As soon as she made eye contact with Harry, she gave him a look of contempt and said hello to their neighbours as if Harry wasn’t there. Harry gave a sly smile as he watched her pick up the yellow paint bucket she’d left in the corner of the living room. In her corner, to be exact.

Long story short, they’d divided their flat into two halves, and she was still bitter that he got the one with the couch. He didn’t know why she was upset; she had the entire kitchen all to herself because he wasn’t allowed to cross her side to get there.

“I thought you two were still in your honeymoon phase,” said Ben with an eyebrow raised. “What happened?”

“He happened,” Y/N said before Harry could speak. “And when have we ever been in any phase?”

Harry let out a bitter laugh as he threw his hands in the air and accidentally splashed red paint onto Mark’s sleeve. Mark gasped, but nobody cared.

“We’d agreed to paint the living room’s walls red for the vintage look!”

“We never agreed to paint it red,” she countered, lifting her yellow paint bucket. “And when people say vintage, they would think yellow!”

“No. Red.”

“Yellow.”

“Red!”

“Yellow!”

“Green!”

Everyone looked at Ben, who raised a smile. “I thought we were naming the colours of a traffic light.”

“Could someone please tell me how to get the paint off silk?” Mark said, but once again, nobody cared.

“I swear to God, you’re gonna turn half of our living room into a sex dungeon like the one in Fifty Shades of Grey.”

“Okay, whatever you say, Miss Minion.”

“What did you just call me?”

“Do you want me to sing that Banana song?”

Ben nudged Mark, still smiling while Harry and Y/N were literally screaming at one another. “Remember when we used to fight over silly things? Oh, young love.”

“Whatever,” Harry scoffed and turned back to their neighbours. “Are you guys free at the moment? I really need some help.”

“A tough guy like yourself needs help to paint half a living room,” Y/N asked in a mocking surprised tone.

Harry purposely ignored her. To Ben and Mark, he said, “Well?”

Ben’s mouth was hanging open as he looked to Mark for an opinion. Mark raised both hands over his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, eyes wide. “I’m wearing silk today. Can’t get more paint onto this shirt.”

“It’s okay. You guys don’t have to help him,” Y/N said, glaring at Harry.

Ben bit his lip, thinking for a long moment before he tossed his head back and turned to his fiancé. “Hey, babe, you could go home first. I’ll stay and help them.”

“Okay, babe,” Mark said as he leaned in and kissed Ben’s cheek.

Harry swore he could see a look of concern crossing Mark’s face before he left the flat. Harry received that look a lot from the residents in this block who’d seen him and Y/N argue, so he wasn’t offended by it, just amused.

“Okay,” he exhaled happily, rubbing both hands together. “What we’re gonna do is–”

“Thank you so much for helping me. You don’t have to but–”

“Hey!”

Ben froze as he’d just dipped his roller into the yellow paint bucket. Both Y/N and he looked over their shoulders at Harry, who was gaping at them both.

“I was the one who asked for help!” cried Harry.

Baffled, Ben opened his mouth to speak, but Y/N put up one hand to stop him before he could make a sound. “Harry’s a grown man. He doesn’t need help,” she said.

Harry sneered at her, putting both hands on his hips. “All right, little missy. I see how it is. Good luck with your Despicable Me theme.”

“I wish you no luck with your sex dungeon.”

“Honestly,” Ben said, taking a deep breath. “I’m only here for the tea so don’t expect me to help too much.”

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“The tea is ready!”

Harry wiped the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt as he glanced back over his shoulder at Y/N. She had her AirPods on so she probably hadn’t heard Ben call out from the kitchen. He could let Ben tell her that it was time for a tea break, but he needed an excuse to speak to her anyway. Yes, he was still annoyed by her wanting to paint the living room yellow knowing how much bright coloured rooms pestered him. No, it didn’t change the fact that he wanted to kiss her every time he was looking at her when she wasn’t paying attention. And well, another reason was that he couldn’t get to the kitchen, so either she or Ben would have to bring him tea.

He put down his roller, wiped his hands with a cloth and walked to the piece of duct tape on the floor they’d used to divide the room. “Psst!” He aggressively waved his arms to get her attention.

Y/N stopped painting and turned off the music on her phone, seemingly agitated. “I’m not lending you one of my brushes.”

“I don’t need your brushes.” Harry rolled his eyes, gesturing to the kitchen. “Ben said tea was ready.”

“Oh.” Y/N threw on a cute little smile that almost made Harry forget he was supposed to be cold towards her.

“Hey!” he called as soon as she turned away. She stopped, raising an eyebrow at him. “Could you bring me a cup? Thanks.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes as she folded both arms over her chest. “Not when you’re asking me with that attitude.”

“What attitude?”

“That.”

He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. “Okay, fine. Could you please bring me a cup?”

Y/N glanced upward as she tapped a finger to her lips. “Hmmmm...maybe if you say: Please, my sweet, beautiful flatmate, whom I’ve wronged so many times before and never apologized to.”

Harry made a face. “I’m not calling you my sweet, beautiful flatmate whom I’ve wronged so many times before and never apologized to.”

Y/N smirked as she lifted her shoulders. “Too bad, you just did.”

“Damn it!”

She shook her head, and he could tell that she was trying her best not to laugh. He didn’t want to think so highly of himself, but he knew he was charming, and it was just a matter of time before she agreed to have this entire living room painted red, so they could get this goddamn tape off the floor, and he could set foot back into the kitchen again.

“Tea’s coming!” Y/N announced as she carried a tea tray to the living room. “Ben’s eating all the snacks in our fridge, by the way. He’s done helping us.”

“He didn’t help at all.”

“He helped with the first few strokes.”

Harry breathed out a laugh. “That’s what she said.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re so immature.”

Shrugging, Harry sat down on the couch and held out his hand for her to give him a cup. Y/N was humming a familiar tune as she put the tea tray on a small table across the room. Harry watched in bafflement as she picked up a cup, stirring it with an evil smile and just staring at him like that.

“Hey! Where’s mine?”

“Right here. Come get it.”

Harry stood up as he scoffed, shaking his head. “Baby, we both know you’re a tease but don’t challenge me.”

He could see her cheeks turning red but she tried to mask her shyness with a feigned sassy expression. “Are you sure you don’t want tea?”

“I want tea so you’d better give it to me,” he said, raising an eyebrow with both hands on his hips.

Y/N took a sip, smiling innocently. “Nope. I don’t want to. Do it yourself.”

“Are you telling me to come get it?” he asked, taking a step forward.

She opened her mouth to speak, but what came out was a loud gasp as he crossed the duct tape line and padded straight towards her. He didn’t say a word, took the cup from the saucer she was holding, took a sip and put it back down. He wished he could snap a photo of her gawking at him like she’d just seen him commit murder. He had to try his best to stay in character and not guffaw right then.

“You broke the rule,” she said softly, but the look in her eyes was deadly as hell.

He straightened and wiggled his brows. “You said you’d bring me tea. Guess we’re both liars.”

Her lips curled to the side. He could have sworn he hadn’t seen her pick up the paintbrush. Before he could even blink, she splashed yellow paint onto his shirt. It was an old shirt and already got paint on it, but what she’d done had declared war.

“Apologise, Y/N,” he demanded, calmly.

She, also calmly, put down her tea and waved the brush in front of his face in a provoking manner. “I don’t think I did anything wrong.”

“Oh, you didn’t?”

“N–What are you doing?!” Y/N yelled as Harry dipped his entire hand into the bucket. He grabbed her by the wrist, tugged her into him and smeared paint all over her face. She was shouting at him to stop as he laughed viciously. To his surprise, Y/N wet both of her hands with paint and spread it all over his head. His shout turned into startled laughter; he didn’t think she’d have it in her to do that.

They started ‘fighting’ for her paintbrush. As Harry was trying his best not to overpower and hurt her, she took advantage of that and coated his mouth with paint. She was in hysterics as he spat in disgust. Without warning, Harry cupped her face firmly with his large hands and pulled her back in. “Let me give you yellow kisses.”

“What? No! Get off of me!” She tried to escape, laughing uncontrollably as they both tripped and ended up in a heap on the floor. One of them accidentally kicked over his red paint bucket, and as they tried to get up, they tripped for the second time and fell into a puddle mixed between red and yellow paint.

“You’re such torture!” he said between laughter.

“So are you!” she exclaimed, getting on her knees as he sat there with his legs spread.

She stuck out her tongue and cringed as she saw paint dripping down from her hair. It took him everything not to lean in and kiss her right then.

“Can this be washed off?” she asked.

“I can wash it off for ya,” he said cheekily.

She made a face. “If I didn’t know you so well, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

He said nothing, just smiled. Maybe she didn’t know him that well after all.

“What in the world?!”

Both Harry and Y/N whipped their heads to the kitchen door and found Ben standing there with his hands on his hips and his mouth hanging open.

“Did that aggressive dog come in here and make this mess or did you two do the dirty while I wasn’t here?”

“We did the dirty but not the kind you’d enjoy watching,” Harry said.

Y/N buried her face into her palms as Ben made a gagging sound. “Ew! Don’t ever say that again! You straight people are so weird!”

Harry burst out laughing as he got to his feet and offered Y/N a hand. She didn’t take it and got up on her own.

Ben swept his eyes around the room, taking in the mess they’d made. “So I guess you’ve both agreed to mix the paint?”

Harry gave a half-shrug. “I don’t mind a yellow room, to be honest.”

Y/N’s face lit up. And it was probably the cutest thing Harry had ever seen. “Really?”

He pressed his lips into a soft smile, unable to help himself. “I just want you to talk to me again…”

“Aww,” Ben said.

“And because I want to use the kitchen. I’m too broke to keep going out to eat three meals a day.”

Ben sighed as Y/N rolled her eyes, but Harry knew it was all good because she was smiling at him. “Fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “Why don’t we pick another colour that both of us would like? Well, one that at least one of us would not hate.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Aww, would you look at that?” Ben interjected, placing both hands on his heart. “So cute. I’m here if you two need any help. Honestly, if you need anything, just ask.”

“Well, we kinda need help to clean up this mess—”

“What was that?” Ben cut Harry off, straining his ear as if he’d actually heard something, while Harry and Y/N just stared at each other in confusion. “Oh, I think Mark’s calling me. He’s probably having trouble with our shower again.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Y/N said.

Ben ignored her as he shouted into nothing. “Baby, I’m coming! Sorry kids, thanks for the snacks and the tea and the literal tea. Good luck!” And just like that, he dashed straight out of the room.

Once the door had fell shut behind him, Harry turned back to Y/N. They held each other’s gaze for a second before bursting out laughing for two minutes straight.

When the laughter finally died down, Harry swept his eyes over the mess they’d made. “This looks so sexy in porn,” he said, squirming in his paint-covered clothes, “yet feels so uncomfortable in real life.”

His heart skipped a beat as he heard her giggle.

“Not gonna lie,” he inhaled, suppressing his Cheshire Cat grin. “I miss you laughing at my jokes.”

Y/N seemed to be hiding her blushing as she looked away. “Laughing at you mostly,” she mumbled.

“That, too,” he said, grinning. “I just miss making you laugh.”

Y/N laughed again; he could tell she’d tried not to, yet couldn’t help it. It made him forget the fact that he was covered in paint and would probably spend the next couple of months trying to get his natural hair colour back.

“Stop being weird,” she said nervously, giving his shoulder a gentle shove. “We have a mess to clean.”

[plaidbooks]

A Solo Act part 2

A/N: Yay backstory! And obligatory masquerade ball! Shoutout to Becca for helping with the clothes ❤ This will most likely have a third part--I have it outlined, so let’s see if I’ll write it 😅

This covers the Masquerade square in @adarafaelbarba​ moodboard bingo!

Part 1 here

Tags: poison, branding (like with a hot metal), talks of death, injuries (one character is beaten)

Words: 2973

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart​  @beccabarba​  @thatesqcrush​ @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ @permanentlydizzy​ @ben-c-group-therapy​  @infiniteoddball​ @glowingmess​ @whimsicallymad​ @lv7867​ @storiesofsvu​ @cycat4077​ @alwaysachorusgirl​  @glimmerglittergirl​ @joanofarkansass​  @berniesilvas​​

It had been almost a year of you living in the city. You and Nick had a few more run-ins, and your relationship stayed very much the same. He annoyed you as much as you annoyed him, and you fought constantly, almost always on sight. But you were both pretty equal in terms of skill. The only time either of you got the upper hand was when you got the element of surprise.

And, of course, your showboating started to turn into flirting. There was a heavy sexual tension between you two, and you didn’t know what would happen when it finally snapped. But for now, you enjoyed riling him up.

 *******************

You looked yourself over in the mirror, taking in your gown. It was a deep shade of emerald, with silver embroidery that added to its elegance. You were gorgeous in it, the way the bodice hugged your form, your cleavage on full display—that was one of the reasons you bought it. Men scrambled on hands and knees for a beautiful woman, and it would help distract them from the dagger in your hand. The skirts of the gown bloomed out, giving your legs room to move.

Grabbing the simple mask of matching green and silver, you got into the waiting carriage outside your place, heading for the Duke’s palace. It wasn’t hard gaining an invitation to the biggest masquerade ball of the season, just as you were sure it wouldn’t be hard to take the Duke out.

You affixed the mask to your face just as the carriage rolled to a stop. While you disliked having your peripherals blocked, you did appreciate the disguise. No one would look at your body in that dress and think assassin, and the mask would help during your escape. You just had to make sure to be out of the palace before the Duke fell.

The ballroom was expansive, filled with the rich and noble. Couples danced while others sat and talked about nothing, or stuffed their faces while those in the streets starved. You felt you blood boil; you hated these rich bastards.

You glanced around until you found the Duke; masked or not, he stuck out like a sore thumb. His doublet was a bright gold, the sleeves slashed to show the lining inside, and the light seemed drawn to the material, making him glow. From what you could see of his cheeks, which were rosy, he was already drunk. You rolled your eyes, then headed for him, hoping to earn a dance. Before you made it more than a few steps, however, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You fought the urge to break whoever’s fingers it was as you turned to look at the offender.

“May I have a dance, Miss?” Nick asked, voice velvet. He was incredibly handsome in his black doublet, the gold embroidery subtle, but effective.

You glared at him, “I thought I told you to never touch me.”

“That’s not a no.” He smirked, and you wanted nothing more than to punch him in the face. Before you could deny him, he took your hand, dragging you to the dancefloor. His free hand dropped to your hip, and he started moving. You missed a step in your annoyance, then caught up, to not cause a scene.

“What are you doing here, Nick?” you asked. His hand was warm on your skin, cocooning your hand in warmth. And his cologne was intoxicating; you found yourself leaning closer, trying to catch a whiff before you noticed and pulled away to a respectable distance once more.

But he had noticed, grinning cheekily at you. “Same thing you are, I’m sure. The Duke.” He spun you, then dipped you as the song ended. Your heart fluttered as he brought you back up, pulling you close against his chest.

“D—don’t you dare get in my way,” you stuttered, trying to regain your composure.

Nick’s grin widened as another song started, and he swayed with you once more. “Oh, don’t worry; I won’t.” He leaned in closer, his mouth brushing against the shell of your ear. “He’s about to make a toast, and I’ve already poisoned his goblet.”

You leaned back to look at him, shocked. “When did you—”

“You might want to get out of here before he makes his toast. Once he goes down, the guards will start unmasking guests,” Nick quickly explained. Sure enough, the band stopped playing when there was a clinking. Turning to look, the Duke was standing, goblet in his hand, a spoon in the other that he had used to call attention. When you looked back, Nick was gone.

Every eye was on the Duke, and you slowly started making your way towards the exit. His voice rang out as he gave a short speech—more like a sentence—and he sipped his drink. Almost instantly, he started to choke, his face turning purple, then blue. You were close enough to the exit that you turned and walked quickly out into the hallway, trying to fight the urge to run; that would only draw attention.

“Hey! Stop!” you heard from behind you, and you ran towards freedom, attention be damned. Two guards appeared in the doorway in front of you, and you braced yourself, crashing into one. But before you could take him out, you felt a sharp pain in the back of your head, and everything went dark.

***

Nick was still smug the next day; the look on your face after he told you he had poisoned the Duke would be forever imprinted on his mind. As would the image of you in that dress, your body warm against his. And when he dipped down to your ear, he had caught a whiff of the perfume in your hair, and he swooned.

Pushing that from his mind, he swiped a newspaper from a stand. But he stopped in his tracks as he saw the headline:

MYSTERIOUS WOMAN CAUGHT AT BALL WHERE DUKE POISONED

It couldn’t be you, right? As much as Nick hated you, you were skilled, almost on the same level as him. There was no way you were captured. But he had heard the Duke’s speech as he left, knew he had less time than he had predicted. He had been distracted, though, seeing you in that gown, dancing with you so close, seeing the pure lust in your eyes as you gazed at him after the dip. He had been so tempted to kiss you last night, so tempted to—

No, you were enemies, and he hated you. Even so, you were connected under the assassin’s code. Sure, you weren’t in the same guild—or any guild, really—but it was hard for Nick to leave you to your fate, whatever that would be. Though, he had a pretty good idea what it would be. A branding and an execution; the same thing that awaited every assassin captured.

The thought of someone pressing the scalding metal to your skin filled Nick with a white-hot rage. He made up his mind then and there; he wasn’t going to let that happen to you.

 ***************

Guards were perhaps the easiest people in the world to bribe…well, depending on the guard. Personal bodyguards? Not really. But guards of a prison, where they’re spit at, shit thrown at them? Absolutely.

Nick gained easy access to the jail’s interior. This would be the harder part; the guards in these sections were mostly likely dedicated to the crown. He was able to ambush a lone guard carrying food, stealing his clothes. The man was bigger in the torso than Nick, so he had to tuck in the tunic and hope no one would really notice.

As he was pulling on a glove, however, a piercing scream rang throughout the jail. The hair on Nick’s neck and arms stood up straight, and his heartbeat tripled. It was the worst sound Nick had ever heard in his life, and it seemed to go on forever. Finally, it stopped, but in the silence, it could still be heard, echoing throughout the jail.

He finished pulling on the guard outfit, picked up the food tray, and hurried in the direction of the sound. Three other guards were coming towards him, and he tried to act nonchalant.

“She’s not going to want to eat after that,” one of them said to Nick, and the other two laughed. He ignored them, heading towards the cell they had just vacated, praying you weren’t the one in there.

He stopped a few feet away, as soon as a limp body was visible in the cell. You were trembling, sobbing softly, curled on your side. The smell of burning flesh permeated the room, and Nick struggled to not gag. Slowly, he moved closer. But he scuffed his boot on the ground, and you flinched.

“G—go away! I’ll—I’ll kill you!” you shouted, your voice hoarse and laced with fear. Nick said nothing as he came right to the cell, unlocking it with the key he stole. He opened the door and made his way over to you, until he stood over you. You curled in tighter on yourself as he crouched next to you. The burned and blistered skin on your forearm made him see red, and he wanted nothing more to kill the bastards that did this. But there was only so much time, and he needed to get you out of there.

He gently touched your shoulder, and you flinched away from him. He reached for you again, this time rolling you over to look at him. You blinked in surprise to find Nick crouching over you, but his face was set in stone. Wave after wave of rage pulsed through him as he saw your face, your body; you had been heavily beaten. The guards probably had fun hitting you around, and he clenched his teeth.

“Nick?” you asked, voice soft. That one word said in a voice so terrified was enough to drag him from his dark thoughts, calming the rushing in his ears.

He grabbed your non-branded arm, hauling you to your feet. “We don’t have much time; let’s go.” But the moment you stood, your eyes rolled back, and you lost consciousness. Your body went limp, and Nick caught you against his chest. He let out a low curse before throwing your body over his shoulder and leaving the cell.

***

You were in so much pain when you awoke, especially your arm. You remembered the guards attacking you, calling you names and threatening worse if you fought back. You also remembered two of them holding you down, your body pinned on the ground, while a third heated up the blackened metal until it was glowing red. You had struggled as he got closer and closer, but it was no use. You had tried to brace yourself for it, but the moment the metal touched your skin, you couldn’t stop the scream that tore from your throat. You barely registered the men’s laughter as you felt like you would surely die from the pain alone.

You knew what happened next, that you’d be executed; the brand was just in case you got away or survived…and as a marker for the afterlife about your sins in this life. As you grew more conscious, though, you realized you weren’t on the ground, the sparce straw not even fit for a pillow scratching your skin. No, you were in a comfortable bed.

Your eyelids slowly fluttered open, and you found yourself in a foreign room. What the hell is this? you thought, confused. You grit your teeth against the pain as you struggled to sit up. Just then, the door opened, revealing Nick in his normal tunic and slacks, carrying a bucket of water, bandages, and washcloths.

“Hey! Don’t move, just lay back and relax,” he said, hurrying over to you. He placed the bucket and supplies on the floor, then gently, but firmly, pushed your shoulders back down on the bed.

You let him guide you down, your eyes scanning his face. “What’s going on here?”

“You are heavily injured and shouldn’t be moving,” he explained.

You rolled your eyes. “How’d I get here? Why are you helping me?”

“I broke you out of jail. Now just lay there and shut up; I don’t need you asking all these questions while I change your bandages, okay?”

You huffed, relaxing back on the bed as he pulled the sheets off you. You couldn’t stop the heat from flooding your cheeks as he examined your body, the injuries. He had taken you out of your dress, leaving you in your undergarments—at least they covered you. But he didn’t look at you with hunger like most men; his eyes were tender. Your arm was the worst injury of the bunch, and he started there. His hands were so soft, so gentle against you as he unraveled the old bandage.

When the bandage fell away, you finally tore your eyes from his face, looking at the brand. Your skin was shiny and red, the blisters and burned skin cleared away, leaving the mark in the shape of a dagger on your forearm. You felt tears; with this, you were forever branded as an assassin. There was no hiding it—besides with long sleeves—no going to a normal, retired life later. Everyone would know who and what you were, what you are.

Nick dunked a cloth in the bucket, wrung it out, then started washing the wound. You winced in pain as he worked, his fingers gentle. It was silent in the room outside of the water when he rewet the cloth: him intent on washing your open wounds and binding the internal ones, and you intent on his soft touch.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Why did you save me? Why are you helping me now?”

He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge that you had spoken. He just continued working. You were about to ask again when he said, “you needed the help.”

“Don’t give me that crap, Nick. We’re not friends, don’t even like each other. I need a better reason,” you replied harshly.

He continued wrapping a cut on your leg without looking at your face. Once done, he sat in silence, looking at the ground. Sighing, he slowly pulled the tunic over his head and off, revealing an undershirt. Your eyes widened at the white scars littering his broad, muscular body. But what caught your eye was the imprint of a dagger, burned into his right bicep. Your jaw dropped in surprise, and you tore your eyes from the brand to his face, finding him staring at you.

“I helped you because I knew what it felt like…and because I didn’t want to relive the mistakes I’ve already made,” he muttered.

That explained why your wound had looked so clean; he knew how to take care of it from experience. “Wh—what mistakes?”

“You really want my whole life story? When I’m not even sure you won’t try to kill me once you’re healed enough?”

He didn’t really believe that, you could tell. Plus, assassins didn’t kill each other, not unless absolutely necessary…or the assassin goes rogue. But you didn’t know how to pry him—well, that wasn’t true. You took a deep breath, looking at your hands in your lap.

“I’m not in a guild because my parents warned me to never join one,” you said softly. “They were in different guilds and yet…they fell in love. But they weren’t allowed to be together; their guild master forbade them. So, they did the only thing they could; they left their guilds. Once their masters found out, they tracked them down, and—and branded them. Twice. One was the mark of the assassin—” you glanced at the bandage that hid your own mark— “the second was the mark of the deserter. They were then banished, and no guild would take them, not after the mark was on them.”

Nick sat in silence while you talked. You wanted him to understand, understand why you worked alone, why you didn’t trust anyone. He gently reached out, taking your hand in his. You glanced up at him, but his eyes were locked on your joined hands.

“I was in a guild when I was younger; they’re still around, actually. But I, uh…” he closed his eyes, taking a breath. “I left.”

“Why’d you leave?”

His eyes opened and you noticed the tears. “It was a routine contract. Me and a rookie; I was showing him the ropes. What I didn’t expect was that it would end in the rookie dying and me rotting in a jailcell.” You squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back. “I let my guard down, and he was killed right in front of me. I should’ve saved him or died in that cell.”

“How’d you get away?” you asked, voice hushed.

Nick chuckled humorlessly. “My guild broke me out. I was the one that was saved, even after I had failed. And I just…I couldn’t be there anymore, couldn’t ever experience that pain again. So, I chose to work alone, never let anyone close.”

You felt terrible for him, to go through that. Sure, your parents passed away, but it was natural causes, not murdered. It was always a fear of the job, but it still hurt to see those you knew and loved taken from you.

Nick stood, stretching and rolling his neck. “Well, your bandages have been applied. I’m going to make supper; you should rest. I’ll bring you a plate.”

You watched him walk away, mumbling a quiet, “thank you,” as he went. But he made no indication that he had heard you.

[innately-pretentious]

Dating Klaus Hargreeves ❤️✨

A/N I’m back lads, and yes this is very long and super messy! Ik I’m super behind but I literally just finished the newest season of TUA and was feeling super inspired. Here are some headcanons for our favourite mess.

You probably ran into each other during one of his late night drug binges, finding him lying on the ground in your local park whilst you were clearing you head, his eyes were moving around, observing the stars in the night sky.

As you slowly approached him you became increasingly concerned, discovering that he was not only watching the stars but also yelling at the blank space next to him. You almost didn’t approach him, writing him off as another high person riding a wild trip, however, something told you to go and check up on him.

When you got next to him, interrupting his seemingly one-sided conversation, you asked him if he was alright.

Turning to you and muttering out a slightly coherent ‘yeah’, you insisted he sit and talk to you for a while, to unload whatever has got him so stressed out. You had nowhere to be and neither did he, that was how he found himself spilling the details of his extremely unique life to a total stranger until the early hours of the morning.

Nothing could prepare you for what he was about to unload, but when he is finished telling you about his family, his father, his powers, Ben and every other intimate detail he could think of, you knew you couldn’t just leave him here. After minimal persuasion on your part you drag him back to your apartment, making him some tea, putting him in the shower and getting him into bed.

Nobody had ever treated him this well, not even his own family. Now this stranger was showing him the greatest display of hospitality, he dozed off with tears in his eyes.

You watch him from across the room, this was probably the first good sleep he has had in a while. You didn’t know what drew you to this strange boy, but you were determined to help him.

He pretty much lived with you on and off for the next few months, hanging out with you multiple times a week. He discovered (with the help of Ben) his growing feelings for you, but he never wanted to act on them.

He is extremely shy initially with showing any signs of attraction towards you. Having been put down by his family for most of his life, he truly believes he will just eventually disappoint you. Ben has been bugging him to make a move for months, it is the first time he has ever seen his usually-confident brother act bashful. You would find yourself often initiating intimate acts or even talking about dating one another, due to his fear of dragging you into his mess of a life.

His insecurities do seem to fade as your relationship progresses, however, you often have to reassure him that his best is more than enough. You will always be there to pick up the pieces as long as he is willing to help.

However, when you do finally get together and comfortable, he is not shy about his displays of affection in any way! You often find that he always has to be touching you in some way. Placing his hand of your thigh while sitting next to each other, draping his arm around your shoulder, leaning into you when watching a movie, reaching for you in the middle of the night, half asleep. You almost wonder if he does it subconsciously. Pulling you into him for a quick kiss, even if it is in public. Not that you mind, you’re just glad he finally let his walls down for you.

Although he dislikes it in the moment, you make a point not to enable him. Instead you honestly ask him about his addictions and try to understand it, nobody has ever done this before. One of the proudest moments is finding him on your doorstep in the early hours of the morning, holding a fresh packet in his hand.

‘Take them, I’m gonna do them and I really don’t want to.’

You teared up at how far he has come, spending the night tangled in each others limbs, telling him how proud you were as he snuggled further into your waist.

Being there for him when his father dies, even though it really doesn’t take much of a toll on him, you tag along to make sure. When you finally meet his other siblings, you truly understand the reasons behind his addiction, often being pushed aside or ignored by his family members. The people that are supposed to care about him most, it takes a lot for you to hold your tongue.

Klaus can be quite a homebody when he wants to be, one of his favourite activities is just hanging around the mansion with you.

He loves finding you in the kitchen, drawn in by the smell of you making something delicious. He will come up behind you, arms snaking around your waist, head tucked into the crook of your neck.

He also loves to play his music loud, so the two of you can scream the lyrics to your favourite songs, dancing around the kitchen like idiots whilst simultaneously trying to cook a meal is a skill you have definitely acquired during your relationship.

Ben is completely in awe of you being able to steer Klaus in such a positive direction, he cannot be prouder of his brother. You often get Klaus to be the middle man in your conversations, even though the two of you have never met face to face, you honestly believe he is one of your close friends.

He introduces you to the clubbing scene, taking you out dancing every other weekend! You notice that he believes getting ready to go out is just as much of the fun, you both take turns picking out each others outfits. Blaring your favourite songs as you paint his nails or he does your eyeliner, leaving your bedroom in a massive mess that you would worry about tomorrow morning.

Dancing together in a packed nightclub, giggling as he attempts to spin you round, sneaking kisses here and there until the lights come on.

When Sunday comes around, you are both allowed to spend the day lazing in bed. Now Klaus is sober, he sometimes finds himself waking up before you. Finding you tucked under his arm in the morning is a dream, brushing your hair gently out of your face as he watches the sun pour in from a crack in the curtain. Nothing could be more blissful.

Occasionally you will wake up alone in bed, these days always make you slightly uneasy. Deep down you know Klaus is probably just downstairs making coffee or running a bath for the two of you, a small part of you can’t help but be scared he has relapsed.

He pretends he doesn’t notice, but his heart aches knowing that you still worry about him, even after all this time.

You always catch him staring at you, he is not really subtle about it either, even if you are concentrating on an important task.

‘Klaus I actually have to work this time!’

‘Hey don’t blame me! I can’t help it if you’re the best thing to look at.”

When you find out about the impending apocalypse, you make a pact to stick together til the end, desperate to get as much time together as possible. During this time he becomes even more protective, never straying too far away from you, even following you into different rooms of to need to go grab something. If any precarious situation arises, he pushes you back, using himself as a barrier between you and the action.

With Five botching the whole time-travel thing, you both find yourself in the 1960s.

When he first arrived in the alley with Ben, he began frantically looking for you, becoming almost hysterical as he felt really alone for the first time in a long time. It took almost everything he had not to raid the local liquor shop to just forget about his predicament for just a moment. Ben is the voice of reason for him.

‘Fuck off Ben, can’t I just feel numb for once, I’ve lost her alright?!’

‘This is the last thing she would have wanted and you know it.’

It’s not until a year later you see each other again. You were revisiting the town where you first arrived in the 60s, picking up some new clothes and planning to get back on the road. Klaus, on his way to the diner for a quick bite to eat could spot you anywhere.

You were shocked when you heard a bang on the shop window, looking up and finding the same hazel eyes you would never forget, Klaus.

He bust through the shop doors, not caring that he knocked over a few clothing racks as he bounded towards you, jumping into your arms. He smelt the same, cigarette smoke masked with fresh cologne.

Landing on the floor together, laughing with tears streaming down your face, you just hold onto each other. (The shopkeeper is yelling, but this is more important than some scattered clothes!)

Having lunch together and catching up on everything you had been up to. He was impressed with you living on the road, finding various jobs and travelling across America. Although the thought of you going out there alone made his stomach flip, scared something bad might happen. When he tells you about ‘Destiny’s Children’ you wish you could say you were surprised, but you really expected nothing less. Of course Klaus would do something as extravagant as this.

That night is one of the best of your relationship. Making up for a whole year of lost time, he holds you closer, your entire body on top of his, head resting on his chest as he lazily rubs circles on your back.

When you are about to pass out you hear soft sobs coming from under you. Sitting up and holding his face in your hands, you reassure him that you’re here, you’re ok, you’re not going anywhere and you’re going to be alright. He grips onto you tighter and sobs into your shoulder, overwhelmed with emotions about how you finally managed to find each other again.

The clinginess does not end there, a year is a long time! Refusing to let go of you waist when you try to get up, always having his hand in yours, picking you up and spinning you round in the pool etc.

He takes full advantage of shopping with you in the 60s, with the fashion being almost as loud as he is. Watching him dance in and out of the racks of clothing, throwing various garments for you to try on. He loves to sneak into your changing room to ‘help’ you change into your next outfit…

When Ben is gone, you are the sole person he goes to for comfort. Holding onto each other and reminiscing about the good memories you all shared. After that day promising not to cry over him anymore, instead you would happily remember everything the three of you went through, looking back at his life positively.

[solohux]

Prompt: on the bridge control is a spy out to kill general hux dressed as an officer. When the time is right he stands up and aimes his gun at hux. Then suddenly a shrill «NO!» is heard and the spy is flung hard against the wall. On the other side is hux’s young daughter, with outstreatched hands,blood pouring from her nose; and Then she passes out

On good days, Hux knows the identity of all of his bridge officers as they work silently around him at their consoles, uttering only a ‘yes, sir’ if he gives them commands but today is not a good day. It’s not a good week for Hux; being parted from Kylo is always difficult for him, more so when there’s no given end date to the Knight’s mission away. The General is distracted as he strides around the perimeter of the bridge, thinking of how Kylo is doing on his mission and how good it will feel to be in his arms again once he returns.

“Daddy?”

Hux’s attention comes back from his thoughts and to the familiar, little hand that’s tugging on his greatcoat.

“Nola,” Hux bends down to the height of his five year old daughter, brushing her unruly, dark-coloured curls out of her face. “Are you alright, my darling?”

The little girl pouts, stomping her little black boots in frustration. “Where’s Papa?”

“He’s…he’s on an important mission, my love. Remember? He’ll be back soon.”

“He’s making you sad, Daddy,” Nola says, reaching up to pat Hux’s cheeks.

“Oh. Little love. He isn’t making me sad. Daddy just misses Papa when he isn’t here,” Hux says, fighting back tears. In the past, Kylo has commented on Nola’s ability to sense emotions and how it’s so strong for someone so young—and that Ben Solo was the same. She knows the second that either of her parents are crying, sharing their pain or celebrating their happiness with her own cute giggles. Whilst Hux may be completely Force-null, it seems as though his daughter has inherited all of Kylo’s complicated Force powers.

“Can I play with BB?” Nola asks, seemingly okay now that Hux is smiling.

“Of course, darling. He’s over there.” Hux nods to where BB-9E is across the bridge awaiting orders. The little droid chirps with excitement when Nola runs over to him and sits herself down on the floor and begins talking to him. The BB-unit whirls around and beeps as she tells him all about her morning.

Hux watches proudly, forgetting his grief for a moment as he keeps his gaze on his daughter and her favourite friend, watching them converse and play together whilst the work of the First Order carries on around them. He can see so much of Kylo in Nola, and not just in her looks—mostly her wild hair—but in her fiery spirit too, in the way that she cares so fiercely about things. And whilst her future may be uncertain and whilst Hux may have hoped that she’d grow up to be an exemplary officer, there’s a lightsaber and some dark robes waiting for her at the end of her path. Whatever she chooses, Hux will be proud and supportive of her.

There’s a flash from beside him, sudden movement that catches his attention. Hux turns, looking towards the source and sees an officer standing directly opposite him having climbed out of the trench to face him. The General has barely a moment to realise that he doesn’t recognise the pale faced, purple-eyed man before he’s staring down the nose of a blaster.

Hux freezes. He hasn’t got any time to react. This is it.

“No!”

Nola’s piercing cry seems to make all of the officers shiver and cover their ears against the shrill sound but Hux remains unscathed, watching as the intruder is flung across the way and thrown into consoles, knocking him out completely. On the other side of the bridge, Nola Hux-Ren is standing with her right hand outstretched, breathing heavily with tears in her eyes and blood dripping down from her nose. She looks pale, exhausted. Hux’s breathing quickly mirrors that of his daughter’s, beginning to hyperventilate as the realisation settles in; Nola has saved his life.

“Nola,” Hux says, looking from his daughter to where the attacker lies in a crumpled heap on the floor. She’s five years old, able to use her powers to throw people across the room. And she’s about to faint. “Nola!”

Hux leaps over to her, skidding to his knees to catch his little girl in his arms and cradles her close to his chest. He whispers her name over and over again but she’s exhausted, having passed out from the strenuous exertion of using her powers. Beside him, BB-9E is scanning her vitals and telling Hux that she’s okay.

“Call medical,” Hux orders anyway but it looks as though some of the officers have already contacted the medics and they’re on their way. He uses the sleeve of his greatcoat to wipe the blood away from her nose, recalling the time where she’d last had a nosebleed from injuring herself jumping off of the bed. Hux kisses her head; his brave, little girl.

“G-General?” It’s Mitaka, kneeling next to Hux with a holoprojector in his hand. “It’s Master Ren.”

“What?” Hux frowns but soon sees the tiny hologram in Mitaka’s palm; a ten-inch figure of Kylo in all of his battle armour. “Ren?”

“What’s happened?” Kylo asks, worry flooding his tone. “What’s wrong with Nola?”

“How…how did you know?”

“I sensed her terror,” Kylo says, obviously able to see his unconscious, bleeding daughter resting in her father’s arms. “The Force screamed when she did.”

“She saved me,” Hux says, looking to where his security personnel are handcuffing the spy. “She saved my life.”

When Hux moves to kiss her forehead again, Nola’s lips form a gentle smile.

Nothing will tear this family apart.

[callous-and-misunderstood]

Marlos 44 or 117 for the ask game?!

Thank you so much!

Marlos, and 117: “Can I do your hair?”

This got a little sappy, but I love to write a vulnerable Mal...so here’s an angst/fluff one-shot!

It was Saturday. Saturday was Mal’s favorite day of the week because it was the start of the weekend, and breakfast on Saturday was always pancakes, which she always topped with strawberries and whipped cream. She even woke up early to get a full plate, though she often went back to bed after she’d eaten.

But it was now noon, so breakfast was over. And Mal was still in bed with no pancakes or strawberries.

Mal was in a very, very bad mood.

It had been brewing all week, a slowly growing storm her friends had been eyeing nervously. Mal’s bad moods were notoriously destructive, though when her friends worked together they were able to keep her somewhat docile.

But this weekend, only Carlos was on campus. Evie had left the night before to spend the weekend with Snow White and ‘bond’, whatever that meant. The tourney team had a game in Sherwood Forest, and the cheer team had gone with, meaning Jay, Ben, Lonnie, and Jane were also gone. So, just Carlos and Mal were wandering the mostly empty halls of Auradon Prep.

Normally, Mal would relish the quiet on campus, especially since Audrey and Chad were in Sherwood Forest with the tourney and cheer teams. But after her last class on Friday, she’d crawled into her bed, pulled the covers over her head, and hadn’t moved since.

Carlos rapped on her door firmly, unsurprised by the lack of response. He pulled out the spare key Evie had given him and Jay, and let himself into the room.

“Ugh,” Carlos wrinkled his nose as he took in the state of Mal’s side of the room. She hadn’t picked up anything all week, so dirty socks, crumpled papers, and half-eaten granola bars littered the floor.

“Go AWAY!” Mal grumbled from her cocoon of blankets.

“I have strawberries,” Carlos countered, pulling a full carton out from his bag.

Mal paused, then stuck a hand out from her nest.

“Give them.”

“Nope, you gotta get out of bed if you want them,” Carlos said.

Mal groaned loudly.

“M, come on,” Carlos coaxed, waving the strawberries near her, trying to use the scent to lure her out of bed.

It sort of worked. Mal pulled herself up into a sitting position, keeping herself wrapped in the blankets so only her face was visible.

Mal did not look like Mal. Her skin was washed out in grey, her eyes dull and unfocused. This was not just a bad mood. Something big was bugging her.

“Hey, dragon,” Carlos said softly with a smile, keeping his worry out of his voice.

“Hi,” Mal muttered, itching her nose. “Can I have those strawberries now?”

Carlos relented and handed her the carton, which she tucked into eagerly. A bit of warmth came back to her face as she ate her favorite food. Carlos made himself comfortable at her desk, gingerly throwing out a rotting orange and moving aside a stack of assignments that hadn’t been done.

“So,” Carlos said once the strawberries were mostly gone. “What’s up?”

“What’d you mean?” Mal asked nonchalantly, well aware why he was asking.

Carlos gave her a look, which Mal turned away from.

“Come on, dragon. You’ve been grumpier than the actual Grumpy this week, and you didn’t even get out of bed for pancakes this morning. What’s up?”

Mal grumbled, sinking further into her blanket pile. Even after nearly a year in Auradon, she still hated actually talking about her feelings. With Jay and Evie, she could play it off, but Carlos…he always knew. No matter how much she hid it, he would find her with a raised eyebrow and something that soothed her into talking through the issue.

But strawberries weren’t enough to bring her out of her slump this time. This was more than just a bad grade on a test or an art critique that was too harsh or being bullied by a fellow student.

Carlos watched Mal for a moment, taking in her withdrawn energy and the scattered mess in the room. Then he stood, and wandered towards Evie’s side of the room, finding the hairbrush with purple hair wrapped in it on Evie’s vanity rather than Mal’s.

“Can I do your hair?”

Mal looked at Carlos directly for the first time, her eyes watering a bit. That…sounded nice.

Mal wasn’t a fan of physical affection, but her earliest memory was Maleficent brushing her hair to soothe her tears about…something. She didn’t remember why she was upset, but she did remember how loved she felt while Maleficent ran the broken hairbrush through her short hair, humming a song that sounded like something she’d heard in a dream. Of course, as she’d gotten older that feeling of love had died, but. Yeah. Carlos brushing her hair sounded really nice.

“Sure,” she agreed, and let her blanket-hood fall.

Carlos climbed on to the bed, perching on his knees as he assessed the damage. She obviously hadn’t brushed it in a few days, judging by the size of the knot at the back of her head. But it wasn’t anything Carlos couldn’t work through—he’d brushed Cruella’s hair enough to know what was beyond repair.

Gently, he took the brush and began to comb through Mal’s hair.

“It’s so much longer now,” he commented.

“Well, no one’s going to grab it in a fight anymore,” Mal shot back, though there was no malice in her retort, as they both knew that was the actual reason she’d kept her hair so short.

“Hmmm,” Carlos agreed, gently detangling the purple knots.  

Long hair on the Isle wasn’t smart. Jay and Evie had been inconvenienced many a time in a fight by someone grabbing their hair, but they both refused to do anything about it. Mal had her hair length used against her once, and ever since then it had never grown past her chin. But now, it was trailing well below her shoulders.

Mal sighed, letting herself relax into Carlos’ comforting touch. They spent a few more moments in silence, Carlos moving slowly through the rat’s nest in the back to avoid hurting Mal.

“It’s just…” Mal began, then stopped.

Carlos said nothing, knowing that Mal needed space to sort through her thoughts before she spoke.

“I don’t feel like me,” she whispered after a long pause.

“How so?” Carlos asked just as quietly.

“I dunno, it’s just. We spent so long trying to…survive. And I spent so long trying to be my mom, or at least please her. And I know I’m supposed to be all good now, and all Auradon-perfect, but I just. Can’t forget what I spent my whole life being.”

Carlos hummed, setting down the hairbrush once the knots had been detangled. He deftly began to plait her hair into two braids.

“Like. Am I just a pretty pink princess from now on? Not someone from the Isle? I mean, even the other kids have stopped acting like we’re scary. I can’t even get Jane to jump when I say ‘boo’ anymore,” Mal pulled her knees tightly to her chest, letting a few tears fall from her eyes. “I just. Don’t know what is me, and what is someone else telling me who to be.”

Carlos tied off the braids then turned Mal to face him. She looked into his dark brown eyes and saw herself reflected in them.

“Mal, I know I haven’t known you as long as Jay, or even Evie, but I know that we will always be part of two vastly different worlds. We will always be trying to figure out what we actually want, us, not what everyone else wants us to want. We can’t avoid that. I mean, even if we spent our whole lives on the Isle, it wouldn’t be perfect. We would be trying to live up to impossible expectations. It’s the same here, because we can’t just forget where we came from. I can’t forget what Cruella did to me, anymore than you can forget what your mom wanted from you. But now, we have a real chance to figure out who we are, what we want. Yeah, Auradon isn’t the fairy-tale they pretend it is. But we have room to grow, to make our own way. And I’ll be with you the whole time, whoever you end up being.”

Mal was weeping openly now, and Carlos pulled her into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. He rocked her slightly, letting Mal cry herself out.

She should have talked to Carlos sooner, she realized. He had had the hardest time adjusting out of any of them; a year later and he still woke up screaming from nightmares about Cruella. He would never be fully Auradon, no matter how much therapy and medication he did. And neither would Evie and Jay, though they were so good at fitting in. But just because Jay was the school’s star athlete and Evie was running an incredibly successful fashion business did not mean they weren’t from the Isle.

No matter how well they adapted, that was one thing they could never get rid of. The past didn’t just disappear, even though Mal often wished it would.

“What’s that saying, from Mogwli’s human family?” Mal sniffed against Carlos’s chest.

“What?”

“You know, the boy from the jungle, but who’s still a human boy.”

“Ohhh, I see someone was paying attention in history class.”

“Shut up,” Mal headbutted Carlos softly.

“Mm, you can take the boy out of the jungle, but you can’t take the jungle out of the boy?”

“Yes. But it���s us and the Isle.”

“Exactly,” Carlos pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “You can’t take the Isle out of us, but that doesn’t mean it defines us.”

[maybe-your-left]

long distnace relationship with ben? 🥺

tEARSSSSSSS long-distance is so hard. my only long-distance relationship lasted about a week after I left for college and it CRASHED and burned. 

Benji with long distance. 

“So, would you want to hang out later?” 

Your cheeks flushed pink, brushing back a stray hair behind your ear as you looked down at the worksheet. Clearing your throat, “Uh-yeah we could use some extra time to work on this if we want to pass.” 

“Oh,” your partner looked at you confused, leaning on the table on their forearms, “I wasn’t talking about our project baby, I meant like you and me. And my place, maybe smoke a couple joints and see what happens.” 

You scooted back a little bit, “Oh, sorry I don’t smoke-sorry.” 

“That’s fine, I’m sure we can figure something else out. Pick you up at 7?” 

“No-I’m fine. I have a boyfriend.” 

His eyebrow cocked, “Oh yeah? Why have I never seen him?” 

You cleared your throat again, your voice squeaking as you tried to explain yourself, “He-he lives across the country. We’re doing long distance.” 

“Ohhhh,” he nodded his head, “So he’s fake?” 

“Wha-no!” 

“It’s okay to be scared baby, if you’re a virgin it’s okay I’ll be gentle.” 

You shot from your seat, frantically packing your bags as your project mate was laughing at you. Watching your beet red face as you scrambled out of the room, yelling at you over your shoulder, “Long distance isn’t real baby! I’ll see you later!” 

-----

You spent the remainder of the day crying into your pillow, unable to look at your phone in fear of teasing. You had transferred schools two months ago, away from Ben. The two of you had talked about the pros and cons, but he wanted you to do what was best. The school you two were at dropped your major halfway through your sophomore year, and you were scouted from another one. Ben wanted you to succeed, and over Winter break he flew with you to Oregon. Moving you into a small studio apartment, stayed with you for as long as he could. He even tried to get all online classes so he could move with you but you reminded him that pilot school was ‘hands on learning’. 

Now all you had with him was nightly facetime calls, even though for him it was past midnight. He stayed up to talk to you, tell you about his day and fall asleep with you. Ben sent you packages, bought you food, paid your rent, all from across the country. Just so you could focus on school and coming back to him as soon as you could. 

You were exhausted, your partner had been hounding you for days to hangout, and you always had an excuse. Even asking the professor to move you into a different group, but they just waved you off. You were an adult you could handle it yourself, and Ben was no help. He just got angry when you told him about it, offering to come and beat the man, but that wasn’t the Ben you wanted. That was the old Ben. Whose name was a curse on your tongue whenever you thought about how horrible he used to be, but when you brought up your issues he didn’t listen. Just raged behind the screen until he noticed you shut down and then apologised profusely for flying off the handle. 

Sleep came to you swiftly once you shed all your tears, passing out in your clothes and makeup. Smearing snot and tears along your pillow case throughout the night. You didn’t even wake up to your alarm, groggily rising out of bed with dry eyes. 

Rain pattering on the window overlooking the city. You stretched your arms out, yawning before fingering for your phone. Blinking as the light blinded you, finally becoming aware that you missed last nights phone call... 

Hi babygirl, I missed you so much today. 

How was your class with that weirdo? 

Hello? 

Did you break your phone again? 

*Missed call from Benji*

*Missed call from Benji*

What’s going on? Answer your phone baby.

Did you go out to dinner or something with your art friends? 

*Missed FaceTime call from Benji* 

*Missed call from Benji*

*Missed call from Benji*

WHATS GOING ON?

ANSWER YOUR PHONE.

If you fucking died without me I swear to god. 

*Missed call from Benji*

If you don’t answer I’m going to lose my shit. 

*Missed call from Benji*

*Missed call from Benji*

*Missed call from Benji*

*Missed call from Benji*

“Shit,” you whispered, bringing the phone to your ear and dialing Ben’s number. Waiting anxiously for him to pick up, biting your lip as the phone rang and rang. It finally clicked, letting out a sigh of relief as you spoke, “Hi baby-” 

“This is Ben, don’t leave a message I won’t listen to it.” 

“Oh no...” 

You sprang out of bed, wedging the phone between your ear and shoulder to try him over and over. Even calling his roommates Finn and Poe, when none of them answered you called for drastic measures. 

“This is Leia.”

“Mom! Oh thank god,” you cried into the phone, “Where is Ben, he’s not answering his phone?” 

“Sweetie! Oh I’m glad to hear from you, how is school? Everything okay over there? Ben said he was coming to visit you in a few weeks, do you want me to send him with some food or money? You know how I worry about you all alone over there.” 

“Leia.” 

“All alone, and poor Benny! He’s just lost without you, between you and me I think he’s stopped showering since you left and he let his hair grow long again.” 

“Mom!” 

“Yes dear?” 

“Where is he? I missed our phone call last night and now he’s not answering...” 

“Oh, well I don’t know. If I find something out I’ll call you.” 

“Okay tha-” 

Your front door caved in, possibly from a battering ram. Or a very large shoulder, whatever it was broke through the locks on your door. You screamed through the phone, Leia mirroring your scream even though she couldn’t see what was happening. 

“Babygirl!? Are you alive?!” 

“Ben??” 

You heard stumbling from the living room, someone definitely falling over the couch. Running down the hall to your bedroom, a flash of black slid past your doorway and crashed into the closet at the end of the hall. 

“Baby!” 

You dropped your phone, running out the door and turning to your right. The intruder was none other than Benjamin Solo, moaning on the floor with a bloodied hand and face. 

“Fuckkkk,” He groaned, slumping on the floor in the mess of wood that was once your linen closet. 

You approached him cautiously, tiptoing over the wreckage. Glancing down the hall towards your ruined front door, some of your hall mates staring in the door frame towards the bull that broke through. “Ben?” 

Hi head tipped back lazily, eyes blinking over and over as he tried to focus on you, “You’re alive.” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, crouching down to him carefully. Ben smiled at you stupidly, his gums bleeding against his crooked teeth. The scar on his left cheek now re-opened from some wood he slammed into. He raised his arms up like a baby, “Come here, please.” 

“Ben, how did you get here?” 

He scrunched his brow, snatching the front of your shirt and yanking you down into his chest. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” he kissed all over your hair and face, smearing blood all over you as you giggled, “I was so fucking worried.” 

“Ben-” 

“I thought you were kidnapped, which should be impossible. Jesus your front door is hard to break through, I think I broke my shoulder.” 

“Ben-” 

“And this fucking door, who puts a door at the end of a hallway? Don’t they know big boys slide on hardwood, we need to get you a different apartment.” 

“BEN!” 

He smushed his cheek to yours, “Yes baby?” 

“I think you have a concussion.” 

-----

BEN TO THE RESCUE 

TAGGING: @finn-ray-nal-beads @onlykyloscenes @candycanes19 @desiraypark @historyandfandoms50 @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @ghoulian13 @mrs-kylo-ren @millenialcatlady @emeraldsiren20 @relationshipwithmybed @dancingmicrobes @wayward-rose  @contesa-lui-alucard @daydreamsofren @insufferablelust @ohdamnadamm @mariesackler @caillea @safarigirlsp @jalexunderthestars @shesakillerkween @glassythoughts @zimmermansbrat @not-the-teen-witch

[19tozier]

wish you were sober (richie tozier)

warnings: underage drinking, mentions of sex, angst, pining, reader is an unreliable narrator at best

inspired by the song wish you were sober by conan gray

[losers + reader are 16+]

if someone were to ask you when you fell in love with richie, you don’t think you’d be able to answer them.

was it when you met him, thirteen and wild and so magnetic you couldn’t stay away from him? was it when you followed him into a sewer, endlessly terrified but trying to be as brave as he made you think you could be? was it when you looked at him and realized he had grown up right in front of you, and you hadn’t realized? or was it all the little moments in between, the mundane and the electric all in one?

you have no clue. all you know is this: you’re in love with richie tozier, and there’s nothing you can fucking do about it.

you bring your cup to your mouth, the edge of it pressing into your bottom lip. you don’t take a drink from it; you’re already a little buzzed, and you’re reluctant to get any drunker. you don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.

across the room from you, somehow perfectly visible despite the mass of dancing bodies separating you from him, richie leans against the wall, his arm around the waist of his girlfriend, who isn’t you.

you exhale as slowly as you can. inside of your chest, your heart feels like it is poised to shatter.

it shouldn’t shock you anymore. richie has a new girlfriend seemingly every month, a revolving-door of pretty girls that giggle when he kisses them and wear his jean jacket around school but ultimately never stay long. richie never offers explanation as to why they break up and you never ask. you’re afraid of whatever it is he might say. you’re afraid of knowing you’re not good enough for him if all of them weren’t.

you sigh. you’re such a fucking cliche. falling in love with your best friend, silently pining away as if it’ll make him notice you? you’d gag at the thought if it wasn’t your life.

a shoulder brushing against yours distracts you from your thoughts, and you glance over to see stan’s expectant face. he raises an eyebrow at you. “you alright?”

you want to scream. no, you’re not alright. you don’t think you’ve been alright since before you were officially a loser. but you can’t say that to stan, not without being perfectly honest, so you arrange your features into something resembling a smile. “what’s up, buttercup?”

stan scoffs. “you’ve been spending too much time with richie.”

will it ever stop hurting, the constant reminder of how close you are with richie but never close enough? “or he’s been spending too much time with me,” you say, sniffing arrogantly. the facade you put on sometimes is easier than breathing.

stan rolls his eyes. “sure, that’s it.” he pauses, squinting at you. “are you sure you’re okay? you look… upset, i guess.”

you snort, taking a sip of your drink as an excuse not to respond right away. your heart is in your throat at the idea of being caught. “you guess? gee, thanks stan.”

he narrows his eyes at you, his nostrils flaring slightly. behind him, bill is jumping onto mike’s back, laughing loudly. “shut up, you know what i meant. are you alright? seriously.”

you don’t give yourself time to hesitate. stan has a sixth sense for when he’s being lied to and won’t stop pestering you until you tell him the truth, and you’d like to not confess to him tonight. “yeah, stan,” you grin, feeling the lie like sawdust in your mouth. “i’m all good.”

he gives you a skeptical look, searching your face, but eventually he just sighs and nods. “alright, fine. if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

you nod back, glad you managed to escape that. “thanks, dude. hey, i’m gonna go grab a different drink, i’ll be right back.”

you don’t wait for him to say anything, or for anyone else to come with you. you just slip away, using the hordes of drunk teenagers to your advantage until you manage to get to the kitchen.

your shoulders slump, the smile you’d painted onto your face slipping away. slowly, you pour the rest of your shitty beer down the sink, opening the fridge and rifling around until you find a soda, stealing it before you can talk yourself out of it. whoever’s house this is won’t care, and besides, you think you need it.

when you leave the kitchen, your eyes fall to the spot where richie had been leaning. the wall is empty now.

pathetically, your eyes fill with tears. of course you know richie has a lot of sex, considering the self-satisfied smirk he’ll wear after getting fucked combined with the rumors that follow him like the perfume of whatever girl he’s seeing. the worst part is they aren’t even bad rumors; you’d lost count of the amount of times you had heard of how good a lover he is, or how his dick is as big as he’s often bragging, or how he does this thing with his mouth that feels like absolute heaven—

you’d heard enough. too much, probably. and it burrowed into your brain like the most insidious of weeds, sprouting thoughts you never should have let take root.

but of course richie was off fucking his girl. she was gorgeous, after all, easily one of the prettiest girls you’d ever seen, all smooth tanned skin and long blonde hair and hourglass figure. the kind of girl that richie deserved to have on his arm. the kind of girl that you would never be.

you knew this would happen. still, the pain of it takes your breath away.

you manage to stumble your way back over to the losers, greeting them with a smile that feels entirely too wooden. you play the part, laughing with bev and leaning into ben’s shoulder and gossiping quietly with eddie. you stick to your script, even when richie stumbles down the stairs sometime later with the girl tucked under his arm, both of their clothes in disarray and richie’s curls a wild mess. you’re such a seasoned professional that you barely miss a beat with eddie, even when your eyes find the hickey sucked under richie’s jaw and stay there.

for the rest of the night, you do your best to stay away from richie, always at least one loser between you two. you doubt he notices, too wrapped up in his girl. you think her name is sandy. she’s so beautiful it hurts.

eventually, you think it’s probably late enough that you can leave without raising much of a fuss. all of the other losers are still there, but bev’s already dozing against ben’s shoulder and bill is fighting a losing battle with his own drooping eyelids. you can probably slip out now, you figure, before you fall apart.

you manage to say your goodbyes as quickly as possible, waving as you turn to leave. you drove here with the others in stan’s car but it’s not too far of a walk. besides, the cold might do you some good—

a hand wraps around your wrist, jerking you back against a broad chest. when you turn, you come face to face with one richie tozier.

god, years later and he’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. his jawline is sharp and square, his shoulders broad and sturdy, a whisper of the strength he will carry as a man but no less impressive now. gone are the days of the dorky kid you first met; he’d long ago traded in his hawaiian shirts for jean jackets and ripped jeans, silver rings glinting around his fingers and a chain hanging into the open collar of his t-shirt. again, you are reminded of the rumors that constantly follow him. you’re just angry they didn’t think he was hot from the very beginning.

“where are you going?” he asks, his words slurred. he’d been downing the shitty spiked punch earlier like it was his job.

you sigh, tilting your head back to look at him. there’s another hickey just to the left of his adam’s apple. “home,” you say, simply. “i’m tired.”

he frowns, stepping closer to you. the heat radiates off of him. “but i haven’t gotten to talk to you all night,” he whines, pouting ridiculously. “i missed you.”

it shouldn’t affect you. richie flirts like breathing, with anyone who will entertain him. it’s just how close you two are that means his flirting is usually aimed at you. “sorry, rich,” you say, and you find that you mean it. “next time, okay?”

his fingers release your wrist, only to catch on the curve of your waist and pull you close. the heat of his hand burns through the flimsy material of your top. you’re so focused on trying to stay upright just from that simple touch that you almost miss what he says next.

“can i come with you?” his voice is low, rough, more of a growl than anything else.

you blink, stupefied. usually you’re quicker than this, able to keep up a banter with him that’s rivaled only by him and eddie. now, you’re left tongue-tied, the endless wanting inside of you threading around your throat and choking you. “what?”

“can i come with you?” he repeats, looking down at you with his pretty eyes. his glasses slide down his nose. you fight the urge to push them back up. “we can take my truck. this party’s kind of a bore, honestly.”

you swallow, feeling your heart stutter. “what about sandy?” your mouth is so dry your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth.

richie shrugs, casual as all hell and infuriatingly attractive. “she can last without me for a bit. i’d rather hang out with my favorite girl.” he grins at you, his dimples curving into his cheek.

it makes you want to scream. he says things like this all the time, calls you doll and baby and love like he has the fucking right, constantly says you’re the most important person in his life. and yet, he doesn’t feel the same way for you as you do for him. and he never will.

still, you’re a sucker for him. your lips curl into a weak smile. “sure, rich,” you whisper; any louder and your voice will crack. “let’s get out of here.”

he doesn’t even stop to say goodbye to anyone else, just crowding against your back and walking behind you the entire way out the front door. he’s so close that his chest brushes against your shoulder blades, his fingertips grazing over your hip. you focus on not tripping.

once you’re outside, you hold your hand out, not looking at him. “keys,” you command.

he laughs, full and bright as he digs his keys out of his pocket. “yes, nurse ratched,” he teases, dropping them into your hand. “right away, nurse ratched.”

you scowl at him, turning away to stomp your way down the block to where richie parked. it’s not a long walk but the late autumn night is chilly, especially through the thin material of your top and your skirt. you shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself.

before you can really react, richie’s shrugging off his jacket, settling the heavy denim over your shoulders. he’s just wearing a plain black t-shirt underneath, the cotton clinging to his biceps and chest, and you can’t tear your eyes away, even when he murmurs, “should’ve said you were cold, doll.”

the jacket smells like him: the apple of his shampoo, the warmth of his deodorant, the smoke from his cigarettes. it shouldn’t be a pleasant scent but it is, because it means comfort. it means home. it means your best friend and the love of your life.

your shoulders slump, your hand trembling when you finally reach his truck and reach for the driver’s side handle. “thanks, richie,” you breathe, climbing into the car before he can answer.

you don’t really know what he had in mind when he asked to leave with you, but you’re too overwhelmed to handle being alone with him for too long. already, having him this close is fogging your brain. you need to get away from him so you can fall apart in peace.

you decide to just take him home and walk from there. it proves to be the best choice, because not even a minute into your drive his chin is dropping down to his chest, his eyelids closing in longer and longer blinks until finally, he’s dozing in the front seat, big body curled in your direction. it fills you with so much warmth you think you are burning from the inside out.

it should be ridiculous, how much you love him. you should be at your limit for how much you have to give, capped out a long time ago, but everyday you fall for him a little bit more. whenever he does something particularly sweet, or funny, or attractive, you feel a little more of yourself crumble away to lay at his feet. at this point, you’re more fracture than glass, crushed into a fine powder under richie’s foot.

by the time you pull into richie’s driveway, he’s snoring lightly, his glasses knocked askew on his face. part of you wants to let him sleep, but the bigger part of you knows you need to get him into the house. you already slack on your best friend duties by secretly being in love with him, you don’t need to leave him out in the cold too.

sighing, you turn the key and shut the car off, getting out and walking around to the passenger side. you shake his shoulder, gently at first, then rougher when he doesn’t respond. he grumbles, swatting at you. you can’t help but laugh, shaking him again.

“rich,” you croon, shaking him with both hands. he groans, scrunching his face up. you snicker. “c’mon asshole, you’re too heavy for me to carry.”

he pries one eye open, glaring at you. “or you’re too small to even try,” he taunts back, sticking his tongue out.

you roll your eyes, tugging him out of the car. he goes easily enough, stumbling a little bit leaning into your side as you lock the car behind you.

you weren’t kidding when you said he was heavy. he’s just so much bigger than you, tall and broad and undeniably masculine. you try your best to take some of his weight with an arm curved around his waist, but you don’t think you’re really doing anything.

the lights are all off inside, richie’s parents gone for the weekend at some conference for his dad’s work. it makes you feel better about how you two stumble around in the dark, knocking into the walls and tripping over the stairs. finally, without much incident, you make it into richie’s room, depositing him on his bed before he can fall and brain himself on his table. his desk light is on, throwing the room into shadow but just light enough for you to see his face.

his curls spread around him on his pillow, his eyes already closed. he’s on top of his covers but there’s not much you can do about that. the only thing you can do is untie his boots and pluck his glasses from his face, letting him get as comfortable as he can with his clothes still on.

you stop, looking down at him. he’s almost angelic in his sleep, peaceful and quiet for probably the only time in his life. he’s so gorgeous like this, vulnerable, unguarded. it makes you feel like a creep to be looking at this without his knowledge. or his approval.

biting your lip, you turn to the door, only stopping when you realize you still have his jacket. carefully, you shrug it off, going to lay it on his bed when his voice stops you.

“keep it.”

you look up to see his eyes half-open, locked on you. the lamp throws his face into sharp angles and shadow, but the expression on his face is soft. his fingers stretch towards you.

“it looks good on you,” he continues, his voice barely more than a whisper. “you should wear it all the time.”

you don’t know what to say, frozen at the foot of his bed. it feels like everything you’ve ever wanted, before you remember that he’s drunk and out of his mind. he probably thinks you’re sandy. there’s no way he’d ever say that to you.

but he keeps going, his voice rough, smooth velvet over steel. “you look good all the time. makes me feel insane. just wanna touch you but i can’t.”

your heartbeat is pounding in your ears. through trembling lips, you manage to get out, “what about sandy?”

he shrugs, a tiny movement that feels unsure. you’ve never seen him shy like this. the fact that sandy’s likely the reason makes you burn inside. “she’s cool and all, but she’s not you. you’re my best friend, (y/n). i love you.”

you gasp softly, nowhere near loud enough for him to hear. your heart feels like it’s being pulled in two. “i love you too, rich. more than you could ever understand.”

but he shakes his head firmly. “no, you don’t get it. i love you. you’re my—you’re my other half. my partner in crime. i’d be lost without you.” before you can respond, he sighs and whispers, “wish you were my girlfriend. not sandy.”

his eyes slip closed the next instant. as you stand there, simultaneously turned to stone and burning alive, he gives a soft snore, his features relaxing in sleep.

you stare down at him for what feels like centuries, suddenly too old to move. you look down at the jacket in your arms, then back up to him. a loose curl lays against his forehead. your fingers itch to push it behind his ear.

“i wish you were sober,” you whisper. he doesn’t twitch.

you leave the jacket laid at the foot of his bed when you go.

(part two)

[auty-ren]

Congrats on 900!!! And Happy Birthday 🥳🥳🥳 I was thinking about a fluffy (maybe smutty if you so chose) Din drabble or hcs where the reader was kidnapped for not giving the child up and Din rescues them. So maybe the aftermath of that, and neither one have admitted their feelings yet but it all comes to a head when they get back to safety. And congrats again 🥰🥰🥰

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: canonical violence, trauma, mentions of sex

A/n: Wow I loved this. (Thank you babe💕)

Saved

You finally felt like you could breathe.

Everything seemed to relax at once, the tension in your muscles melting away at the familiar feel of home. You still felt so sick, your stomach turning into a pit from the emptiness that spread inside of you until it felt like your entire being was consumed by it.

You hand was shaking as you touched your face, finally becoming aware of the tears that streamed down your cheeks, their bitterness soured in your mouth like the potent taste of Trandoshan ale. You frantically rubbed then away, trying your best to erase any bad memory that was attached to them. You scrubbed at the skin of your face and neck until all you could feel was the burn left in the wake of your fingertips.

You’re not sure how long you've been alone, the cold air, and the shinning walls of the Razor Crest being your only company.

You had hoped he would've cared more.

It was foolish to think that he didn't, all things considered. He had found you, had rescued you. It had to count for something. You had been alone for what felt like weeks, in that pitiful cell, waiting for the moment they would come for you. Your fate was unknown as they dragged you away kicking and screaming just like every else who sat in the cells beside you.

But he saved you, he had to care a little. He tracked you halfway across the galaxy, and part of you couldn't understand why. There was no logical thinking behind his actions, anyone else would've left you to rot.

Then again, he was different than anyone you had ever met.

He had to care about you, or at least that's what you wanted to be true. He was all you thought of, even as you sat captor to the very people you had been running from, you worried about him. Part of you hoping he had gotten away, that he had taken the kid somewhere safe and they were living happily far from the reaches of anyone.

You'll never forget the way he looked at you. It wasn't something that you could see, but something you had felt. Something that felt so genuine, like the right pieces had finally clicked together, and the space that had been between the two of you dissipated. He had hauled you up off the dirty floor, his grip nearly bruising on your arms. Something had been said between the two of you, but it was foggy, nothing you had spoken or heard could be remembered.

But you remembered how it felt, the relief of seeing him again, you had nearly sobbed. Or maybe you had. He embraced you and it felt so warm, his arms strong as they wrapped around you, carrying you back to the Razor Crest. When the sunlight finally hit your face, you buried your face into the cowl around Din's neck, your eyes stinging from the brightness.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to remember exactly how it felt to be held by him, the scent of leather and gunpowder flooding your senses as you melted against him.

If only he was really with you.

He had sealed himself off in the cockpit, leaving you to the drowning silence in the hull of the ship. It felt pointless to try and relive moments that you're sure we're just some product of a hopeful desire that flooded you anytime Mando was around. No matter how much it would hurt later, you'd let yourself have this. You'd let yourself fall asleep to daydreams of him, your heart aching for something that seemed almost impossible to obtain

-

You still think you're dreaming when you wake up. It all felt too warm, a blanket was thrown around your shoulders that was soft to the touch. There was a ghost of touches, warm hands that grazed over your skin, brushing away your hair and rubbing gently at your cheeks. Someone was speaking to you, words that were soft and whispered like it was a secret only the walls of the Razor Crest could carry.

It was dark, a single light over the bench in the engineering bay being the only source of light. You could see Din fiddling with something, even with his back turned you could hear him cursing beneath his breath, sparks flying off his cuirass as he repaired it. You sat up, the rickety cot squeaking beneath you as you shifted your weight. Din turns towards you, sitting up a little straighter, just watching you.

"Are you alright?"

He finally broke the silence, but you couldn't bring yourself to say anything. You stared at your hands as they fell in your lap, your fingers playing with the edge of the blanket you wore.

Is this my blanket?

It felt different, at least you don't think you had seen it before but it became a distant thought. Din caught your attention, he slowly moved from his seat across the room, coming to sit on the edge of your cot.

He only wore his underclothes, a simple black tunic, and trousers. If it weren't for the beskar helmet he almost would look...normal? In all the time you had traveled with him, you don't ever remember him being this exposed. Sometimes it was hard to remember that under the layers of beskar he was just a man.

A man that you were sure you loved more than anything.

And now he was just a hairbreadth away, but you still couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it. You don't know why you said anything, why you felt the need to pour salt into a still fresh wound, but you did. Your voice shaking and weak as you spoke to him.

"Why did you come back for me?"

He was silent, and you regretted every word that fell from your lips. Although you wanted an answer you would give anything to get him to speak again, to have everything go back to the way it was; comfortable but always longing for something more. You wanted to sneak away, to put distance between the two of you before you burst from the tension in the room.

"You're kidding, right?"

He seemed genuine like there was something that baffled him about the situation. You just looked at him, greeted by the familiar darkness of his visor, hoping that in some way you were looking at him. You broke his heart, your eyes puffy and red, lip trembling as you held back whatever storm of emotion had been brewing inside of you.

"Cyar'ika, I-"

He wasn't used to this, being so vulnerable to someone; but he would try, for you. He would do anything for you, and it was time he told you that.

"Cyar'ika, I would tear the galaxy apart to get you back."

A million things were said that night, most of them the results of everything the two of you had pent up, words flowing out like water that drowned you in the most blissful feeling. He was so gentle to you like he was afraid the slightest touch would break you.

You held onto each other, your hands searching and feeling as you tried to make up for lost time, for a time when you both were in denial that you could be something more. You didn't sleep much, too afraid that if you fell asleep it would all turn out to be a dream, another story you concocted to lull yourself to sleep. When the lights finally went out, he kissed you; slow and tender as your mouths molded together. This moment would be burned in your memory, the feeling of him against you, the taste of his lips, the sound of his voice as he whispered into your ear.

"I love you."

Hours passed like this, laying together on your tiny cot. The two of you didn't dare to move, until you heard a faint shriek, signaling you that the baby had woken from his pram in the cockpit. Din peeled himself away from you, promising to return with a kiss to your lips.

You could hear him walking to the upper deck, the faintest sound of a one-sided conversation filtering through the walls, and bringing a soft smile to your face.

There was nowhere you'd rather be.

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