#birthday fic gift

[punkrockmlchael]

The Gift that Keeps on Giving

Masterlist | Eddie Munson Masterlist | Corroded Coffin Masterlist

FanBoy!Eddie Munson x Popstar!Fem Reader

(Both Eddie and Reader are 18+)

This fic is for: birthday boy pop-up event by @corrodedcoffinfest ; the prompt is “gift”

Prompt: Gift | Word Count: 8,897 | Rating: E | POV: Eddie | Relationships: Eddie Munson x Popstar!Fem Reader | Content Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Mentions of Weed and Underage Drinking | Tags: Eddie Munson, Fanboy Eddie, Popstar Reader, Concert, Gift, Meet and Greet, Celebrity Crush

Warnings: 18+ mdni, Eddie is lowkey a Pervert with so many thoughts about you, Dirty Talking, Kinda a Fanboy kink if you can call it that? (Mutual between Eddie and Reader), Smut: Oral (Fem and Male Receiving), Fingering, Cum Eating, Protected PinV, afab reader

Synopsis: Eddie was your biggest fan; it started after Gareth decided to drag him to your concert. Now, Eddie just doesn't shut up about you. So, the guys decide to come together and pitch in on an amazing Birthday gift for Eddie. This is based off of this blurb I had written and I had people ask for more of these two (including them actually meeting); so woo! Also this slowly turned into the longest fic I have ever written so, I hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 8.8k

Two months.

It had been two months since your newest album had been released to the public—copies of the vinyls sat in record stores far and wide while your top song played on every radio station on the top of every hour. 

It had been two whole months of Eddie Munson playing your album every day and night, no matter what he was doing within the four walls of his cluttered bedroom. 

Your pop sound and lyrics were a stark contrast to the usual heavy metal music that would ring through his room as he laid back on his bed, packing a bowl of the latest recommendation from his dealer. He’d play your music in the background while he messed around with his guitar, adding some heavy riffs to the poppy sounds that played from the record player. He’d sit on his bed, hand in his pants with his cock in his fist tightly; he’d stroke himself while your voice filled his ears, edging him closer and closer to release. The sound of your sweet and soft voice played late into the night, always seeming to help him drift off to sleep faster; and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that to anyone that would listen. 

Anyone. 

No, really, the Hellfire boys were so fucking sick of listening to Eddie bring you up in every conversation–during lunch at the cafeteria, between battles at Hellfire campaigns, during a late night smoke session in his van by the lake–it didn’t matter the occasion, your name was always rolling off of his lips like a prayer. It was like he was dating you; he spoke about you so highly and intimately, there was never anything negative spoken about you by that boy.

He was just such a love sick little puppy that thought about you every single minute of his morning, afternoon and evening. And the Hellfire boys always just shared looks and groaned while rolling their eyes when Eddie started talking about you. And Eddie noticed their looks, he noticed their annoyance with him but that didn’t stop him from speaking about you… it had actually gotten to the point where he would join the conversations of the cheerleaders just so he could talk about you and your music. 

You released a new song? He ran to the girls to ask if they had heard it yet before gushing over how good it was because, you never seem to have any songs that suck.

You announced a tour or a show near them? He was telling all the girls that he was going to do anything in his power to make sure he would be at that show, seeing you perform live yet again.

And, let’s be real, all these cheerleaders thought that was funny as hell, but they always allowed Eddie to join their conversations; in fact, some of the cheerleaders went out of their way and started the conversations with him. He was just like them—he was a fanboy at heart and he couldn’t help that you were his current unconventional musical hyper fixation at the moment. 

It had been two whole months of your posters and pictures being placed on his walls, hung up so carefully to ensure that they wouldn’t rip or tear. And, every time the guys came over he was constantly getting attacked and questioned by those pieces of paper. The posters were everywhere, there was one above his bed, there was one above his record player, hell, this motherfucker had one on the ceiling above his bed. You were the last thing he saw before he fell asleep and the first thing he saw when he woke up in the morning, cheesy, right? And, fuck, did the Hellfire boys tease him about that. I mean, it’s not everyday that the stoner Metalhead had pictures of a pop princess on his wall. 

But, could you blame him? You just happened to look oh so good in those posters. 

And his favorite to this day was still the one of you in that short fucking black dress; he made sure that poster was above his record player so he could look at you while sitting on his bed. He just couldn’t help it���that picture didn’t leave anything to the imagination. The way your curves were so full and perfect, god, he wanted to run his hands all over your body, feeling every single curve and divet of your plush skin. The way your cleavage looked like it could pop out of that dress at any moment, god, he wanted to reach out and squeeze your breasts gently, hearing the small moans and whines escape your mouth while he massages them between his hands, thumbs running over your hardened nipples slowly. Eddie just loved that dress on you so much but he desperately wanted to see it on his bedroom floor–preferably in a pile with his own clothes while you were pressed up against him, moaning and groaning his name with each and every thrust he made. 

He had countless thoughts about you since he had first listened to that album and somehow each one seemed worse than the last. 

He knows, he knows–he’s a pervert. You don’t have to tell him twice.

Seriously, though, each thought was worse than the last. He’s imagined you on your knees in front of him, hand wrapping around the base of his cock while taking it in your pretty little mouth. He’s imagined you on your knees on his bed while he's thrusting into you from behind, so deep and fast that you are screaming his name. He’s imagined hovering over you, kissing the soft skin of your neck as he thrusts into you slow and deep, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. He’s imagined you on top of him, riding on his cock with your tits bouncing in his face. He’s imagined quickies with you after your shows in the dressing room, directly backstage, in the bathroom. You name it he’s probably thought of it with you. 

Eddie was just so whipped and craved you. Craved to know how you felt, how you smelled, how you tasted, how you sounded… he craved to know every little thing about you; all your little imperfections, quirks, any skeletons you had hidden in your closet. He just craved to know you on such an intimate and personal level. But, sadly, you were just a celebrity crush who didn’t even know he existed. 

At least, until tonight.

Tonight you were back in Hawkins, Indiana for a concert. Tonight, on Eddie Munson’s 19th birthday, you were in Hawkins, Indiana. You were in his hometown for his birthday. God, it was like the stars were aligning to give him the best birthday he’s had in a while, if not ever.

Eddie had purchased his ticket for your show months ago, literally the day they went on sale; he had called Gareth and bought a ticket for both of them (and, Gareth wasn’t entirely thrilled about that, but he knew he had to support his best friend… especially on his birthday). 

He had his ticket, he had his best friend by his side, he knew your new songs front to back; he was beyond ready for your concert.

But, the Hellfire boys had a surprise gift for him. They all knew he had a concert ticket, hell, the entire school knew he had a ticket to your show tonight. But, what he didn’t have was a meet and greet VIP ticket… at least, until Jeff pulled some strings with his dad who worked at the venue you were going to be performing at. 

And, my god, you should have seen the look on Eddie’s face when he opened that gift. At first, he looked at the Hellfire boys with a questionable look, he already had tickets, he didn’t need them. But when he read the words “VIP Meet and Greet Ticket” with your name next to it? Yeah, he screamed. A literal scream left his mouth as he thought about meeting you, talking to you, hugging you. And Gareth shook his head because he knew he’d have to stand next to Eddie the entire time during this Meet and Greet. (But, come on, Gareth was also secretly excited to meet you and see you face to face as well; he was just… not excited to deal with Eddie the whole time…) 

So, now, Eddie stood next to Gareth waiting in the meet and greet line amongst a ton of younger girls and teenage girls that were all gushing to meet you. And Eddie was shaking from head to toe. He was both excited and terrified at the same time. What if you were mean? What if you hated him? What if you were a bitch? What if you aren’t like anything he has pictured you to be? What if everything he has thought about you was actually just something he made up and you weren’t that perfect little angel he has you made out to be?

He’s never met a celebrity before… are you really just a normal person like him? Do you enjoy going to the movies just like he did? Do you enjoy listening to music and getting high just like he did? Do you enjoy pancakes over waffles just like he did? Do you enjoy spending your free time with friends and family just like he did?

“Eddie,” Gareth said, looking at his friend. Eddie snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Gareth, raising an eyebrow. 

“Hm?” He replied, looking at Gareth.

“We’re next,” Gareth said, motioning to the nonexistent line in front of them. Eddie gulped, looking up in front of him. He caught a glimpse of you and your smile and panicked. 

“I can’t do this,” Eddie said, shaking his head. Gareth rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Yes, you can. Please, you don’t shut up about her. At least talk to her.” Gareth replied, looking at his friend. “She’s not going to bite you or anything.”

“She might.”

“Next!” The security guard called, looking up Eddie and Gareth. He raised his eyebrow slightly when he saw the two boys but shrugged, allowing them through. The pair walked towards the stage where you were standing in front of a pale pink and purple backdrop with hearts all over it. 

God, why was Eddie’s head spinning? He felt hot. He felt dizzy. He felt like the room was slowly melting away from around him as he stood there, looking at you. It felt like the heavens were opening up and shining down on you as you stood in front of them, glowing like an angel, a goddess, a beautiful princess that he wanted to sweep off your feet with his wit, charm and good looks.

You looked up at Gareth and Eddie and smiled, waving them towards you. “Hi!” You cheered. “Thank you for coming, oh my gosh!” 

God, when you spoke it sounded like a chorus of angels signing around you. Eddie had never been to church, but he felt like he wanted to fall to knees to worship you and sing your praises.

Gareth stepped towards you but Eddie didn’t, he just stood there frozen. He looked you up and down, taking in your appearance. Your hair and makeup were already clearly done for the concert—hair curled perfectly, not even moving as you moved your head side to side, beautiful soft pink eyeshadow with glitter overtop, making you sparkle each time you moved. You were wearing some baggy light blue jeans and a pink crop top that showed off your midriff perfectly. 

God, you were perfect. You were real, you were perfectly real, and you were standing right in front of Eddie, beckoning him towards you with those beautiful and subtle hand motions.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” Gareth said softly, stepping closer to you. You smiled at him, opening your arms for a hug. Gareth didn’t decline, he wrapped his arms around you gently before pulling away, looking at Eddie. 

Eddie watched Gareth hug you before he stepped closer, a nervous smile on his face. “Hi,” he spoke softly. 

You opened your arms and Eddie quickly stepped closer, wrapping his arms around your body as he pulled you close to him. Your arms wrapped around him, smiling as you stood there embracing each other. His arms moved down to your waist gently as he held you against his soft and warm body. It felt like it was just you two in the room as you hugged, sparks flying around you like fireworks. He was so happy to be embracing you, to be holding you, and you allowed him to. You allowed him to hug you and hold you as long as he pleased; you didn’t pull away, you didn’t back away, you just hugged him tighter and smiled as he held you close to his body. 

After what felt like ages, Eddie finally pulled away from the hug, looking at you with a goofy and giddy grin on his face. Gareth glanced at Eddie and raised an eyebrow slightly before looking back at you. 

You smiled at them both, “thanks for coming to meet me and hang out!” You giggled, looking at them. “You probably know my name, but I don’t know yours…” You pouted, looking at the two boys in front of you that looked like they were at the wrong concert. Heavy metal band tees on, ripped jeans, boots on their feet; why on earth were they here to listen to you?

“I’m Gareth,” Gareth said softly, nodding with a smile. 

“I’m Eddie, it’s uh, it’s really cool to meet you. I’ve been listening to your music for quite some time and when I saw you were coming today I just had to come see you. Makes for a really cool birthday.” Eddie smiled, watching you. 

“Birthday? Oh my gosh, is today your birthday?” You asked, Eddie nodded slightly.

“Yeah, nineteen. Scary number,” he joked. 

“Our friend got him a meet and greet ticket for his birthday,” Gareth piped in, looking at Eddie. “He’s like, your number one fan.” 

“Oh my gosh, I was your birthday gift? That’s so cool!” You gushed, “thank you for listening to my music and supporting me, really, it means the world to me. I wouldn’t be able to do what I love doing without people like you.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie stuttered out, nodding at you. “Anytime,” he added. 

You smiled, looking at the boys. “Well, can I interest you in a picture together? A signed poster? I have to make sure my number one fan has the best birthday ever.” 

Eddie blushed. You just acknowledged him and called him your number one fan. Fuck. 

“Yeah, that'd be cool,” Eddie smiled, Gareth nodded as well. 

“Perfect, come here and smile for the camera.” You said, motioning towards the boys. They walked to you, standing on either side of you. Gareth stood on your left and Eddie stood on your right. You wrapped your arms around their backs gently and looked at the camera and smiled with the boys. Once the photo was taken you looked at Eddie with a smile. “Want a picture of just the two of us?” You asked. He looked at you nervously. 

“You, uh, you’d do that for me? Can we? Really?” He asked. You nodded. 

“Of course! Consider it a birthday gift from me to you.” 

Gareth took this as a sign to step away, leaving you and Eddie together for your own picture. You wrapped your arms around Eddie’s waist and smiled, leaning closer to him for the picture. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him as a goofy grin appeared on his face.

After the photo was taken you hugged Eddie again, smiling at him. “Happy birthday, Eddie. It was nice to meet you and Gareth,” you said, glancing at Gareth. “I hope you both enjoy the show. I’ll see you around, yeah?” 

“Thanks, princess,” Eddie smiled. Gareth smiled as well, waving at you. The two grabbed their posters and were on their way while you turned towards your next fan here for meet and greet—a little girl and her mom. You were crouching towards the ground to get to the level of the little girl as she ran towards you for a hug. You hugged her tightly and smiled, rocking her back and forth gently. 

Eddie looked back and watched from afar as he left. 

Fuck, did he love you.  

“I’ll be back,” Eddie yelled to Gareth over the noise of the bar. Your concert was over and Eddie was bummed to leave, so Gareth suggested heading to the Hideout for a few drinks to celebrate his birthday. Eddie reluctantly agreed, even though he’d rather be at home right now thinking about you with his pants around his ankles and his hand on his cock, stroking himself in time to your music.

Gareth nodded at Eddie, before going back to his conversation with Jeff. They were having a heated argument about something, but Eddie didn’t really listen to the details because he didn’t really care. That sounded rude, oh well, it was true. All he cared about right now was you. 

“Jack and Coke, please,” Eddie said as he walked up to the bar, away from Gareth and the other boys in the crowd. He grunted as he took a seat in one of the uncomfortable bar stools. The bartender looked up at him and smiled slightly, nodding to get him his drink. “Thanks, Mark,” Eddie added, watching the usual bartender go off to fix his drink. Once the drink was in his hand he raised it slightly, giving a nod to Mark as he began sipping on his drink. He looked around the bar, eyeing his surroundings as he usually did. 

Your concert was over, you had left the stage long ago and were probably a long ways away from Hawkins by now. Why would you stay here longer than you had to? Eddie sighed to himself, finishing the drink in his hand a little too quickly.

He had finally gotten to meet you, to hug you, to smell you. That was weird, yeah, he’s weird, but, did you know you smell like a mixture of roses and strawberries? Like, he was walking through a strawberry field with a bouquet of roses in his hands, on the way to give you said bouquet before falling to his knees to confess his undying love for you. Begging you for a chance to let him love you and hold you for as long as you would let him.

“Mind if I sit here?” A feminine voice rang through his ear on his left side. Eddie didn’t look up, he just nodded, mumbling what sounded like a yes as he stared down at the ice in the glass his hand was wrapped around tightly. “Thanks. Hi, I’ll have a Rum and Coke, please.”

That voice. Eddie knew that voice, he had listened to it everyday for the last two months. Not to mention, he basically drooled over it a few hours prior at the concert.

He stopped, looking up to his left. His eyes widened as he saw you sitting on the barstool next to him. Live and in the flesh.

God, you looked perfect.

Your hair was still holding its curl perfectly while resting against your shoulders, your sparkly stage makeup had been removed from your face leaving a more natural look but, damn, you still looked drop dead gorgeous. Instead of the pale pink sparkly mini skirt and matching top you wore during the concert, you now had the same baggy jeans from the meet and greet and a sweatshirt with your name on it. Wearing your own merchandise, huh? Damn, that’s hot.

You smiled as Mark slid the drink your way, leaving you with a flirty wink. “This one’s on the house, princess,” Mark said and Eddie shot him a glare. 

“Oh, why, thank you.” You replied, grabbing the glass in your hand. You brought it to your lips and smiled, sipping on the drink slowly. You glanced at Eddie, nodding at him with that adorable smile of yours. Fuck. “Hi, uh… Eddie, right?” You asked, remembering him all too well from your Meet and Greet earlier in the night. And, I mean, how could you forget him? Not many others showed up to your show with a Metallica shirt, ripped jeans and chains.

Not many people showed up like that but, damn, did you love it.

“Yeah, uh, hi. Uh, yeah, that’s me… Eddie,” he replied, nodding as he set his empty glass down on the bar, releasing his grip from it. “You, uh, remembered my name?” He asked, turning his body towards you slightly in the bar stool.

You smiled, nodding your head before sipping on your drink. “It's a little hard not to remember the name of my biggest fan.” You murmured, setting your drink down on the bar. “How was the show?”

“It was amazing, really good, actually. You always seem to kill it on stage…” Eddie said softly, taking in your appearance yet again. He just couldn't believe you were here in the Hideout and sitting right next to him. He was so scared that he was going to embarrass himself in front of you and ruin any chance he may have with you. Because, he totally believes he has a chance with you, yeah. “What, uh, what are you doing here? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad you’re here and sitting next to me but… I kind of figured you’d be on a tour bus driving as far away from Hawkins as possible right now. You know, getting ready for the next concert of your tour.” He rambled on, stopping at the end to take a breath.

You giggled softly, turning your body towards him. Your left elbow rested on the bar, your chin resting on your palm as a smile appeared on your face. “Why, thank you. I already said it once but, thank you for coming to my show tonight, it means alot. And, I don’t know; I don’t have another show for a couple days so I decided to stay in town for a bit… is that not a good idea? Is it not too fun here in Hawkins?” Your right hand reached for your drink, taking a couple sips as Eddie shrugged.

“Hawkins really isn’t that fun,” he admitted, smiling at the way you gave your full attention to him. Fuck. “But, I don’t know, with a gorgeous girl like you floating around… it might get better.” He smiled, leaning a little closer to you. You blushed softly, smiling at him. You finished your drink and set the glass on the bar. 

“Yeah? Is that so?” You asked, looking at Eddie again. You were able to actually take your time looking at him now, unlike earlier. Pretty brown doe eyes, beautiful yet nervous smile, long and shaggy curls that fell into his face a bit until he repositioned his head. 

“Absolutely. You might make it worth staying here,” he nodded. You smiled again, looking up at Mark as he came over towards you two, asking about drinks. 

“Yeah, I’ll take another Rum and Coke. And a drink here for my friend, Eddie, as well please.” Mark nodded at your words before walking off to make you and Eddie both another drink.  

“Woah, you don’t need to buy me a drink, princess. I’ll survive.”

“Actually, I do. Consider it a birthday gift,” you smiled, looking at Eddie with that stupid perfect grin on your face. “Speaking of, how was your birthday?” You asked, “I’ll have to admit, I’m still feeling slightly honored that you decided to spend your birthday with me.” 

“You already gave me a birthday gift today,” he argued, referring to the solo picture of the two of you from earlier. “But, my birthday was perfect. Actually, I didn’t think it could get better but, somehow, with you next to me… it’s definitely going to go down in history as the best birthday I’ve ever had.” Eddie replied, smiling widely at you. “Not everyday you get to spend your day with your favorite popstar, you know?”

“Oh, I’m your favorite popstar, huh?” You giggled, leaning closer to him. Fuck, that giggle. 

“Well, you’re definitely up there on my list.” Eddie smiled, a chuckle escaping his lips. Mark walked back over and set the drinks down on the bar before he walked away again. You both reached for your glasses, taking them in your hands. 

“Well,” you said, raising your glass. “Happy birthday, Eddie. And, cheers to many more for you.” You and Eddie clinked your glasses together before taking a sip out of them. 

“Thank you,” he replied, nodding. “Make it a note to come to Hawkins on my birthday every year?” He teased. 

“I'll see what I can do,” you responded with a flirty wink.

“You better,” Eddie replied with a goofy smile. You sipped on your drink more, smiling as you looked around the small bar.

“This place is cool,” you commented, looking back at Eddie. “And, you hate Hawkins?” He smiled.

“Not that I hate Hawkins,” he said softly. “More so that it’s a little… boring. Not much really happens here.” He added, shrugging. He watched you with a smile on his face as you continued to look around the bar, your eyes catching the stage in the corner.

“Is that a stage?” You asked, motioning towards the corner as you sipped on your drink. Eddie’s gaze followed your and he nodded, smiling as he took another sip of his drink.

“Oh, yeah! Tons of local bands play there every week, including mine. We play here every Tuesday night.”

“Woah, you're in a band?” You asked, suddenly a bit more interested in the boy sitting next to you. 

“Yeah,” he smiled, blushing slightly as you took more interest in him. “It’s, uh, it’s called Corroded Coffin; we play some more heavy metal sounds. I’m a guitarist and lead singer in it…” Eddied replied, nodding at you.

“Corroded Coffin, huh? Sounds cool,” you giggled, finishing your drink. You set the empty glass on the bar and looked at him, “heavy metal, huh? What makes me stand out so much that you listen to my silly little pop music then?” 

Eddie chuckled nervously, finishing his drink as well. “Well, you’re very pretty, you have an amazing voice and I do have a soft spot in my heart for pop music.” He replied, setting his empty glass down next to yours. “Guilty pleasure music, I guess you can say…”

“Well, I’m honored to be part of your guilty pleasure music.” You smiled, looking at him. “Oh, and I’d absolutely love to see and hear some Corroded Coffin songs, if you’ll show me, that is. I actually do enjoy listening to a heavier metal sound from time to time.” Eddie blushed, looking at you shocked.

“You listen to heavy metal?”

“Yeah,” you giggled. “It’s funny, I make pop music but I tend to not listen to that in my free time, actually.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly as he learned more about you. “Huh. It appears there is a lot that I don’t know about you, pop princess.”

“Yeah, I get that alot,” you nodded. “So, you play guitar, huh? That’s a skill I wish I had, I’ve been pushing myself to learn but, I just have very little motivation.” You admitted softly.

“I could teach you,” Eddie suggested, looking at you with a goofy smile. “If you want me to, at least…” 

“I think I would love that, Eddie,” you giggled, looking at him. 

He smiled at your giggle, looking at you. “You’re really pretty,” he said softly, looking at you. You blushed, smiling softly.

“You’re not so bad yourself, you know that Mr. Metalhead?” You replied, causing Eddie’s cheek to turn a slight shade of pink.

And with that you were both leaning closer to each other, eyes glancing at each other’s lips as you moved closer and closer together. Time stopped. Eddie’s ears were ringing and he felt like he was vibrating. You were so close to him, so close. He could see the small freckles on your cheeks, wanting to connect them all like little constellations. He could see the tiny baby hairs that didn’t want to stay down no matter how much hairspray you used, wanting to push them back and play with them gently. He could see the small scar that sat on your forehead from when you face planted on stage one night. He could see everything, and you were so beautiful. 

You smiled your little smile, tilting your head to the side as your lips pressed against his softly. Eddie sighed, the feeling of your lips against his enough to make him weak in the knees. He moved his lips against yours, kissing you back softly as his hand moved to the side of your face. He held your cheek, caressing it even, as his thumb ran along the smooth skin. Your hand moved towards his face as well, pulling him closer during the kiss.

He suddenly forgot where he was. All the noises of the bar around; the clinking of glasses, the yelling of partiers, the sounds of men hitting on women… it was all gone. There was no one else in the room. 

It was just you and him. The way it was meant to be—the way he wanted it. The way he dreamed it would be for the rest of his life; you and him against the world. 

Eddie felt like he was dreaming. Or, he died and went to heaven. He wasn’t entirely sure which was true but he was counting his blessings, and mentally thanking Jeff for those meet and greet tickets because; fuck. That gift just keeps on giving. Literally. 

He wasn’t sure how, he wasn’t sure why, but, he didn’t fucking care about the logistics of all of this.

All Eddie cared about was the feeling of your lips on his neck as he struggled with his keys to the front door of the trailer. That, and the fact that his uncle wasn’t home, otherwise this would be awkward.

He finally got his key in the lock and turned it, pushing the door open. He stumbled inside the trailer, pulling you with him. He kicked the front door shut behind you both and led you to his bedroom, pinning you up against the back of the door. 

“God, you’re so hot,” he mumbled, lips crashing into yours desperately. Your arms moved to wrap around his neck, pulling him in closer as you kissed him back, your lips moving against his with the same desperate want and need. 

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” you replied, fingers moving through his curls gently. He groaned, his hands finding your hips. He pushed his hips against yours, grinding against you slightly. A slight moan left your lips as your eyes closed and your head fell back against the door. “Fuck, Eddie,” you sighed.

He moaned a little too loudly when he heard you say his name like that, a literal pitiful moan left his mouth as he kissed down your jawline to your neck. He attacked your neck with kisses and nips, his hips still moving against yours with a slow rhythm. “God, princess, you sound so good saying my name like that,” he mumbled, biting down on your neck a little rougher. ”You don’t know how bad I want you.”

You whined at the bite, eyes opening to look down at Eddie. Your fingers ran through his curls, tugging them gently before you looked around his room. Your eyes caught sight of the posters of you on his wall and an accidental laugh left your lips. Eddie pulled away from your neck and looked at you, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” He asked, looking at you. “Did I do something wrong?” He continued, hoping you didn’t think this was a huge mistake. 

You giggled a little, shaking your head. “No, sorry, just, you have posters of me on your wall?” You asked, glancing back at the posters that sat above his bed and above his record player. 

Eddie’s cheeks turned a bright red as he turned his head, glancing at the two posters you were talking about. “Look, I just, they came with your vinyl!” He replied, trying to prove a point. “What else am I supposed to do? Let them sit in my closet and collect dust, I mean, look at you!” He added, frantically hoping this wasn’t a weird deal breaker for you. 

Your right hand moved to his face, caressing his cheek gently before you turned his head back to face you. “You’re cute, you know that?” You asked, leaning in to place a soft kiss on his lips. “A perfect little fanboy,” you added, kissing his lips again. ”My fanboy.”

“Fuck, yeah,” he nodded, looking at you. “Definitely your fanboy,” he replied, kissing you again. “I wanna make you feel good, please, can I?” He asked, pulling you towards his bed. You nodded, following after him. 

He tugged your sweatshirt up, pulling it up and over your body before discarding it on the floor. He laid you back on his bed gently and crawled on top of you, kissing your lips softly. Slowly, he kissed down your neck and over your chest. Eddie left soft and sweet kisses between your breasts and down your stomach, stopping right above the button of your jeans. He looked up at you, brown eyes glowing and waiting for you to give him the okay to continue.

When you nodded your head, he undid your baggy jeans. You lifted your hips gently, allowing him easier access. He pulled your jeans off gently, tossing them on the floor with your sweatshirt. He sat up on his knees, looking down at you. 

His eyes roamed over your body, committing everything to memory as you laid in front of him in your bra and panties. 

“You’re so beautiful, princess. Fuck,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss your lips softly. “Can I taste you? Please? Been dying to know what you taste like,” he begged, looking at you. 

“Fucking hell, yes. Please,” you replied, watching him pull your panties down. He left soft and sweet kisses on your inner thighs, slowly pushing your legs apart. He looked up at you as he licked a small stripe up your folds, moaning to himself as he tasted you. 

Fuck. You tasted better than he had imagined. So sweet, so… perfect. 

He licked up your folds again, his hands moving under your thighs as he pulled you closer to him, thighs now resting on his shoulders. You moaned softly, fingers tangling into his hair as you watched him. He left soft kisses on your clit, looking up at you as he did so. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” you mumbled, tugging on his curls gently. “You’re good with your mouth, ah,” you added. He groaned at your words, tongue flicking over your clit gently before he sucked on it. His right hand moved closer to your core, his pointer finger and middle fingers teasing your entrance before slowly pushing into you. You gasped at the feeling, back arching up slightly as he slowly began pumping his fingers in and out of you while simultaneously sucking on your clit. “Jesus, Eds,” you whined, pulling on his hair tighter. He groaned against you, speeding up his movements with his fingers. 

“God,” he sighed, looking up at you. “God, you’re so… hot. You’re just so fucking hot. So fucking beautiful, you sound so pretty when you’re saying my name like that. You look so pretty like that. You’re just so… perfect.” Eddie said, leaving more kisses on your inner thighs before he bit down gently, leaving a small mark on your inner thigh. 

You moaned, grinding against his fingers. “Fuck, you gonna mark me up as yours?” You asked softly, watching him leave more bite marks across your thighs. He moaned against your thigh, his hips thrusting against the bed gently at the thought. 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, nodding up at you. “Gonna make you all mine.” He bit down on the plush skin of your thigh again, his fingers curling inside of you as he pumped them. He kissed back up your body, face now inches from yours as he slowed the movements of his fingers. He pumped them slowly, curling them with each pump as he kissed your lips gently.

You kissed him back, moaning as you tasted yourself on his lips. Your fingernails ran down his back gently, scratching at the fabric of his shirt. “Eddie–ah,” you whined, moving your hips up again, grinding against his fingers as he curled them perfectly, hitting your sweet spot. “Gonna, ah, shit, gonna cum,” you moaned, kissing his lips a bit rougher than before. 

“Fuck, princess, cum for me,” Eddie groaned against your lips, speeding up his movements again. You whined his name, head falling back on his pillows as you clenched around his fingers, releasing your juices onto them with a loud moan. He pumped his fingers a bit more, helping you ride out your high as you fell back on his bed. You caught your breath, looking up at him with a sigh. He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, bringing them to his mouth. He sucked his fingers clean of your juices and moaned, looking at you. “Good god, baby, you taste amazing.” 

You blushed and looked up at him, “yeah?” You asked, smiling slightly. You sat up carefully and kissed his lips. “I bet you taste even better,” you mumbled, reaching for his shirt. You pulled it up and over his head, throwing it to the floor. You pushed him back onto his bed and straddled his lap, kissing his lips desperately. Eddie kissed you with the same desperation as his hands moved behind your back, undoing your bra gently. You slid your bra down your body, throwing it to the ground. 

You left soft and sweet kisses down his neck, chest and stomach. When you reached his jeans you left soft kisses on his erection through the denim, looking up at him as you did. You left a flirty wink before you ran your nails along his lower stomach, running over the soft hair that sat directly above his waistband.

Eddie’s breath hitched as he watched you, groaning at the sight in front of him. He had dreamed of this moment more times than he could count but never in a million years did he think it would actually happen. Like, really? Were you real right now? Or was he passed out at the bar in the Hideout?

“Can I take these off?” You asked, looking up at him as you played with the hem of his jeans. He nodded, pushing your hair out of your face gently before running his fingers through it.

“Please, princess,” he said, looking down at you. You undid his jeans quickly, pulling them down. He moved his hips up, making it easier for you to free him from his denim pants. You tossed them behind you and they landed on the floor with a thud. Your nails ran up his thighs and over the fabric of his boxers before you slid your fingers under the waistband, tugging them down gently. 

As you tugged his boxers down, his rock hard erection sprung free, hitting his stomach. You looked up at him, sinking down between his thighs.

“Well, you’re so pretty,” you mumbled, hand wrapping around the base of his cock gently. “So pretty and so big,” you commented, pumping him in your hand slowly. “Not sure if I can take all of this in my mouth but, I really want to try,” you mumbled, looking up at him as you kissed the tip of his cock. “That okay?” You asked, your tongue flicking over the slit on his tip.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Eddie moaned, watching you. “More than okay, fuck. Please, do anything you want to me, I’m yours.” You smiled, wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock gently. You sucked on it slowly, moaning around him. Eddie whined, his hand running through your hair again as he gathered it gently at the back of your head. 

You moved your head down slowly, taking more of him in your mouth. He watched you, pulling your hair gently as you moved to take more and more of him in your mouth. You made it down about three quarters of the way before you gagged slightly, pulling back from him. You pumped him in your hand and looked up at him. “You’re so big, I’m not sure I can do it,” you said softly, moving back to suck on the tip of his cock gently.

“Fuck, princess, that’s okay,” he groaned, tugging on your locks again. You bobbed your head slightly, taking more of him in your mouth. 

Eddie couldn’t believe what he was seeing; this was definitely everything he imagined and more. Sure, he’d pictured you sucking his cock, but he never thought it would be too big for you to take fully in your mouth. God, you were somehow boosting his ego without even trying. Your sweet eyes looked up at him as you struggled to take him all in his mouth. Every so often you’d gag around him and pull back before going back to what you were doing. 

He moaned every time, watching you proceed to go deeper and deeper for him. He pulled your hair tighter and closed his eyes, groaning as you got him all in your mouth. You moaned around him, looking up at him. He bucked his hips up, causing you to gag loudly but stay where you were, trying to fight through the pain and uncomfort.

“Fuck, baby girl, keep doing that and I’m gonna cum.” Eddie groaned as you went back to bobbing your head slightly. He moaned your name as you took all of him in your mouth again, and he thrusted his hips up against your mouth. He tugged your hair so tightly as he panted, releasing ropes of cum into your mouth. You groaned around him, swallowing it all before you pulled away, leaving a soft kiss on the tip of his cock again. “Holy shit,” Eddie mumbled, shaking his head. “That was better than I had ever imagined.”

“You’ve… imagined that?” You asked, tilting your head slightly as you sat back on your knees on his bed. Eddie sat up, his face turning a bright red color yet again. Damn, he was really out here exposing himself to you, wasn’t he?

“I, uh,” he stuttered, looking around the room. “…no?” He said, sounding more like a question than a statement. “No, because that would be weird and not right.” He mumbled, a giggle escaped your lips as you moved closer to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“You sure?” You asked, tilting your head as you looked at him. “Because, I think you’re lying.” You mumbled, fingers trailing small circles on his chest. 

“And if I am?” He asked softly, hands moving to hold your hips. 

“I think that’s really hot…” you replied, leaning in to kiss his lips softly. He groaned against your lips and kissed you back, pulling you closer to him. He laid you back on the bed softly and hovered over you, looking down at you. 

“You are just so incredibly beautiful,” he mumbled, leaving soft kisses on your neck. “I still cannot believe this is happening,” he added, his right hand roaming over your body. He moved up to your chest, squeezing your left breast gently as he continued to kiss down your neck and upper chest. He kissed over right breast, tongue flicking over your hardened nipple. You moaned softly, hands tangling into his hair gently. 

“You’re so sweet,” you purred, tugging on Eddie’s locks. He moaned at the feeling and wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking on it softly. You gasped at the feeling, head falling back on the pillows. “Fucking shit, Eddie, I think I’m going to need you to fuck me.” You mumbled, Eddie’s head shot up, looking down at you.

“Yeah?” He asked, sitting up gently. “You want me to fuck you, princess?” He asked, moving towards his bedside table for a condom.

“Want you to fuck me,” you mumbled, running your fingers over his bicep gently as he fished for a condom. “Need you to fuck me,” you added, nails scratching up and down his muscular biceps more.

“Fuck,” he groaned, opening the condom. He stood up, pumping his cock a few times before he slid the condom on slowly. He stood at the edge of his bed and grabbed your thighs gently, pulling you towards him. You squealed softly, looking up at him as he lifted your thighs, moving closer towards you. He teased your folds with the tip of his cock before he pushed in slowly, moaning as he felt you around him. 

You gasped at the feeling, looking up at him. “Eddie,” you whined softly, eyes closing slightly.

“Fuck, princess,” he groaned, filling you up completely. He stayed still for a second before he started to thrust in and out of you slowly. He pulled you closer and your legs wrapped around his body, holding him against you. “Shit,” he mumbled, hands moving down to your breasts. He squeezed your breasts, massaging them as he continued to thrust in and out of you. “So pretty like this, fuck. You look so pretty taking my cock,” he groaned out, leaning down to kiss your lips.

You groaned and kissed him back, hands wrapping around his wrists as he continued to thrust. He picked up the pace a bit, thrusting faster and deeper as he squeezed your breasts harder. 

“Ah, fuck, Eddie, shit,” you moaned, moving your hips against him as he thrusted. “Shit, fuck, you’re so big. You fill me up, god, fuck, made just for me, my perfect fanboy,” you whined, lips moving against his with desperate kisses. He moaned louder, thrusting deeper.

“Fuck, yeah. I’m your fanboy,” he groaned, biting your bottom lip gently before he tugged on it. “You’re my popstar, favorite one ever. Taking my cock so good and sounding so pretty, fuck, your moans sound prettier than your music.”

Eddie released your breasts from his hands and moved his left hand down to where your bodies were connected, rubbing slow and tight circles on your clit. A loud moan escaped your lips as your back arched off the bed, looking up at him. “Eddie, shit,” you moaned, nails scratching down his biceps again. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Yeah?” He asked, thrusting faster. “Gonna cum for me, pretty girl? Gonna cum on my cock? Gonna cum on your favorite fanboy’s cock?”

You moaned, nodding your head repeatedly. “Yeah, fuck, gonna cum on my favorite fanboy’s cock,” you said blissed out as you felt your high come closer. Eddie made one more deep thrust and felt you clench around him. Your head fell back on the bed as you released around his cock, whining at the feeling. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you muttered.

“God, fuck, you’re so pretty baby,” Eddie groaned, “I’m gonna cum, fuck.”

“Yeah? Fuck, cum for me pretty boy,” you sighed, feeling completely blissed out. “My perfect little fanboy.” Your legs tightened around his waist, holding him close to you and inside of you. Eddie moaned at your words, his cock twitching inside of you as he released into the condom. He made a couple more thrusts before he groaned. Your legs fell back down and Eddie pulled out of you, helping you steady yourself so you didn’t fall off the bed.

He placed his hands out for you to grab and helped you sit up on the bed gently. You smiled slightly and sat on the edge of his bed, looking at him. “You’re so perfect,” he sighed, leaning in to give you a soft kiss on the lips. He reached for your panties and his Metallica shirt, handing them to you before he slid the condom off, tying it up before throwing it in the trash. You accepted the shirt and panties, sliding them both on before falling back on his bed. He chuckled slightly, looking at you. “You okay, princess?” He asked, you looked at him and nodded.

“Yeah, you just took a lot out of me, fuck, you’re amazing,” you said, smiling at him. “And, you’re coming to bed with me… right?” You asked, he shuffled towards you and smiled.

“As if that’s even a question.” He grabbed his boxers from the floor and slid them on before laying down in the bed, wrapping his arm around your waist gently.

You moved towards him, a smile on your face as you rested your head on his chest. He left a soft kiss on the top of your head and hummed, closing his eyes.

You giggled softly and he opened his eyes, looking down at you. “What?” He asked, pushing your hair out of your face gently with his finger tips. 

“A poster on the ceiling? Really?” You giggled more, pointing to the poster of you on the ceiling. He blushed softly, groaning as he covered his face with his hand. 

“Please don’t start with me,” he mumbled. 

“My perfect little fan boy, huh?” You teased and he turned bright red. 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” He sighed, leaving another soft kiss on your forehead. 

“Oh, I will.” You said, snuggling into his side more as you closed your eyes again. 

Eddie held you close to his body and smiled a little. Tonight was different for him, he didn’t need to listen to your music to help him sleep. Instead, he was able to hold you in bed, listening to your breathing and soft snores.

Yeah, this was way better. 

Eddie woke up the next morning to some knocks on the front door of the trailer. He grunted, rolling out of bed gently. He found a dirty shirt from the floor and slid it on over his body. He stretched, groaning as the knocking continued. He looked at your sleeping form and smiled, remembering everything that happened the night before. He leaned down, leaving a soft kiss on your head before he shifted towards the front door of the trailer.

He glanced around and shrugged when he didn’t see his uncle, huh, must be working a double. 

Eddie opened the front door, Gareth and Jeff standing on the other side. “What?” Eddie groaned, rubbing his face as he leaned against the door.

“Well, good morning, sunshine,” Gareth teased, crossing his arms over his chest.

“We’re just checking in on you,” Jeff added, shooting Gareth a glare.

“I’m fine, why?” Eddie yawned, looking at his friends with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, how were we supposed to know? You left us at the Hideout and just disappeared.” Gareth shot back with a snark tone.

“Damn, chill,” Jeff said, looking at Gareth. “It was his birthday, he probably got wasted and came home to sleep it off.”

Eddie went to open his mouth and reply but he was cut off by you. You called his name and walked towards him in your panties and his Metallica shirt from the night before.

“Eddie,” you whined, wrapping your arms around his waist. “You left me alone in bed,” you added, leaving a soft kiss on his neck.

“Sorry, princess,” Eddie said with a small smirk, arm wrapping around your shoulder gently. 

“It’s okay,” you shrugged, looking up at his friends. You remembered Gareth but didn’t know his other friend. “Oh!” You smiled, nodding at his friends. “Gareth, right? And, I’m so sorry, but I don't believe we have met yet,” you added, looking at Jeff.

“Gareth, yeah,” Gareth replied, staring at you.

“Jeff,” Jeff said, sticking his hand out for you to shake. You smiled and shook it gently.

“Nice to meet you, Jeff. Good to see you again, Gareth.” You smiled at the boys before turning your attention back to Eddie. “Come back to bed when you can, yeah?” You asked, placing a soft kiss on his lips before you turned back towards his room. 

Gareth and Jeff both stared at you as you walked away, retreating back to Eddie’s room with a slight shake of your hips. 

“There’s no fucking way.” Gareth said, looking back at Eddie. “Seriously?! You took her home?!” He questioned, the sound of jealousy evident in his voice. 

“Yeah, I did; so what?” Eddie smirked, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the door. 

“Fuck,” Jeff muttered, still looking in the direction you went.

“Oh,” Eddie mumbled, remembering something. “Thanks for those VIP meet and greet tickets, Jeffy boy.” Eddie smirked. “Now, I must be going, have a good day.” 

Gareth and Jeff just shared a look as Eddie closed the door in their faces, making his way back to his room to be with you again.

eddie tag list: wanna be added? comment + let me know! @keeryhours ; @the-witty-pen-name ; @swiftieintheupsidedown ; @hawkinsmafia ; @earthlyangelbby ; @jasminelafleur

[paper-lilypie]

A black painted fingernail pokes him between his eyes.

“Hush, you chronic apologizer,” Yelena muses, retreating her hand and tucking it in her lap. She shrugs. “It’s nice to think about you two like that– bonding over something like this. She would’ve liked you.”

“I…” There’s a million ways to read into that and a million other ways to respond. Bob tries so very hard to not latch onto the single one. “Yeah?”

Yelena nods, smiling up at him warmly. “Yeah. You’re a sweet guy, Bob.”

[lovers instead, ao3]

[giraffenamjoon]

Fire and Fire (Seungcheol x F!Reader)

Summary: You and Seungcheol both run hot. It doesn’t help that you share everything important: a job, friends, office supplies, and a deep burning hatred for each other. While competing for the same work promotion, you slowly start to confront the realization that maybe Seungcheol isn’t as terrible as you thought. Maybe he’s the spark that will keep you from burning out.

Genre: Office!AU, Enemies to Lovers

Pairings: Seungcheol x Reader, Mingyu x OFC, Joshua x Jeonghan

Word Count: 52,314 😱

Warnings: Alcohol use, angst, tattoos, pining, jeonghan is a highly questionable HR manager, microsoft powerpoint hate space, named reader, smut, oral sex, safe sex, masturbation, romance, seungcheol and the reader fall so hard for each other and end up disgustingly in love

Read on AO3: Fire and Fire

All four chapters are available as of today!

Playlist: AURORA (feat. Crush) - Penomeco | Picky Baby (feat. BIBI) - Owell Mood | End of the World (feat. GSoul) - Epik High | Tattoo - ELO, Jay Park | Problem (feat. pH-1) - Jiselle

Comments/reblogs are always super appreciated! There may be spinoffs to this so if you have any interest in more, please let me know!

[hitlikehammers]

The One Where Wayne Munson KNOWS BETTER Than to Lend Air to IDLE GOSSIP

(and does it anyway on accident and ends up thinking his 💕boy's boy💕 might be ✖️stepping out) ——(1/3)

Wayne Munson’s lived his life mostly free from the hubbub of small town gossip. Some was unavoidable in his tiny holler as a boy; more was part and parcel to the service, and plain keeping half-sane in war—anything for a distraction. After all that though, Wayne’d had more’n his fill of even a teaspoon of hearsay, and compared to where he came from? Hawkins, Indiana was small potatoes for keepin’ his nose clear out of it.

Which is all to say he don’t mean to collect any of the latest scuttlebutt on his way just to town after he gets off his shift with the sun barely a glimmer, just past 5 for Leah’s to be open for a better cup-o-joe than the sludge he gets on the floor. All he wants is a hot nightcap because he knows damn well his boy didn’t pick up more grounds before Melvald’s closed last night, and Wayne doesn’t want to see his bed until he’s had a full mug of fair-to-middling coffee.

And honest: he don’t think that’s more than he’s earned to ask.

But it is more than he bargained for signing’ up to, when he sees the only other people in the diner at this hour on a Saturday.

Because the only other people are a girl he don’t know, though he can’t see her real well from the back, which only really means he sees her coffee date full-on and much too well in exchange because they’re leaned in and they’re being all touchy across the table, voices low but not too low—he don’t think they even noticed him come in, let alone come to wait close enough to hear ‘em while he insists on saving the lovely Leah herself the trip to a table when he can damn well carry his own drink, thanks kindly.

“You’re gonna have a coronary if you keep hiding this.”

The girl sounds…she sounds the way Wayne remembers his Mamaw sounding when she was about to hit his Grampy up the head over some harebrained such-and-such. Exasperated, but all from a deep well of unshakable loving.

Which is what perks up Wayne’s attention, and then churns his insides quick right-next, because—

Well. The boy this young lady’s being all over-fond at for his antics is Steve Harrington.

Who, for all that Wayne understands, is meant to be his boy’s boy.

“No, no,” Steve’s shaking his head, tone bowstring-taut; “I’m gonna tell him.” Kid sounds resolved for all of half-a-second before he’s groaning, running hands over his face: “Or, I mean—”

The thunk of the boy’s head to the tabletop clatters the cutlery, and if Wayne weren’t already clued into their conversation, he’d be wholly absolved for dropping eaves given how the noise echoes through the mostly-empty establishment bar-to-door.

“Dingus,” the girl says, and it drips with concern, with affection, with a deep choler that, again, sings loud of married-couple.

Which twists Wayne’s guts all the more to hear.

Because she’s talking to Wayne’s boy’s boy.

“I’m gonna, I promise,” Steve sounds not unlike a man on his way to the gallows, even more when he sighs deep as anything and traces out his lips with his fingers, hands shaky even out the corner of Wayne’s eye for a distance as he hisses low:

“Fuck.”

And Wayne, see, he don’t like borrowing trouble. He meant it about keeping his nose clean of the gossip and the hearsay. So he makes sure he reminds himself good in his own head that he don’t know the facts here, and jumpin’ to conclusions don’t do no favors to nobody.

It don’t do nothing for the way that what he does know, what he sees and hears with his own god-given senses in the now, don’t add up too kindly for the Harrington boy.

Not least because it seems to be adding up poor indeed for Wayne’s boy.

“Do you think he’ll—”

“Steve,” the girl’s voice goes softer, but also frantic almost, as Wayne sees her reach across the way and gather Steve’s hands with a familiarity to the motion that wouldn’t make sense unless…

Unless they’re something special to each other.

Wayne’s watched Eddie reach out for Steve that way. He’s watch Steve do the same. So it…it just don’t make sense—

“You’re shaking,” the girl says, all kinda pitiful, and Wayne’d seen it before, but now he chances a look again and: oh.

Boy’s a leaf in a cyclone.

“It’s a big deal,” Steve rasps out near under Wayne’s ability to hear it.

But he does hear it.

“You need to just lay it out,” the girl tells him, earnest now and more of that than any irritation, any frustration put-upon or otherwise; “be up front with him.”

And it ain’t fair, yet, even if all the signs are pointing that direction; but Wayne likes Steve. He doesn’t want to think the worst of him. And he doesn’t, really, in his heart, think Steve could do or be the worst, from all he’s learned and seen—Wayne’d had uncharitable thoughts about it he kid, before he knew better, based on hearsay which one more time, he don’t countenance as a rule, and he’d been taught better and quick from the second he saw Steve at his nephew’s bedside, and heard the only thing he’s proud and happy to have dropped in upon uninvited:

You nearly fucking died yourself dragging him out, Steve, what the hell—

That Henderson squirt, scolding Steve something fierce.

So Wayne reminds himself this boy loved his boy enough to risk himself to bring Eddie home. Before they were anything to one another. And Wayne knows damn well they’re both something to each other, now. It don’t make sense that Steve wants to…be up front about a notion with Eddie that could hurt.

But then: care can look a lot of different ways, and can change over time. Ain’t nobody to fault for that. And much as Wayne can’t quite believe the Steve he’s gotten to know these past many-months could swallow hurting his Eddie…

Wayne’s been proven incorrect about people more than enough in his life to know better than to think it’s impossible to be wrong about a man’s heart.

“Oh, I’m sure that’ll go over fucking fantastic,” Steve’s huffing, rolling his eyes—apparently he don’t want to be up front with the person they’re talking about. Wayne tries to remind himself that they’ve not flat out said it’s Eddie yet. Wayne shouldn’t go making assumptions.

“Why not?” the girl’s pressing him. “Be honest, with him,” then her tone does go a little judgemental; “you can’t honestly think he doesn’t suspect—”

“I really don’t think he does,” and it’s a strange thing, because no matter the words themselves, it don’t sound like Steve’s meaning to be deceitful about a thing. Kinda sounds a little like he’s mourning, like he’s just in a kind of pain. “If he did, then at least maybe I’d have some kind of,” he waves his hand in the air, looks frantic, at loose ends all around; “heads-up for where his head’s at.”

And they’re both quiet for a spell, and Wayne looks for Leah in the back, knew she was getting food ready and was happy to wait—for better or worse with the conversation he’s been privy to without permission unspooling at his side—but he’s starting to feel antsy for all that he’s hearing, and the way he can’t quite tamp down associating it all with Eddie, with touchy things Steve might have to tell Eddie—

“Tell him by the end of the weekend.”

And now: think he might have to tell, encouraged so damn strong and single-minded by his lady friend with her hand on his arm.

“That’s fucking tomorrow!”

“End,” she’s narrowing her eyes sharp enough Wayne notices more in the shift of the room than to see it head-on; “of,” and then she’s smacking Steve’s arm to emphasize hard enough it rings out; “the weekend.”

Then Wayne notices how her posture shifts, and she leans closer again, so much affection, and easy with it, and welcome for it, no doubt about it:

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” she says low and earnest; “especially not when the thing you’re like this about is,” and then her tone shifts to something bright, near-on hopeful, even:

“It’s such a good thing, Steve.”

“I mean,” Steve mumbles, kind of miserable really; “of course you think so.”

And Wayne don’t like where his head goes for things the girl who’s watching Steve with such soft eyes might think to be good, might think while she’s touching him so close and —

“He’ll,” and she huffs a touch before going all heartfelt again: “Eddie is going to—”

And the moment his plausible deniability about the subject of the discussion is gone, Wayne gives up waiting for his coffee at the counter and…retreats to the corner by the door, far as he can get from whatever’s said next. He’d leave, honest, but the truth of the matter’s this:

He can’t be expected in good faith to figure out how to bring any of this up with Ed if he don’t have no caffeine in him.

☕ 👀 ☕

✨ part ii >>>

For @thefreakandthehair, who requested 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST—and since this is almost a YEAR LATE, could I possibly offer it as a normal-amounts-of-late birthday gift, more than as an egregiously-and-unforgivably-late prompt fill for you?

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

NOTE: it's important to me that you know that Wayne's accept belongs to nowhere, and is just the voice of someone I knew as a kid, who also sounded like a little of everywhere and then again nowhere. so if you think some turn of phrase doesn't fit what you think you're reading in terms of dialect? it's just that this way of stringing words together is—with intention—its own amalgam of places and times

divider credit here and here

[elevenharbor]

Thank you for this lovely birthday present and for being so kind and generous and awesome @classysassy9791 🫶🫶💖💖🥺🥺😭😭 my angst-loving heart is bursting with happiness

A little gift for the incredible @elevenharbor! Thank you so much for blessing this fandom, and I hope you have a lovely birthday! Summary: A union of those who survived 500 years. Fandom: Inuyasha Pairing: SessKag Genre: Angst/Romance Words: 250

[trappolia]

── MY SWEET VILLAIN, MY DARLING GOD

nanook. your aeon lover begrudgingly celebrates the day of your creation.

Nanook's birth was a fiery thing; a light piercing through the clouds like golden death, scorching the world once known as Adlivun. Their birth preceded the collapse of an entire universe, one that had somehow persevered through the Emperor's war and was strengthening their defenses against the coming of the Swarm's march. The old towers of this already dying world had crumbled as the sun rose for the very last time in Adlivun, marking the coming of Destruction incarnate.

But for all the chaos and death their birth brought upon, the day they came into being is of no real importance to Nanook. They do not remember the constellations shining upon their home when they first ignited, nor do they recall whether or not the heat remained or if the cold dark was the first thing they felt, for Adlivun was long gone by the time their golden irises illuminated what was left of the world.

It is a curious thing; for all they have discarded and forgotten of their birth, they remember yours.

What is a god? Certainly not immortal, that is for sure. Pantheons have collapsed with the passage of time, forgotten in the seas of lost religions. Aeons are just as susceptible to death and collapse as the universes they traverse and conquer. On the same spectrum, the birth of a being as powerful as an Aeon is an anomaly felt by the entire universe, a single ripple that results in the violent waves of a turning tide. Such concepts are merely specks of dust for them. What use do they have for such worries, when their lives are mysteries in the known worlds, tipping the balance of the scales simply by existing?

Nanook’s fascination with you could be dismissed as another consequence of the butterfly effect. They should have nothing else on their mind beside righting the worlds’ wrongs, ridding the universe of the cancer that emerges from the boundless stars to taint civilisations. War. Death. Destruction. Finality. Nanook is a jagged puzzle made up of the gods and mortals they had killed, universes scorched from existence like a supernova; and yet, you fit into their life like you were meant to be there all along.

“My sweet villain,” you whisper into their ear, saccharine sweet and painfully loving in all the ways they do not deserve. “My darling god.”

No, they want to say. They are a villain, yes — your sweet villain, if you continue to insist — but a darling god? No, that mantle has always rightfully belonged to you. For a being whose existence has been dictated by their status as Avatar of Entropy since birth, Nanook finds that everything seems to come together when you press your lips against theirs, your taste sweeter than ambrosia.

You are their most infuriating distraction, they think as you sit together amongst the stars of a universe that has yet to die, clinging onto their last rays of sun and hope before Nanook ends it all. it is their sweetest punishment, to have to sit here with you in their arms, so easily drawing their thoughts away from their duties and ideals— and for what? Looking at the stars together? How pathetic.

Pathetic, in the way they recognise these stars, these constellations. It is rare to come across any two galaxies that have the same formation of stars, as likely as to find a needle in a haystack, as mortals say. But here they are, their eyes dragging over the stars glimmering in the abyss. They know these patterns. They know their stories.

They remember the day.

“It is your birthday,” they murmur. Even in this soft tone that Nanook only ever reserves for you, their voice is a booming bass that reverberates throughout the galaxy. Somewhere, another star dies out.

“Hm?” you say cluelessly, looking up at them with eyes that shine brighter than the golden ichor that drips down their arms.

“A mortal custom,” Nanook replies gruffly, feigning nonchalance even as a shiver runs down their spine at the touch of your fingers upon their skin. “The stars are the same as they were the day you came into being.”

“Ah. So they are,” you say when you finally look at the constellations.

It is a strange thing— a humiliating thing; the way Nanook can barely breathe when you are near, and how the air grows stale when you aren’t. It’s as if the Aeon of Destruction is utterly dependent on your attention, your love. How pathetic. How miserable.

how true.

The aeon may have only ascended recently, the youngest of all known paths, but they have made their mark on the universe already; whether it is with the presence of the Antimatter Legion, or the existential crisis brought upon by Nanook’s very life. With their birth, one could no longer deny that destruction is the inescapable destiny of all the known universes; expansion, fusion, and then annihilation. It is the same for Aeons; the survival of the fittest, to destroy or be destroyed, to absorb or be absorbed. For as long as people still walk on the path of destruction, Nanook will continue to aim for the complete devastation of this tainted universe. They alone are the sole being who truly understands what a mistake the birth of this universe was. Each ship and planet may follow a different path, but what civilisation does not speak the common tongue of war? What universe does not know death, pain, destruction?

“What universe does not know love?” you would ask them in response to that. Your hands come up to cup their cheeks in your palm, and Nanook is undone. “Even you know love, my violent delight. Why else would you have remembered the position of the stars the day I was born?”

Would you like your death day to be on the same day as your birth?” Nanook questions you without any real malice, their voice breathless as you drag your thumb over their bottom lip.

You laugh, and Nanook hears the stars sing with you.

Why is it that mortals bother in the struggle of survival? they think. Nothing lasts forever, not even the great Aeons themselves. Civilisations rise and fall, galaxies materialise and collapse. For a new beginning, the book must end. It is simply the way of things. Nanook knows this. Nanook has always known this.

And yet, in these moments with you, they cannot help but cling onto your immortality. They cradle you close, because if the Aeon of Destruction — of all things lost to violence and death — cannot kill you, then what can? If Lan of the Hunt shuns Yaoshi of the Abundance for loving the living too much to the point of cursing them with immortality when it is too heavy of a burden to hear, then it is only a matter of time until they realise that Nanook is a threat to the balance as well. What is life without you? Merely the act of existing, rather than living— chasing a goal, without ever stopping to see the stars and consider the stories behind them.

in death, Nanook will be remembered as many things, and the Antimatter Legion will carry out their legacy just as all the previous Aeons’ factions do in the present day. Even if they must continue Nanook’s ideals in the shadows, the Aeon of Destruction will shadow the known universe for all of eternity— for what civilisation exists without the pain of violence and death? Destruction is a concept as sure as life and death; immortal, even if its Aeon has long since passed. That is Nanook’s goal, their sole purpose of living.

But on this day, Nanook allows themself a singular moment to hope that when they die, the universe will know them not only for the destruction they had reigned upon the universe, but for the fact that they did it in your name— for they had loved you above all else.

© trappolia 2024

[basiatlu]

I saw it was @lqtraintracks ‘s birthday and I had to just shower my joy that you exist on this chaotic space rock. Happy Birthday!!!✨

Here’s a drawn scene from one of the 1st fics I read of yours ( click here if you wanna read it, too! Warning for 2300 words of steamy goodness if that’s not your thing I suppose).

[silenzahra]

❤️ Without him 💚

Ahh, my beloved @megamagimugi... Did you think that I only had ONE birthday present for you? 😌🎂

Turns out that, a while back, when you posted this, I knew that someday I'd want to write something inspired by it. Then you also made this (specifically Mario's drawing) and, well, my mind got to work 🤭

And finally, after working non-stop for the last couple of weeks, I'm delighted to present you a fic entirely inspired by your amazing and astounding art 😄🎉

I really hope you'll enjoy this both as a birthday present and a Mar10 Day celebration, dear friend! A couple of warnings though: this has a few TW that I'll list in a minute, and it's LONG. I remember you telling me I should let my stories grow as much as they need so... I did 🤭 So please make sure to take all the time you need and, maybe, grab a drink or a snack. Enjoy! 💖

I hope it's okay that I tag some friends who might be interested, but of course it's totally fine if you'd rather skip this one for whatever reason 💖 @vulpixfairy1985 @smokszyvverstar @bberetd (only if you want to, my dear bestie 🫂💖) @pepperycar @stripetkattelalala54-gf (at your own time of course 💖) @itsavee4117 @dragon-fly34 @roscolate @doodleydoo101

Without further ado, get ready for some brotherly angst... and love ❤️💚

TW: Blood, injuries, mourning, character death

✨ AO3 LINK ✨

EDIT: In case someone would like to learn more about the writing process of this long fic, you're welcome to read this ask, but only AFTER reading the story as there are SPOILERS!!

Click to keep reading down below 👇🏻💖

❤️ Without him 💚

It’s still dark when Luigi emerges from the mansion.

Or perhaps sunlight never reaches this cursed area.

Luigi doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything anymore.

Trying not to drop anything he’s carrying in his arms, he just walks towards the outside of the building.

His heart feels heavy on his chest.

It’s all been a lie.

King Boo has been making fun of him from the start.

Mario is dead.

Luigi is unable to utter these words when he meets Professor E. Gadd in his laboratory to return the Poltergust 3000. Even so, the fact that he’s returned alone, as well as his somewhat robotic attitude and his reluctance to speak, are enough for the scientist to understand what’s happened without Luigi having to openly say it. Still, he decides not to stay to listen to whatever the old man was planning to say in order to try to console him. What for?

He just wants to mourn his beloved brother in peace.

He doesn't even mind where. He just knows that he wants to be alone, to leave this horrible place behind, to go away and never look back.

With narrowed eyes and his mouth a thin line, Luigi heads out of the laboratory. He doesn't bother to turn around to give one last glance at the iron door he crossed just a few seconds before, behind which now there’s only an empty lot whose atmosphere, however, is still disturbing. Luigi simply walks away from it with his arms full, his face impassive, his body numb, unable to sense the discomfort of the few scratches and blows he’s received while battling the ghosts, nor the tiredness that’s gradually taken hold of him as the night progressed.

Nevertheless, his throat...

Luigi doesn’t know when it appeared, but he feels a lump in his throat that just keeps growing. Knowing that he won’t be able to contain it for much longer, the plumber decides to sit on the gnarled root of a tree and slowly arranges the objects he was carrying in his arms around him.

One by one, he observes all of Mario's belongings that he’s collected during the night and which, unbeknownst to him at the time, would end up being the last things he’d have left of his twin. They were what he held on to in search of a glimmer of hope as he wandered through the mansion alone, thinking only of the moment when he’d finally find his sibling and, after making sure he was fine and safe, he could give him back everything he’d lost. A shoe, an ordinary one, just like the ones he wears. A glove, also like his, but a bit wider and a little wet. A star, which he himself insisted that Mario take with him when he went to explore the house on his own, so that he could protect himself if necessary, but which he didn’t have time to use before...

The twinge in his chest is so intense that Luigi is forced to squeeze his eyelids and lips with all his might. No matter how hard he tries to avoid it, his treacherous mind shows him the images of what must have happened: Mario, arriving alone at the manor, ready to inspect it and make sure it wasn't a trap, is suddenly attacked by a horde of Boos. They’re so numerous that his poor brother barely has time to notice their presence before several of them seize his arms and legs to prevent him from trying to defend himself. The star rests in his back pocket, longing to be utilized and turn its owner invincible.

But the Boos are stronger when they are united.

Mario didn't stand a chance.

The first tears begin to escape from the corners of Luigi's eyes and slide down his cheeks. The plumber doesn’t hold back the accompanying sob, which is followed by several more as his heart slowly bleeds. His shoulders shake and he brings a hand to his face while, with the other, he presses the last two objects he has left of his older sibling against his chest with all his might.

The hat. Luigi was surprised to find it in the washing machine, as at home he’s in the habit of washing both his clothes and Mario's by hand, but he simply took it to Madame Clairvoya as soon as he had the opportunity so that she could reveal something about the whereabouts of his twin. Now, Luigi not only understands that everything the ghost told him was a lie, but he also feels sad that the cap is so clean. It retains none of his brother's warmth, not even a single strand of hair, which was a shade of brown slightly lighter than his own.

Luigi is grateful to keep the garment, but, for him, it’s as if it never belonged to Mario.

And then there's the letter. Literally the last words his twin wrote to him. Coming from Mario, it could only be yet another attempt to protect him: “Look out for Boos, Luigi!” How did he manage to write it if the specters ambushed him? Why didn't he think of using the star to defend himself first? Maybe that way he could have escaped...

But no. Mario's priority was always to protect Luigi. Always.

Until the last second of his life.

Salty rivers flow from Luigi's eyes without any control. His body shakes in harsh convulsions while, deep inside, his shattered heart cries, tearing his soul apart. His soul, which will never be whole again, which has been broken forever. Mario... What will Luigi do now without him? How will he be able to go on without his sibling by his side? They’ve been together since they were born, they’ve never spent more than a few hours apart, they’ve always had each other's backs.

Especially Mario.

Never in his life had Luigi felt so useless.

What has he ever done for Mario? He never defended him, not in the same way that his brother defended him. He never got involved in a fight to protect him. He never had the courage to stand up to those who made fun of him, or rather, to them, because they always went for Luigi first and, as soon as Mario got involved, they turned to him.

But Luigi, despite the rage that welled up inside him and mingled with his fear, was never able to intervene.

And now he’ll never have the chance to try.

Heartbroken, he once again berates himself for all the mistakes he’s made that have led to this situation. First of all, how could he have been so stupid as to believe he had won a huge mansion in the middle of nowhere when he hadn't even entered a contest? Of course it was a trap! And of course Mario, much more battle-hardened than him, sensed it from the start.

And of course he’d do everything in his power to protect his younger twin.

Luigi sniffs, his face soaking, but he doesn't bother to wipe it. He doesn't want to let go of his brother's hat or letter. He wants them to remain close to his heart, as a way of keeping Mario's memory alive.

And also, perhaps, to lessen the guilt.

Because the biggest mistake Luigi made was to allow his sibling to go to the house alone.

Because of him, Mario fell right into the trap set for him by the Boos.

Because of him, Mario had no chance to defend himself.

Because of him, Mario is dead.

And Luigi will never be able to forgive himself for it.

Perhaps, if he had insisted more, his twin would’ve been happy for them to go together. Perhaps, if he had been with him, Luigi could’ve tried to protect him in some way. Perhaps he could’ve freed him from the clutches of the Boos. Perhaps he could’ve thrown him out of the building, away from the reach of the phantoms. Perhaps he could’ve saved him even at the cost of his own life.

Luigi would gladly give up his last breath if it meant bringing Mario back.

But who is he trying to fool? If he wasn’t able to face human aggressors in the past, how could he possibly muster the courage to do so with the Boos? Particularly considering how much he fears ghosts... Besides, he's not as strong as Mario. In fact, he’s quite the opposite: weak and faint-hearted. What could he have done against a legion of specters? He didn't even have the Poltergust 3000 when he arrived at the mansion.

Not that it helped him much.

Yes, in the end he captured the Boos, but one by one. Yes, he also defeated Boolossus, but, again, he did it by splitting him up with those ice statues so he could catch each spirit separately. And, yes, he beat King Boo. Despite the grief and pain that surged from the depths of his soul as soon as he heard the terrible truth, for once, anger took over and Luigi was finally able to trap his enemy.

And for what? For nothing. It was all in vain.

Mario was dead all along.

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

Mario wasn't expecting the ambush.

The Boos caught him completely off guard. They appeared from everywhere, illuminating the hall of the manor with their glimmering shine and pouncing on him before he even had time to understand what was happening. Despite his good reflexes, which helped him dodge the first Boos, Mario was being overpowered.

He fought tooth and nail. He punched and kicked as he ran and jumped, trying to reach the main door of the house, from which he had made the mistake of moving away. He only had to go down the stairs, maybe he could even buy some time if he tried to hang from the central lamp. Not having much time to decide, the plumber put his idea into action.

Two Boos intercepted him in mid-leap and Mario suddenly found himself floating upside down, held only by the leg of his overalls. The shrill cackles of the specters echoed around him. What the hell was going on? Why didn't those Boos turn around as soon as he looked at them, as happened in the haunted mansions he explored in some of his previous adventures?

Where had these ghosts come from?

“Let go!” he yelled, enraged.

He shook himself violently and even tried to reach the beings with his hands, trying to bend his body as far as possible, but the Boos would not allow it. Unexpectedly, they swung him before launching him into the air, which drew a shriek of terror from him as he feared fracturing something as soon as he hit the floor.

But then other Boos caught him, this time holding his arms sternly to prevent him from twisting. Mario, of course, put up a fight, eager to break free just so he could escape from there and hurry to warn Luigi. His brother was on his way to the manor. He had to stop him from setting foot in this ghost-infested place!

However, as soon as he realized how the remaining Boos were gathering in front of him like a swarm of bees, Mario stopped resisting, confused by the spirits’ attitude. Silently, he watched as these tiny and not at all scary Boos merged to form a single, enormous, round one, with a mocking expression that it fixed on him right away. Mario gasped, startled, unable to comprehend what his eyes were witnessing, and he couldn't contain the chill that ran through him when the newly formed specter’s glance flashed with pure malice, blazing like lightning.

The first blow, and the most lacerating, was to the eye. It was so fast, so sudden, that he didn't even have time to close it. Pain shot through his head as if a knife had been viciously plunged into his skull, and he was unable to contain the scream that escaped his throat. Instantly, the laughter of the Boos who were still grasping him flooded his ears, together with the guttural guffaw emitted by the enormous being that had just hit him. Mario barely had a moment to catch his breath before it attacked him again, this time in the stomach. When the Boos released him without warning, the plumber couldn't even shout as he plunged to the ground.

He fell on the stair landing with a dull thud, his nose hitting just above a step, so that the skin over his upper lip took the blow. He could barely utter a soft groan even though his whole frame felt the impact, but there was no air left in his lungs. He soon felt blood running down from under his moustache to his mouth. He was unable to try to raise his arm to wipe it away.

But the Boos were not done with him.

Mario felt a cold, ghostly hand grab his shoulder and force him to turn around without any care, so that his damaged body was left shoddily leaning against the wall of the hallway. Mario inhaled, trying to shake away drowsiness, and managed to focus his gaze just in time.

The huge Boo was hurtling towards him at full speed.

With a cry, Mario forced himself to cling to the steps beside him and held on to them to pull his frame. He tried to move his knees too and clambered awkwardly on all fours to dodge the attack, unable to stand up.

Although he managed to avoid the blow, as he struggled to get up, he felt the same spectral hand grab his ankle. Mario screamed and clung with all his might to the railing at the top. He shook and swung his foot up and down, without stopping for a second, angry and fed up at the same time, until he finally felt the extremity slip down his foot. It was taking off his shoe, but he didn't mind. He had to escape.

Finally, with one last jolt, Mario managed to free himself and hastily got to his feet. With one bare foot, his white and green striped sock being the only thing protecting him from the cold floor, he ran towards the double door in front of him, opened it in a hurry and went through, then rushed to close it behind him. He wasn't sure that a door would be an effective barrier against spirits, but he had to try.

He had to warn Luigi.

Breathless, his heart racing, Mario fell backwards against the door he had just gone through and began to rummage through his pockets. In his left pocket he found his pen and in his right pocket he found his notebook, which he always carried with him in case they received an unexpected call and he had to write down the details of a client who required the plumbing services that he and Luigi offered.

Never in his life had he appreciated having them so much as then.

With his hands trembling and blood starting to drip down his chin, Mario began to turn the pages. His eye still hurt a lot and he was sure that the damned being had caused him some serious damage, but he forced himself to try to open it to see something in that half-dark room. In the middle of his race, he hadn't even stopped to examine it, and he barely raised his head at that moment, just enough to make out a couple of candles whose faint light provided too dim an illumination for his injured eye.

But it would have to be enough. He had to warn Luigi.

If he was going to die there, if those Boos weren't going to let him reach the exit, he would at least try to leave a note for his twin as close as possible to the entrance door.

The handwriting came out crooked and somewhat shaky due to his state of nerves, but he didn't let that stop him. As soon as he had written his warning, he tore the page out of the notebook and pressed it against his chest. He needed a plan. He needed to reach the exit, either to escape or at least to be able to leave the note somewhere where Luigi, hopefully, would see it.

Hopefully, he thought, his little brother would have thought twice and would not go to the mansion.

Mario couldn't even imagine the fear Luigi would feel upon encountering such a dark, gloomy place, and, to top it all, one plagued by ghosts. He himself felt terrified, as he would’ve never expected the Boos to be so violent.

He desperately wanted to get out of there. He wanted to leave and not look back. He wanted to find Luigi before he set foot in that damn house and return home together.

He didn't want to spend another second without him.

Determined, Mario got back on his feet. He was still clutching the note to his chest when he put his ear to the double door, trying to hear something. He chose to ignore his surroundings completely, as he had no interest in discovering anything more about that house. He was resolved to leave, whatever the cost, or at the very least, to make sure that Luigi was kept safe, even at the cost of his own life.

Neglecting what was around him was the biggest mistake he made.

Once again, he didn't see the blow coming. He only felt something hard and heavy fall on his head, so violent and savage that the searing pain caused him to lose his sight in a matter of seconds. Before his body hit the carpeted floor of the building, Mario had already lost consciousness.

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

Luigi wonders if he’ll ever run out of tears. If his heart will ever stop aching as if a claw were squeezing it with all its might.

If he’ll ever learn to live without Mario. If he’ll ever stop mourning his absence.

If he’ll ever be able to forgive himself.

He knows with absolute certainty that the answer to all these questions is no.

His throat hurts like hell because of the loud, choking sobs that come out of it, which have been increasing, hand in hand with the anguish that floods his soul and has spread throughout his entire anatomy. The crying tears him apart inside and threatens to break his sternum in two halves. He doesn't care. It seems like little punishment to him. It’s too small a price to pay for being the main person responsible for the murder of his sibling.

“Oh, Mario...” he murmurs, his weeping unstoppable.

The loneliness was already weighing on him in the mansion, having to face all those ghosts on his own, but he did it for Mario and would do it again if it meant bringing him back.

But spending the rest of his days alone knowing that it’s his fault that his brother is no longer there...

What will he do now without him?

His anguish prevents him from hearing the creaking of the door to the professor's laboratory. The hurried footsteps on the ground, some of them somewhat muffled. Not even the approaching rapid gasps. The pain has plunged him into a dark and impenetrable world in which there’s no room for anything other than guilt and sadness, suffering and hopelessness.

However, there is something that does manage to make its way into the darkness of his mind.

The only thing that could.

“Lu?”

With a start, Luigi falls silent as he opens his eyes. He holds his breath as he makes out a figure in front of him, a silhouette trimmed against the gloom of the forest. He has to blink several times, though, until his vision, clouded and blurred, clears up enough, and then, silently, he looks up slightly and observes what is before him.

But he cannot believe what he sees.

No. His eyes are deceiving him, as are his ears.

It's not real. It can't be real.

Luigi shrinks. He’s undoubtedly in the presence of a spirit. A spirit that has somehow escaped from the mansion that has become its tomb and, full of a wholly justified thirst for revenge, is ready to torment him until the end of his days.

A spirit that, nevertheless, seems very solid and... is it panting?

Luigi swallows, unable to believe it. He notices the tear in the specter’s red shirt, more or less at the height of the elbow of his left arm, where a bloody wound stands out. He notices the naked hand at the end of it, also covered in blood. He notices the dirt on his overalls. He notices his green and white striped sock, visible because his right shoe is missing, stained with dirt, earth and a few drops of blood.

Slowly, Luigi lets out an exhalation as he raises his head with wide open eyes. He then sees that the supposed ghost, his hair tangled and messy, is smiling at him. A somewhat strange smile, because he has a black eye, a bruise on his cheek and blood. Blood that rises from his forehead and rushes towards his damaged eye, and blood that spurts out from just below his mustache and drips down his chin.

But it's still a smile, after all.

Then, the spirit of his brother, puffing less and less, holds out a hand to him.

“Lu,” he says again.

His voice doesn’t sound guttural or shrill, as one might expect from a specter. On the contrary. Luigi believes that he could touch the warmth and affection that oozes from the tone of Mario's ghost.

Mario's ghost.

His heart skips a beat.

He really is seeing Mario in front of him. His twin really is grinning at him. He really has held out an arm, and Luigi suddenly discerns just how close his fingers are to his face.  Ignoring the dirt on the only glove Mario is wearing, all Luigi manages to do is keep the letter in one hand while, with the other, he places Mario’s lost hat on his sibling’s palm.

The giggle he emits as he grabs the cap also sounds very real. As authentic as that of the real Mario.

Like when he was alive.

As he watches the being lay the hat on his tousled curls, Luigi tells himself that, given that Mario was murdered when he was missing all these objects and, no doubt, put up a fight against the Boos, it makes sense that his spirit would manifest itself in this way: gloveless, hatless, shoeless, and looking like he's been beaten up.

His heart shrinks even further in his chest. How unfair that this was how Mario’s life ended. How angry he feels that he wasn’t able to do something to help him.

How ashamed he feels for not having been at his side so that, at least, Mario wouldn’t have had to go through that hell without him.

He’s the worst younger brother in existence.

He barely perceives the new tear staining his right cheek. He simply blinks as the specter, after adjusting his hat, turns his attention back to him. Luigi barely has time to behold him for a moment, his soul shrieking with hope at the sight of his twin, hat and all, being again in front of him, when, once again, his sibling, or what’s left of him, holds out his hand to him. Without hesitation.

This time, Luigi doesn't know whether he should give him the letter, or maybe the star, or perhaps the glove. So, undecided, he stares for a few seconds at Mario's outstretched limb before, uncertain, looking up at his face. His brother, despite the blood, despite the bruises, gives him a broad and sincere smile, the affection he has for him shining in his only open eye. As blue as the midday sky and as bright as when he was...

Alive.

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

Even though he couldn’t know it then, Mario was about to face a long and agonizing captivity.

He remembered, even before opening his only healthy eye, the pain hammering at his skull and causing him excruciating dizziness. He remembered noting the blood sliding down his forehead. He remembered noticing the lack of his hat and the glove on his left hand when, in a futile attempt to mitigate his suffering, he massaged his temples.

He remembered the vision of an empty and lonely world, where fire danced in the dark sky and, all around him, there was only an endless stone pavement, with no trace of buildings, trees or any other living thing. He remembered the feeling of being lost and alone, the hopelessness of realizing that no matter how far he went, he never got anywhere, the fear of never being able to find a way out. He remembered the stale, almost unbreathable air and the dim light, to which his good eye soon became accustomed. He remembered the physical pain of all his wounds, his body complaining with every step he took, but above all, he remembered the panic that took hold of his soul.

The dread of never seeing his sibling again, of having to spend the rest of his days in that strange and horrendous place without him, overcame everything else.

Mario simply walked, unwilling to give up, ignoring his bare foot. He had to get out of there, he had to go back to Luigi, he had to stop the Boos from doing the same damage to his twin as they had done to him. He deeply regretted not having found a way to get the message to Luigi before the damn ghosts attacked him. Because of them, not only had he been unable to warn his brother, but now he was also bleeding from his head. He didn't care, although this time he did try to wipe the blood from his forehead with his sleeve, and also from his chin.

When Bowser fell on his back with a tremendous noise that destabilized him, it took him by surprise just like the Boos attack.

What the hell was the Koopa King doing there? Was he in cahoots with the specters? Mario didn't have much time to think about it, as Bowser immediately attacked him with his fire. He felt tremendously stupid when he recalled, in his eagerness to find a way to beat him, that Luigi, always so cautious, had insisted that he at least take a power-up with him before leaving home in case he needed to defend himself. How right his younger sibling always was and how grateful Mario was to have him. Maybe he could have used it against the Boos, he thought, berating himself, but he’d been so worried about escaping and warning Luigi that it hadn't even crossed his mind that he had a power-up that would give him the advantage.

Until, rummaging in his back pocket, he found it empty.

Those damn Boos!

His hat, his glove, his shoe, the letter he wrote to warn Luigi, and now his star too? Mario grumbled under his breath, feeling very guilty and useless for letting himself be knocked out so easily. He should have resisted more. The damn spirits had taken advantage of his incompetence and had made sure to leave him as helpless and defenseless as possible.

Equally frustrated and scared, Mario realized that he was going to have to face his archenemy the old-fashioned way. He was aware that he wasn’t in the best condition for a battle, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. Without a second thought, he began to run around Bowser to throw him off, but to his surprise, King Koopa, cackling, started to turn on the spot and didn’t take his eyes off him for an instant. Damn it, the plumber thought, annoyed. It seemed that his old tricks would no longer work...

Suddenly Bowser's head detached from the rest of his body.

Mario shrieked and fell backwards, horrified. He watched, with his good eye wide open, as the head floated on its own while the lower part stayed behind, and in the midst of his terror he was perplexed to discern that there was no blood anywhere.

What on earth was going on? What kind of twisted nightmare was this?

He got his answer when, from inside Bowser's neck, a Boo emerged, bigger and chubbier than the one that had attacked him in the mansion hall. It wore a crown with a brilliant ruby on its head, which sparkled as it reflected the glow of the burning sky. Its crooked smile revealed pointed fangs and a blue tongue, and its eyes, red and gleaming, fixed on Mario with a flash of hatred that made him swallow.

“Welcome to your new home, Mario!” the specter bellowed in a shrill voice. “You'd better get used to it, because you're never going to leave here!”

“W-what?” Mario muttered as he struggled to stand up and conceal his fear.

“You’re finally going to pay for what you've done!” the being continued, as if he hadn't heard him. “I've been planning this revenge with my Boos for a long time... Do you remember them? They're the ones you've been scaring and frightening non-stop, and that's a ghost's job! Do you hear me, you two-bit trashy plumber? Not some short, stumpy idiot’s like you!”

“Hey!” protested Mario. “Who are you calling stumpy?”

“The one I'm about to finish off!”

Unable to help himself, Mario shrank back as the supposed King Boo pointed one of his spectral arms at him. Overwhelmed, he looked around, but he knew he wouldn't find anything there, no weapon with which to defend himself, nor food or water to regain his strength.

He was doomed.

He knew he’d be ashamed for the rest of his life of what he was about to do, but at that moment he couldn’t think of any other option. So he was forced to summon up his last reserves of energy and choose the only alternative he would have liked never to have to carry out: he turned around and ran.

He immediately felt like a coward. He wasn't the type to run away, but rather to stand up to the situation. However, he quickly remembered that, sometimes, his younger brother also escaped from dangerous situations to buy time, come up with a plan and then, at last, face the threat.

The problem was that Mario had nowhere to take shelter. Behind him he could hear the heavy footsteps of the fake Bowser, whose body he imagined King Boo had just mended. Oh, if only Luigi were there with him... Mario’s sure it wouldn't take him long to come up with a strategy for them both to emerge victorious.

Even so, for nothing in the world would Mario have wanted to see his twin there. It would be definitive proof that they’d both lost, that they’d both been victims of that excessive desire for revenge that King Boo harbored against them. Or against him, rather, despite the fact that, in the past, Mario used to just turn his back on the Boos and walk away from them. He couldn't understand why King Boo felt such enormous aversion towards him just for that.

But, in any case, Luigi was not to blame for anything. Mario wanted to see him, of course, but not there, not in that empty, stinking place. The longing to see him again, to hold him in his arms once more, to feel his warmth and affection enveloping him, flooded him all at once, intense and fierce like the waves in the middle of a storm, but he cared more about his safety. He cared more that Luigi never came to that house, that he didn't fall into the Boos' ambush, that he wasn't caught in that horrendous world like he was.

Mario didn't know how, but he would find a way to return to his sibling whatever the cost. He was going to survive, if only to annoy that damned Boo. He was going to resist, for he was determined to embrace Luigi once again with all his might.

He was fed up with that nightmare, but he was even more fed up with every second that passed without him.

Then, overcome by tiredness and thirst, Mario stumbled.

As his already aching body hit the hard stone floor, Mario realized that he wouldn’t have a chance to fulfill his desires. He wouldn’t have a chance to return to Luigi. He wouldn’t have a chance to escape from there. He knew he was defeated, for pain and exhaustion had taken hold of his flesh and bones, and the darkness was eager to take him with it. He didn't want to give up, he didn't want to give in, but there was nothing he could do.

It appeared that, at last, his enemies had managed to beat him.

Bowser's footsteps stopped behind him. Mario waited, gasping for breath. He expected, perhaps, to have a paw stepping on his back or a claw lifting him up by force. He was even ready for the fire to devour him in no time, leaving nothing but ashes.

Nevertheless, what he felt was a slight brush against his shoulder, so cold and subtle that it sent a shiver down his spine.

“By the way...” King Boo's voice sounded like a terrifying whisper next to his ear. “It seems that someone has come to the mansion looking for you...”

Mario jumped and opened his eye with a start.

“Luigi?” he muttered, panting.

No! No, no, no, that was the last thing he needed to hear...

“But don't worry,” the being continued, reveling in his alarmed reaction, “my Boos will take good care of him, Mario. You’ll soon be reunited!”

He concluded with a shrill laugh that pierced his skull, but he didn't even mind.

Luigi. Luigi had ended up going there to search for him. Luigi was going to fall into the Boos' trap.

And Mario could do nothing to prevent it.

At that very moment, his heart ached much more than any of his many physical wounds. Mario hung his head, dejected, trying to find the strength to get to his feet, to look for a way out, to try to find a way to help Luigi. He had to do something.

Tears of impotence suddenly flooded his eyes and slid down his cheeks, mixing with blood. Mario cried in silence for a few seconds, feeling useless and very guilty about what his poor brother was about to suffer. If only his body didn't hurt so much, if only he could have been stronger to stop the Boos, if only he could have remembered the damn star...

He was grateful to have been left alone. At least no one would see him crying. At least no one would hear his low sobs or witness how tremendously pathetic he really was. What a hero. The shame of the Mushroom Kingdom. The most pathetic loser anyone had ever heard of. The disgrace of his family. The furthest thing imaginable from a role model.

He woke up when Bowser fell back, with all his weight, right next to him.

Mario wasn't even aware that he had fallen asleep, but, although he was still sensing the pain of all his lesions, he forced himself to shake the drowsiness off and stand up. Before he could fully stabilize himself, however, King Koopa turned on himself, with his back to him. The plumber began to back away, confused...

And then Bowser turned around at full speed and his tail struck Mario's left arm with unusual violence.

All Mario could do was scream as he was hurtled away, his skin burning from the blow.

He shouted again as he landed on that same arm, his hand and cheek scraping against the stone floor. He was barely able to utter a low groan. He didn’t even know which part of his anatomy hurt the most, which injury bled the most, if he would ever open his damaged eye again.

Bowser's footsteps echoed behind him, drawing nearer. His roars sounded more furious than before. Mario watched him approach with his eyelid half closed, still confused and disoriented. Everything was happening too fast and he, unable to forget the words that King Boo whispered to him before he lost consciousness, still felt guilt weighing on his chest at the thought that Luigi...

Mario’s eye fluttered open as he understood that Bowser's anger, which was actually King Boo's, had a reason.

Luigi.

Of course! His younger sibling was smart, brave and fast. He knew how to make the best plans and always had the best ideas. If there was anyone capable of standing up to the Boos, if there was anyone capable of finding a way to defeat their king, it was Luigi.

His incredible, agile and intelligent twin brother.

Mario felt terrible for having given in to despair. After all, hadn't he himself thought that Luigi would undoubtedly know how to face King Boo? How could he have allowed hopelessness and discouragement to take over his soul? Luigi could handle anything.

And Mario had to hold on, survive, resist. For Luigi.

He had no time to wallow in his pain.

Mario got up.

He resumed the race. He ignored the bellowing of the fake Bowser, which often mingled with the shrill shrieks of King Boo himself. He ignored the screams of his own body, begging him to stop and rest. He ignored the pleas of his poor throat, desperate for a simple drop of water. He even ignored the roars of his empty stomach, longing for a small morsel to fill itself up with. He ignored the weeping of his heart at the prolonged separation from his beloved sibling.

He ignored everything. He concentrated on running. And when he could no longer hear his enemy behind him, he dared to take a quick look over his shoulder before giving in and letting himself fall.

He didn't know if King Boo would return. He had to make the most of the time he had alone to give his battered frame a break, but he couldn't let his guard down. This time he wouldn't sleep. He’d stay alert. Watchful.

He was going to survive. King Boo was undoubtedly enjoying torturing him with every minute that passed, but Mario was planning to get his own back.

He would survive, escape and give him what he deserved.

And then he’d rejoin Luigi and never spend another second of his life without him again.

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

Luigi can’t help but observe the ghost of his brother, unsure of how to react to his outstretched hand and apparent kindness. Should he trust him? Surely it's not... another trap?

“Luigi,” Mario says in a low whisper, “it's-a me!”

His words are interspersed with a soft chuckle that sounds like it wants to burst out, but which Mario tries to contain. Luigi catches sight of how his lips move when he speaks, how his chest rises and falls, how solid the limb he’s extended seems. He can’t help but notice, once again, how real his voice sounds when it reaches his ears.

Doubts and disbelief battle against hope inside him when, biting his lower lip, Luigi dares to raise his arm. He’s convinced that this is a huge mistake, that he’ll only find air, that he’s imagining things and his mind is deceiving him and it’s all in vain...

His breath escapes him the moment his fingertips find the palm of Mario's hand.

Solid. Firm. Real.

Just like the way Mario hastens to close his fingers around his own in a protective gesture.

Always protecting him, always looking after him, always watching over him.

Luigi gasps, staring fixedly at their clasped hands. He squeezes them, trying to convince himself that his older twin is really standing in front of him, and not a specter or a projection from the afterlife come to torment him.

And Mario squeezes back.

Luigi lets out a sound halfway between laughter and surprise. Fascinated, he looks up and finds a radiant grin from ear to ear on the bruised face of his sibling, his blue eye flashing, not losing detail of his reactions. Holding his breath, Luigi dares to put the letter he still had in his other hand on the root of the tree and slowly lifts his arm up.

His trembling palm finds Mario's chest and rests on it, unsure. His brother then places his own fingers on top of his and presses them gently, inviting him to keep them there for as long as necessary. It feels warm and real...

... As does Mario's pulse, steady and calm, which Luigi soon begins to perceive.

He inhales, on the verge of laughing or sobbing, he doesn't know, and clutches the fabric of the overalls of his twin, who lets out a low giggle. Luigi observes him again, biting his lower lip so as not to let out whatever is bubbling in his throat, and, without haste, starts to lift his arm, dragging Mario's along with it, as he doesn’t seem willing to let go of him.

When his palm meets Mario's cheek, he’s enveloped by the familiar warmth emanating from his skin through his glove.

His sibling tilts his head slightly towards his hand, closing his eye to enjoy the contact, and he exerts a slight pressure on Luigi’s extremity to better feel his caress.

Luigi is unable to discern the tangle of emotions that are swirling within right now, threatening to make his heart burst. Tears well up again, but this time they’re accompanied by a smile that gradually takes shape on his face as his mind finally takes in what’s happening.

Snickering gradually forms in his stomach and rises up through his sternum. Luigi, without letting go of Mario's hand or taking his palm away from his cheek, jumps to his feet as he releases the guffaw, sonorous and vibrant, which is promptly followed by that of his brother, just as powerful. He doesn't understand how, he doesn't understand what has happened, but it doesn't matter to him at all at the moment.

All he cares about is that Mario, the real one, the authentic one, is standing in front of him, gripping his hand securely, his laughter an echo of his own. All he cares about is that he can stroke Mario’s cheek, sense the warmth of Mario’s skin, feel Mario’s fingers lovingly covering his. All he cares about is that his twin, determined to return the gesture, ends up bringing his hand to Luigi’s cheek to wipe away his crying with his thumb, his face, real and smiling and alive, full of tenderness.

All he cares about is that he can finally hug him again.

“Mario,” he whispers, his tone still tinged with disbelief.

He closes his eyes and tilts his head, his body this time shaken by the chuckles he can’t stifle. He soon feels Mario’s forehead meet his, which brings forth a sob that wells up from the depths of his being. His sibling’s touch, as always, is comforting, reassuring, a balm for his poor shattered soul which, at last, begins to recover.

“Lulu,” replies Mario in the same tone, his palm still resting on his cheek.

With a new sob, Luigi slides his hand from Mario's cheek to the back of his neck to draw him towards him, and, after releasing his limb, he wraps his other arm around his beloved older brother and holds him close. He hugs him tighter than he can remember ever having done before, running his fingers through Mario’s tousled hair and crying into his shoulder. His broken heart slowly initiates the road towards healing thanks to the presence of his twin, who, without hesitating for a second, has in turn wrapped him in his arms and embraces him with the same intensity, his hand gently stroking his back in an attempt to convey some peace and tranquility.

Even so, as always, Mario doesn't pressure him. Silently, his sibling cradles him in his arms, the warmest blanket in the middle of winter, while Luigi gives free rein to the dizzying roller coaster of emotions he’s experienced in the last few hours. The uncertainty about Mario's whereabouts, the concern that something bad had happened to him, the horror of seeing his fear confirmed when King Boo told him that his Boos had killed Mario as soon as he set foot in the mansion, the grief, the guilt, the pain, the loneliness...

Finally, little by little, Luigi frees himself from it all. With each tear, with each sob, with each instant that passes clinging to his brother, his soul begins to heal and his heart starts to be restored, its pieces coming back together in his chest now that his other half is by his side again. The simple fact of having Mario next to him, of feeling his sturdiness in his arms and his breathing in his ear, is a strengthening relief for Luigi that is born in the depths of his being and gradually spreads to every corner of his anatomy, taking away all that’s negative and leaving room only for the immense joy of having his twin back and the placidity and peace that his bear hugs always give him.

Only Mario, with his gentleness and affection, his strong arms and delicate caresses, is capable of calming the storm that had been unleashed inside Luigi and that threatened to drag him into utter despair.

“Sono io,” Mario whispers then, his velvet tone filled with the cadence of a lullaby. “Sono qui, fratellino. Sono davvero qui e non vado da nessuna parte. Mai.”

Luigi's next sob turns into a giggle. Yes, Mario really is there with him, he really is holding him, he really is speaking to him in their native language to assure him that he’ll never leave his side again. His arms clench around his sibling, and he needs to catch his breath a couple of times before he’s able to reply.

“Ti voglio tanto bene, Mario,” he stammers, his voice strangled.

His brother pats him sweetly on the back, hugging him just as vigorously.

“Anch'io, Lulu,” he replies, and his soft, melodic tone fills him with calmness and serenity. “Anch'io ti voglio tantissimo...”

Clutching Mario's neck, Luigi laughs and cries at the same time. His words, spoken with such love that they make his soul tremble, provide him with all the warmth and comfort he had been longing to receive all night, since he set out on his unsuccessful search alone in the middle of the darkness. It still almost seems too good to be true that his twin is truly here, next to him, wrapping him in his protective arms like a shield that keeps him safe from all the evils of the outside world.

Mario is here, Mario is talking to him, Mario is embracing him, and Luigi can only cry with pure happiness.

Finally, with the last tear, Luigi manages to banish all traces of doubt and sadness left inside him. These are soon replaced by joy, which leads Luigi to vigorously clutch his brother, making him chuckle in surprise. Immediately, Mario hugs him tighter, and Luigi laughs even harder as he confirms that, as expected, his sibling’s energy is still intact and could take his breath away with a squeeze. He doesn't mind at all. Nothing could ruin the euphoria of having Mario back.

His rapture is such that, almost inadvertently, he begins to spring up and down in place, and it doesn't take long for his feet to move further away. As he continues to hold on to Mario, neither of them willing to let go of the other, he drags him along with him, but his twin doesn't seem bothered. In fact, Luigi suddenly feels how Mario's arms firmly encircle him around the waist and, the next thing he knows, his feet leave the ground, causing him to clench on to Mario even stronger as a loud squeal of surprise escapes his throat.

His brother's guffaws reverberate in his ear as he spins him around in the air, and Luigi joins in just a second later, his heart swelling in his chest at the bliss of the reunion.

When Mario finally sets him down gently, Luigi steps back a little, still snickering. His hands remain on Mario's shoulders, and his sibling, in turn, doesn’t let go of his waist. Luigi has to blink a couple of times to focus his still blurry gaze, and he jumps back as soon as he looks at his twin again.

“Mario!” he exclaims, cupping his brother’s face. “You're hurt!”

How could he have been so careless? The black eye, the blood... Luigi carefully runs his thumb over Mario’s injuries while, in his mind, he tries to remember if there’s anything within reach that he can use to help him. He’s going to need ice to apply to his eye, and gauze to clean the blood, and...

Mario's quiet laugh brings him back to the present.

“I'm fine, Lu,” he assures him, even though it's obvious that it's a lie. “They're just... war wounds.”

He shrugs and Luigi, much to his regret, smiles. He’s more than used to his twin always playing down the damage he receives during their adventures, no matter how serious. Still cupping his face in his palms, he leans down to kiss his sibling on the forehead, his affection for him warming his heart, and his grin broadens, full of tenderness, as he notices that Mario has closed his eyes the moment his lips have come into contact with his skin. When he moves away, they both exchange a loving expression that speaks for them.

“Come,” Luigi says shortly afterwards, reaching for Mario's hand, which he had raised to his shoulders. “I'm sure the professor has something to cure those war wounds,” he repeats jokingly, making Mario stick out his tongue. “In fact,” he exclaims as he realizes this, “he's going to be shocked when he sees you!”

To his surprise, Mario covers his mouth with his other hand to hide a giggle as he walks behind him.

“In fact,” he says, stealing his words, amusement coloring his voice, “I just came from his laboratory.”

“What?”

Luigi stops, open-mouthed, by the base of the tree and stares at him in silence, his fingers clenching his brother's.

“It's a long story,” Mario explains, looking around him doubtfully. “Do you think ...?”

As has sometimes happened when he’s seen Mario hesitate, Luigi, surprising himself, manages to react quickly.

“Say no more.” He puts his forefinger to his twin’s lips and grins. “Let's collect your things and go with the professor. You can tell us about it while I take care of you. I'm sure he'll be able to give you something to eat too.”

The smile Mario puts on is, to Luigi's amazement, timid.

“That would be great.”

At his response, Luigi abruptly realizes that, like him, his sibling must have gone hours without eating. And maybe even without drinking. He’s seized by the sudden urge to take Mario to the laboratory at once, to make sure he eats and drinks something before he starts to explain anything, to have the opportunity to begin treating his injuries. He gazes at the one on his elbow, which hasn’t stopped bleeding, and berates himself for having allowed his twin to pick him up in his condition. Is he blind? What kind of brother is he?

Hurriedly, Luigi bends down and picks up the shoe and glove. At least, he thinks, he’ll finally have a chance to return everything to his sibling, just as he intended. He would’ve liked the circumstances to be different, for the two to feel as best they could, but Luigi is well aware that, even so, he can't complain. What matter is that Mario is alive, and he’s going to make sure he gets better as soon as possible.

He's slightly startled to note that Mario is trying to grab the glove himself, so, taken aback, Luigi lets go of the garment. Looking distracted, Mario takes it with his right hand while stretching out his left, as if he were ready to put the filthy glove on his bleeding fingers.

Luigi almost has a heart attack.

“No way!” he stops him, holding his wrist. “It's very dirty and you're hurt. Your wounds could get infected!”

Mario chuckles.

“I just wanted to see your reaction,” he admits, giving him a slight push. “And you fell for it hook, line and sinker!”

“Very funny,” replies Luigi, folding his arms.

On his lips, however, a smile dances. It's a very good sign that his brother feels like teasing him despite his condition.

And how good it feels to be joking with his twin again.

For the next few minutes, Luigi enjoys every second of them both busily picking up Mario's objects, as his sibling never misses an opportunity to tease him whenever he can, pretending that he’s going to put his shoe on the sock stained with dirt and blood or that he drops the star when Luigi turns it over to him.

Still, when he picks up the letter, Luigi notices that there’s no trace of amusement in his brother’s gestures. Silently, he watches him unfold it and read it, and something breaks in his soul with the sigh that escapes from Mario's lips. Suddenly he seems dejected, as if he were being plagued by a flood of unpleasant memories, and Luigi wants to do something to erase them, to eliminate that expression from his twin’s face, to restore the joy and lightheartedness with which he was joking with him just a moment ago. He wants to pull his sibling out of the pit of sadness and desolation he has just sunk into and prevent him from falling back into it.

Then Mario looks up and, with a smile that’s anything but cheerful, holds out the paper to him.

“This is yours.”

Without a sound, Luigi reaches out and picks up the letter. He doesn't need to read it again, because he knows full well that it was a warning, a last attempt by his brother to keep him safe.

“I wrote it for you,” adds Mario.

Luigi tries to return his gesture but only manages to raise the corners of his mouth a little. Mario's shadowed gaze reveals to him that, much to his regret, he’s still immersed in those memories which he hopes he’ll soon share with him.

Perhaps, if they carry the burden together, it won't be so heavy.

“You have a lot to tell me,” he says, trying to give his voice a light tone that he’s not entirely sure he can achieve.

At least he manages to make his twin’s grin wider.

“And you me too,” says Mario, this time sounding much more carefree.

Luigi finds himself chuckling. He’s amazed by his sibling’s ability to overcome negative emotions. Deep down he knows that this is nothing more than a mask, and that Mario won’t be able to feel entirely better until he reveals all his fears and experiences to him.

But, for now, it’s enough.

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

The first thing Mario did when he woke up again was to curse himself.

He shouldn't have fallen asleep again! He was supposed to stay alert! King Boo could return at any time, and he had to keep resisting. He had to go back to Luigi. He couldn't give up, even if he didn't know how to get out of that deserted world. He couldn't give up, even if his body kept complaining, at the end of his tether.

He couldn't give up even if it was the last thing he did in his life.

All he wanted was to see Luigi one last time. He’d be satisfied with that. He’d go in peace if he could only see his younger brother, safe and sound, before everything was over.

His defeatist thoughts came to a screeching halt the second his good eye revealed that the landscape around him had finally changed.

Surprised, he sat up, perhaps a little too quickly. A wave of dizziness plagued him, but he forced himself to ignore it.

He was no longer in the world of emptiness.

Mario had appeared, he didn't know how or why, in a room with stone walls and embedded columns. It seemed to have been very luxurious in the past, but at the moment there was nothing in it except a lamp hanging from the ceiling. Its light, although dim because it only had two bulbs, was enough to blind him, after his only healthy eye had become accustomed to the dull atmosphere of the lifeless place in which he’d been trapped for who knew how long.

Hope lit up in his chest as soon as he made out, at the back of the room, something that could lead him to his long-awaited freedom.

A door.

Mario didn't feel able to stand up again. His legs ached from all the running. His lungs begged for a long breath while his throat, dry and sore, protested ever more feebly, not to mention his growling stomach. His arm, his hand, his head and his mouth were bleeding, fresh blood mixing with the dried blood staining his skin. His eye was hurting more and more and he even feared he might lose it. His scratched cheek was throbbing as if he had a second heart just beneath it.

But the prospect of finally seeing Luigi caused all his physical pain to fade into the background.

There would be time to rest, to eat and drink as much as he liked. There would be time for his wounds to be properly treated. There would be time to give his body all the care it needed.

What mattered most to him now was to finally heal the pain in his soul.

Despite King Boo’s torture, Luigi hadn’t disappeared from Mario's thoughts for a moment, much less from his heart. He’d been unable to stop wondering how he was, if the Boos had hurt him, if King Boo had made good on his threat. Fortunately, he knew that if Luigi had fallen, he would know it deep down inside.

That would have been the signal to surrender and let himself be defeated.

There would be no point in living in a world without him.

In that instant, as he slowly got to his feet and started walking towards the door, Mario could only bring one hand to his chest to try to calm his weeping heart, which was protesting at the too-prolonged absence of his other half.

“Presto, cuore, presto,” he said to himself, gasping.

Speaking in his mother tongue, even if it was just to himself, brought him relief and reassurance that warmed him from within and made him feel closer to his younger sibling, even though he hadn’t yet been able to find him. The two often spoke to each other in the language of their homeland, inherited from their parents and grandparents, and it was how they used to comfort each other when they went through difficult times.

Italian was one of the many things that united the twins.

Soon, Mario reached the door. Fortunately, it opened without a problem and led him into a long stone corridor. The plumber began to walk down it, his pure love for his brother and his eagerness to see him being the driving force behind his legs. The corridor was winding and led to another door, which he could also open easily.

From then on, he was swallowed up by the darkness.

With every step he took, Mario regretted more and more not having a flashlight or a torch with him. There was nothing to illuminate these tunnels, and the realization that he was underground was somewhat overwhelming. He groped his way forward, his fingers feeling the stone walls, anxious to find an exit soon, an end, something.

Then his hand came across something and Mario stopped in his tracks, hopeful. He used all his fingers to slowly touch whatever it was that was in front of him. It seemed to be a smooth and resistant fabric, like that of... a canvas? Was he perhaps inside a painting?

He wasn't about to let that stop him.

“Hello?” he shouted, starting to hit the canvas from behind. His voice sounded hoarse and parched from lack of water, so he had to clear his throat before trying again. “Can anyone hear me? Please! I need to get out of here!”

He still had to ask for help a few more times before he finally perceived movement on the other side. Holding his breath, Mario leaned back and waited until someone finally removed the painting that was keeping him locked up.

The sudden artificial light dazzled him. He could barely take a quick look at the kind of art gallery he had ended up in before the person who had freed him caught his attention.

“Mario!” exclaimed the tiny little man, still carrying the canvas he’d just taken down from the wall.

He was short, shorter than him, which was saying something, and he had no hair except for a white streak that stood out on his forehead. He couldn't see his eyes because he was wearing glasses with spiral lenses, as well as a lab coat.

Had Mario stumbled upon... some kind of scientist?

“You're alive!”

The little man, delighted to see him even though he didn't know him at all, carefully put the painting aside and held out his hand to help him down. Mario accepted his offer, but despite this, he almost fell as he descended from the gap in the wall, as weak and dizzy as he was. Somehow, he had already become accustomed to people, especially the Toads, recognizing him and getting excited whenever they saw him in the streets of the Mushroom Kingdom, but when this person helped him up, he appeared genuinely pleased to have run into him, as if he missed him even though he didn't know him. Mario smiled at him, grateful and also very relieved to finally be able to interact with someone other than the damned King Boo, but he couldn't pay attention to the man’s words. He had to get his bearings in order to finally find Luigi.

It was, in fact, the name of his twin on the lips of the professor that caught his attention.

“Luigi?” he exclaimed, springing to him. “Is he here? Is he all right?”

“He's outside,” the old man explained, and his enthusiasm faded a bit. “He's... well, he thinks that you're...”

He didn't need to finish the sentence. Mario's shoulders sank slightly as he understood what his brother must be experiencing, but he was immediately overcome with determination.

“I have to see him,” he declared, clenching both fists, one bare and wounded, the other covered by a glove that was far from white. “Where is he?”

“Over here, son!” The scientist was soon cheered up again and led the way. “He's going to be so happy to see you!”

Mario was pleased to tell that the man seemed truly delighted. He wondered if he had been assisting Luigi while he remained trapped in that horrible environment that he preferred never to remember, and he was glad that his younger sibling had been able to count on his help.

Anticipating the second when he’d finally be reunited with him, Mario didn’t even pay attention to the rooms he passed through after the professor. He simply followed him up the stairs, ignoring the noises coming from some rooms whose doors remained closed, the pain of his lesions and the exhaustion of his body completely forgotten. He focused on the wooden door his guide was heading for. The man opened it and, with a smile, stepped aside to let him pass.

Mario took a deep breath as he found himself, at last, in the open air in a world he knew.

He might have been greeted by a dark sky and a gloomy and unwelcoming environment, as well as an unpleasant gust that ruffled his dirty, tangled hair, but it was still better than that cursed place where he’d been forced to flee from a fake Bowser. He couldn't help but notice, with surprise, the huge, now empty, plot of land where the mansion that had almost become his tomb used to stand. Mario wondered what had happened to it, why it was no longer there even though the entrance gate was still intact.

He didn't care.

It wasn't long before he heard some sobbing that drew his full attention. Turning to his right, he saw the leafless forest through which he had accessed the area, with a few crows perched in the highest branches.

And there, sitting on a large root protruding from the ground, he made out, with his back to him, the person he’d been looking for since he was attacked by the Boos.

His heart sank. His twin’s sobs stabbed at his soul like sharp daggers. He needed to make them stop. He needed to reassure Luigi that he was all right, that it had all been a lie, that it was all over.

He needed to embrace his beloved brother.

Ignoring the necessities of his body for the umpteenth time, Mario ran towards him, eager to reach his side. He forced himself to restrain himself, however, when he spotted the objects lying next to Luigi. His lost shoe, the one that that brute Boo had torn off him while he was trying to break free from his grip. His glove, resting on the root as if it were a ghostly hand. On the other side of Luigi, leaning against the tree, Mario made out the glint of the star, the one that could have saved them both so much suffering if he had only remembered to use it at the right moment.

Now that he was closer, Mario noticed that his younger sibling, in the midst of the grief he hoped to erase soon, was pressing two objects against his chest: his hat, which looked much cleaner than the last time he had it on his head... and the short letter he had written for him.

So, in the end, Luigi had found the note.

Mario let his shoulders drop. He was unable to smile while his twin was still in tears, but he felt a bit relieved to know that his warning had reached its intended recipient. And after all, Luigi was there, safe and sound. He had certainly outwitted the Boos. In fact, Mario then realized that he must have defeated King Boo too, or else he wouldn't be there right now.

Pride filled his heart and spread throughout his hurt frame, and he had to restrain himself from pouncing on Luigi and wrapping him in his arms with all his love and joy.

His brother was sad. He had to proceed slowly and carefully so as not to frighten him. He was going to prove to him that King Boo had lied to him. He was going to embrace him and allow him to cry in his arms while, he hoped, offering him the comfort and affection he needed.

Grinning softly, Mario held out his gloved hand and pronounced the name he used to call his sibling.

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

“Lu.”

Luigi is startled by the concern that shines through his twin’s voice. He blinks a couple of times, returning to reality, and manages to focus again. Mario is staring at him with a smile full of adoration, but in his eyes, now that both are open, he can read a clear glint of worry.

Luigi purses his lips. He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve for his brother to be so attentive to him, to go out of his way for him, to look out for him even when the most harmed one and who’s had the worst time of the two is Mario. Luigi only got a few bruises here and there, so slight that he doesn’t even remember them anymore. At least he’s glad he was finally able to treat his sibling’s wounds, especially his eye. Even though he didn’t say it out loud, seeing the condition of Mario’s left eye, Luigi came to fear that it was beyond saving.

Fortunately, it seems that, for now, applying ice to reduce the swelling and the ointment that the professor lent them will be enough for the eye to begin to heal. Luigi has decided that the first thing he’ll do the next day, as soon as they’ve rested, will be to take Mario to the Mushroom Kingdom hospital. His eye is going to need more than just ice to heal completely.

Luckily, the other lesions are healing well. Luigi has taken care to disinfect them all before bandaging or covering them in some way. His heart tumbled as he registered the seriousness of all of them and he berated himself, once again, for his negligence when he met up with Mario. He almost had to carry him back to the laboratory, as dizziness was taking over him even though Mario tried as hard as he could to hide it. His poor big brother... Now he has a bandage around his head to cover the huge injury that Boolossus caused to knock him out. That damn Boo... If Luigi had known what he’d done to Mario, if he’d had the slightest idea, he would’ve made sure the being paid for daring to hurt his twin.

He consoles himself by thinking that, at least, the specter is locked up now, like his king and all the other Boos who were bold enough to cause his sibling so much suffering. At least they’re paying for what they’ve done. At least they’ll rot forever on those canvases, from whence they should never have left.

Luigi jumps a little when Mario's fingers, with extreme delicacy, graze his cheeks. He lifts his gaze from the arm he’s bandaging and, looking back at his brother, Luigi notes that his eyes are blurry, and is surprised when his twin’s touch makes him perceive the dampness on his face.

At what point did he start to cry? Was it when he heard the way Mario attempted to escape Boolossus' brutal attacks to try to warn him not to go to the mansion? Could it have been the moment his sibling described everything that had happened in that other world, surely a dimension created by King Boo? Or perhaps they were tears of emotion caused by the way relief washed over Mario as he realized that he was no longer trapped in that horrendous place and, therefore, they could be reunited again?

Or maybe they’re simply tears of rage at the impotence he feels at not having been able to save his adored older brother from all his ordeal.

And to think that he felt alone and terrified as he wandered through that gloomy building alone... He could almost laugh at his stupidity. What he went through was nothing compared to what Mario had to face.

And it's all his fault.

He was the one who believed wholeheartedly that the contest was real. He was the one who got his hopes up thinking he had won something. He was the one who told Mario about his supposed new house.

He got him involved in all of that and Mario almost died.

Only to protect him.

If only there were a way to go back and spare his beloved twin all that torment...

Unable to contain himself, Luigi lets go of the bandages in a haphazard manner and pounces on Mario, who jumps back startled. However, his sibling is quick to return the embrace with a slight tender chuckle, and Luigi takes a deep breath to try to hold back his sobs as he senses Mario's reassuring pats on his back. He brings him closer and forces himself to release the air slowly.

“It's all over, Lulu.”

Mario's voice, sweet and reassuring, is like a delicate and loving caress that makes him smile. Luigi hugs him a little tighter as he nods, unable to speak.

“We're together, okay?” his brother continues, his tone full of serenity and adoration. “We're together and we'll never be separated again.”

A soft, warm kiss is pressed on his temple, and the love and care present in the gesture cause Luigi to melt. He tightens his eyelids as hot drops flow, wetting his twin’s shirt and drawing from him a sob that he cannot repress. Luigi sniffles for a moment and presses his cheek against his sibling’s, who strokes his hair affectionately. When he moves away from him, Mario hastens to cup his face and continues to gently wipe his tears away.

Luigi blinks and purses his lips in an effort to calm himself down. His brother's grin, as well as the sweetness with which he tries to comfort him, warms his heart and helps him, at last, to smile back.

“M-Mario, I...” he manages to say, his throat trembling.

He raises an arm to reach for one of his hands and Mario does not hesitate to interlace his fingers with his. Luigi clings to him and to the firmness that the contact transmits to him in an attempt to ground himself and try to find his voice.

The squeeze that Mario gives his hand is enough for him to manage to form the words.

“I'm so sorry, Mario,” he apologizes in a strangled tone. “I'm so sorry for dragging you into this...”

“Hey, hey,” Mario interrupts in a low but firm whisper.

Luigi perceives his twin’s palm pressing lightly against his cheek, trying to deepen the caress. He closes his eyes, moved, but, as much as he wants to, guilt won't let him stop crying.

“Lulu, you didn't drag me into anything,” Mario assures him. “King Boo framed us both, remember?

“Yeah, but I fell for it...”

“And so did I,” interrupts Mario, smiling, and lets out an ironic cackle. “In any case, we'd both be a couple of complete idiots, wouldn't we?”

That makes him giggle. His sibling always knows what to say or how to act to make him feel better, and Luigi is aware of his immense luck for having Mario in his life. He still feels guilty and undeserving of his forgiveness, but the quiet chuckles that his brother manages to draw out of him do lighten the weight on his heart a little.

“If only I could’ve spared you so many bad wounds,” he laments, observing, one by one, the injuries he has just bandaged.

“Well, every cloud has a silver lining,” replies Mario, amused. “I already have a costume for next Halloween: I'm a mummy!” he adds, lifting his half-bandaged arm and pointing at his head.

Luigi's guffaw comes from deep within and is genuine and thunderous. He’s amazed at himself for having emitted such a sound, but he has no regrets: not only does he feel better thanks to his twin, no longer wanting to weep, but Mario also joins in his laughter, looking at him with shining eyes. Seeing his older sibling amused again, slowly healing thanks to his nurturing and the food the professor kept in his laboratory, fills Luigi with so much joy and peace that he’s unable to describe in words, but which fill his soul with placidity and harmony.

He can't wait to take him home and make him one of his favorite dishes. Lasagna, perhaps, or spaghetti Bolognese. Or maybe he'd prefer his favorite pizza? Luigi doesn't mind, as long as he can take care of his beloved brother as he deserves and, in his own way, try to make up for everything he’s suffered.

He then notices the intense glance Mario is giving him, his blue eyes so glistening with affection that it only makes his smile widen.

“Besides, Lu...” Mario sighs and gently squeezes his hand, “you know I'd do it for you again. I'd go through the same thing all over again just to see you in the end. I wouldn't change a thing.”

He concludes with a shrug, as if what he’s just said means nothing, as if he didn’t just completely open his heart to his twin and fully reached Luigi's. He grins, his smile and his gaze full of love and devotion, as if he wanted to proclaim to the four winds how much he adores his little brother, but it was enough for him that Luigi knew.

Luigi, of course, needs no more to be moved. His lower lip trembles and his eyes are misting again, this time because of the tenderness that his sibling’s words have awakened inside him, but he tries to keep his throat clear.

“And-I t-too, Mario,” he says from the heart. “I w-would do it again t-too.”

Without letting go of his fingers or lowering his arm, Mario lets out a moved chuckle.

“Oh, Lu, you don't have to. I know how much you fear ghosts. You’re so brave for facing them all, but I’d never ask you to do it again.”

“I would,” Luigi assures him, nodding vehemently. “For you, I would.”

This time it's Mario's turn to get emotional. Luigi can see it in the way his eyes shine and his lips purse, in the unhurried way he takes a breath and releases it just as slowly. As if he can't believe his luck in having a younger twin like him.

But the lucky one, of course, is Luigi.

“Ti ho già detto quanto ti voglio bene, Lulu?” stammers Mario, his voice faltering.

Now it’s Luigi who, unable to contain himself, giggles tenderly, so much more moved than he feels able to express.

“Ti ho detto io quanto ti voglio bene, Mario?” he replies in the same tone.

The two chuckle in unison and close their eyes. Their foreheads touch, with extreme care due to Mario's bandages, but that doesn't stop him from placing his fingers on the back of Luigi's head to draw him closer. With their hands joined, they laugh and cry in silence, without haste, for everything they need is right there in front of them.

Mario is the first to bend down to put his arms around Luigi. He rests his head on his shoulder and embraces him tightly, squeezing him hard on purpose to make him laugh. Luigi, delighted to receive one of his older sibling’s bear hugs again, can only squeeze him back with the same enthusiasm.

He’s missed him so much.

“It feels so good to have you back with me, little brother,” Mario whispers in his ear, and Luigi thinks he could melt.

“It feels so good to have you back in my arms, big brother,” he replies, cuddling him.

Mario giggles, unwilling to release him, and rubs his head against his shoulder. Luigi is even more moved when he realizes that his twin is snuggling up against his chest.

“I swear you’re just as soft as a pillow,” Mario mutters without opening his eyes, his voice a little muffled.

Luigi lets out a soft chuckle at his brother's attitude and the serene smile that adorns his lips. Without a doubt, after all that’s happened and having stayed awake long enough to tell his story and for Luigi to tend to his wounds, the time has come for Mario to finally rest.

Judging by how unwilling his sibling seems to open his eyes again, Luigi gets that he’s beaten him to the decision. Laughing again, he holds Mario close and strokes his head gently.

“If you want, I can be your pillow,” he offers in a whisper, cradling him lovingly.

“That would be very nice.”

Mario's voice sounds weak, barely a murmur. Luigi knows very well that his twin is about to fall asleep, so, without letting go of him, he begins to lie down. He’s grateful that the professor has ceded his room to them so that they can have some privacy and a place to give in to drowsiness, and he’s pleasantly surprised at how comfortable the mattress is on which he’s now reclined. He looks down at Mario and what he sees fills him with warmth and tenderness.

His older brother, lying right on top of him, has curled up against his chest, his extremely placid expression and his slightly parted mouth are clear indicators that he’s already in the land of dreams. Luigi exhales and holds him tight, wondering if he’ll ever come to understand the magnitude of everything his sibling has lived through, of everything he’s suffered, for him.

Sensing his grip, Mario sighs in his sleep and clings to the strap of Luigi's overalls, who in turn sighs, his heart swelling so much he thinks it could burst. After that long and scary night, he could ask for nothing more than to have his twin like this, resting in his arms, finally safe and feeling so secure and warm that he immediately dropped off. Love floods his body when Luigi, taking care not to wake him, leans down to press his lips to Mario's forehead, on a spot free of bandages, and keeps them there for a few seconds, wishing that they can transmit to his brother all the peace, serenity and affection that he’s experiencing at the moment. With luck, they’ll bring him golden dreams.

“Sogni d’oro, fratellone,” he whispers, each one of his words filled to the brim with love.

Feeling the new breath escaping from Mario's half-open mouth, Luigi is satisfied and, without letting go, he lays his head on the pillow and closes his eyes.

Now that the nightmare is over, he too can afford to take a nap.

After all, he’s finally with him again.

[sofmoth]

Smooth Stuff

for her birthday, @strang3lov3 challenged me to write dennis reynolds, and to use his DENNIS system on the reader. naturally i’m nervy because who can do dennis but glenn howerton honestly??? and genuinely not to suck myself off but i feel like i met the brief LMAO

this is for all us dennisfuckers, dennisfucker nation stand up!!!

also posted to AO3 by me (@sofmoth), link here.

divider created by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

dennis reynolds x reader. WC: 2.3k

DO NOT BOTHER INTERACTING IF YOUR BIO IS AGELESS OR BLANK.

18+ ONLY. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED ON SIGHT.

HEED ALL WARNINGS:

DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. dennis is a literal sociopath, dennis is manipulative, dennis manipulates reader for sex, dubcon, reader is psychologically tortured, sober sex with a drunk person, reader gets drunk, canon-typical dennisisms, no confirmed relationship, use of the DENNIS system, smut. once more for the cheap seats, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

“My name’s Dennis, I’m collecting donations for the Boys & Girls Club.”

That’s how it started. He’d come in to ask if there were any old toys your store was about to throw out, and if you would consider donating them instead. Unfortunately not, you’d told him, but you were pretty sure you had a phone number he could call and he might have some luck with that. You’d written it down on a Post-It for him with the name of the person he should ask for, and then you handed him a Post-It with your name and number. You’d never been so bold before; something about him inspired that in you.

He called you every other night, and you talked for a few hours each time. It felt like nothing, talking to Dennis was as easy as breathing. He was charming, and funny, and he actually listened to you bitch about the day you had at work instead of interrupting every 38 seconds to talk about himself. Friday night, near the end of your call, he asked if you’d ever been to a restaurant called Guigino’s. He’ll be taking you on Sunday.

You don’t know why you’re so nervous walking to the restaurant with him; you’ve gotten pretty comfortable with him over the phone. He can probably sense your anxiety, hooking his arm into yours as you walk. You hear it before you see it, Dennis groans and you look up. A sign on the door reads CLOSED, and Dennis holds his face in his hand. He sighs, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Unbelievable, I’m sorry. How about we take a rain check on this? We can grab a pizza or something and head back to my place, watch a movie? My roommate’ll be there but he keeps to himself. If that’s okay with you, of course.” You hum, bite your lip.

“Okay. It’s still Italian.” You stifle a nervous giggle and Dennis chuckles, wrapping his arm over your shoulder as you continue down the street.

As the apartment door opens you can see a man sitting on the couch, reading a book with the TV barely on. He must be Dennis’s roommate. Dennis clears his throat.

“Hey man. Do you mind taking that to your room? The restaurant was closed, we’d like to… y’know, get to know each other a bit. In private.”

“I’m not going in there.” Dennis’s jaw twitches.

“Why not?”

“I saw a black widow. I’m not going back in there.”

Dennis sighs, looks over at you.

“I mean, I guess we could take this to my room? Eat on the bed, watch a DVD in there?” You nod and he relaxes, smiling at you.

You sit on top of his covers with the pizza box between you, eating absently as you attempt to follow the movie. You’re not entirely sure what it is, but you think you recognize a few of the actors. You feel Dennis’s knee touch yours, looking over at him.

“Pretty good pizza.” He closes the box.

“Not the only good thing I’m looking at.”

God damn, does he fuck. You almost feel bad for his roommate, though the thought is immediately pushed from your mind as the head of his cock borderline bruises your cervix. His hand on your throat stifles your moans, your eyes roll back from the sensation. You’re practically folded in half, knees pressed closer to your shoulders than you ever thought possible, your arms around his neck as he kisses you messily.

Your legs start to tremble, toes curling as you feel the tension building in your belly. You knot your fingers in his hair, tugging hard as your back arches into his chest and you begin to see stars. He doesn’t slow down, if anything he fucks you harder, tears pricking at your lashes as the stimulation toes the line of too much. You silently thank God he had condoms, glad he won’t have to pull out and finish on you. His pace falters, hips stuttering as he grates out a near-rapturous “Oh, fuck.” 

He pants against your neck, wincing as he pulls out. You prop yourself up on your elbows, legs still shaking You look him up and down, the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the wild look in his eyes nearly doing you in again. He tosses the spent condom down into the wastebasket by his nightstand, pulling his boxers up and laying on his back next to you. You look over at him, raising an eyebrow. He raises one back at you.

“Oh, really?”

The next evening after work, you find one of your tires almost completely deflated. You groan, inspecting the rubber and locating a sizable screw lodged between the treads. Fucking fantastic. You sigh, chewing on your lip. You’ve only been talking with him for a little over a week, and you don’t want to seem too needy, but you call Dennis anyway. Maybe he’ll be able to give you a ride to the auto shop at least.

He’s there in no time, happy to help. He even offered to change the tire for you. As he stands he wipes his hands on his jeans, kissing you quickly before replacing the jack in your trunk. You feel your cheeks heating up, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“I’ve got some stuff to do this week, so how about we go to Guigino’s next week?”

“Sounds good to me. You free that Friday?” He smiles at you.

“Yes, I am. How does 7 sound?”

“That’ll be great. Give me a call when you’ve got time, I’ll see you.” You enter your car, starting the engine as he backs away and raises a hand to you.

You notice he watches you leave the parking lot before leaving himself. That’s the first time any man has bothered to make sure nothing else happened to you. Dennis calls that night, you talk for a bit before you both decide to go to bed. The next two days follow the same routine, but the third day he doesn’t call. You feel a bit dejected, and by 8:30 you’re two glasses of wine deep, nearly ready to go to bed. Your phone rings and you’re wide awake again, picking up without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” You’re met only with the sound of heavy breathing. “Hello? Who is this?”

“I know where you are, you dirty slut. I’m gonna gut you like a fish.”

You hang up, throwing the phone almost across the living room. Your hands shake and you stand slowly, walking carefully over lest it ring and be the same man on the other end again. You call Dennis, and as he picks up you can’t control your tears attempting to explain what just happened. He arrives at your apartment shortly, holding you on the couch as you try to calm down. He offers to stay the night and you insist he doesn’t have to, he insists he wants to if it’ll make you feel safer. You gratefully accept.

Your week is filled with mishaps and threatening calls, notes left on your car in your apartment and work lots. You tell him the only person you can think of who would do this to you is your batshit crazy ex, so Dennis comes to visit for a bit most evenings. Dennis has to cancel your plans for Guigino’s, and as he leaves he kisses you at the door with a promise that he’ll call you.

He doesn’t call. You try to only call him once a day, leaving simple and short voicemails. The threatening calls start again and you try to get ahold of Dennis, still to no avail. You spend the next week almost too afraid to set foot outside, but you have obligations that must be met, phone stalker or not. By the end of the week you’ve given up. You didn’t expect this from him, don’t know what prompted it. You can’t tell whether you were too clingy, or perhaps you weren’t paying him the attention he deserved. You sit on your couch, already down three glasses of wine and working on your fourth when a knock on your door startles you.

You lean against the peephole, trying to make out who it is. Dennis. You groan quietly, holding your face in your hands. You sigh deeply, pulling the door open to face him directly. His shoulders are slack, he looks sad.

“Can I come in?” You gesture him inside, he sits on the couch and eyes the wine bottle. “I know I’ve been distant. I’m sorry.”

You sit next to him, picking up your wine glass and finishing it in one long swig.

“I just wanted to explain myself. Listen, I was being a coward. I was afraid. I’ve had my heart broken so many times, and you’re too good for me. I was scared it was gonna happen again and I was gonna lose the best thing that’s happened to me in ages, so I did a really shitty thing and cut you out before you could do it to me. That was awful of me.”

You rub your temple, sighing through your nose as he talks.

“I… I’m not afraid of that anymore. I thought about it really hard, and being away from you this week has been killing me. I wanna be with you. I love spending time with you and talking to you, when I have a bad day getting to talk to you makes it feel like it never even happened. Please, give me another chance.”

Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the stress you’ve been under, but the sincerity in his eyes knocks down every emotional barricade you put up. How exactly you got into bed with him is a blur, but you remember Dennis pulling you up at some point as you made out on the couch. This isn’t like the first time you fucked him, he’s taking his time with you now.

Your eyelids flutter as he lays kisses to your neck and chest, peeling your shorts away as you toss your tank top across the room. You can’t keep your hands off of him, fingers digging into the flesh of his back as he removes his shirt. He kisses you deeply, you hear the harsh sound of his zipper and he pulls away for a moment to remove his jeans. He’s back over you in an instant, hips grinding into yours evenly.

You make out slowly, fingers tangled in each other’s hair as he continues dry humping you. His pace begins quickening, his breathing becoming shallow. You’re both getting desperate, and you push his hand down to the waistband of your panties. He removes them without hesitation, pulling away from you once again only to push down his boxers. He reaches over to your nightstand, fishing around in the drawer for a condom.

You could cry when you finally feel him push inside you, the slow roll of his hips into yours making your eyes nearly cross and your back arch. One arm holds him up just above your torso, his other hand grips your hip. You can feel his teeth and tongue on your neck and clavicle, whining at the soft bites he lays down. The hand on your hip comes up to your chest and you gasp as he squeezes, his thumb grazing your nipple as he wraps his lips around the other. The wet heat drives you fucking crazy; you bite down on your own hand to ground yourself.

Your hips start to sting, you don’t even know how long you’ve had your legs spread at this point. Dennis doesn’t seem anywhere near tired or finished, his speed increased and his grip on your skin even firmer. You wrap your legs around his waist, he moans openly and fucks you harder. It still isn’t as hard as your first hookup, but you imagine this is what finding religion feels like. You feel his hand snake down between your bodies, gasping at the sensation of his thumb circling your clit.

Your eyes start to water, breathing becoming jerky as you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer. His pelvis slams against yours, the speed and friction only pushing you closer to your orgasm. You whimper; the rubber band is about to snap, your stomach tenses and your thighs twitch. Dennis kisses you, hard, pounding into you and stopping abruptly. Your whine becomes a broken moan as he focuses his attention on your clit, tears falling as your entire body stiffens and relaxes from the relief your orgasm brings.

You moan again into his mouth and he continues fucking into you, and you can tell he’s close. Courteous, too. His speed is unrelenting, plowing into you so forcefully it almost hurts. He buries his cock inside you one final time, pressing his face into your tits and moaning raggedly. You almost wish you could feel him cum inside you, curious to experience the sensation. Dennis pants against your chest, squeezing your hip as you release his waist from the confinement of your calves.

He doesn’t move, holding his cock inside of you for what feels like hours. By the time he pulls out, you’re wracked by a wave of exhaustion. You can barely keep your eyes open, only vaguely aware of his movements  as he throws away the condom and pulls the blankets over you both. You feel him stroke your hair and press a kiss to your cheek, and you think you hear him say something but you can’t quite understand him.

Your alarm scares you awake, on your one day off no less. You reach behind yourself, feeling only the mattress under your palm. You sit up, confused, listening for the sound of Dennis moving around anywhere in your apartment. The entire place is silent. You pull on enough clothes to cover yourself, walking to your window to look into the parking lot and searching for Dennis’s car. You don’t see it anywhere. You try to call him, immediately you’re met with the telltale chime ready to inform you you’ve dialed a disconnected phone number.

“Douchebag” doesn’t even begin to describe that motherfucker.

[cabeswaterdrowned]

So Blue and Gansey would definitely Not have the same major in college we know this, however I think they deserve to take an astronomy class together.

[the-lone-huntress]

"The Morning After"

Gift for: @clearwillow

They did eventually get out of bed. Eventually. Unfortunately, Inuyasha had forgotten that he didn't actually own a waffle iron - but pancakes were the superior breakfast food anyway.

Inspired by The Highest Bidder

[billionstarsandhereweare]

a/n: hi fellow DD friends, I may or not may not have posted the first chapter of my jump into the DD fanfic world. hope you enjoy!!! also on ao3

summary: Struggling musician meets struggling-slightly-less lawyer. Inspiration is sparked. Chp 1/?

word count: 7k

pairings/notes: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader, no use of y/n though reader has a nickname, post netflix DD s3 but pre-DD:BA

“Oi! Barkeep! You in there?”

   Startled by the noise, you jolted awake. As you rubbed the sleepy haze from your eyes, the front door of the bar slowly came into focus, along with the digital clock above it. 4:10PM. Shit. How long had you dozed off?

   “Seriously girl, let me in! It’s frickin’ freezing out here!”

   You rose from the metal stool you had been resting on and made your way towards the tiny foyer. Still drowsy, you fumbled with the old brass deadlock before managing to slide it open. As you swung the door open, you were greeted by a bearded grin and wet work boots.

   “Dang Josie Jr., you’re not used to these late nights are you?”

   “Shut it, Jackson. And I told you not to call me that.”

   Jackson gave you a smirk. “Pardon me, ma’am.”

   Rolling your eyes, you shuffled your way back to your regular position behind the bar. You’d be worried that Josie would be disappointed for opening 10 minutes late, but none of the regulars were waiting, and Jackson wasn’t the type to complain. Especially since Tuesdays were usually the slowest afternoons of the week.

   Josie had been running this bar since you were a kid, and every Tuesday was the same. For most of your school years, you could be found doing homework in the back, stealing peanuts from the bar and stashing leftovers in the walk-in while your mom finished up her shift at the hospital in Uptown. Your apartment up on the fourth floor always felt too quiet, and as long as you stayed out the way, Josie didn’t mind you hanging around. The sound of beer bottles clinking, electronic dings from the dart boards, and clacking of billiard balls was better for your concentration than any white noise machine anyway. Mom had moved to Florida about ten years ago, but you stayed behind in the apartment while in college. You still studied in the back corner of Josie’s, the only change being that you added rum to your sodas. After graduation, she offered you a job to help stay afloat while you job-hunted. She was practically family and was much happier to bring on someone she already knew and trusted. You’d always had it as a fallback plan between jobs at music shops, private lessons, and your never-ending auditions for a consistent spot in an orchestra. Years had gone by since your first night there, and though your frustration grew more and more each day without a performance gig, you appreciated the steady income nonetheless.

   “How long did Josie say she’d be out?” Jackson’s voice floated out from the back room, thuds following as he grabbed cases of beer and rearranged kegs.

   “Couple of weeks, most likely. I told her to take whatever time she needed, it’s not like she’s had a vacation in the last however many years. I was starting to think she was literally chained to this place.” You really wouldn’t have been surprised if you found an actual shackle underneath the counter, with how much Josie worked.

   He chuckled as he headed your way to check the canned beer fridge under the counter. An impressed smile crossed his face once he realized that not only was that full, but so was everything on the rail and the shelves.

   “You’re making my job too easy, friend. Paula and I left everything a mess last night. What time did you even come in today to get this all taken care of?” Jackson asked.

   “Around one or so. Eastern was here for a liquor delivery, so I popped down after my lessons.” Grabbing a rag from the ‘clean’ bucket under the sink, you squeezed behind him to start wiping up the rain he tracked in. 

   “For real though, if you needed help getting things set up, you could’ve called. I’m less than half a mile from here.”

   You didn’t look up from the water on the floor you were trying to sop up. 

   “Does it look like I needed any help?”

   Jackson faltered, voice falling. “I mean, no, I just…”

   Now you glanced up at his six-foot-something frame. He seemed so much taller at this angle, yet he was almost shrinking back. It would have been almost amusing, him being afraid of you, but guilt immediately crept up in your chest instead.

   “I’m sorry, Jackson. I’m just stressed out,” you admitted, “and I do appreciate the offer. Rough auditions this week, and I’m not used to working every night at the bar. Josie might never take another vacation if she finds out I asked you to help open, though.”

   “Hah! Ain’t that the truth. Well, lemme know if anyone gives you trouble tonight, and I’m there,” clapping you on the back before he took his seat at the stool by the bar’s entrance. 

   You pulled yourself up off the floor, stretching and rolling your shoulders before tossing the wet rags into the ‘dirty’ bin. The bell on the front door jingled as the tension in your back released a little, settling into the normal weeknight routine as patrons filtered in for their usual drinks and games of pool.         

   Before you could even register time moving, nine-thirty rolled around and the bar was bustling. A couple of bikers by the pool tables loudly challenged their buddies to another round while a few others took turns at the dart boards, chatter and conversation filling the air. You were in your normal flow of handing out drinks, refilling the ice bin, and hollering at Jackson to grab yet another case of beer from the back when you heard a cheerful voice say,

   “Well, it’s certainly nice to see you back instead of our usual wicked witch of a bartender!”

   You turned around to be greeted by two men around your age, leaning on the bar. They stuck out in your memories of the usual Tuesday regulars, mainly because they were both in suits, a stark contrast to the usual biker vests and dirty canvas construction jackets usually seen. The blond one grinned at you, while his dark-haired friend had turned his head off to his left, eyes hidden behind maroon-colored lenses.

   You gave the stocky blond a bit of a glare, crossing your arms across your chest. 

   “Ah, Foggy Nelson.”

   “The one and only!”

   “Don’t think I’ve forgotten your incident with the popcorn machine last fall.”

   He threw his arms out in exasperation and sighed, “Aw come on! It was a one-time occurrence, and I promise I made it up to Josie.”

   “I don’t think calling her a wicked witch is a great way of making it up to her. Besides, I was the one sweeping up popcorn for hours, not her.”

   “Alright fine, I guess I owe you for that. Why don’t you throw a drink for you on the firm’s tab with ours, I’ll take-“

   You were already pouring a tall draft and a whiskey before he finished the sentence. 

   “Whatever beer is on special. Whiskey on the rocks for Matt,” nodding in his friend’s direction. “And no, Foggy Nelson, this is not going on your firm’s supposed tab. It’ll be $6 each.”

   “What if I wanted something different?” frowned Foggy, picking up the frosty mug you slid in front of him.

   “It may have been three months since I worked a Tuesday, but you’re pretty predictable. You only order something different if you’re trying to impress a woman and I’m pretty sure Matt’s not one,” you replied, barely managing to keep a straight face as Matt held back a chuckle.

   “That’s… creepy, but impressive. I’ll give you that one, Z.”

   Their nickname, well Foggy’s really, finally made you crack a smile. He had drunkenly bestowed it on you last summer when you and Josie were both behind the bar, as apparently “Jo and Z” was the funniest thing to him at the time.

   “Hah! I knew I could break that scowl!” he said before turning around to head to him and Matt’s usual booth in the corner, stopping between to strike up conversation with one of the bikers.

   “Truly is a golden retriever type, isn’t he?” you said, chuckling as you exchange a glass for Matt’s card.

   “The enthusiasm never ends. Been like that since I met him.” Matt replied warmly, taking a sip of his drink. “I think he’s just excited to see you’re back, you’ve always been a little easier than him on Josie.”

   “Eh, to be fair, Josie’s had to put up with him for longer.”

   “That’s true. Speaking of, I’m assuming you’re here on a Tuesday because she’s out? Everything okay?”

   You nodded and said, “Very astute of you. She’s out in Michigan for a couple of weeks, so it’s just me and Jackson running the place tonight. Finally convinced her to take a vacation.”

   Matt raised an eyebrow. “Josie? Vacation? Never thought I’d hear those words together.”

   “Trust me, it was no small feat.”

   “Well, I’m glad she’s taking the time off. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her leave the bar. Go ahead and leave the card open, we’ll be here awhile. It’s good to see you again, Z.” Matt said, emphasizing your nickname with a small, amused smile.

   “Good to see you guys too. I’ll come and check on your drinks in a bit.” He gave you a quick nod and flashed you a bigger grin, one that stopped you for just a couple seconds longer than it should. 

It took you just a beat, but you managed to snap out of it, tossed your towel over your shoulder, and got back to work. You really need to get some proper rest girlfriend, thinking to yourself while shaking your head. Banter is half of what a bartender’s job is. Can’t be letting some dark-haired regular throw you out of your groove.

   The night continued to rush by, a few rounds of draft specials for the mechanics up front, fives in exchange for quarters for the bikers at the pool table, vodka crans for the out-of-place college girls trying and failing to flirt with Jackson up front. He was effective as a bouncer, but there was something about the long, dirty blond hair tied back in a man-bun that college girls were drawn right to. They never made it far enough to realize Jackson’s type was guitar-playing hipster guys. As you started to head to Foggy and Matt’s table a little before midnight to grab their empties and hand out another round, you were still on autopilot. 

   “I’m just saying, this could bring in a lot of money. You remember what that is right? That green stuff that lets us pay rent and buy food?”

   You probably shouldn’t have listened in, but you couldn’t help but eavesdrop. Comes with the territory, you thought to yourself.

   “Foggy, I get that, but we started our firm to help people who need it. Not some sketchy guy working for a construction company that we can’t find any sort of information on.”

   “How do you know he’s sketchy? What, did you use your ESP or something?”

   “Knock it off. You know what I-” 

   Distracted, you stumbled over the uneven floor and the empty bottles in your left hand clattered to the ground in front of their booth. At least you managed to keep the tray in your right hand somewhat balanced. So much for staying in a groove.

   “Look, it’s the wicked witch’s assistant!” an inebriated Foggy exclaimed, grinning and throwing his hands out in your direction. 

   After setting their drinks down on the table behind you, you crouched down to grab the empties rolling away. “Not doing super great at that, seeing as I’m throwing empty bottles at my regulars.”

   “I think Josie would approve,” Matt said with amusement in his voice.

   “Speak for yourself Matt, but I don’t much appreciate having things thrown at me,” Foggy shot in mock offense, his nose in the air. 

   “My sincerest apologies, Mr. Nelson. I’ll make sure I only throw things at the blind man,” you fired back without thinking. Right after the words left your mouth, Foggy choked on his beer, sputtering and shaking with laughter. As you realized what you said, your cheeks immediately flushed red and you stuttered out, “God, sorry Matt, I swear it was a joke – I didn’t-“

   Matt let out a sympathetic laugh as he elbowed Foggy in the ribs, saying, “You only need to be sorry if Foggy drowns in his beer.”

   You winced. “God no, seriously, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think about-“

   “Really, it’s fine. He makes worse jokes on an hourly basis at this point,” Matt said waving his hand, giving you a reassuring look that made the heat in your face fade just a little.

   “Well, either way, I feel bad. Either for the joke or for making Foggy inhale his beer. Next round’s on me, just don’t tell Josie,” you offered, smiling at them both before sliding their drinks over.

   Foggy flashed a smile back about as bright as a spotlight while Matt gave a thumbs-up before you walked back to the bar.

   Twelve forty-five came around as you flipped on the overhead lights.

   “Last call! Wrap it up everyone!”

   You started pulling out receipts and ringing out orders. The biker guys were finishing up their last round of pool, and Foggy and Matt still sat at their booth at the opposite end, half arguing, half laughing about something you couldn’t quite hear. As Jackson started refilling the beer fridge for the final time, you realized you forgot the key to the safe at Josie’s place after dropping off the monthly invoices earlier in the morning.

   “Hey, Jackson, can you mind the bar for five minutes? I need to run upstairs and grab the safe key.”

   “Aye aye, cap’n.”

   “Don’t be a smartass, Jacks.”

   As you walked past the walk-in fridge towards the back staircase, you heard him retort, “But that’s what I’m good at, boss!”

   “Five minutes! Don’t burn the place down!”

-

   You trotted up the four flights of stairs to the hallway connecting your side of the floor to Josie’s. After punching in the code to her apartment, you entered the dark living room, immediately seeing the safe key on the end table where you left it. Stuffing it in the pocket of your sweatshirt, you decided to pop over to your place to grab your headphones, knowing it would be a welcome distraction as you needed to deep clean the back bar later on. Just as you crossed into your bedroom to grab them off the desk, a strange sound from the bathroom reached your ears. As you padded closer to the door, you felt your stomach drop as you recognized what it was.

   Water fell in a steady stream down from a hole in the ceiling right above the showerhead, and out into the room. Your eyes darted over to the built-in armoire that held all your clothes to see that it was soaked, too. There was a single step down between the bedroom and bathroom, and as you looked down, you saw water covering every inch of the floor.

  “Fuck!”

   Racing back through the bedroom, through the living room, and into the kitchen, you reached the main water shutoff for the fourth floor in the utility closet. After grabbing and cranking it shut, you ran back to the bathroom to make sure that the water stopped, and breathed a sigh of relief when you saw it did. You fumbled for your phone, managing to dial the bar’s number with shaky hands. Pick up, pick up, pick up.

   “Hey girl, what’s the hold up?”

   Phew. “Oh thank god.”

   Jackson picked up the concern in your voice near immediately. “What’s the matter?”

   “Water line in my shower bust open. Not sure how. Gonna be cleaning this up for hours. Can you finish closing the bar down?”

   “Shit. Uh, I can, but I need your register card first. Your lawyer friends are here trying to close out, looks like you comped some of their drinks. Need your card for that. Did you leave it by the bar?”

   You frantically patted down the pockets in your jeans, felt the plastic card in your back pocket, and sighed. “No, I have it. I guess the water’s not going anywhere for right now. I’ll be down in a sec.”

   You looked around at your bathroom and took in the damage. With this amount of water, you’d be cleaning it up until the morning. It’d be a small miracle if the whole room wouldn’t need to be gutted. A sinking feeling started to fill your stomach, but before you could let it settle too far, you shook it off, heading out the door and locking it before jogging back downstairs. 

   Once behind the bar again, you let out a sigh, realizing it had been only ten minutes, though it felt like much longer than that. All of the bikers were tugging on their jackets, and a very drunk Foggy was teasing Jackson about something.

   “Sorry about the wait, guys. Apartment trouble.” 

   “It’s about time, Glinda!” Foggy slurred.

   That got a chuckle out of you. “Foggy, I’m pretty sure Glinda was the Wicked Witch’s sister, not her assistant.” You swiped your card at the register and got their final bills printed out. As you handed them the checks and a couple of pens, you hurriedly said “I have to head back upstairs, but I’m sure I’ll see you two next week.”

   “Is everything alright?” Matt inquired with furrowed brows while handing back his signed receipt and pen. 

   You ran your hands over your face, groaning. “Water line burst in my bathroom. Entire room is flooded. Gonna be in there with a shop-vac all night getting the water out.”

   He paused. “Well, if you want some help...” Matt trailed off, though the look of concern on his face held fast.

   You stopped for a second, considering. Nice of him to offer, I guess even a blind second set of hands is better than one. You scowled at yourself for that thought. Don’t be rude, you jerk. Not really in the habit of inviting men I hardly know into my apartment, but Josie has said they’re good guys, so…

   “You know what, yeah, I could use it,” you admitted to Matt with a sigh. “You sure the one-and-only Foggy Nelson is going to be much assistance, though?” you asked, thumbing over at his drunken counterpart, using Jackson as support as he tried to put on his coat.

   Matt tilted his head towards Foggy, pausing before he replied. “Hah, yeah, he definitely drank more than his fair share tonight. I’ll call him a cab and get him on his way home, and then I can help out.”

   “Thanks, I owe you one.”

   “Just helping a friend. Don’t worry about it.” He gave you that wide smile again, and you briefly forget about the mess waiting upstairs. “Do you want me to wait here in the bar until you’re finished up?”

   You nodded, and then felt heat rise to your cheeks, slightly embarrassed once you realized that wasn’t something he could notice. “Um, yes – well, Jackson’s gonna take care of closing the bar, so he can show you upstairs and through my place once you get Foggy situated. I want to get a jump on it. Just uh, knock or something when you get to my bathroom so I don’t jump out of my skin when I see you standing there.”

   Matt nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll be up soon,” he said before turning to assist a stumbling Foggy. You turned to make your way to the back stairs to start cleaning up the small pond waiting for you. Just as you passed Jackson, he grabbed your arm and in a hushed voice singsonged “Matt and Josie Jr., sittin’ in tree…”

   You punched him in the stomach with your free hand before he got much farther. “Seriously, man?”

   He let go and rubbed where you hit him, chuckling. “I’m just saying, I’ve never seen you invite a guy upstairs to your place.”

   “Ah yes, because mopping up gallons and gallons of water in a cold bathroom just screams ‘romantic.’ Don’t know why I didn’t think of this pick-up before.” 

   “Every time he smiles at you, you stop for a second. I’ve never seen someone snap you out of your rhythm like that.”

   You hated it, but he was right. Too observant for his own good sometimes. Crossing your arms, you glared at him and replied “Can you just let him in when he’s done and bring him upstairs? I’ve got a mini Hudson in my apartment and I’d really like to get started on cleaning it up.”

   “Yeah yeah yeah, I’ll escort him,” Jackson said while rolling his eyes at you. 

   “Thank you,” you replied, then softened as you continued, “And thank you for helping to close things down tonight. You can go once you get Matt upstairs, I’m sure Carter’s waiting for you. We’ll worry about deep cleaning the back bar later this week.”

   “Anytime. You know I’ve got your back.”

   You gave him a tired but thankful smile and headed upstairs.

-

   Even after cuffing your jeans to almost the knee, your legs were still soaked by the time Matt got up to your apartment. You’d managed to get the wet clothes out of the built in, wrung out, and tossed in a bag to take to the laundromat. You were just dumping the latest pass with the shop-vac down the drain of the tub when you heard a clicking in your bedroom. Wiping the sweaty strands of hair that had fallen from your braid out of your eyes, you looked up to see Matt knocking one hand against the frame of the door, cane resting in the other. 

   “Hey again. Jackson let me in. I told him I could find my way back to you,” Matt said before setting his coat and cane down to join you in the bathroom.

   You felt a pang of embarrassment in your chest. “Oh, I told him to walk you back here. Didn’t want you to have to find your way around this maze of doors alone.”

   He smiled gently at you. “It’s not a big deal, it’s pretty easy to hear where you are, what with the vacuum running and all.”

   Another pang, then you started to stutter. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like- I mean, I meant-” 

   “Hey, it’s okay, really. Don’t worry about me, I get around fine,” Matt said through a quiet laugh. “Happens all the time.”

   “What, the walking on eggshells-like attitude, or making women stutter in your presence?” Oh my god, shut up.

    “Well, the first one more than the second, usually.” Matt grinned, shrugging his shoulders. As he started rolling up his sleeves he continued, “but enough about my problems, what do you need help with?”

   Your eyes had drifted towards the now-bare skin of his forearms. He looked stronger than you expected for a lawyer, muscles flexing as the long fingers of his hand deftly cuffed his shirt at the elbow. You involuntarily licked your lips, admiring how the tendons in his broad hands rolled as he loosened the button on his other sleeve. Shaking it off, you tapped the corner of the bathroom and showed Matt where to start vacuuming up water. 

   “We can just dump the water in the tub, it’s a little over two feet to your left. Luckily none of the drains have an issue, it’s just the water line. I’m gonna go move this bag of clothes out of the way, I need to take them to the laundromat in the morning.”

   “You’re welcome to use my washer & dryer, if you want. Probably about the same distance, but I won’t charge you a week’s worth of pay.”

   Josie was right, these were good guys. “I may have to take you up on that. Don’t get too much in cash tips, mainly cards now. Even with the older biker guys, you’d be surprised at how many of them have points cards.”

   You could hear Matt laugh as you dragged your laundry bag to the front door. Cleaning this unexpected mess up was certainly a little easier with good company. You made quick work of the remaining water as you swept the water towards Matt while he held the vacuum, and once the pond was reduced to small puddles, you tasked Matt with wiping out the built-in so the water didn’t seep into the wood more than it already had. You were moving out to the hallway to grab the mop out of the utility closet when you heard Matt speak.

   “So, how do you know Josie? Other than working at the bar? I can’t imagine her hiring someone she didn’t already know.”

   You couldn’t imagine it either. “I’ve actually known her for most of my life. My mom and I moved into this apartment when I was ten. Josie actually owns the first five floors of this building.”

   Matt paused in disbelief for a moment and said, “No way, Josie, a landlord?”

   “Seriously. Apparently her family’s owned the building, including the bar, for over a century. The bar was actually a speakeasy back in the 20s.”

   A chuckle. “Just when you think you know your barkeep…”

   “Don’t tell her I said anything, we don’t want to ruin her mystique, after all.”

   “Not a word I ever would have used to describe Josie, but yes, secret is safe with me.”

   “Thanks. Anyway, yeah, she’s been my landlord for 20-something years now. My mom moved to Florida years ago, but I was still in college so I stuck around. Josie covered the rent until I graduated and got a ‘real’ job,” you continued.

   “What did you go to school for?”

   You scoffed a little, and replied, “Music performance. Piano, specifically.” Not wanting to elaborate on your distinct lack of a full-time gig, you turned the question around. “Obviously you have a degree, considering your lawyer-ing. Where’d you go?”

   “Columbia. Foggy and I both. We decided to start our own firm after working for corporations at our internship. Got sick of defending faceless businesses,” Matt frowned a little.

   “Oh so you’re standing up for the little guy? We need more of that.” 

   “I’d like to think so. Eating rice for every meal is getting a little old, though. Law isn’t all glitz.”

   You chuckled as you replied, “I feel that. The supply shop I worked for closed three months ago. Until I managed to start doing private lessons, I was pretty much eating bar peanuts and $2 frozen pizzas. Now I’ve upgraded to cheap Chinese.”

   “That’s glamorous,” Matt laughed. 

   “Very,” you confirmed as you turned back to the task at hand. “So, now that we’ve got the water mostly cleaned up, I think I’m going to cut into this drywall. Gotta see what the damage is. If you need to take off I understand,” glancing at your phone, “I imagine law starts early and it’s past two AM.”

   “I don’t mind staying and helping. I don’t sleep much anyway,” he quietly admitted as he leaned against the wall behind you.

   You pulled your utility knife from your back pocket and started cutting into the drywall two feet off the floor. Once you got to the wall shared with the bedroom, your stomach sank.

   “Shit,” you muttered. “Not what I wanted to find.”

   “Seeped through to the other walls?” 

   “Yeah. Which means the restoration process is going to be more intense than I was hoping.”

   Behind you, Matt paused, and then you heard him sniff. “Might be worse than that.” He walked up, close enough you could feel the heat of his body against your back. He gently set his hands on your shoulders, thumbs grazing the back of your neck, making you shiver just the slightest amount at the unexpected, but not unwelcome touch. He leaned over you and sniffed again. “Smells like mildew… maybe mold.”

   He must have sensed the pause before you started to speak and answered your question before it could leave your mouth. “When you can’t see, you tend to be able to hear and smell things before others. Lack of one sense heightens the others.”

   “Gotcha. Well, if it’s mold, I might be able to see it, now that the wall is open.” Grabbing your phone, you turned on the flashlight and directed it at the wall you cut open. After your eyes adjusted to the light, you could see some kind of discoloration on the inside of your bedroom wall. As you squatted down and leaned in closer to inspect it, you were suddenly hit with the musty odor that confirmed it. Definitely mold or mildew. You looked over your shoulder to see Matt’s figure back in the doorway.

   “Yeah, there’s definitely something in there. Gonna have to have the entire floor looked at, probably. So much for my plan of sleeping on Josie’s couch.”

   “I take it this isn’t your first water leak.”

   “I’ve seen enough to know how this goes. The water damage was going to put me out of a bathroom for at least a month, but mold...” You pulled your braid loose and ran your hands through your hair, unease settling in your chest like a boulder.

   Matt cleared his throat. “Do you need a place to stay?”

   Your brain short-circuited. “Wh-What?”

   He paused before he repeated the question, though out of apprehension or concern, you weren’t sure. “Do you need a place to stay? I’ve got a spare room. If that is actually mold, you probably shouldn’t be around it any more than you have to be.” You were pretty sure he could tell you were staring at him, mouth agape, as he continued, voice quieting as he softly said, “Josie acts like a real hardass, but she’s always been kind to me. I’ve known her for a long time, too. Helping you out would be helping her so…” He rubbed the back of his neck, unease in his voice as he trailed off.

   You were still staring. You swore he could hear your heart, it was beating so loud, banging against your ribcage as you tried to process what exactly he had offered. Finally managing to break your mental block and work through the situation, you stuttered out, “I uh-, I-I could use a place for tonight. I think I’ll probably end up with a hotel or rental through my insurance, but I won’t know until tomorrow.”

   He relaxed a bit, shoulders dropping. “Well, pack up what you need.” He took a few steps, closing the distance between you before reaching a hand down to help you up. Taking it, you stood and replied, “Thanks. Shouldn’t take me too long to throw together a bag.”

   “Can’t resist helping a damsel in distress,” Matt replied with a playful grin. “I have a moral code to uphold.” 

   You rolled your eyes but replied gratefully, “You’re gonna end up drinking for free with how much you’re helping me out, Mr. Murdock.”

   He just smirked and repeated your remark from the bar earlier. “Don’t tell Josie.”

   “Wouldn’t dream of it. If you wanna wait out in the living room, I shouldn’t be more than a couple of minutes.”

   Matt nodded before turning and leaving you alone in the bathroom. After taking a few deep breaths, you quickly ran through a mental checklist of what you needed to grab. Shower stuff, meds, charger, backpack... As you started opening the drawers in your vanity, you caught your reflection in the mirror above the sink. The circles under your eyes, ones that had seemingly been getting darker over the last few weeks, were accompanied by mascara smudged from sweat, your irises rimmed with red from tiredness. You hastily pulled your hair up into a bun and tried to wipe the marks under your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. A few strands of hair made their way loose, and if you weren’t so exhausted, you knew you’d be feeling self conscious about what a mess you were. 

   You made your way into the living room once you had everything packed up to see Matt waiting calmly by the front door. He lifted his head as he heard you enter the room. 

   “Have everything you need?”

   “I think so. You really okay with me using your washer? I’ve got probably half my closet stuffed into this laundry bag. May double your water bill for the month.”

   Chuckling, Matt replied, “I’m sure you’ll find a way to pay me back.”

   “You’re quickly approaching ‘free whiskey for life’ status here.”

   “Maybe that was my plan all along.”

   “Can’t believe I fell for the good Samaritan act!” you laughed as you laced up your boots. You moved past him, reaching for the front door. “Go ahead in front of me so I can lock up.”

   He stepped out into the hallway as you slipped into your jacket and tossed your backpack over your shoulder, quickly following him out the door. 

   “We’ll take the stairs over to the right, it’ll let us out the back of the building,” you said as you gathered up your laundry bag. A hand brushed against your elbow, causing you to jump a little, not expecting the gentle grip of his fingers. 

   “Sorry,” Matt said softly. “Do you mind guiding? It’s a little easier than using the cane inside.”

   “Oh, yeah - sorry, it’s not you, I just get kinda jumpy when I’m tired,” you said as you let Matt move his hand into the crook of your arm. Truthfully, you were thankful for the warm weight of his fingers as they landed on your bicep, as it helped balance out the load of laundry you carried in your other hand. As you exited the building into chilled, damp February air, you found yourself drawing closer to Matt’s side, involuntarily seeking the warmth that seemed to radiate from him. A cold breeze blew across you, carrying the faint scent of leather and wood from him to you. You turned the corner, following his directions as you made your way to his apartment, and an impulsive question tumbled from you.

   “Have you always been blind?”

   You felt Matt stiffen next to you, tension running up his broad frame. 

   “I guess you get asked that a lot. Stupid unfiltered thought, sorry.”

   “It’s a pretty common question, yeah. Not stupid though. And your answer is no, I haven’t. Happened when I was a kid,” Matt responded, though you could still feel what felt like discomfort at your questions. 

   You walked a few steps without speaking, unsure of how to continue the conversation. You finally managed to answer with, “I can’t imagine how hard it would be to adapt to that.”

   “I still struggle with it sometimes,” he admitted softly, “but there’s beauty in how I see the world now.”

   “That seems like a very healthy way to look at it. No pun intended.”

   You got a quiet chuckle from that. “Took me awhile to get there. Might be resilience, or maybe I’m just stubborn.”

   “We’ll call it resilience. Sounds better,” you smiled, nudging him. 

   “Fair enough. My turn for an invasive question,” he countered, nudging you back. “What’s a classically trained musician doing at a dive bar?”

   You groaned in response. “Guess you deserve a question since you answered mine. Currently ah, between gigs. And by between gigs I mean I haven’t gotten a call back from an audition in over four months.”

   “Wow. Competitive field?”

   “It is, but I’m not sure if I’ve hit a bad string of luck or if I’m just terrible at this point.”

   “I haven’t heard you play, but I highly doubt it’s the last one.”

   “Ever a gentleman. I’ve got a couple more lined up in the next few weeks, and at least I’ve been able to use my degree in the meantime. Got a handful of kids I teach during the day.”

   “Sounds like you might be as resilient as me,” Matt replied pointedly with a smirk on his face. 

   “Touché.”      

   The two of you walked in a comfortable silence for the remainder of the way. Once you reached his building, he unlocked the front door and held it open for you, and you entered a generic-looking lobby with beige tile floors and off-white paneled walls. Gesturing to the stairs on the left, he explained, “I’m on the sixth floor, but we can take the service elevator.”

   Just looking at the metal stairs had your legs feeling weak, the weight of your laundry bag seemingly growing heavier. “Thanks,” you replied tiredly, “not sure I’d be able to haul all this up tonight.”

   You followed Matt past the stairs down a short hallway that led to the service elevator. He entered first, hitting the ‘6’ button while you followed behind. Once inside, you leaned against the cool metal of the walls, eyes closing as your exhaustion began to settle in. You didn’t notice the elevator car opening on the sixth floor, though you did feel Matt’s hand gently press on your lower back. 

   “C’mon, let’s get you inside so you can get some actual rest,” he said. You stepped out of the elevator into a brightly lit landing, letting Matt move in front of you to unlock his front door. 

    It took a second for your eyes to adjust to the dark entryway. Compared to your apartment, which you’d always described as “cozy,” Matt’s seemed almost cavernous. It appeared to be an old warehouse that was turned into a living space, with exposed brick all the way up to the top of the easily 20 foot ceiling. Across from the entry where you were standing, there were twelve-foot tall windows that filtered the light from the street lamps outside, giving the room an eerie yellow glow. On the left, a large, frosted glass door separated what you assumed was a bedroom area from the living room. Your eyes swept over the oversized leather sofa & chairs to the right side of the space that held a simple galley-style kitchen. Dark, espresso-stained cabinetry spanned most of the length of the back wall, flanked on one side by a stainless steel fridge, and a pocket door on the other.

   You managed to pull your dropped jaw shut after muttering, “Jesus. This is your idea of law not being glitzy?”

   Matt didn’t move from the entry where he was hanging his coat. “Wait for it.”

   A flash of light lit the apartment up, startling you. You walked over towards the bank of windows, searching for the source. Peering through the fogged panes, you could make out a billboard with what looked like spotlights dancing behind it.  

   You let out a low whistle. “Good lord.”

   “Been there for years. It’s a little distracting, apparently. Got a good deal on the place though.”

   “Why on earth is that across from an apartment? That’s gotta be against… some sort of building code.”

   “This floor is all apartments now, but it was warehouse space up until five or six years ago. This is the only one that faces it, so it isn’t really an issue for anyone else. They don’t get the cheap rent, though.” Matt shrugged before walking over and to the kitchen island where he dropped his keys. He waited, tracking your footsteps as you slowly walked through the living room, taking in the space before you made your way to lean against the island. 

   “Bathroom and laundry are behind you to the left,” he said once you had settled at the island in front of him.  He motioned behind him, “Spare room is through that pocket door. There’s a murphy bed in there, just pull down on the handle on the wall and it’ll come down. Should already be made, except for the pillows. Those are in the dresser. I’ll go put your laundry in the bathroom.”

   You walked past him, inspecting your new room for the night. The ceiling was a lot lower here, and it couldn’t have been more than seven feet deep total. The wall across from the doorway you stood in housed the murphy bed Matt had mentioned, flanked on either side by tall shelves filled with books. A red metal dresser sat in the corner of the small room. 

   “All good?” Matt asked from the kitchen. 

   “Yeah. I hate to ask, but you wouldn’t happen to have a pair of sweatpants or something I could borrow would you?” you asked, picking at the damp denim against your thighs. “I think all of mine ended up getting wet.”

   “Sure, I’ll be right back.”

   As Matt left the room, you reached up for the metal handle of the bed, pulling it down smoothly away from the wall. You were fluffing the pillows from the dresser as he returned, sweatpants in hand. 

   “Here you go. Brought a shirt too, just in case. You get the bed set up alright?”

   “I did. Gotta say, it looks way more comfortable than Josie’s couch.”

   “Good. I’ll let you get some sleep then. I have to be at the office in the morning, but you can stay as long as you need to. I’ll leave a spare key on the counter.”

   “Okay. Thanks for the sweatpants. And the bed. And the help. And everything else.”

   Matt gave you a soft smile. “You can thank me by getting some rest, you need it.”

   No way you were arguing with that. “Good night, Matt.”

   “Good night,” he replied, sliding the door shut. 

   You peeled off your damp jeans and slipped into the borrowed sweats before crawling into bed. Exhaustion quickly washed over you as you pulled the sheets up and around your shoulders, inhaling the faint scent of detergent, cotton, and oak before sighing and shutting your eyes. Sleep claimed you almost immediately, your worn-out body finally at rest. 

   Somewhere above you, a door creaked open.

[cute-ellyna]

@mythals-whore From Davrin, with love :)

..... PS: everybody, go read this.

[dustisus]

happy birthday nicky hemmick love of my life my problematic fave my sweet cheese my good time boy. hope you get to see your family (your cousins and your fuckass team and your german fam) and that everyone listens to your chatter without complaining too much. hope you get to drive on the autobahn in the mas while playing eurodance on the highest volume. hope the rest of the paperwork regarding the twins' guardianship or the columbia house or whatever else is solved miraculously. hope conversion therapy is banned soon. hope you get to blow out some birthday candles and blow eri—

[quaintcy]

Happy Birthday, Noire!🎉

@north-noire Hope u had a good one!🎂🎁🎈✨

[skimmingmilk]

That sick fic ask just made me wonder how Tails reacted to seeing Sonic properly sick for the first time.

A/N: This may have gotten away from me a bit, but once the idea took hold I just kinda went with it ^^;; This was the fic I was hoping to have done earlier this week, but I'm happy to have it done now! Not quite a birthday or Valentine's Day fic, but has very wintery vibes, which still seems fitting for this time of year <3 Going to post this on AO3 in "Little Gestures" in just a bit, but wanted to have it connected to the ask that inspired it! Thank you, childofthemoon86! And by extension, the sick anon who initially requested the sick!Tails fic. This goes out to both of you!

no medicine like the hope of tomorrow

Sonic always woke up first.

On good days, the smell of hot porridge cooking over a fire would rouse Tails with its promise of a full belly. On better days, it was buttery pancakes frying alongside a sneaky slice of ham or bacon that beckoned him to open his eyes, twin tails already wagging with delight. On okay days, there were no smells that coaxed him into wakefulness, but a light nudge to his shoulder and two whistled notes tickling his ear. C'mon, Tails.

There were no bad days ever since meeting Sonic. Not even days when there wasn't any breakfast could be considered bad when Sonic was there.

But the point was, no matter what kind of day it was, Sonic was always ready and waiting to greet him first thing. Like the sunrise.

So when it was the ache of an empty belly that roused Tails one morning, there was the tiniest flicker of fear that it had all been a dream. That there'd never been good days or better days or even just okay days. Just another tally mark scratched into stone in a cave all alone.

But the fear didn't linger. It couldn't. Not when Sonic's scent enveloped him with warmth, wrapped around him even as he wiggled under his blanket. Traces of it also drifted through their campsite and, while it might not have been as strong as porridge or pancakes, it was more than enough to reassure him that their time together hadn't been imaginary. Tails was good at thinking up lots of things that didn't exist, but even he didn't think he could ever imagine someone as good as Sonic.

With a squeaky yawn, Tails stretched out along the length of his blanket. He scrubbed at his face with his paws, trying to wipe away the crustiness of sleep, then blinked at the brightness of daylight spilling into the mouth of the shallow cavern they'd camped out in. He squinted immediately. The sun was higher in the sky than usual.

Brow furrowing, Tails sat up, his blanket and Sonic's coat pooling in his lap. He glanced down at the latter. Lately Sonic had been giving it to him to sleep with during the night while it was so cold. Tails shivered, bundling his tails around himself as he slipped his arms through the coat backwards and looked around the campsite. 

Usually Sonic had a fire going to get them warmed up, even if there wasn't any breakfast to cook. The stones he'd laid in a circle around the firewood Sonic collected were still there, along with the charred wood, frosted over with sparkling dew that had frozen during the night. The grass just outside the cavern had a layer of frost coating it as well, only just starting to melt away during the sun's journey through the sky. 

Tails's gaze finally landed on the lump that was Sonic's blanket, his tails giving a jerky thump against his legs at the sight of him. A few blue quills poked out of the bunched up fabric and Tails finally picked up on the snuffly breathing that clouded the air near his nose. Tails's head tilted to one side, mouth parted in a surprised "o."

Sonic was still asleep!

Tails beat him to waking up!

He never beat Sonic at anything before!

Giggling to himself, Tails kept the coat tucked around him as he hopped up on his feet. The cold of the cavern floor seeped through his socks so he quickly padded over to Sonic, peering over his shoulder while the hedgehog slept huddled up on his side. Half his face was covered by the blanket, his fingers curled in it tightly like someone would rip it away if he let up his grip even a little.

Tails wiggled with anticipation. He crouched down and nudged Sonic's shoulder with his paw playfully. "Fwoo-woo!" 

Whistling was still hard for him, especially when it was so cold. But Tails smiled brightly as he made as close a sound to a whistle as he could. It usually got a laugh out of Sonic when he tried, or at the very least a head pat.

But Sonic didn't budge.

Undeterred, Tails pushed at him harder. "Fwoooo! Fwoo!"

A harsh cough burst from Sonic's chest and sent Tails tumbling backwards onto his rear. He sat back up, coat fallen away and paws pressed against the cold ground between his legs to brace himself while he stared at Sonic. Each expulsion of air rattled his ribs, like they were being knocked together from the force of it.

"Fwoo?" Tails's ears fell as Sonic kept coughing, his body heaving with each fruitless attempt to catch his breath.

When the coughing stopped, his breathing was ragged like he'd just outrun one hundred of Robotnik's fastest badniks. Tails pushed himself up on his knees and leaned over Sonic again. His expression was pinched now and he could see his mouth, the lines around his muzzle tight as if he was gritting his teeth. He sniffled, nose sounding extra stuffed up, and it made him swallow thickly when his breathing eventually evened out. One eye finally cracked open, a sliver of green peeking through to observe who was staring at him.

Tails smiled upon seeing that his friend was awake, his tails flicking up and down happily. But then Sonic coughed again, this time keeping his mouth clamped shut through the painful chest spasms. He curled up tightly, nearly turning into a ball as his knees tucked in close to his tummy. 

"Drink?" Tails signed, bringing his hand to his own muzzle like a cup, but Sonic didn't see it when his eyes squeezed shut through another bout of coughing.

Deciding water would definitely help a dry throat anyway, Tails scampered over to their backpack and rifled through it for Sonic's water bottle. He lifted it up triumphantly, only to gasp when it was much lighter than he expected. With a puzzled look, Tails shook the bottle. Nothing sloshed around inside. It was empty.

Sonic usually filled up the bottle before he went to sleep, just in case either of them got thirsty in the middle of the night. He must've forgotten. Tucking the water bottle in the crook of his arm, Tails flew back over to his blanket and plopped down atop it so he could pull on his shoes. He'd go get the water himself. He remembered passing a little brook when they were scouting out a good camp spot. It wasn't far at all.

And Sonic really sounded like he could use a drink.

Tails cut through the brush, his ears swiveling back and forth as he listened for the gentle trickle of water against stray pebbles and rocks. His tails gave a happy twirl as he rounded a thick tree trunk and spotted the small water source. Just the sight of the cool, fresh water flowing was enough to remind him he was pretty thirsty himself. Kneeling down, Tails lapped up the water straight from the current. Usually Sonic collected water and boiled it in a pot before drinking it, but Tails used to drink from rivers and ponds all the time. Just not the ocean, that was too salty and gross.

He drank until his tummy was full enough with water that it didn't feel so empty. That was the trick to being hungry sometimes. Just fill up all the space inside with water. 

Tails could feel it slosh around a bit as he sat back and wiped the damp fur of his muzzle with his arm. Then he resumed his mission. He unscrewed the cap for the water bottle and filled it up right to the top, so Sonic would have plenty to drink in case his tummy was empty, too.

When he got back to the cavern, Sonic still hadn't moved. Tails scampered over to him and dropped down to sit cross-legged right in front of his face. Sonic forced his eyes open, but he couldn't do much more than squint at him with a silent question. Tails held out the water bottle to him.

For a moment, he just stared at it uncomprehendingly, but the gears eventually began to turn and Sonic put himself into motion. He propped himself up with his arms, but his elbows wobbled like they were about to give out any second. And they did exactly that when Sonic tried to reach for the bottle. He landed hard on his shoulder with a wince and another harsh coughing fit as Tails scooched forward to try and help him sit up.

Sonic batted him away, successfully sitting up on his second try. He fumbled with the cap to the water bottle, swaying a bit like a palm tree in the breeze. It almost made Tails a little woozy watching him. When he got the cap off, Sonic guzzled the water greedily, his throat bobbing rapidly as he drank and drank even more than Tails did. He stopped only to gasp for air, panting in between sharp, pointed sniffs to clear his nose.

It didn't sound like it worked.

Tails took the water bottle back before it spilled, frowning when it felt like it was already less than half-full. They'd have to get some more. Now that Sonic was up though, maybe they could get some breakfast, too.

Looking up at him expectantly, Tails's ears and tails wilted when Sonic just laid back again, this time resting on his back with his face turned up. Now that he could get a better look at it, Tails could see that the peach fur of his muzzle was a little flushed. His eyes closed again and his hand pressed over his chest, rubbing a little like he was trying to soothe something that hurt. Tails's frown deepened. Was Sonic hurt?

He tapped Sonic's shoulder and his head lolled to the side to face him. Tails extended his index fingers of both hands and brought them together. "Hurt?" he asked in sign.

The dull glaze in his eyes cleared a bit. No, Sonic shook his head, coughed once into his fist, then held up one finger. In a minute, he seemed to be saying as he laid back with a raspy sigh.

Tails counted all the way to sixty twice, just to be sure, but Sonic didn't get up after a minute. He decided to refill the water bottle while he waited, but even though that also took longer than a minute, Sonic still hadn't moved by the time he returned to camp. In fact, Tails was pretty sure Sonic had fallen back asleep.

Tails's tummy complained with a loud, impatient growl. He was hungry.

Rifling through the backpack, he found the small cook pot and four paper packets of porridge mix. It fascinated Tails to watch as the dry, powdery ingredients would expand and turn into a completely different consistency just from adding water and heat. Sometimes they added fruits if they could find any, but in the middle of a frosty winter, they hadn't come across much. They had to buy most of their food in the towns and villages they passed through.

There were also two hot dogs still wrapped up in plastic, but no buns and no chili cans. And one box of macaroni and cheese was left, but other than that they were out of food. No ready-made snacks Tails could chew on while he waited for Sonic to get up.

Well, who said he had to wait? Tails could read. He could figure out how to make the food himself. He'd watched Sonic do it before.

Tails started with the oatmeal packets since they were the breakfast food. Sonic always made two at the same time, so Tails also grabbed two packets along with the pot and the bottled water. Little instructions were printed on the paper wrapping.

Empty packet in pot.

Bring ½ cup of water to a boil.

Reduce heat and simmer for 5 minutes.

The instructions were probably for one packet each, so if he was cooking two, then he'd need to double everything. 1 cup of water and 10 minutes. That sounded right. 

Tails sighed as he shot the water bottle an unimpressed look. He was gonna have to fill it up again.

But his sloshy, grumbly tummy told him to just get it over with. Besides, wouldn't Sonic be so impressed with so proud of him when he managed to cook them breakfast all by himself?

Tails tore open the packets with his teeth and poured the powdery oats into the pot. Then he dumped the entire contents of the whole water bottle over them. There! One cup of water.

He peered into the pot. It was mostly water, with tiny oat flecks that made it look cloudy as they floated to the surface. That didn't look right. Tails frowned and reread the packet. Maybe it just needed to be heated up still. Maybe that would fix it. 

Sonic always started the campfire by rubbing two rocks against the wood really fast. Tongue poking out the side of his mouth, Tails tried imitating him. But he couldn't go fast enough. It was hard to keep the rocks from slipping out of his grasp whenever he sped up and no little sparks shot up into the wood.

Tails kept trying. 

But it didn't work.

And he was hungry…

He glanced at the pot with too much water and oat clumps. It looked anything but appetizing. Embarrassment and shame churned within his empty belly as he lifted up the pot and watched the flecks of oats slosh about in the water. His eyes wandered back over to where Sonic was still sleeping, his breathing heavy and laced with the occasional grunt, brow pinched with discomfort even when he wasn't awake to feel it. 

Tails couldn't feed him this, but he couldn't let it go to waste either.

He'd learned before he could even remember that food was food.

Tails shivered as he drank the cold, watery porridge mixture straight from the pot. His eyes squeezed shut with determination as he gulped it down until there was nothing left. Tails coughed, his fur bristled as each of his muscles tensed up, but at least his tummy felt fuller.

There were two more porridge packets in the backpack, but he didn't want to try again without a fire. He'd save them for when Sonic woke up for real, so he could make them the right way. 

Tails slowly trudged back to the brook to refill the water bottle a third time, his tummy too sloshy to fly around with. He placed the bottle close to Sonic, in case he started coughing again, then returned to his own bed to lay down. He pulled Sonic's coat over himself again, nestling in it and his blanket as the cold air and the cold porridge in his tummy conspired to make him feel even colder.

It was easier to warm up when Sonic kept them moving all the time, but sitting still in the mouth of the cool cavern as clouds began to roll in, Tails was reminded of the wispy memories of the previous winter, huddled up in his old cave back when there weren't quite so many scratch marks on the walls.

—

Freshly fallen snow covered the ground by the time Tails realized that Sonic was worse off than he'd first thought. Harsh, sticky coughing echoed off the icy walls around them, no matter how much water he drank. Eyebrows furrowed and both tails flicking about anxiously, Tails sat right next to where he'd been lying all day and kept watch. 

Panting heavily, Sonic's breath puffed out like a train's smokestacks, clouding the air in front of his flushed muzzle as he trembled, even though he was beneath two blankets. Tails had decided to share his with him when Sonic's chills got worse, despite the heat radiating from his body. It felt like he'd been sitting too close to the campfire for too long. 

Sonic always felt relatively warm whenever Tails pressed against him, whether it be because Sonic had to carry him out of danger or when it was so cold at night they'd huddle up together to share what warmth they had. But this heat wasn't like that at all. It was wrong.

Tails was pretty sure he'd figured out what was happening to Sonic, too. It was something that Tails himself had experienced more than a couple times so far in his little life. Sonic was coughing because his throat was probably all gummy; full of thick, icky mucous that slowly slipped down into his chest and made it hard to breathe. His stuffy nose probably clogged up his whole head, too, including his ears and the space behind his eyes. His limbs couldn't hold him up because it probably felt like all his muscles had shriveled up inside, everything achy and sore even if he hadn't been smacked around by a badnik or a bully at all. And he was shivering so bad because his body was too hot and too cold at the same time and it didn't know what to do.

Whenever Tails felt like that, he'd always felt so weak, he'd been afraid that if he went to sleep, he'd never wake up again.

Because that happened sometimes. He remembered a baby flicky fell out of its nest in the jungle one day. No one came for it, no matter how much it chirped, so Tails had very carefully scooped them up and brought them to his cave, just so it had somewhere safe to stay until they could fly away like the bigger flickies. Tails didn't have much, but he was willing to share what he did with the baby flicky. He thought they could be friends.

But the little birdy shivered all night and they didn't eat anything Tails tried to give them, even though he wrapped his tails around them to keep them warm and mashed up berries so they were small enough to fit in their tiny beak.

The next morning, the baby flicky didn't wake up.

It never woke up again.

Tails didn't understand why until he started traveling with Sonic. They'd been breaking the little animals out of badniks, Sonic bouncing from one to another in the blink of an eye. As Tails tried to keep up, he noticed one of the flickies couldn't lift themselves out of the wreckage. They were too weak, stuck for too long in their metal prison until they could barely keep their eyes open. Tails cupped them gently in his paws and carried them to Sonic, his new safe place, because surely Sonic would know what to do.

But when the flicky's eyes closed and its last breath left its body, Sonic only had one thing to say to him. "Gone," Sonic signed, fingers pulling at the air as he moved his hand away from his body. 

Tails frowned as he looked at the creature now cradled in Sonic's hands. He shook his head and pointed at it, trying to convey, What do you mean? It's right here.

Sonic's expression was unreadable as he gazed at the flicky. Then, more slowly and gently than Tails had ever seen Sonic do anything, he folded the bird's wings against their body and crouched down in the shade of a nearby tree. He dug out a small hole near the roots, then laid the flicky in it. Sonic watched and waited for a few minutes, two fingers pressed over the bird's pale blue breast. Finally, with a sharp exhale through his nose, Sonic covered the flicky with the dirt he'd just disturbed until each feather and the tip of their beak was buried.

He turned his back to it, then lowered to sit on his rump and stared out with that unreadable look still etched into his face. Out at the faded hills ahead of them, where the grass was beginning to yellow the closer inland they traveled and the colder it got. He patted the ground beside him, so Tails shuffled over to sit.

In the dirt, Sonic wrote with his finger. Sometimes things don't wake up again. A big part of them is gone and it can't come back.

Like the baby flicky from before and the older flicky now. Tails drew a flicky in the dirt and pointed at it. He didn't have to wonder if Sonic knew what he was asking.

Not just flickies. He wrote. Everything.

Tails touched his own chest, then pointed at Sonic.

Sonic just swiped his finger in a straight line underneath it. Everything.

Tails could believe that when he thought about how weak the two flickies had been, barely able to lift their own heads or breathe. He could believe it when he remembered how weak he'd felt every time he'd been sick on his own or every time the bullies beat him up so bad that he couldn't move, scared that he'd have no way to get food or water for days.

But Tails couldn't believe someone like Sonic could ever feel that weak.

At least, not until that winter day, when each breath physically pained him and he couldn't even open his eyes. He mumbled a little incoherently, nothing that sounded like words, just croaky grunts and whimpers that continued even in his sleep. But as bad as they made him feel, Tails preferred the coughing fits and the grunts and whines to the stillness and the quiet when it all stopped.

It was too still and too quiet and Sonic wasn't either of those things, even without saying a word.

Tails broke up their last two uncooked hot dogs into bite-sized pieces. Even though they were cold, they were better than nothing and Sonic needed to eat. In Tails's experience, food was always the best way to stop from feeling so shaky and weak. So he pushed the pieces against Sonic's mouth until he chewed, his heart shivering as he thought about pushing mushy berries into a flicky's tiny beak.

But Sonic swallowed each bite, grimacing a bit at the cold, rubbery texture. Tails couldn't help nibbling on a few either. He preferred them warm, in a soft bun and smothered with sauce that made his tummy growl just at the memory of it, but Tails had eaten worse. The not-quite-porridge from earlier in the day was definitely lower on his list of things he'd rather eat.

 When the hot dog pieces were gone, Sonic's stomach still churned with hunger. He tossed and turned weakly, unable to get comfortable when everything hurt and hunger ate away at his insides and his skin burned like he was on fire. Tails pressed a handful of snow against Sonic's brow, but it melted fast and dripped down into his quills, frosting over on the tips. It only made his shivering worse.

Sonic needed to eat. He needed something more than two cold hot dogs, porridge powder, and a box of hard noodles.

There was a town a few miles away from where they were staying. They'd stopped in it a couple times so far while exploring the area surrounding the Chemical Plant Zone. It had an arcade, a library, and a diner that Sonic took them to when he had gold rings and paper notes to spare. He kept them in the wallet tucked away in one of the pockets of his backpack, but sometimes when Tails stole a peek inside and there wouldn't be anything there. They foraged for food on those days, before the winter frost killed most of what grew in the area, or Sonic would disappear for a couple of hours, only to come back with a wallet nearly full to bursting and a grin to match.

Tails fished the wallet out of the backpack. No gold rings or paper notes were hidden within its folds. He was on his own.

Luckily, Tails hadn't forgotten how to get food on his own. It was risky and he'd avoid it if he could, but this was for Sonic. Sonic did so much for him and shared every bit of food he scrounged up with him, even when he didn't have to.

The very least Tails could do was try.

Sonic needed to eat.

Tails tapped Sonic on the tip of his nose until tired and bleary eyes opened, too tired to even be very mad, though there was the barest glint of annoyance that glimmered dully behind the film of sick. Normally it was enough to get Tails to back off, ears flat and tails tucked around his legs apologetically, but in this moment, seeing that small sign of life was a relief. Tails grabbed onto Sonic's wrist and lifted it up until the red watch strapped to it was in the hedgehog's line of sight. Tongue poking out, Tails guessed at how long it would take him to get to town and back without Sonic's speed. To be on the safe side, he tapped the glass over the hour hand twice.

Sonic's eyes just closed on another, close-mouthed cough. Tails shook his limp wrist to get his attention again, this time pointing to the watch before holding up two fingers. Maybe Sonic couldn't see the watch hands when his eyes were so squinty. His fingers might be easier for him to read. I'll be back in two hours, okay?

Spasms wracked Sonic's chest as he tried to suppress the urge to cough. He tugged his wrist out of Tails's hold and rolled onto his side away from him just in time for his body to heave under the exhaustive force of his wet coughing. Tails rubbed his own chest in quiet sympathy, slowly backing away as the coughing tapered off on a wispy wheeze.

Two hours. He'd be back with food in two hours.

The sky was already darkening when he set out for town. Tails's shoes sank down into the freshly fallen snow as he scampered out of the cave. His trail of little fox footprints was a short-lived one, however, when he quickly decided it would be faster to fly and the falling snow began to slowly fill in the divots he'd left behind.

—

The street lamps spread their yellow light over the snowy sidewalk, their warmth an illusion while fat snowflakes still floated through the air. Tails kept to the outside of their glowing halos, slinking through the shadows like he was back in the village of Emerald Hill Zone. All hope of finding and bringing back food relied on his ability to stay out of sight. His ears remained perked, listening hard to his surroundings; everything muffled by the quiet winter snow.

Very few people ventured out into the streets of the small town after dark. The diner one of the only buildings with the lights still on, aside from the gambling hall and bar across the road. Bars sometimes served food, but Tails would save that in his back pocket in case he came up empty-handed at the diner.

The red, neon glow from the diner's sign reflected off the white snow on the sidewalk, though half of the letters were blacked out. Instead of "RESTAURANT" the illuminated letters spelled out an ominous "RETURN." Tails boldly pressed forward, ducking along the side of the diner. 

He could smell the cooking grease through the vents as he crept around to the back of the building. Mouth watering, Tails swallowed and puffed up his cheeks with determination. He wasn't going to make a mistake just because he was distracted by being hungry. This was for Sonic.

Light from the kitchen window illuminated a small square against the snow-covered ground, the shadowy shape of a dumpster pressed against the paint-peeled wall just beyond it and a door. Tails's ears twitched, his breath held tight in his chest as the sounds of kitchen pots and pans clattered just on the other side of the window. He inched his way towards the dumpster. He didn't see a lock on it, which meant the owners probably didn't expect that people would go rifling through it for scraps. Hopefully that meant they wouldn't be waiting for him with sharpened knives and pots of boiling oil to chase him away into the night.

The back door flew open with a bang as it struck the worn siding wall. Tails skittered back around the corner with a quick whirl of his tails, only daring to peek when he heard something clanging against the dumpster. A gangly aardvark in a grease-stained apron grunted as he hefted a bag of trash over the edge of it. He let the lid fall shut with another clang that echoed through the snowy alley, then leaned against the wall with a sigh and a shiver. He fiddled with something in his apron pocket, removing a carton of cigarettes. He also pulled out a small, silver lighter.

Tails huffed, holding up his hands to his mouth to warm them while he waited and watched the aardvark shake out a single cigarette. With a snap of his lighter, he lit the end of the cigarette and took a long drag from it. As the acrid smoke wafted into the air, Tails's nose scrunched up and he stuck his tongue out. It was almost as bad as the chemical plant's smell. 

But the tiny flame that flicked to life with a simple click compelled him to linger, drawn to it like a moth, but one that was too clever to let itself be burned.

New mission objective: get food for Sonic and get the lighter so he could make a fire at their campsite. 

Tongue poking out the side of his mouth, Tails scraped some snow from the ground and packed it up into a ball. He tested the weight in his palm, satisfied with the density as he held it up to his face and closed one eye. Peering around the corner of the building, Tails set the aardvark in his line of sight.

As he took another puff from his cigarette, the fingers of his other hand repeatedly opened and closed the top of the lighter with a repetitive click-click. Tails crouched and twirled his tails to warm them up. Ready, aim…

The snowball smacked against the hand holding the lighter, knocking it from the aardvark's grasp and into the snow. "What the—?"

The aardvark whirled in the direction where the snowball had come from, tromping angrily through the snow to catch the perpetrator, but Tails had already flown up onto the roof. He quickly dropped down while the aardvark's back was to him, scooping up the lighter from where it fell, then flew back up to hide atop the diner. Crouched low on his belly to remain unseen, Tails kept his mouth clamped shut to keep from breathing too hard. His sharp eyes followed the aardvark as he paced the ground below, scratching his head when there was no sign of anyone save for a few footprints.

"Damn kids…" the aardvark muttered, took one more puff, then put out his cigarette against the wall.

He shuffled back to retrieve his lighter, huffing and grunting as he dug through the snow in search of it. But his hands were bare and chilled as they felt around for wherever it might've fallen, dexterity dwindling the longer he looked for it. With a resigned groan, he abandoned his search and headed back into the diner. The kitchen door closed with a heavy thud behind him.

Tails counted for a full minute before he gently eased himself back down. His hands trembled as he clutched the lighter between them, heart beating in triple speed while he watched the door warily. When it didn't reopen, he tucked the lighter into his shoe to free up his hands, then scrambled to climb up the side of the dumpster.

The lid was heavy, but with the right leverage Tails was able to force it open. He sucked in a deep breath through his mouth and held it as the odor of old food wafted up into the cold air. Dumpsters smelled worse when it was hot out, but Tails still didn't want to take any chances of getting a big whiff of something particularly rank as he leaned in.

He ribbed open the garbage bag on top, whatever food inside it likely the freshest he'd be able to fish out. There were a lot of wet and slimy things to sift through. Sauces and juices and other questionable liquids seeped into most of the scraps that were tossed into the bag, a soup of mostly unsalvageable food waste. The edge of the dumpster dug into his belly as he leaned in, his tails keeping him semi-aloft as he pushed around mushy chunks of half-eaten meatloaf, bits of burger, and pieces of pancakes soaked through with sticky syrup.

Tails was on the search for something more solid and not so mushy, and found it in some very lucky fries sheltered by a wilted cabbage leaf. They were a little extra crispy and burnt on the ends, but still soft enough to eat. He collected as many as he could, cradling them in his palm like they were as precious as gold nuggets. There was a paper cup thrown in on top of some of the other bags, so Tails used that as a container for his small haul.

He hopped out of the dumpster to set the cup down, freeing up his hands to search for more food. Dusting his gloves off, Tails straightened up with a satisfied smile and looked right into a stranger's face. 

His heart stopped. Every inch of him froze in place as he was caught in the stunned stare of an alpaca mobian just a few feet away.

She stood in the yellow light of a streetlamp, just barely bleeding in between the buildings. But it was enough for her to see the shape of a small child climb out of a diner's dumpster with a cup of unwanted french fries from someone else's plate. Tails's eyes darted to the cup at his feet, then back at the alpaca's face, his breath quickly clouding the air in front of him as his instincts screamed at him to run.

It wasn't until she took a step towards him that he scooped it back up and stumbled away from her. His tails tangled up with one another, fighting over whether to twine together to look like one or spin fast enough for him to fly far, far away.

"Wait—" the alpaca called out, thinking twice about taking another step towards him. "It's okay. You're not in trouble."

A lie. It was always trouble if someone found him. Even if the food in dumpsters would only go to waste, in everyone's mind it was even more of a waste if their scraps went towards feeding him. He wasn't even worth their garbage.

A plastic bag crinkled in the stillness of the winter night, offered to him by the outstretched arm of a stranger and stopped Tails in his tracks. Sonic had offered him food. Food that was fresh and warm and filled with flavors he'd never known before. One person had thought he deserved more than other people's trash. One person went out of his way to make sure he got it.

"Here," the alpaca said. "If you're hungry, you can have this. My leftovers."

Tails watched the bag sway slightly as it was held up and away from her body. He could make out the shapes of two styrofoam containers inside it. One was a bit boxy, while the other looked like an extra wide cup. Sometimes Sonic got containers like those on the days where they ate food from a restaurant, when it was something that could be saved for later.

"It's not much. Just half a tuna melt and some tomato soup," the alpaca continued, still holding the plastic bag out. "It might not be piping hot, but it'll be warmer than those fries you've got there."

Tails tightened his grip on the cup of fries he'd collected, but his eyes remained fixed on the offered bag and the tempting aroma wafting from it. Whatever was inside that bag would probably be better for Sonic than anything he could dig out of the garbage. Not to mention the thought of giving garbage to Sonic of all people, like he didn't deserve better than that…

Sonic deserved the best.

But even though Tails wanted nothing more in that moment than to give him that, he was pinned in place by the alpaca's soft stare. Knees locked. Chest tight. Teetering just on the edge of taking flight.

The alpaca seemed to realize this, so she crouched down and set the bag on the ground. The plastic crinkled as it settled, sitting harmlessly in the snow while she took several steps back. 

"It's okay. Things have been tough for a lot of people around here ever since the old chemical plant got bought out and let everyone go," she told him. "Money and food… it's all been hard to come by. So, I get it. Go ahead. Take what you need."

She continued to back away until she was back on the sidewalk, no longer a looming threat between the back of the diner and the building beside it. She smiled in the halo of the lamplight and lifted her hand in a slight wave. Her boots crunched through the snow as she walked away, disappearing into the quiet winter night without another word.

Just leaving the lone plastic bag on the ground.

His ears flicked about as his nerves seized up, but Tails slowly crept towards the food. His nose twitched as the savory smells reached him through their containers, the hearty tomato standing out most of all. It wasn't quite like the chili Sonic smothered their hot dogs with whenever he had a chance, but it was close enough that Tails thought he might still like it.

And if that lady wasn't lying—if this had been food she meant to eat later—then it couldn't be bad to eat. Couldn't be a trick or a trap. She would've had to plan that, and she'd looked just as surprised to see him behind the diner as he'd been to see her.

Puffing out his chest, Tails suddenly surged forward and snatched the bag. In a whirl, he flew up and away from the diner, only pausing on the roof of a nearby building to open the bag and inspect its contents. It was half a sandwich and a cup of soup, just like she'd said. The bread was lightly toasted and some melted cheese was starting to congeal along the edge of the sandwich from the cold, but it was fresher than anything he'd find in a dumpster.

Tails packed it all up again and set his sights on the edge of town before he took flight once more through the snowy sky.

His little tails spun as fast as he could make them go, bobbing precariously in the air as he followed the path deeper into the forest. The food wasn't that heavy, but it was a long way to fly while carrying something, even if carrying Sonic around was making him a little bit stronger each time. At least Tails thought so, and that was what Sonic said, so it must've been true. 

As he came across the familiar, but now-frozen brook, Tails dropped down to his feet to give his tails a bit of a break. He traveled a bit slower through the brush in the dark, poked and prodded by the points of dead branches that he couldn't see too clearly, all while doing his best to protect the bag of food from being torn open by them.

When he finally wriggled free of them, close to the shelter of their cabin, Tails nearly broke into a run.

But something was lying in the snow just ahead of him.

Tails squinted at it in the dark, snowflakes impeding his vision as they caught on his lashes. But a dark, sharp shape cut through the white powder that looked an awful lot like…

Sonic.

The bag of food smacked against the snow when the handles slipped from his grasp, forgotten as Tails scrambled over to the misshapen lump lying face down in the middle of the path. The snow hadn't buried him completely, but it covered him enough that he had to have been lying there for at least a little while. Heedless of getting pricked this time around, Tails dug his paws through the snow drift to clear it away as quickly as he could from Sonic's quills.

Once freed, Tails rolled him over onto his back. He was stiff and so cold, his fever momentarily drowned out by the snow. His eyes were closed, but his chest still shuddered with each exhale. 

Still breathing. Not gone.

With a frantic surge of energy, Tails hefted Sonic up under the arms and dragged him through the snow, heading back towards their cavern. He didn't know why Sonic had tried to leave the shelter, but now that Tails had returned with the lighter and some food, he'd make sure he'd get better. Morning couldn't come without Sonic.

When they got back inside, Tails laid Sonic down on his bed, then draped his coat and both blankets back over his body. Fishing the lighter out of his shoe, Tails spun the little wheel with his thumb until a tiny flame came to life in his hands. He held it up to the charred remains of their old campfire, tired embers slowly reigniting and warming the icy little cave. 

Though his eyes were still closed, Sonic turned towards the small fire, its warmth still enough to permeate the layers he was bundled under. Tails watched him for a good minute, his heart beating just as fast as when he'd stolen the lighter from the aardvark at the diner or when he thought the alpaca might try to chase him down. Which reminded him; the food.

While Sonic warmed up, Tails darted back out to retrieve the bag of food. His cup of fries were stashed away inside it with the soup and sandwich, set aside as he unpacked everything else beside the hedgehog. His gloves were dirty from the dumpster, so he took them off and left them at the mouth of the cave so the lingering odor wouldn't invade their sleeping space too much. Then he settled in and popped open the lid to the soup first, gentle as he carried it over to Sonic's face. His nose was too stuffed up to smell it properly, unaware that the food was even there, so Tails crawled behind him and pushed his head up until it was propped up against his shoulder. Green eyes finally fluttered open, chest hitching from the change in position.

Sonic glanced down as the soup container was pressed into his hands, Tails struggling to keep both of them balanced while supporting his weight. Though his fingers were clumsy and stiff, Sonic eventually secured his grip on it while Tails guided it to his muzzle. The broth sloshed against his mouth when Tails tried tipping it towards him, but as soon as the taste registered, Sonic started to drink it down with desperate gulps. It was liquidy enough that he could, smooth and easy on his throat. 

Tails made sure he drank every drop, only pulling away when the cup was empty. Sonic coughed a bit as the acidity from the tomato tickled his throat, but it quieted when Tails brought him the sandwich next. His nose scrunched a bit as he chewed, like he couldn't tell what the flavor was, but hunger outweighed any reservations he might've had and he ate more than half of it before he curled up and away from the idea of food.

Tails scarfed down what remained of the tuna melt along with each of the fries in his cup, licking the salt and grease from his fingertips when they were all gone. 

Movement out of the corner of his eye immediately drew his attention back to Sonic. He'd rolled onto his side with some effort, facing Tails and the campfire. A deep frown etched across his brow as he still shivered despite the layers of blankets and the firelight flickering across his face. One arm wiggled free from the blankets, reaching out across the cave floor. His palm patted the ground, fingers grasping to hold onto something.

A deep sigh melted the tension from his body when Tails's fingers curled around Sonic's. The kit sat close, watching as the frown lines finally faded away. His muzzle was still flushed and his body still wracked with tremors, but his face slowly went slack with sleep as long as he held onto his hand.

Their hands stayed connected as Tails snuggled up against Sonic's front, his tails curling over his hip to give him a little extra warmth. Sonic's body still radiated too much heat, but it was nice to cuddle against after being out in the cold for so long. And as Tails's thicker fur surrounded the hedgehog, his shivering ceased as he settled beside him with another softer sigh.

He laid one ear against Sonic's chest, listening to the faint, wispy breaths that made it rise and fall. In his own chest, a gentle rumble built up. Whenever he felt sick, sometimes purring helped. So he purred; hard enough for Sonic to feel it through the layers tucked around him and loud enough for him to hear it over the rattling in his lungs. Though he'd been determined to watch Sonic all night, to make sure he'd wake up in the morning, Tails couldn't fight the squeaky yawn that forced his jaw open or the way the combined warmth of Sonic and the fire made his heavy eyelids droop closed. But even as Tails sank deep into his own slumber, the soft vibrations continued, soothing both himself and Sonic long into the night.

And in the morning, there would be a pot of porridge cooking over their fire and the smell would slowly rouse him from a bed that smelled like Sonic. But before he'd have a chance to fully wake, there'd be a light tap on his shoulder and two soft notes whistled against his ear, beckoning him out of the dark. C'mon, Tails.

And when Tails opened his eyes, the sun would be up, shining with a smile just for him. 

And it would be a good day.