#catch me out here struggling to make his eyes gray

[motherlvr]

3+1 times Prowler! Miles Morales x Spider-woman! reader

SPOILERS FOR ATSV

read part 2 here!

3 times Miles tried to confess, + 1 time he did.

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Instead of the radioactive spider biting Miles, it bit you. You turned into Brooklyn's one and only Spider-woman, while Miles turned into the prowler. Miles also helps you with Spanish.

Warnings: friends to lovers, lots of cursing, most definitely not canon, kind of slow-burn?, jealousy, morally gray reader, he's lowkey toxic, no smut, heated make-out session, im feasting on crumbs (his 2 minutes of screen time), this is not ATSV plot heavy, the whole prowler x spidey thing isn't really until the end (enemies to lovers)

A/N: for the sake of the plot, the reader doesn't fluently speak spanish, but can speak some. this has been rotting in my drafts ever since ATSV came out

1.

Miles glares at you two from across the room, predominantly at the guy you're laughing with. Surely he's not that fucking funny. Miles thinks as jealousy spreads within the pit of his stomach like a forest fire. However, you don't seem to notice his stare burning holes through the guy you're speaking to. The same cannot be said for him, however. Miles makes eye contact with him and sends him one glare that immediately makes the poor guy cower with fear away from you.

"I uh...gotta go." The guy squeaks out to you, his voice cracking with terror as he runs away. You raise an eyebrow as you watch him run away. What the hell was that? You think.

Miles appears next to you within the next moment and says, "Hey, ma." he gives you a slight smirk and wraps his arm around your shoulders. That smirk made you weak in your knees, you almost kissed him right then and there. You should be given an award for your amount of self-restraint.

"Hey Miles, qué pasa?" You greet him with a smile that reaches your eyes. Miles' smirk drops and he furrows his eyebrows at you as he inquires. "Who was that guy?" "He's just a friend, why?" You raise an eyebrow and question back. "Don't worry about it, you like him?" His words catch you off guard. You pause for a moment and turn your head to him with a judgmental stare as you shake his arm off you and say, "Miles. What is this? 20 questions?" You deadpan and continue, "He's not important, alright?" Seemingly satisfied with your response, he drops the subject.

After school, Miles and you head to his house. You've been struggling in Spanish class. Spanish grammar might actually be the death of me, you think. Since Miles excels in Spanish due to primarily being raised by his mother, you asked him to tutor you, which he surprisingly agreed to.

It doesn't hurt that you get to spend more time with Miles, either. Something about him never fails to send butterflies straight to your stomach, maybe it's his intense stare that makes you weak in your knees, his accent that somehow makes him ten times more attractive, or- You cut your thoughts off. You felt guilty for feeling this way about Miles. You know you shouldn't. These feelings you harbor would only cause more harm than good. After all, the people you love always seem to be in danger.

After a couple of hours of pure torture, (Spanish grammar) Miles started to speak, "Escúchame, mami. I-"

Loud, blaring police sirens cut off his sentence. Thanks, Brooklyn. Pretending to get a message from your mother, you glance at your phone's screen and look at Miles with an apologetic expression, "Shit, sorry Miles but I gotta go. My mother wants me home. She said it was urgent. But we're still on for tomorrow right?" Miles raises a skeptical eyebrow but ultimately says, "Yea. It's 'Ight, princesa. See you tomorrow" his accent lacing his words. You get up to kiss his cheek and wave him goodbye. As normal friends do, you tell yourself. Shit. You shake the thoughts away before your overthinking completely undoes your brain.

You wait until you're at least a couple blocks away from his house before you reveal the spider suit underneath your clothing and pull your mask down your face. You thwip your webs and swing away to investigate what crime was scheming tonight in Brooklyn. Leaving Miles alone in his room to regret not telling you.

2.

Honestly, you weren't paying attention to whatever Miles was saying. Instead, you were just focusing on how attractive you found his accent. You'd suffer through two more years of Spanish just to hear his voice. In fact, during most of these tutoring lessons with Miles, you weren't paying attention to the actual lesson. It doesn't help that he keeps staring at you with those eyes of his. But behind that cold exterior, you knew he had a soft spot for you. Even if he didn't outright admit it.

Miles' voice brought your attention back to the actual lesson, "Lo entiendes, princesa?" Miles asked you with a knowing smirk. You nodded your head immediately, trying to play it off. "Uhh, si." You said with a thumbs up, immediately regretting it. That was so nerdy. You shame yourself in your mind. You pretended to take notes, shamefully lowering your head down to your notebook.

While you were pretending to take notes, Miles broke the silence.

"So what's up with you and that guy from earlier?" "I told you, he's just a friend. Nothing is going on between us." Miles puts his hands up in his defense, "Alright, mami. It just didn't look like that with the way you were laughing at whatever he said. He's not Kevin Hart."

Way to completely ruin the mood. You dropped the pencil you were holding and stopped taking notes. Looking directly into his eyes, you said "Miles, I really don't know what your deal is." "You really wanna know what 'my deal is'? 'Ight. It's 'cause-"

Miles' phone beeps, interrupting him. He cursed in his mind, not being able to tell you how he felt yet again. He glances down at his screen. "Ay princesa," Miles spoke up, his words never failing to make your face go warm. His nicknames for you weren't new by any means, but they still made your heart flutter. He continued, "Uncle Aaron needs me, I gotta roll. He said it's an emergency. Don't think I'm trying to cut this short. You're still my girl, alright?" He started to leave when he turned around suddenly. He walked over to you and turned your head to him with his hand, kissing your forehead. "Hasta luego, mami." He left the room, leaving you alone in his room with only your thoughts swirling around your mind. You were sure you were about to have a heart attack. His girl? The kiss? Miles was acting oddly affectionate. And what's with him practically using the same excuse I used? It's not like he's the crime-fighting vigilante here. You rolled your eyes.

You didn't know what Miles and his uncle were so busy doing, but you had a feeling that it wasn't very morally right. That would explain how ambiguous he's been lately. More often than not, he's had to leave in the middle of tutoring to tend to whatever his Uncle needed him for. But you can't entirely blame him, you have secrets you've been hiding from him too.

You packed up your things and left his room. "Chao, Mrs. Morales. Thank you for letting me into your home!" You said to Miles' mother while leaving. "Of course, you're always welcome here." She replied to you with a warm smile. That woman was a true saint.

3.

If you had to spend any more time confined in a room alone with Miles and just your emotions, you were sure you'd fucking lose it. By losing it, I mean grabbing him by the collar of his hoodie and kissing him senseless. But you were afraid. Afraid that he would take your heart right out of your chest to shatter it and then leave you alone to pick up the pieces. So, you came up with a little white lie to get out of tutoring today.

"Is it alright with you if I skip tutoring today? My mother is sick and I have to take care of her." The lie slipped off your tongue like butter.

"Nah that's cool." He shrugs. Huh. He let me off that easy? You were two seconds away from having the dreaded 'What are we?' conversation with him after last night, until someone's arms wrap around you from behind.

"Hey, beautiful." Your friend from the other day was back. And he clearly didn't see Miles right next to you. You cringe and awkwardly take his arms off of you and turn around, "Hey, Josh." "Are you free tonight?" Miles was watching this interaction with jealousy coursing through his veins. Did this douche seriously not see him right next to you? Right before you could even open your mouth to respond, Miles responds for you. "Hell no she isn't. Get the fuck out of here, man." Miles snaps at him. Your friend's head whipped to Miles so fast you were sure he'd get whiplash. "Oh shit." He stuttered, "Sorry, man. I didn't see you...I'll leave now." He ran away as fast as his feet could take him. Poor Josh.

You glared at Miles. "What the actual fuck was that, Miles? He was just asking me a question." "He was asking you out, idiot." Miles said right back to you. "So what if he was? Honestly. What's it to you? You've been acting so possessive. May I remind you that we are not together?" You snapped at him. "Maybe I want-" He started, but this time, he was the one cutting his sentence off. He couldn't find the words to tell you just yet.

The bell rings. You look at Miles, awaiting his response. When a few silent moments pass by, you finally say, "What? What is it you want?" For once in your friendship with Miles, he didn't have a response. You, he thought. "Y'know what Miles? Until you've come to your senses, just leave me be for now." He had no right to start acting like you were bound to him. You walked to your class without him. He cursed himself in his head.

You'd been ignoring him the whole day. Yet ever the petty, he hadn't messaged you at all.

Your phone pings. "You busy with Jake?" You read. It was from Miles. That petty fucker. Your face immediately drops. That's not even his name. You left him on read and turn off your phone. For someone who thinks he's heartless and nonchalant, he sure was acting possessive.

+1

Dusk approaches Brooklyn and you're out patrolling instead of thinking about Miles. That's all you've been doing lately, and you needed a distraction.

Unfortunately, Miles had the same idea. He was out taking missions Kingpin gave him.

As you were searching the streets of Brooklyn for crime, you sensed a presence. Ahead of you was a silhouette in a dimly lit alley, their back facing you. You hid behind the wall. Finally something interesting tonight! As you climb on the walls and get closer, you recognize the figure.

Oh, great. It's the Prowler.

This wasn't your first time meeting the Prowler. No, you've fought with him in the past. He's ruthless and a cold-blooded killer. He's efficient and excruciatingly fast. That's what makes him an imminent risk to be allowed to roam the streets freely.

As Spider-woman, it's your responsibility to keep the streets of Brooklyn crime-free. So, you follow him. As you're trailing behind him, crawling on the walls, you notice the people he's meeting with. It's an arms deal, you realize. As you crawl closer, you notice that they weren't regular arms. They were abnormally high-tech for these seemingly harmless criminals.

I'll just web up the couple of amateurs and then deal with the big guy Prowler, easy. Oh how wrong you were.

"Hey, boys! Nice toy you've got there." You said as you dropped your voice down an octave, disguising your voice. You jump down from your place on the wall and thwip your webs at the unsuspecting arms dealers, binding them to the wall. They were knocked unconscious.

You thwip'd your webs at the weapon and effectively took it away from them. You'd have to drop it by the police station later with a friendly note.

The Prowler lunged at you, his steel claws missing your face by an inch.

"Hey, man! That felt a little personal." You shouted, thankful to still have your face attached to your head. You used your webs to grab onto the Prowler and strike him directly on his mask. You started to run, with the Prowler tailing right behind you.

He had you cornered, but you weren't surrendering that easily. You positioned into a defensive stance, ready to defend yourself.

His mask was cracked a bit, causing his voice modulator to reveal his unfiltered voice. "Nowhere to run, spider."

Your heart dropped as your eyes widened through your mask. Not in fear, but in recognition. You could recognize that voice anywhere. That was the voice that sent shivers down your whole body, yet made you want to strangle him the next.

"...Miles?" The words came out more of a whisper. Your voice sputtered as you dropped your fake voice. You webbed the weapon to the wall, disregarding it. Turns out, he didn't need to reject you to shatter your heart into a million pieces.

His stance immediately faltered. He could recognize your voice out of a thousand others.

Prowler, or rather Miles, stood silent.

“Miles, take off that damn mask. I know it's you.” You took off your mask, and he opened his. His eyes were unreadable. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into Miles?" You sighed. You didn't recognize him anymore. You didn't know who he was. There was no way the Miles you knew had become this.

"Fuck, princesa. I didn't want you to get involved in this shit. You're the fucking spider?" You feel as if he was seeing you for the first time again. "I'm fucking Spider-woman, you dick. And I've been involved with this 'shit' ever since I got bit by a spider. Now explain this, whatever you've turned into!" You spurted out, pointing at his suit. "I got roped into business with Kingpin after my father died. Shit, I never meant for this to happen." He exclaimed.

"What, you think you're protecting me by not telling me? Bullshit." You say, throwing your hands up in the air. "I was protecting you. I was protecting you from Kingpin. Because I fucking love you. I meant it when I said you were my girl." He proclaimed.

When you thought this night couldn't get any wilder, it just did.

Alarms blared in the back of your mind, telling you to leave. Your brain is screaming at you to think about your moral obligation to stop the Prowler, no matter who he is. But your heart is telling you otherwise. You choose the latter.

"Fuck, Miles. Shut the hell up." You threw a web at his abdomen and pulled him towards you, efficiently shutting him up by connecting your lips to his. Sliding your hands onto his braids, you pulled him in closer. He immediately reciprocated and grinned into the kiss, setting his arms on your hips.

Turning into a heated make-out session, he backed you against the wall of the alley. You felt your legs giving out on you. Miles put his knee in between your legs, supporting you. He kissed you with passion. He's pinned for you for the longest time, and he finally has you. He wasn't going to give it up for anything. Unfortunately, you needed oxygen to live, so you pulled back. A string of saliva connected your lips as you parted.

He took away all the oxygen in your body, and apparently your moral compass as well, with only one kiss. Unable to open your eyes until a few moments after, you fluttered your eyes open. "I fucking love you too, Miles" You whispered against his lips. "Oh, really? Couldn't tell." He teased with a smirk, his lips seconds away from yours as he looked down at you. He held your gaze with longing in his eyes.

Muffled screams ruined the moment. Miles and you react immediately, putting your masks back on. You got your webs ready while Miles had his steel daggers out. Lowering your guards, you realize it was the couple of guys you webbed up and forgot. "Sorry, I'll go take care of them." You said as you rubbed the back of your head awkwardly. Miles stifled a laugh as he said, "That's alright, ma. You can make it up to me later." You heard the smugness in his voice as you swung away to the police station. You made sure to fulfill his request later that night.

---------

part 2!

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Taking care of Coryo afte the bombing. He's being stubborn and doesn't want to rest and maybe says something hurtful to reader?

I started over three times...I hope you like it

Warnings: mention on bombing and deaths

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

You were sitting by his side when Coriolanus’ eyes slowly opened, stirring from his deep sleep. He shifted in the bed and made a sound of discomfort, his shoulder throbbing. 

‘’Easy, you’re gonna hurt yourself,’’ you said, helping him off his stomach and into a more comfortable position. 

The scene had been horrifying to watch on the screen of the academy. No one knew exactly what had happened as the area wasn’t a very secured place. The screen had turned black after catching some of the explosions, leaving everyone in the auditorium worried for their fellow classmates — and tributes.

You brushed a hand through his hair, looking down at him. ‘’How are you feeling?’’ 

Coryo’s eyes met your concerned gaze. ‘’Lucy Gray, is she..?’’ he asked, a fog enveloping his mind. 

‘’She is okay,’’ you reassured him. ‘’They took all the remaining tributes back at the Capitol zoo.’’ 

‘’I’m guessing they’re still going with the games.’’ 

You nodded. ‘’Do you remember what happened in the arena?’’ 

Coriolanus winced, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. ‘’It’s all a blur,’’ he admitted, his brow furrowing. ‘’Explosions, fire and…people were running and more bombs going off. Lucy Gray and I got knocked down when the first bomb exploded. I tried to get back up, but a piece of the arena’s structure fell on me. She came back for me.’’

You gave a sympathetic smile, continuing to run your fingers through his disheveled hair. You had been so worried when Tigris told you a piece of the structure had fallen on her cousin during the bombing. ‘’They were old bombs some rebels must have placed between the end of the last games and now. The area is not well secure, so they could have gotten in at night.’’

Tigris returned shortly with Sejanus behind her. He was bringing information on the tributes and mentors' conditions. Coriolanus nodded as his friend spoke, absorbing the information while you held his hand, stroking the back with your thumb. Four tributes and two mentors had died. 

‘’Wherever Marcus is right now, he has more chances at survival than in the arena,’’ Sejanus said, still cursing his father for buying his old friend as tribute. It was sick. 

Coriolanus sighed, the weight of the games and the Plinth prize still on his shoulders.  

‘’You should rest,’’ you said to Coryo after Sejanus left. 

‘’I don’t have time to rest. The games are tomorrow. I need to think of a strategy so I can make my tribute win—’’ He tried to sit up, his face twisting with pain. ‘’Fuck.’’ 

‘’You don’t care about the girl! I know you’re doing this for the Plinth prize, but no amount of money is worth risking your health for. You need to rest, Coryo.’’ 

A bitter retort escaped his lips. ‘’Says the one who’s family is bathing in money.’’ He stood, seeking support from the wall as his head began to spin from the concussion. ‘’If I don’t win this money, everyone will know about the Snow family’s downfall. There was an eviction notice on our door last week. Tigris tried to hide it from me, but I saw it. We can barely afford food, how are we gonna pay rent? I need to go to university. I have to support my family. Without the Plinth prize, none of this can happen.’’ 

His state of panic made his head hurt from the heavy thinking. Coriolanus groaned, the pain intensifying, and released the wall to cradle his head in his hands, causing him to lose balance.  Instinctively, you moved swiftly, grabbing him before he could fall, and guided him back on the bed. 

‘’I may not know what it’s like to struggle financially, but don't hold it against me for being born into my family,’’ you said, not allowing him to make you feel bad for your social class. He couldn’t take his frustrations out on you. ‘’I don’t prance around my family’s money like our classmates do, or look down on the less fortunate. If you want to secure this prize, you need to lie back and rest. You can’t make your tribute win if you can’t even stand on your feet.’’ 

One thing you had learned these past years was that Coriolanus was the most stubborn person you knew. His determination could never be underestimated, a trait that often bordered on obstinacy. It was a crucial part of what made him who he was. Fortunately, you were one of the only people who knew how to reason with him and talk him down when he was being unreasonable. It wasn't always an easy feat, considering his unyielding nature, but you had honed the skill of navigating through his stubbornness.

He let out a sigh of defeat, knowing you were right. ‘’What am I gonna do?’’ Fear and desperation laced his voice, pulling at your heartstrings. 

You sat beside him and gently placed your hands on his face. ‘’We’ll figure something out,’’ you promised, letting him know he wasn’t alone. ‘’For now, you’re gonna lie back in bed while I find you something to eat. I can hear your stomach screaming.’’

Coryo managed a faint smile, appreciating your concern. ‘’It’s not that loud...’’ 

You gave him a look as his stomach betrayed him with a loud noise. ‘’I’ll be right back.’’

—

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[cozage]

Hi, Coza! I hope you are doing well! I miss your writings and am so excited to see your requests are open! :)

I saw a post by sunshinescribes that talked about how Law doesn’t believe in unconditional love and how he thinks relationships should be transactional. Hopefully I can properly link it here because they do a really good job at explaining it: https://www.tumblr.com/sunshinescribes/728643191573757952/i-think-the-most-tragic-part-of-laws-character-is

I was wondering if it was possible to have a scenario based off of this post of reader just appreciating and loving Law because they want to. Like maybe they’re just waking up and reader is using the rare moment of peace and quiet in bed to spill all of their love and sappy thoughts to him. He deserves all of the comfort, love, and care 😭

A/N: Thanks for this devastatingly lovely prompt! Here's the post for everyone if you want to go give it a read (and a like!) Characters: gn reader x Law Cw: none :)  Total word count: 850

There Are No Conditions

The way the light refracted through the cabin window in the morning and bounced off of Law’s ravenous hair was one of your favorite things in this world. It was one of the few times he didn’t have a scowl on his face. He rarely smiled in his sleep, but his face almost always looked so peaceful. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, and then his face turned soft again. He must have been having a good dream. 

You noticed he was starting to get a few gray hairs. He must have been under some kind of stress recently. Though he always seemed to be since you all had entered the New World. You knew he had a lot on his mind, and you wished there was something you could do to make his life easier. You wanted to bear that burden with him. 

“Do you need something?” Law’s voice came out hoarse, but his sudden alertness had startled you slightly. 

“Nothing at all,” you said sweetly. “Just admiring you in this light.”

He groaned and pulled you in closer to him. “We’re getting curtains at the next island.”

You gave an exasperated gasp, but snuggled in tightly to him knowing his threat was empty. “And you would deny me of such a simple pleasure for what? Extra sleep?”

His eyes cracked open at your words and he peered down at you. “You cannot enjoy watching me sleep.”

You gave a sheepish smile. “It’s one of my favorite things in this world, Trafalgar Law. In fact, you’re one of my favorite things in this whole world, so everything that you do is automatically good in my eyes.”

He rolled his eyes, clearly not believing you. “Flattery is a little thick today. You might want to tone it down, or I’ll catch on to the fact that you want something.”

You stuck your tongue out at his words. “All I wanted was to look at you while you sleep!”

“Freak.” He paired his words with a kiss to your forehead to show he didn’t actually mean them. 

The two of you were silent for a while. You thought he had fallen back asleep, so you occupied your time tracing over his tattoos. But after a few minutes, he spoke again.

“Okay, seriously-” He pulled back slightly to look at you. He tended to do that when he wanted to make sure you were being truthful. “What did you want to do today?”

You were never good at hiding your emotions. You knew they had all washed over your face in a matter of seconds, and Law could read them all with intense precision. Confusion. Knowing. Irritation. And then, understanding. 

“I don’t want anything from you, Law,” you explained. “I was just…enjoying the view? I don’t know how to say it correctly. I find myself staring sometimes because I find you interesting.”

Law’s brows scrunched together in confusion. “If you wanted a good view, the deck and the sea are far more interesting. Especially at this time of day.”

You gave a humorless laugh. “I love you more than I love the sea, idiot.”

He froze at those words, and you could see him struggling to make sense of them. “So you were staring at me…?”

“Because I love you,” you finished for him. 

That didn’t seem to help. “And you love me because…?”

“I don’t know!” You gave out a sharp laugh at the thought. “There are no reasons and so many reasons! But there are no conditions for my love, Law! I just love you because I love you. I can’t say exactly why I love you. I just do!”

You had really done it now. You were fairly certain you had never seen Law more confused or more flustered than he was in this moment. He gave a hard swallow and nodded his head, but you could tell further clarification was still needed.

“You don’t understand,” you said, watching his eyes turn to the ceiling. If they went there, that usually meant he was lost in thought. 

He shrugged. “I do, in a way. I feel that way about you, but I…well, I never expected someone to feel that way about me.”

The weight of his words made your heart sink. He deserved more than anyone to know how much he was treasured. You would die for him for no other reason than love. And while he could grasp the concept, he couldn’t understand why someone would feel that way towards him. 

“How about I tell you all the things I love about you?” you offered softly, trying to pull him away from his thoughts. It was too early to be thinking of such deep topics.

His eyes shifted over to you, and you could see he was half alarmed by your offer. But you could see the smallest spark of intrigue. 

So you began listing everything you could think off, absentmindedly still tracing over his tattoos. 

The sun was more than halfway across the sky before you finished. And there was a soft smile on his face during your all’s afternoon nap. 

[peanutbubba]

Zoro shanks ace and law (seperate) x male reader fluff please i dont care if u add or remove anything dowhatever u wnat

OP Men x Strong Reader

Male reader, fluff, Ace and reader aren’t in a relationship, Reader is insecure of his strength in Law’s, not beta read, drabbles, Pre-timeskip Zoro (600+ words), Shanks (600 words), Law (800+ words), Ace (800 words)

Red Hair Shanks

Shanks was never the type of man to be tied down, as a pirate he could never really afford too, he had a dream and desire to be on the sea, it was as plain as that.

But when you came and joined his crew you took all that and threw it on its head, now there was hardly a moment where Shanks wasn’t thinking about you, or outright flirting shamelessly with you.

All of this started just because you were considerate to him, always keeping a keen eye on your captain.

Days where he was struggling with only having one arm, phantom pains, cramps in his arm, whatever it may be on that day you were sure to help him with no questions. You took on the weight of his burden without him even needing to ask, and that’s what made him fall for you so easily.

And on top of that you’re extremely hot, while you were super strong at the same time, what’s there not to like about you?

“Shanks, you’re staring off again,” You sigh, a small frown on your face, “Are you sure you’re not tired? I can take the night shift.”

Immediately Shanks shakes his head, red hair messily going back and forth with the motion, “No, it’s fine.”

You simply roll your eyes at your stubborn Captain, instead deciding to change the topic to something else, “What were you thinking about?”

“You,” he answers quickly, his voice genuine as he cockily smiles at you.

“Oh? So you'd rather fantasize over me rather than actually talk to me?” You tilt your head, smirk on your face as you tease Shanks.

“What?! That’s not what I meant,” he hurriedly says, his cocky attitude dropping nervously for a second.

You simply laugh, finding Shanks’ behavior funny, how a many could go from confident to worried in a second just pure funny. “Yeah, I know.”

Shanks deadpans, sticking his tongue out at you and blowing raspberries like a kid would, “You’re terrible.”

“Aww, but you still love me,” you point out, not at all deterred by Shanks’ comment, bumping his arm with your shoulder.

“Do I?” He replies back sarcastically, turning his head in faux pondering.

Punching his arm playfully you grumble, “No more kisses for you.”

“What?! Come on, anything but that baby,” Shanks pouts, taking the hit on his arm before leaning down and wrapping it around your waist.

Leaning towards you he tries to steal a kiss from your lips but you turn your head, a small whine of displeasure coming from shanks at the action.

Burying his face in your neck he mumbles another plea, his beard scratching you, red hair also tickling your face as it’s blown by the night breeze, “Please, I’m sorry.”

You sigh, your arms wrapping around Shanks as he perks up slightly, leaning in to get a kiss again. This time you allow him, your lips melting nicely against his in a sweet smooch, pulling away to be met with his goofy smile once again.

He tries leaning in for another one but is stopped by you, grabbing the man and hoisting him over your shoulder, his hand grabbing his coat as it falls from his shoulders.

He blushes at how easily you pick him up, hitting his hand against your back gently, “What are you-“

“Beckman’s here, let’s go to bed.” You quickly answer, beginning to move to your shared quarters.

Looking up Shanks sees the gray haired man waving goodbye at them, a knowing smirk on his face as Shanks goes tense. “Goodnight, Captain, Y/N.”

Trafalgar D. Water Law

A lot of the time Shachi would play pranks, usually harmless and all in good fun, until it suddenly goes wrong and they’re stuck with more chores than usual after Law catches them… However, it never deterred him, surprisingly.

You had been peacefully checking the Polar Tang’s pipes, making sure there were no punctures or complications. A careful hand on the delicate piping, when Shachi comes over with one of the most disgusting looking bugs you’ve seen in your life, throwing it on you.

The yell you let out when you felt it crawling on you, it was like you were being murdered, hand tightening around the pipe and accidentally crushing and ripping it in half.

Your hand immediately letting go of the pipe and swatting the bug off of your body, disgusted yelps leaving you until it finally falls off of you.

Looking up you see how Shachi stares at the wall in horror, you already know what he was looking at, however still turning around your face goes to horror when you realize how there is no longer a major chunk of the pipe.

Slowly turning to each other the both of you staring with terrified expressions, fast footsteps making you both panic and whisper yelling at each other. “What the fuck, Shachi!”

“Dude, how was I supposed to know you were gonna react like that?!” He hisses back.

Grabbing the broken pipe you quickly hide it behind your back, scooching back so the broken pipe lining the way was also hidden, Shachi also standing next to you to hide it.

Finally you see Law appear from the corner, a concerned look on his face. “Are you okay? I heard screaming.” He directs at both of you, worry in his tired eyes.

“Nope. We’re alright here, captain!” You respond quickly, your best poker face on.

And you watch nervously at how Law’s eyes narrow at you, then Shachi, but he seems to relax and accept the answer, nodding before turning around and leaving.

When he’s away from sight both you and Shachi begin to panic harder, beginning to push Shachi down a hallway. “Go find that bug before it finds him!”

Nodding he quickly runs off down the hallway the bug scittered off across, you going in the opposite direction to the room that houses extra pipes.

Quickly you place the broken pipe down in its section before fetching a new one, rushing back out the room and back down the hallway that had the broken pipe.

Out of breath you try to get air in your lungs harshly, getting to work once your lungs didn’t feel like they were on fire. Detaching the other broken pieces, replacing it with the new pipe, finally calming down when it was fixed.

It doesn’t last long though, Shachi coming back down the hallway to you also out of breath. “Help me… find a box.” He says through gasps, his hands clasped in front of him.

Getting up, you collect your tool box and go with Shachi, scouring the supply closets for an empty cardboard box, eventually finding one and stuffing the bug in there, sealing the box shut with tape.

Both of you leave the room silently going your separate ways. You were sure this would be funny when it's brought up again another day, for now however, you’re just glad you were quick enough to escape Law’s punishments.

All you had to do now was report back to him and this nightmare would be done.

Treading down the hallway you make your way to the captain’s quarters, knuckles rasping against the metal as you knock, entering a second later.

Before you could even open your mouth to speak, Law was quicker, immediately questioning you with dreaded words. “Did you fix the pipe?”

Your jaw drops, a worried look coming on your face as you realize that Law knew the whole time. “You knew?!”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” he smirks, placing the papers that he was skimming over down to look at you in turn.

“How did you-”

“I saw Shachi-ya chasing a bug down the hallway, and I heard the pipe hissing.” He quickly responds, cutting off your question.

He watches how your lips tighten downturning in a frown, sighing his own expression matches your, standing up from his chair and walking over to you. “Y/N-ya, it wasn’t your fault.”

“But-“

Once more he cuts you off, his words soft towards you even if his facial expression didn’t change much from his usual stoic one, “It’s alright. It was a mistake and you already fixed it, that’s all that matters.”

You open your mouth again to argue about it but Law’s quicker, inked hands wrapping around you and your head and shoving you in a hug, forcing you to shut up.

Relaxing in his affection, the scent of him calming you down from your mistake, just taking it that he wouldn’t let you win this argument.

“Want to help me come up with a punishment for Shachi?”

Roronoa Zoro

You didn’t train much, if at all, mostly it was because you couldn’t, there wasn’t any training equipment that could sustain being under your pressure.

But you did like to watch Zoro workout, in a way living vicariously through him. Sometimes he’d even ask you to help him, which you always enjoy.

Sometimes you were his spotter, sometimes you’d both have a friendly clash, and other times he’d use you like an extra weight.

“Push harder,” he ordered, glaring down at the wooden floors of the Merry.

With an amused sigh you apply a little more pressure to his back, hands pushing his sweaty back down, “Is this good?”

Fixing his posture Zoro allows his body to go down, then with a slight strain he pushes back up with a grunt. “Perfect.” He replies curtly.

So that’s how you stay, using some of your strength to push him down while he does push ups, both of you using your strength to fight against each other.

You enjoyed helping Zoro so much because this was usually as soft as the two of you got with each other, in a way this was how Zoro showed his affection to you.

Even if he didn’t admit it himself you understood that he enjoyed having you around, watching him, training with him. You can see it in the way his brown eyes soften when he sees you climb to the upper deck, stretching the sleep off of your limbs from a midday nap, or even in the way his eyes flicker to you every so often to make sure you’re still watching.

It never disappoints how the tips of his ears dust red when you compliment him from behind, of how he tenses when you whistle at his physique.

Going down again you watch how Zoro’s arms flex, a smile growing on your face as you admire his muscles, a clear sign of the dedication that Zoro put into trying to gain the title of The Strongest Swordsman.

It was days like this that you felt truly relaxed, a sense of ease settling so comfortably in your bones in a way that could never otherwise be accomplished.

You would never trade these days for the world, because this was it, it was your heaven and your earth, the only things truly keeping you tethered down.

And you sure it was the same for Zoro, you were sure that he as well would never give such tranquility up.

“You’re staring.” Zoro points out factually, a slight curiosity to his voice.

You let out a nervous chuckle, cheeks slightly tinting pink at how he caught you so easily without even having to look at you.

“It’s hard not too, you look good training.” Zoro’s body goes rigid at your comment, ears blowing up in a crimson as he simply huffs.

Again he goes down and this time you’re much more aware of everything happening, the soft clinking of his earrings as they glitter under the sun.

The waves rocking the Merry gently as if trying to put it to sleep, huffs escaping as Zoro strains to push back up, the distant chatter of the other crew members on the deck.

You adored this ship, this crew, and especially Zoro. They gave you a place when you had none, he rooted for you when no one else would. They were the family you got, even if you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

So long as you could help it you would make sure that days would stay like this, sunny and bright with a good future ahead.

You would see this crew reach its goals, you promised that, you would reach your own goal. More importantly you’d be beside Zoro’s side when he finally got crowned with the title he yearns for, you’ll be there cheering him on.

That, you’ll make sure of.

Portgas D. Ace

When Ace first saw you he swore up and down that you were the most beautiful man he had met, and when he saw your strength first hand he immediately fell in love he was sure.

That’s why he couldn’t help himself, gushing about you to Marco, or admiring you when you were fighting.

There was something about you that just drew him in like a moth to a flame, but god was he not mad, he would keep this going on forever if he could.

It’s why even now when you were having a friendly brawl with Vista, he was practically jittering with excitement, desperate to see you and your amazing strength again.

Rolling back and forth between the ball and heel on his feet, black eyes glittering like a child’s.

He watches as you fight against Vista, catching the sides of his blades in your hands, or concentrating so hard to try and not hurt Vista too much when you land a punch on him.

Ace practically sighs as if he was watching a dream, all because you were so cool, even with such things as Haki you were incredibly strong.

“You know you should tell him, right?” Marco asks, also watching beside Ace as the fight goes down.

Jolting in shock Ace looked beside him, he wasn’t expecting the man to watch so he was scared by his sudden presence beside him, an unamused look on his face because of it.

“But what if he doesn’t say yes?” He pouts, looking back at you, his cheeks flushing red at the thought of him confessing to you.

Marco shrugs his shoulders, a calm look still about him as his attention is captivated by Vista and you, “Won’t know until you try.”

Ace pouts, trying to think of the different ways he could, maybe he could try impressing you enough to-

“Please do not try any of that impressing him stuff,” Marco says with a sigh, practically reading Ace’s mind.

Snapping his head towards Marco he huffs, an annoyed tone to his voice as he bickers, “What’s wrong with that?”

“It literally never works,” the first division commander responds back, “Just ask him out on a date, normally.”

Ace groans but nods his head, looking back at the fight only to realize it finished, both Vista and you laughing together.

Alright… okay, all he had to do was ask you on a date, easy! Except it’s not, at all, because you make Ace so nervous that half the time he just wants to die of embarrassment.

When you began to walk off to the showers Ace stopped you, a nervous smile on his face and he completely forgot what he was supposed to be saying. It felt like his heart was in his throat, ready to burst out at any moment now that he was so close to you, and all he could manage to sputter out was, “You’re so cool,” before promptly running away.

Bumping into Izou who just laughs at him lightheartedly, “That was so pathetic.”

“I know! Don’t remind me,” he grumbles out, rubbing at his burning face with his hands, squatting down to sit on his haunches.

“You have to calm down when talking to him, you’re freaking out too much,” Izou points out, trying to at least help Ace a little.

Ace sighs, opening his fingers enough so he could look through them, “Yeah, but it’s hard when they’re so… them!”

Izou begins to laugh again, stifling out a, “You’re hopeless,” before shaking his head.

“Well you better ask him soon before someone else does,” he says, pointing at some of the other people on the Moby Dick also admiring you to Ace.

Ace stands up quickly at the mention of the other competition, suddenly a serious look about him, there was no way he was letting someone else get to you first!

Rushing back over to where he left you he relaxes in relief that you’re still there, a confused look on your face as you watch Ace come back to you after running away two minutes ago.

“Go on a date with me?” He immediately blurts when he’s in front of you, his face such a deep shade of red it rivals the red beads he wears around his neck.

Laughing your face changes from one of puzzlement to amusement, your cheeks dusting a light pink, “Sure, commander.”

Ace feels how his heart burst up in flames and honestly he wouldn’t have been surprised if he was on fire too, but it didn’t really matter to him, not when the most loveliest person he’s ever seen in his life just accepted going on a date.

“Awesome,” he breathlessly whispers, a goofy smile on his face.

—

This reminded me that I always forget how to spell Zoro’s last name.

Hope you enjoyed, Pea’s out!

[bunmurdock]

bit by bit | matt murdock x reader

summary: you surprise matt with an early morning visit to hell's kitchen, new york. tags: fluff, established relationship, domesticity, soft matt murdock. word count: 1.1k a/n: a little ode to the new city i moved to this summer <3

you and matt are stretched out on the bed, skin-to-skin, making out hot and heavy when he pulls away with a soft laugh.

“hmm,” he hums playfully, nosing at your fevered cheeks. “…hot.” your heart pounds against your ribs. “getting nervous on me, sweetie?”

when you struggle to respond at first, he presses his body against yours, causing you to gasp.

“it’s just,” your breath hitches. “...you're so close.”

matt’s chuckle vibrates against your ear, and when a wave of desire washes over you, you can't help but cling tighter to him as your lips chase the faint hint of mint on his breath.

“and i can get—mmph—” he continues, obliging your kiss. “—even closer.”

your breath catches again, as you trace the subtle flecks of gray in his stubble before leaning in to kiss the soft, slightly rough skin. the intimacy makes your stomach flutter and you watch as his adam’s apple bobs, skin rippling under light stubble, a clear sign that he’s feeling the same.

“matt… murdock,” you giggle, earning a low huff from him. 

“mm?" he hums, his voice a gentle rumble against your ear. he lifts his head, playful. 

“matthew michael murdock,” you continue, with no further explanation, enjoying the way it rolls off your tongue. and his lips curl into a smirk against your cheek.

“full names, huh? must be in trouble.” 

his playful expression shifts to something more tender. his thumb brushes over your lower lip, making your heart skip a beat. “when’d you get in, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice low.

you smile. “morning, first flight in.”

he groans softly, his nose nuzzling into your hair, inhaling deeply. “came all the way here to see me. smell so good. soft too, jesus—” he groans, sending a shiver down your spine. his hands slide down your sides, settling on your hips as he pulls you closer, if that’s even possible. “you’re killing me, ms. l/n.”

“stop!” you protest, failing to mask your delight.

“or maybe…” he pauses, a playful glint in his eye. “you sure you didn’t come all this way just to distract me from work?”

“depends,” you counter. “are you still showing up late to court?”

“definitely trouble,” he says, shaking his head, his hands trailing up your back. “big trouble.”

you giggle. “you love trouble.”

he raises his eyebrows and gives a small, conceding nod, smile playing at his lips. “guess i can’t resist my frustratingly clever girl.” his fingers tangle in your hair as he leans in again. 

the kiss is slow, unhurried, and filled with so much affection it makes your chest ache. his lips move against yours with a tenderness that has your heart swelling with love. when he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless, foreheads resting together.

“i love you,” you whisper, unable to hide the feeling that bubbles up from the very depths of your being.

“love you too,” he replies, his voice just as soft. he shifts, rolling onto his back and pulling you on top of him with a soft grunt.

“now, tell me all about your day. what'd my sweet girl get up to?”

you smile, settling comfortably against his chest, your fingers drawing lazy patterns over his scar. “well, first, i had to fight through the crowded subway, then…” you recount the mundane moments of your day, the ones that seemed unimportant until you had the chance to share them with matt. his hands continue their soothing caresses, trailing patterns that make your skin tingle. his chuckles and murmurs of encouragement are a steady background to your words, making you feel truly heard. 

"...and then," you continue, excitement bubbling up in your voice, "i found this quirky little bookstore. it’s called the drama book shop."

matt raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his tone. “the one on 39th?”

“i think so? it’s amazing. i got lost in there for hours. they had this whole section of old play scripts and—oh!” you suddenly remember. “i got this really old one. it’s a collection of shakespearean monologues. i thought it might be fun to read some together.”

“sounds like a plan,” he says, smiling as he listens. “you know, foggy and i once spent an entire afternoon there back in college, just browsing. he was looking for a script for an obscure play. never found it, but we did find a signed copy of a famous playwright's work. he still jokes that it’s the only reason he appreciates theater now.”

you laugh, imagining the scene. “i can totally see that. the place is a maze. i almost tripped over a stack of books at one point. i was so focused on this one title, i didn’t see the pile next to me.”

matt winces. “oof. my girl, always so enthusiastic. did you end up buying the book?”

“no..” you admit sheepishly. “i got distracted by a cat that wandered in. it had these big green eyes and kept rubbing against my leg. i ended up following it around the store for a while.”

“of course you did,” he teases, his fingers gently running through your hair.

“i just can’t help it,” you say, blushing slightly. “everything is so fascinating here. like, did you know there’s a tiny garden on the rooftop of a building nearby? it’s so hidden, i almost missed it. but when i looked up, there it was. all these little plants and flowers.”

“a rooftop garden?” matt’s curiosity is piqued. “that’s something only you would notice, sweetheart. most people don’t look up.”

“it was like a little oasis in the middle of the city,” you reply, feeling proud of your discovery. “i even saw a couple of bees buzzing around!”

matt smiles, his expression softening. “you see the beauty in everything, pup. hearing you talk about it, getting to see the world through your eyes, it’s… new.”

“really?” you ask, feeling a warm blush spread across your cheeks.

“really,” he confirms, pulling you closer. “one of the things i love most about you.”

he pauses, thinking. “there’s this other spot you might like. small diner called clinton street baking company. best pancakes in the city. it’s a bit out of the way, but worth it.”

“really?” you exclaim, imagining a lazy morning spent indulging in sweet treats with matt. “oh my god matt, i want fluffy ones!”

he hums in affirmation. “i’ll take you there. it’s one of those places only the locals really know about.”

you close your eyes, contentment washing over you. “i like finding new spots with you, matt. makes me feel more like a part of your world.”

“you are my world,” he whispers, caressing your cheek—then, nuzzling into it with his face.

“and i love that you’re making it your own, bit by bit.”

[inkspiredwriting]

Rainy Reconciliation

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

The sky above was a tumult of swirling clouds, promising an imminent downpour. Five Hargreeves and his wife, Y/n, were caught in their own storm inside their cozy apartment. What started as a minor disagreement over something trivial had spiraled into a heated argument, fueled by stress and frayed nerves from the day’s challenges.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about the meeting with the Commission!” Y/n’s voice was raised, her eyes flashing with frustration.

Five, standing by the window, sighed and rubbed his temples. “I didn’t think it was necessary to worry you. I had it under control.”

“Under control?” Y/n scoffed. “Five, you always think you have everything under control, but sometimes you need to let me in! We’re a team, remember?”

Five turned to face her, his expression a mix of guilt and stubbornness. “I know we’re a team, Y/n. But some things are complicated. I didn’t want to burden you.”

Y/n crossed her arms, shaking her head. “It’s not about burdening me. It’s about sharing our lives, our struggles. I want to be there for you, even if it’s messy.”

The argument continued to escalate, their voices mingling with the distant rumble of thunder outside. The intensity of their emotions was palpable, each trying to make the other understand their perspective.

As their argument reached a crescendo, the first fat raindrops began to splatter against the window. Five glanced outside, noticing the rain starting to fall in earnest. Y/n, too, seemed to notice, her anger momentarily diffused by the sudden change in weather.

Without another word, she turned and opened the front door, stepping out into the rain. Five watched, momentarily stunned, as she walked into the downpour, her figure silhouetted against the gray sky.

Concerned and unwilling to let her go, Five grabbed his coat and followed her outside. The rain was cold and relentless, soaking them both within moments.

“Y/n, wait!” Five called, jogging to catch up with her. His voice softened as he reached her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shut you out.”

Y/n stopped and turned to face him, rain streaming down her cheeks like tears. “I know you didn’t. I just... I want to be part of your life, all of it. Even the hard parts.”

Five stepped closer, his own frustrations melting away in the rain. “You’re right. I should have told you. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, they stood there in the rain, both drenched and shivering but feeling the tension between them dissolve. Five reached out, gently brushing a wet strand of hair from Y/n’s face.

“I love you,” he said softly, his eyes full of sincerity. “I don’t want to fight. I want us to be okay.”

Y/n’s lips curved into a small, tender smile. “I love you too. And we will be okay.”

A mischievous glint appeared in Five’s eyes as he extended his hand to Y/n. “Dance with me?”

Y/n blinked in surprise but then laughed, a sound that was like sunshine breaking through the storm clouds. “Here? In the rain?”

“Why not?” Five grinned, taking her hand and pulling her close.

With a shrug, Y/n let herself be drawn into his embrace. The rain continued to fall around them, creating a shimmering curtain that enclosed their private world. Five wrapped one arm around her waist and took her hand in his, guiding her into a slow, unsteady waltz.

They moved together, their laughter mingling with the sound of the rain. Five twirled Y/n under his arm, both of them stumbling slightly on the wet pavement but not caring in the least. The argument was forgotten, replaced by the simple joy of being together.

“You’re a terrible dancer,” Y/n teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement as they swayed together.

Five chuckled, his eyes never leaving hers. “I know. But you make me want to be better.”

Y/n’s heart swelled with affection, and she rested her head against his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat through his soaked shirt. They continued to dance, the rain washing away the remnants of their argument and leaving only the pure, undeniable love they had for each other.

Eventually, the rain began to let up, and they were left standing in the gentle drizzle, both soaked but happier than they had been in a long time. Five kissed Y/n’s forehead, his lips warm against her cool skin.

“Let’s go inside,” he murmured. “We should probably dry off before we catch a cold.”

Y/n nodded, but as they walked back to their apartment, she squeezed his hand, a silent promise of understanding and forgiveness. They would still have their disagreements and arguments, but moments like this reminded them of what truly mattered.

Inside, they toweled off and changed into dry clothes, sharing quiet smiles and soft touches. As they settled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket together, Five turned to Y/n, his eyes filled with gratitude.

“Thank you,” he said simply. “For everything. For being patient with me.”

Y/n leaned her head on his shoulder, her heart full of warmth. “Always, Five. Always.”

They fell asleep that night, curled up together, knowing that whatever storms they faced, they would face them together. And sometimes, just sometimes, those storms would lead to dancing in the rain.

[fic-over-cannon]

the gloaming

jason todd x gn!reader

Do you know me in the gloaming, Gaunt and dusty gray with roaming? Flower Gathering, Robert Frost

Something sweet dances on the wind, cuts through the grime and exhaust of the city’s usual odour. Flowers, maybe, blooming in the park two blocks east. For Jason Todd, it feels like a Gotham summer, the kind he used to love as a kid. The breeze just caressing his skin before moving on, sticky heat finally letting up as Fall looms on the horizon. The setting sun catches on the windows of the high rises, transforming the whole street into technicoloured fiery hues. 

He’s got a bag of pastries clutched between his teeth, a surprise gift from the bakery on 3rd for helping them with their vandalism problem. Reaching into his back pocket, Jason juggles his phone and wallet looking for his keys. It’s a struggle, but he’s used to it. You tease him for it every time and every time he manages the lock on his own, Jason crows with triumph. Today though, with the risk of dropping his bounty, he keeps his victory to himself.

Silence greets him, punctuated only by the door closing behind him. Cautious, Jason toes off his boots and goes searching. Keys finding their home on the hook and pastries getting deposited on the  countertop still prompt no response. He’s not worried, not yet. You’d sent him a text when you’d gotten home after all. The kitchen is dark in the wake of sunset, the first tendrils of blue grey shadow reaching long fingers across the cabinets. The water from the tap is cold as he gulps it down. Stray drops cling to the glass as he presses it to his forehead. 

Light shines faintly from under the closed door of the bedroom. Pale gold cutting across the plush fibers of the carpet. Jason pushes the door gently, stops it from bouncing off the wall the way it’s prone to doing with just a shade too much enthusiasm. You’re there, curled up on top of the blankets of the bed and gilded by the low light. 

“Hey,” he calls out softly.

You pat the bed beside you and Jason crawls in beside you, mattress sinking under his weight.  With a sigh, your head comes to rest on his stomach, arms coming around him. Jason shivers as your pinky brushes bare skin, T-shirt riding up. Face first, you nuzzle in to him and he holds you tighter. Presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“What’s going on, chickadee?” Jason asks, inhaling the faded scent of shampoo and sweat. Silence stretches out between you, filling the room as the windows grow darker. It’s that quiet hour where the sun has said its farewells but the moon hasn’t quite risen it’s head in greeting, something magical and still filling the night with a dusky blue hue.

“Sometimes the world just has a way of making me feel small, you know?” you say, folding the silence away with your words. Jason feels the rumble of them across his belly. “S’nothing in particular, not really. A door that closed too fast for me, a word that felt loaded, a hand that didn’t help. Just the sense that I’m invisible, like I don’t fully exist.”

It’s a fear that rises its head every once in a while, rolls over you as suddenly as a rogue wave and disappears just as quickly. The drowning sensation of being inconsequential in the eyes of everyone around you, a non-entity. As thin and insubstantial as air with nothing so necessary to offer.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asks. Jason feels more than sees you nod. “Sometimes you’re the only thing I can focus on, the world just fades away. I go blind, deaf, and dumb to everything else. You’re it for me, chickadee,” he whispers into the crown of your head.

“I know,” you answer simply, and you do. He’s the destination you’ve spent your life looking for. “Can we just– can we just stay like this a bit until I’m a bit less see through?” 

“We’ll stay here as long as you like. I got no where else I’d rather be.”

Later, when inky darkness covers the city and the streetlamps have long been lit, you will stretch up to place a kiss on Jason’s stubbly cheek. He will smile, and lead you by the hand to the kitchen. Jason will surprise you with the bolo de coco long gone to room temperature in it’s crumpled paper bag, and the two of you will laugh and eat your dessert before your dinners. He will cook for you, asking you questions and catering to your whims until you feel a little less raw.

But that is later. For now, the two of you sit in soft silence, the evening stretching on around you.

[vinomino]

That’s bad for you ᵎᵎ

What do they do after catching you red-handed…?Σ('◉⌓◉’)

Featuring: Umemiya.H, Hiragi.T, Kiryu.M x f!reader

Contents: sfw/lil suggestive in Hiragi's, smoking, angst (?)

cont. Part 1 → here

Stress was getting to you, you’ve started frequenting the bad habit more and more. It was only a matter of time before he finds out…

❀ Umemiya. H

A plastic bag filled with gifts from a citizen, he makes his way back home. Walking steadily until he saw you head out of a convenience store, raising his hand to greet you, he immediately stopped when he noticed you lighting the cigarette in your mouth. Standing completely still, he watches as you, the gray smoke billowing in the air. Now he can start to smell the potent fumes from where he was. 

Silently making his way to the store, you didn’t know that he was there, blissfully unaware. 

Umemiya was now right behind you, he gently tapped your shoulder, turning your head to see who wanted your attention, you’re met with the sight of the familiar man with white hair. 

You knew you were screwed, you’d been caught red-handed. Raising your eyes to meet Umemiya’s gaze, he looked at you with a mix of disappointment and concern. He cared for you, cared for your health, and yet here you were, smoking at night in the streets. 

He gently took the burning stick from you and crushed it under his shoe, “Don’t think I didn’t know…” 

Umemiya’s stern expression never faded, “You promised you would quit…and what are you doing now? I don’t like it, you know that, it’s horrible for your health.” 

Fiddling with your fingers, “Sorry…it’s just…” Struggling to find the right words to say. 

“It’s just what?” A stern tone, he wasn’t trying to be mean to you but he wasn’t happy that you were smoking despite him asking you to stop multiple times. His blue eyes staring holes into your head. “It’s hard to quit…” Biting on the inside of your cheek as you force the words out. 

His expression softened seeing the struggle you were going through, he sympathized with you, knowing it wasn’t easy to break an addiction. Lifting your chin to make you look at him. “Please, for my sake, quit smoking. I promise I’ll help and support you through it.” He takes your hand in his, intertwining them together. “I care about you and want what’s best for you. Can you promise me that you’ll try? Not for anyone else, but for me?”

Staring at your hand, you slowly nod. 

Umemiya enveloped you in a hug, holding you against him. “I’ll be here to help you through the cravings and the temptation. When you feel like you’re about to smoke, talk to me, and we can find other ways to deal with the stress and anxiety, okay?” 

Wrapping your arms around Umemiya you nod again, the two of you standing under the streetlights embracing each other.

❀ Hiragi. T

“Can you light me up? Forgot mine.” Turning to ask your friend, wiggling the cigarette between your lips. She chuckles and pulls out her lighter, flicking it up. The low orange glow wavers in the air. You lean forwards, steadying the butt of the stick to the flame, waiting for it to catch.

A loud clacking of shoes approaches, “Sorry, Umemiya kept talking about plants–” Hiragi finally lifts his head, taking in the sight before him. The fire from the lighter dissipates as he snatches your wrist and drags you away, the cigarette falling onto the concrete. “H-Hey!” You are surprised at his actions. 

“Hiragi–calm down–” He stops dead in his tracks.

“Calm down?” Hiragi sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Already feeling his stomach hurting again.

Reassessing the situation, he looks down at you, eyes softening as he brings his hand up to thumb at your bottom lip. You make a sound of confusion as he does. “Didn’t I tell you off last time?” 

Cringing your face, “I am doing something! I haven’t smoked all week.” He almost laughs at your expression. 

“Really? You haven’t smoked since then…” he leans down to see you more clearly, thumb peeling your bottom lip down. “I guess I should reward you for that.” He looks at you, your brain computing what he just said in real-time. “Reward?” Your eyes sparkle a bit, wondering what he was going to give you. Showcasing his sharp teeth in a grin, moving to press you against the hard brick wall, “Do you want it here or…” pressing the knee of his leather pants between your legs, “Do you want it at home?”

❀ Kiryu. M

The bar is boisterous and rowdy, and the music the DJ is playing is giving you a headache. EDM after EDM, you wonder how the guy still has his job. Tilting the empty glass, and swirling the ice against the sides, you wait for Kiryu to come back from the bathroom. Most of your friends left for the dance floor, the rest talking amongst themselves drunkenly. The mixer was now boring you, sighing out, you mindlessly reached into your purse for the cigarette pack and your pink lighter. 

Pulling the stick out, lighting it against your lips. The tabasco burns, allowing you to take a long drag. Blowing the smoke downwards, the calming buzz silencing your brain. “Oh~? You smoke?” The pink-haired man bends down to whisper against your ear making you jump. He laughs at your reaction, his piercing glimmering under the purple lights. 

“Sorry, I just didn’t take you as the type.” He hums, settling into the seat next to you, spreading his legs to make himself comfortable. “I don’t?” You ask, holding the lit stick between your index and middle finger.

“Thought you’d be too pretty to do such a dirty thing.” Kiryu smiles, making you frown.

Wordlessly, he reaches out and takes the cigarette away from you, watching him bring it up to his lips to take a drag, blowing the smoke over his shoulder. Amused at him, “Thought you’d be too handsome to do such a dirty thing.” Earning another laugh from the man. He brings his hand up to rack it through his hair, causing some of the hairpins to fall out, pink strands cascading down, and framing his face. Chuckling, he holds the stick out towards you between his fingers, catching on you bend over, wrapping your lips around the cigarette and taking a huff. 

“You're so cute~” Kiryu coos as he takes another puff before snuffing it out in the ashtray. The nicotine rushing to your mind relaxes you, leaning your side into the cushioned seat, facing him. He notices you staring at his lips, “Wanna kiss?” He offers and you accept, leaning in to kiss him. Kiryu does the same, but right when you two touch, his index finger is placed against your mouth, making your eyes widen in confusion. His other hand reaches over you, taking the pack from your purse. 

“I’ll be confiscating these~” He chimes, green eyes twinkling with mischief as he gives you a wink before taking his leave. Leaving you in the bar breathless.

[strawberry-eden]

violence solves (most) problems — danny johnson x reader

↪ summary — you're relatively new in the fog, having been here just long enough to get a hold on the working order of this place when you catch the unfortunate eye of the most obsessive man on the planet, who decides that you're going to be his newest plaything.

or, your first encounter with the notorious ghostface killer goes very poorly.

↪ tags — canon typical violence, swearing, crack treated seriously, blood & injury, obsession at first sight, gender neutral pronouns/description for reader, no use of y/n, and danny's weird way of flirting

↪ word count — 2.4k

a/n: i wrote this originally way back in february but i found it again and figured i would share with the class. inspired by a cool piece of art i saw on twitter that ended up spiraling from there. enjoy!

The cold air of Mount Ormond ski resort bites angrily at your bare face, your shallow breaths manifesting in puffs of white fog as you fight to keep giant spidery talons from spearing through your torso. A low, guttural growl sounds from all around you and nowhere all at once, your arms shaking from effort as a particularly hard shove from the entity forces your hooked shoulder to shift, sending a ripple of white-hot agony through your body. “Fuck!”

This is your first match of the day. Not a single generator has been done and none of your teammates have been hooked yet. If anybody is coming for you, you can’t see through the cage the entity’s talons have created around you, itching to close in and take you back the campfire. You’re half tempted to let her do it.

You barely register the second pair of hands that appears and bats her away until they’re gently pulling you down from the hook by your armpits, holding you up until you’re steady on your feet. You blink away a few stray tears to look up at the face of your savior. “No offense, kiddo, but you look like shit,” says Bill.

You almost shrug instinctively but stop yourself last second. “A little bit taken. I feel like shit,” you mutter. He shoots a cautious glance over his shoulder, then takes you by the arm and leads you away from the hook towards a safer spot to patch you up. You can’t help but flit your gaze all around the area, searching for that haunting white mask or floating strips of leather, wondering if you’re being watched from somewhere.

Bill catches your paranoid expression and frowns. “Christ, what’d you do to him?”

Unable to hide your frustration, you round on Bill with an exasperated cry, “I don’t know! He just—” You make a vague gesture. “Set his eyes on me and decided he wanted me dead! I haven’t even touched a gen yet, for fuck’s sake.”

Bill pulls you behind a boulder secluded somewhere in a corner of the resort. You squint at the shape of the killer shack some ways away, trying to get your bearings. Bill whistles lowly. “Maybe he’s just trying to get an easy win, then. Lord knows it’s working. The rest of us are struggling to keep up.”

You collapse into a bloody pile into the snow, leaning against the rock and pressing a hand against your wounded shoulder while he pops open his medkit. “Yeah, well. I’m still pissed about it.”

“Oh, we all are,” he replies. “Nobody likes being down a teammate this early on. You got anything to help you out?”

Your face scrunches in confusion. “What?”

He raises a grayed eyebrow. “You know, like that trick David pulls to endure pain, or how that girl Laurie hides glass in her sleeves. They teach you any of that?”

“Uhh… No?”

Bill curses under his breath. “You’re kidding, right?” He curses again, louder this time when you shake your head. He digs into one of his many pockets, pulling out something that he clutches tightly in his palm, then motions for you to extend your hand. He places something smooth and warm into it, closing your fingers around the object. “Hide it well, okay? If he sees it, it’s game over. And make sure you don’t. Miss. That was my second chance, and I’m giving it up so you a better shot. If you end up fumbling, I’m never gonna let you live it down.”

Bill holds your gaze until you give a slow nod, retracting his hands as he returns to rustling around the supplies in his medkit. When you open up your fingers, you are greeted by your own reflection looking back at you from a small, sharp piece of glass. It’s almost shaped like a knife if you turn it right. “What do I do with it?” You ask curiously.

Bill wheezes out a laugh. “Stab him with it, obviously.” You bite back a painful hiss when he begins stitching your wounds back together, which he apologizes for under his breath. “But don’t just swing it around all willy-nilly, you gotta wait until he isn’t expecting it—like when he’s got you slung over his shoulder like a sack of meat thinking you’re gonna be an easy kill. Then, you take your opportunity to prove him wrong and stab it right into his shoulder. Always shocks ‘em so bad they drop you then and there. Gives 'em a taste of their own medicine, which they don’t like too much, y’know?”

You stare thoughtfully at the shard. If it’s such an effective tactic, then why in the world hasn’t anybody told you about it? You can’t help but feel a bit betrayed.

“Doesn’t always work, though,” he says, pulling the question straight from your mind. “After a while, they start to expect it, which means you gotta change it up. Start playing stealthier, like Zarina or Jake—the guy’s got an iron will. Real impressive. I have no idea he’s even hurt until I realize he’s left a streak of blood halfway across the map.”

This is all too much information to ingest when you feel about five seconds away from dying via blood loss. “Got it,” you mumble breathlessly.

Bill blanks at you. “You didn’t retain a thing I just said.”

"I got all the important parts."

“Sure you did,” he huffs. He starts opening up some gauze, when all of a sudden, his head shoots up and his whole body goes rigid. Bill’s wide eyes find your alarmed ones, and all that he’s able to get out before all hell breaks loose is, “Run.”

There’s an almost imperceptible rustle of clothing that doesn’t reach your ears. You’re frozen in place, barely given enough time to register the command as you watch him jump to his feet. “What?”

“God damnit, kid, I said run—!”

“There you are,” a third voice purrs, and you barely get a glimpse of the knife that glints maliciously at you just before it’s buried in Bill’s back. The hoarse scream that’s torn from the older man’s throat echoes hauntingly in your ears as it digs in deeper, forcing him against the ground. Dark red splatters across the snow when Ghostface violently wrenches it out of him.

Your shoulder cries out as you feebly scramble backwards, every little cut and bruise on your body flaring in pain as you awkwardly clamber back to your feet. Ghostface steps clean over Bill, who groans in pain on the ground, and the shard in your sweaty hand suddenly feels a thousand times heavier.

You can hear the simper in his voice when he says, “You didn’t forget about little old me, did you?” He wraps his gloved fingers around the bloody knife, wiping it clean with one swipe. “Oh, darling, I’m hurt.”

You’re running before you even know it. The cold air stings your lungs with each intake, your muscles burning with every step. You don't have a clue where you’re headed until you’re tearing through the killer shack, narrowly avoiding crashing into the generator that sits in the middle. You don’t need to look to know that he’s right behind you if the sounds of crunching snow and throaty laughter are anything to go by, and when your bare fingers find the splintered slab of wood sitting against the doorway, you waste no time throwing it down behind you.

You stop and turn to shout obscenities towards your assailant, but he’s nowhere to be found. You blink, and a knife is suddenly jammed between your ribs. “You should really look behind you sometimes,” Ghostface says coolly, pressing the blade deeper in emphasis and relishing in the way you whimper in pain. “Maybe you would have actually seen me go around the side of shack. Kind of embarrassing to fall for that, you know.”

“Fuck you.”

He tsks, ripping the knife out of your side and effectively taking away the only thing keeping you upright, letting you fall to the ground in a bloody heap. You look up at him through hazy eyes, looking like a dark mist against the pale gray sky, the screaming white mask being the only thing to come into focus. “You know, I don’t usually do this—”

You watch as one of his hands dives underneath his cloak, searching around for something for a solid five seconds until he pulls out a small handheld camera with a muted A-ha!

“—but I like you, so I’m willing to make an exception.”

“An exception?" You spit out a wad of blood and saliva. "What the hell are you—”

The air is unceremoniously knocked out of your lungs when he plops himself down on your stomach, knees caging you in and pinning your hands against the snow. You flinch when the glass shard hidden in your sleeve pinches the skin of your wrist.

Gloved fingers firmly grip your jaw and force you to turn toward the camera lens as he leans in close, the scent of cheap cologne assaulting your senses and filling up your head. You swear the smell alone would kill you before he ever could.

“Smile,” he breathes into your ear, and you’re blinded by the flash that goes off when he clicks the camera. You’re busy recoiling in the aftermath while he gazes quietly at the picture in the viewfinder, blinking away the green and purple splotches in your vision. Still gripping your jaw, he forcefully turns your head to show it to you.

The picture looks about exactly how you’d expect it to turn out. You're staring wide-eyed at the camera in shock and fear, blood seeping from your various wounds and soaking into your clothes. His mask takes up the entire left side of the photo, but if you look hard enough, you think you can spot a pair of dark eyes staring into the lens—they’re squinted at the edges, like he’s actually smiling underneath it as he casually holds up a peace sign.

"Say, you weren't a model or anything before this, were you? 'Cause damn." He lets out a low whistle. "This one’s definitely going in my collection.”

He takes one last, long look at the picture before tucking the camera back into his coat and stands, allowing the blood to resume flowing through the veins in both of your arms again as they’re overcome by that numb, prickly feeling. Too hurt and exhausted to resist, you limply allow him to maneuver you into a sitting position, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he effortlessly hauls you up onto his shoulder.

"Alright, playtime's over," he huffs. "Duty calls, blah blah blah, you know how it is. Ain't no rest for the wicked."

Something smooth and sharp slides into your palm from the depths of your sleeve. Catching a glimpse of your reflection in it’s surface, you let out a gasp that Ghostface assumes must be from the sight of the giant meat hook that appears at the corner of the shack, because he gently pats the backs of your thighs in what you assume is meant to be reassurance.

"Now, don't you worry, sweet-pea," he says, “the next time you and I get matched up, I promise I’ll play nice. Maybe if you’re good, I’ll even let you escape, yeah?” He laughs, and you can feel it vibrating through your ribcage. “After I kill your friends, of course.”

You grip the glass so tight in your palm, it digs into your fingers, drawing blood. You see your own eyes staring back at you through a thin stream of red, wild and angry and terrified, Bill’s words bouncing around in your skull as you raise the shard and slam it hard into the back of his shoulder, digging in viciously and twisting.

He inhales sharply, hands immediately losing their grip on you as he drops down to one knee, letting you slide off of his shoulder and land face-first in the snow. You push yourself up to your hands and knees, then to your feet, and glance nervously over your shoulder.

You meet those same eyes that had peered gleefully at you in the picture, no longer hiding behind that wretched mask as it lays by your feet in the snow, but they’re not squinting like they were before. They’re wide, pupils shrunken into tiny pinpricks as they bore into you, nostrils flaring and lips curling into a grimace as he reaches behind him and rips out the glass. Blood sprays from the wound in an arc, a fury so deep and animalistic roiling in his guttural tone as he ...

... Laughs.

Something dangerous glitters within his irises as he turns to face you. What catches you most off-guard, though, is that he's actually handsome underneath the mask—he's younger than you thought, with long lashes and full lips. A tiny scar marks the corner of his mouth, and it stretches slightly as he bares his teeth in a wide, manic grin.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" He drops the glass shard and stands, and you're screaming at your body to move, but you can't. You just watch as he slowly reaches out to collect his mask and knife, refusing to take his eyes off of you even once. It's like it's just his gaze keeping you pinned. "The gift that keeps on giving?"

A loud buzzer sounds from somewhere in the distance. You flick your gaze away for just a moment to check which direction it came from, and by the time you look back, he's already secured the mask back in place.

"I'll tell you what," he begins, tilting his head at you curiously. "Let's make a bet. If you can last until your friends get alll the gens done, I'll let you go."

You swallow thickly. "And if I can't?"

Silence. You don't need to see his face to know that he's smiling. "You wanna find out?"

Strangely enough, a part of you almost does.

He lunges then, but you’re already on the move, adrenaline as well as an odd cocktail blend of terror and exhilaration pushing your body past its limits in a last-ditch effort at escaping this trial with your life.

You probably won’t, but you’re definitely gonna give him a run for his money—you figure that you've earned at least that much.

[loveshotzz]

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap seven/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Bad Idea

summary: After a week of avoiding, you find Steve at your front steps.

wc: 4.3k

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters. Steve and Reader have THE talk, we learn Steve & Emma’s story. There will be discussions of feelings about watching a loved one struggle with terminal illness and death in this chapter. There’s not a ton of details about her struggles but it is touched on. Angsty beginning and a very, very fluffy end 🧡

author’s note: it’s all up hill from here guys, just a little growing pains. i can’t believe there’s only three chapters left after this 🥺 thank you for reading and all of the sweet reblogs and messages through out this whole series. you have made this so special for me and it’s been such a comfort to write as I navigate my own life changes right now.

🌇 <- chapter six -> chapter eight

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The tune:

End of June -

It had been a week since Steve came back from his camping trip. A week of good morning texts left unanswered, of making sure not to look out your window when you knew he was home - even when you could hear him play with Bandit. He was doing that outside more than usual, a tactic to try and get you to come out and talk to him or hell, even just look at him. 

He doesn’t know that a few times it almost worked. 

Always & Forever

The words engraved into silver also stay carved deep and fresh in your mind, not letting you forget. You couldn’t, even if you tried. Especially not her beautiful eyes. Does she hate you? Part of you feels like you would hate you. The guilt threatens to punch the air out of your lungs.

The days go on like this with you doing everything in your power to avoid him while he did everything he could to run into you. The last ditch effort was after you caught him getting out of his car, your eyes meeting for a split second before you cut through the alley walking in through the back gate instead. Your resolve to stay away grows weaker when Steve’s good morning texts finally stop after that. 

So when Brad, the new server, gets the courage to ask you out, you say yes. It was a bad idea, anyone could’ve told you that, you didn’t really want him. He was just a distraction from facing the consequences of your own actions.  

He takes you to RPM Steakhouse in the heart of downtown and surprisingly he actually makes you laugh. He’s full of food industry horror stories he’s collected over the years. He’s not boring and he’s attentive when you talk, asking questions like he’s really interested. The butterflies that have built a home in your rib cage don’t flutter and fly for him though. The nerves that make your heart beat faster, the ones that feel like they vibrate from your fingertips, like your skin is on fire, are stagnant. 

He’s not Steve. 

You skip out on dessert when it’s offered to you, but you let him hug you before you get in your separate Uber’s home. It worked for a few hours at least. Looking out the window when your car hits the expressway, the skyline shines gleaming like the stars in the clear night sky.

It’s not very long until your phone fights for your attention, the screen illuminating the backseat. It pulls you back to reality, your breath catching when it’s not Brad’s name that flashes across your screen.

Steve

Can we please just talk? 

You aren’t expecting to see him at your front steps when the Uber drops you off at your gate. His hair sticks out wild at the ends, like he’s been pulling it all night, scratch that, all week and it makes more guilt settle deep in your gut. The scruff on his jaw is almost dark enough to be a beard now. His legs are covered in gray sweats and the white undershirt he wears fits tight over his shoulders. You hate how handsome he still is, even with his slides and socks.

He’s talking to himself, moving his hands like he’s trying to explain something, reciting a speech you can’t quite hear from as far as you are. The leftovers shift in your bag when you take your first step making the styrofoam squeak and plastic crinkle, his eyes shoot up instantly at the noise.

“Honey?”

Those wings start to stretch and flutter even after just one word. You wish you could be mad at how much power one word from him has, but all you feel is the weight of how much you missed him when his face softens.

“Hi Steve.” You catch the way his lips twitch at the sound of his name coming from your mouth when you open the gate. It had been too long for him, he’d become addicted to it without even knowing it.

He stands up, his eyes can’t help but roam your bare legs that sit exposed in your black cocktail dress, or the way the middle sinches into your waist, before fluttering out over the tops of your thighs. His own jealousy threatens to bubble over at the thought of you wearing this for someone else. He needs you to understand him.

“Is this a bad time?” He asks, scratching the back of his neck while he reads the restaurant name on your bag. He hopes whoever took you there isn’t coming back. “If it is sweetheart, I can give you more space. I just, I just wanted to see you.”

You stop in front of him, further away than normal but close enough to smell the cigar smoke that still clings to the cotton of his shirt. It mixes with the spice of his cologne from earlier this morning. His eyes find yours without hesitation, glazed over from the glass of whiskey you’re sure he nursed before finding himself on your front steps. They shimmer under the moon like emeralds and you just want to get lost in them.

The answer you want to give and the answer that you think will protect you are at each other’s throats, constricting yours from giving him anything right away. His face crumbles a little when his question is met with silence. You don’t want him to go.

“No, it’s not a bad time.” It comes out before you can fight it.

The smile that tugs at Steve’s lips warms your face like the summer sun, his hand reaching out for you before pulling back and finding a new home deep in his pocket instead. Baby steps. Your arm brushes against his when you walk past him, the smallest touch lighting the match.

“I just need to get out of this dress.” You can’t look at him when you pull at the fabric as if to show him how uncomfortable it is.

“Should I wait down here?” He clears his throat a little unsure of himself as he watches you dig through your purse. He didn’t think he’d get this far.

Cicadas buzz loud against the jingle of your keys in the beat of silence it takes you to unlock the front door. The stale air of the walkway hits you like an oven when you push it open, the heat making your skin stick more than it did outside.

“You can come up. I promise my dishes are done this time.” You flash him a smirk from over your shoulder watching the way your gesture makes him relax like you’d intended, secretly enjoying the blush you still can get to flush his cheeks so easily. 

Steve hadn’t been inside your apartment since the day he fixed your sink, and you don’t think you’ll ever get used to seeing him here. He’s handsome in a timeless way, still somehow put together even in his disheveled state. You watch the way he takes in his surroundings like he wants to commit it all to memory not knowing that he actually is, just in case this all blows up in his face and you never let him come back here again. 

The only noise that fills the room is the loud whirr of your A/C and it’s your turn to clear your throat.

“Umm, feel free to take a seat. I’ll be really quick.” You awkwardly gesture towards your green couch, grimacing when your mind goes back to the beautiful leather one at his place. 

He just nods, rubbing his palms against his thighs while taking one last look around before sitting. Your nose scrunches when you see how deep he sinks down, maybe a used couch wasn’t the best idea you’d ever had.

You wait till your door is shut to let out the long breath you feel like you’ve been holding this whole time. The familiar thumping in your chest returns ten fold. He’s in your living room.  

You try not to think too much about the yoga shorts and oversized shirt you change into, especially when your muscles relax, no longer strained by the tight nylon material dress. Allowing a single once over in your long mirror, you force yourself back out, the creak of your door alerting him of your return. His stare makes goosebumps dance across sticky skin in a battle with the air conditioning.

“Do you want some water?” You try to sound casual when you ask, keeping your back to him so he can’t see the way you’re still buying time.

“S- sure,” he stutters out, a cough following and you hear the way the cushions respond to his weight as he tries leaning forward. 

Now it's the whirr of your a/c and the grumbling of the ice machine that silences the unspoken feelings that are begging to come out. Scratching and clawing their way to the surface, the cracks in your facade start getting deeper the longer you stay quiet.

Steve breaks first.

“I think there’s a conversation we should have.” He pauses before starting over, “There’s a conversation I want to have.”

You freeze when the realization of where you left the watering can smacks you right in the face.

“Steve-“ you start, unable to meet his eyes and he’s quick to cut you off.

“Listen, I have some things I need to say and you should at least let me get it off my chest if you’re just going to pretend I don’t exist now.” His words make you realize the selfishness that hides under your insecurities of not being good enough for someone like him. 

He stands up when you turn around, both of you staying on opposite sides of the room. He takes a shaky breath before dragging his fingers through his hair.

“I didn’t think I’d ever feel these things again with anyone else, I was sure of it actually and then you showed up in your horribly packed moving truck.” He laughs a little like he’s still wrapping his head around all of it, and he knows if the situation was any different you’d roll your eyes at him for the teasing jab.

“You brought all of these things out of me that I thought I’d lost for good. Like, I can’t remember the last time I cared about what I was wearing when I left the house, but the past month I’ve been obsessed about it. Like what if she’s outside? What if she’s looking out her window? What if she wants to talk to me?” The veins in his neck show themselves as he gets more worked up but he’s not done yet.

“Then last week when you showed up at my front gate, looking even prettier than the last time I saw you, because you do that somehow, I couldn’t help myself around you anymore. The fact that you were actually going to kiss me back after I put the worst moves on you made me feel like I won the lottery or something.” His gaze meets yours to make sure he isn’t scaring you off before taking a deep breath.

“And then, and then you just - you just left without so much as a reason why. It was pretty clear though when I got home, and maybe that’s my fault because I feel like I’m doing this all backwards but you didn’t give us a chance to even talk about it.”

Steve looks like his world is falling apart, and the things he’s saying make you feel like anything but a second choice. You wish you could go back to that rainy day at his house and do things over again.

“I wasn’t given the shot at a fair fight the first time something special was taken from me, but I have one now and I’m not walking away unless you kick me out.” He straightens his shoulders a little before another anxious hand runs through his wild hair. His chest heaves as he finally gets out what’s been sitting just below the surface the whole time, his fears revealing themselves behind flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. 

The feeling like you’re slighting another woman who isn’t here is hard to navigate. It makes your own eyes sting but you don’t let the tears fall. Not when he’s handing his heart to you like he means it.

“I’d never kick you out,” your words come out quiet - soft, a stark contrast to the way his boomed loud with conviction, but he doesn’t miss them.

Hope starts to sprout deep in his chest for the first time in years.

“Never?” He breathes, relief relaxing the hard lines on his face while he looks at you from under his lashes.

His feet take him those few steps closer and when you make no moves to tell him to stop he keeps going. The sadness that plagues his handsome features slowly starts to fade and the bags under his eyes become more obvious. You want to kiss them.

Your hand extends, fingers reaching out for his. His eyes follow your movements, taking in what you’re offering and he doesn’t hesitate anymore, interlocking them like when he walked you to your front door. You watch the way his shoulders give the moment they touch and his eyes close as he relishes in the feel of it. Of you. 

Your back hits the edge of your kitchen sink when he crowds your space a little more, your fingers playing songs on imaginary strings together. Memorizing he dips between each one. His nose skims across your forehead making your own eyes close. How could you ever stay away from him?

“Never.” 

He hums at your confession, squeezing your hand gently before pulling back. He takes his time admiring your face from this close. He missed you so much, he actually thinks it’s kind of crazy. His other hand reaches up to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing the high bone. He loves the way you lean into it. You missed him too.

“Can we have that conversation now?” 

All you can do is nod, tears still threatening to spill out but now a different kind.

The two of you sit on your couch for hours, worn in cushions pushing you close together. Your head rests on his arm that’s draped along the back of it, your socked feet in his lap. He tells you how he met Emma through his high school sweetheart Nancy. The ex that turned him into a man as he put it, the one that made him really think about the kind of person he wanted to be. Even going as far to say Emma would have never given him the time of day if it wasn’t for her. Nancy was the Managing Editor of The Chicago Tribune and Emma was her Editor in Chief.

After being introduced by Nancy at a sports gala, Steve pursued her hard, especially because she said no the first three times he asked her out. It makes you giggle when he laughs about it. He said he knew he wanted to marry her after the first date and a year later he proposed to her on a group vacation with Eddie, Robin, Nancy and a few other friends in Mexico. The picture you saw was taken right after she said yes.

The wedding was small, just a few of their closest friends at The Chicago Botanical Gardens, and a dinner at Smith & Wollensky next to the river after. He told you how Eddie pretended to be mad the whole night becauseSteve made Robin his best man instead. They both moved into Steve’s apartment near Wrigley Field after a honeymoon in Italy. He said it was some of the best years of his life with her there, young and in love in one of the liveliest neighborhoods in the city. Then a few years passed and both their careers started taking off and they started wanting more as they got older. A family.

That’s when they started to invest in renovating this fixer upper of a house in a less nightlife oriented neighborhood. The house you live next door to. Between busy work schedules and dealing with contractors when the symptoms first started, they didn’t think anything of it. They chalked it up to exhaustion until she fainted in her office a few months later, then they finally saw a doctor. Another month later after multiple tests and hospital visits Emma was diagnosed with ALS.

“I’ve never seen something debilitate someone so fast, and Emma, god Emma was so strong. Seeing her like that at the end, it fucking broke me.” Steve’s voice cracks, a silent stream of tears falling down his cheeks now.

Your heart breaks for them, the tragedy of watching the person you love fall apart with nothing to do to stop it. An entire life you had planned ripped out from under you with zero warning or mercy. A cruel joke.

You reach up, using the back of your knuckles to wipe away his tears.  He leans in your touch, his gaze meeting yours with so many emotions inside of them, you think you might drown.

“We decided to stay in our apartment when she couldn’t walk anymore, with the rate it was moving she didn’t want me to live in this big new house meant for our new beginning and have her…have her die in it,” the last part comes out in just above a whisper, stopping to collect his thoughts. His brows furrow together and his fingers search for yours again. You give them to him without question. 

“We checked her into hospice a month after that, Eddie flew in the day she chose to get off assistance. She was surrounded by the people she loved the most those last days.” He takes another deep breath before he continues, it shakes just like his hands.

“That was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I don’t know how someone is supposed to go through that kind of pain and move on from it. Be a person again after it.” He takes another pause and he pulls you closer. His anchor.

“I don’t know if I’d still be here if it wasn’t for Eddie moving into the house with me those first three months, if I’m being totally honest with you.” He sniffs, his gaze falls to his lap to try and hide the shame at the thought, and you squeeze his hand a little bit harder.

“I’m so sorry Steve.” Your voice cracks at the weight of everything he’s been carrying around. The gravity of the way you left him tightens in your throat.

The tears you’d been holding back break free, making his eyes snap to yours. He lets your hand go to wipe your cheeks with gentle fingers like you did to his just moments before. He knows you're apologizing for more than just his bad luck.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m okay now,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. The tips of your noses touch, tears mixing and dripping down the ends of them. You keep your eyes closed in hopes that if you focus hard enough, maybe you could take away some of his pain. Even if it’s just a little bit. “We’re okay now.”

You don’t know how long the two of you sit like this together, not speaking, letting wandering hands memorize faces and fingertips. Your breathing falls in time while your cheeks start to dry. Puffy red eyes stay closed while your muscles finally relax. His nose rubs small circles against yours that make smiles neither of you can see stretch across tear streaked faces.

When you finally open your eyes, he’s already looking at you, something brighter inside of his now like he just let go of a big secret. He doesn’t have to hide anymore.

It’s you that finally works up the strength to pull away enough to really see his whole face after depriving yourself of it for so long.

“I actually kinda feel like she sent you here, despite me,” he admits, laughing nervously, breaking the silence, “She made me promise her that I’d try and find love again when the time was right, I eventually said yes after she asked me at least a dozen times, but I never actually intended on it.” 

Steve stops for a second to brush some of your mascara that smudged, holding your eyes in the forest of his.

“Then five years later, this tough girl tries moving an entire apartment’s worth of stuff by herself next door. I mean, you practically did.” He smiles at how proud you look of yourself, “I knew I was screwed when Bandit sniffed you out.”

You giggle like you're just as love sick as him and he wishes he could play it on a loop whenever he’s sad. 

“She was probably laughing at how bad I was at trying to flirt with you.” His ears turn cherry red while he tries to hide his very real embarrassment.

“You did run away from me for like a solid week after we met the first time if you remember,” you tease, making his eyebrows raise in challenge. You weren’t supposed to roast him too.

“I guess we’re even then aren’t we?” He counters, smirking when you scoff, wrapping his arm around you so you can’t move away like you try to in fake protest.

Your legs end up draped over the tops of his thighs, fitting snug into his side. The warmth of his body makes your eyelids droopy. The cedar undertones he always carries calms all of your nerves.

“She was beautiful Steve,” you whisper, playing with the chain that dangles off his neck before looking up at him with a smile, “And maybe even a little too cool for you if I dare say.” It’s genuine when it comes out of your mouth, no hidden insecurities, an understanding that he wasn’t settling for you and it makes Steve want to kiss you even more. 

“She would have thought you were way too cool for me too.” He laughs, tracing the side of your face with his fingertips. You want to look away from the intensity of it all but you force yourself to hold his stare, keeping yourself open for him. It’s quiet for a few minutes, letting everything that was shared tonight really sink in. That stray you missed so much makes an appearance and you finally get to be the one that pushes it back, and his hair is just as soft as you imagined.

“What are you doing on the fourth, pretty girl?” The new nickname makes you shift in your seat, the hint of a smug smirk begs to break across his face when he catches it. Maybe he’s still got it.

“Nothing, I got the day off.” You hate that his question is enough to make you shy.

It’s too hard to hold his gaze this time, but he doesn’t let that slide. His fingers hook under your chin to tilt your eyes back up to his. Noses brushing, your lips just inches apart like this.

“Be my date to the block party?” He whispers, whiskey and tobacco still lingering on his breath. 

You smile, nudging your nose against his in a dare.

“I’d love to Steve.” His name comes out around strawberry chapstick lips, they brush with his feeling like velvet and it makes his nostrils flare.

He dips his head with a groan kissing the corner of mouth instead, before placing one on both your cheeks and another, a lingering one, against your forehead. 

“In honor of not doing things backwards, I’m going to wait until I’ve taken you out. The way it should happen. The way someone like you deserves.”

Steve wants to make you feel special too.

It's hard for you to feel rejected with his reasoning and seeing the clock on your stove read in bright red numbers - 2:46am. The fourth was only three days away now.

You play it off with a roll of your eyes and a dramatic “fine” that makes him really laugh for the first time all night, giving you another kiss on the cheek. This one a little wet. He can’t get enough of the way you can’t look at him after.

It’s another thirty minutes before he decides it’s time to go home when your yawn is too loud to hide and your head presses harder into his chest. He wishes he could stay, and one night he knows he will.

You both linger in the doorway with fingers wrapped up tight, neither one of you ready to let go. He just wants to stare at you, but he knows the alarm stuffed in his pocket is going to make his life miserable in three hours.

Instead, he gives you another kiss on the forehead telling you he’ll text in the morning, and he wishes he could have a picture of the smile you give him when you promise to text back.

beta’d by @superblysubpar

dividers by @newlips

older!steve edit by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

🌇 -> chapter eight

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XVIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here..welcome to eighteen..

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Uh... *checks notes* UH... *flips frantically*...listen my laptop exploded and I lost the original version of this chapter gimme a break. I think it was the oatmeal ch. last off.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

So. Danny is halfway through his squeeze this, please exercises where he has a grippy thing the doctors give him where he tries to squeeze this until they make calm noises again when something bursts through the door.

He’s so distracted that he drops his squeezing machine. 

Everyone immediately gets terse and guarded— the lady who looks out for him the most actually pulls up in front of him? Like, protecting him? With her body?? It’s so far out of left field Danny has to wonder if they’re, like, keeping him for something important down the line instead of just treating him. 

The doctors take shelter behind medical equipment where they can, but whatever the assailant is, it’s too fast for them to put up their defenses. For a second, Danny is instinctually scared— the doctor in the periwinkle scrubs sees him almost every day, changing out his bag and fussing with his lower half under his blankets. The doctor in green makes him do the hand stretches he doesn’t want to do and sit up so that he can do it more often again. 

He’s used to them. He doesn't want that to change, or— Or for them to get hurt. 

The blur darts through the doors and past the doctors and is definitely aimed at Danny, so when the lady catches it (with one hand??) and hauls it up out of reach of Danny’s cot, Danny’s relieved wheeze is genuine and emphatic. Ohgodthatwasscary. 

On the other end of her arm is a teenager. A teenager in a…red…outfit, probably, unless he really likes gray and Danny’s eyes are actually working normally for once. Gray hair. Some kind of face, presumably. 

The teen’s legs keep spinning until he realizes how caught he is. Then he goes completely limp in defeat. 

“Cild Lihting se þridda,” the lady scolds, not unlike how Danny’s heard Vlad scold his cat for throwing paperwork off his desk. “Hwæt eart eow dydest?”

“...Naþing ,” the teenager lies, badly, and it sounds so much like Nothing, mom, wasn’t me, that Danny can’t help but choke out a laugh. 

It makes his chest muscles spasm and his throat sore, sure, but that’s not the point. The lady keeps scolding the teen she’s holding up midair, but the teen lights up at Danny’s choked out wheeze like the sun. Almost literally, actually— the green starts accumulating in Danny’s field of view as his body tries to compensate for whatever’s going on in the atmosphere around him. 

The doctors slowly let down their improvised shields, fetching Danny’s lost grippy tool (ugh) and putting it back in his hand (UGH). Danny gives one, pathetic squeeze of the tool, and then decides to visibly languish, because this sucks, obviously. The fact that no one can sympathize with his struggle isn’t new. Just watch him go limp about it. 

The next time the lady and the teen stop making scolding and scolded noises, Danny looks over; the teenager has been, apparently, wrangled into a hair net and face mask. Okay. So it’s not that Danny is off limits then— or maybe he is, but either way, it’s more about getting people into the right gear than about keeping them away from him. Once the teen’s been sprayed down with something that smells absolutely gross, forcibly gloved, and dropped unceremoniously onto the ground, the teen is back on his feet and hollering as he leaves the lady behind. “Þancie eow!!” 

“Slaw, lytel Lihting!” 

Slow, Danny understands, parsing out the weird words as they reach him. Lytel might as well mean little. This sucks. He can never tell if he’s right when he guesses, and he just gets lucky when people understand him back, or whether people are pretending to understand him more than they actually do. Lighting is a weird nickname for a kid though. 

—And then the teen is a foot away from his face and babbling at top speed, entirely at ease with their proximity and hands moving a mile a minute, and Danny has not been losing enough time for that to be anything other than either magic or a superpower. 

Oh, his brain corrects. The word clicks into place. Lightning. 

It’s probably some kind of magic, Danny’s guessing, because as he’s absolutely flabbergasted that someone is leaning into his face and trying to engage him that talk that isn’t happening, his ghost sense flares with a backwash of OMGHIHELLO!!MIS/SEDYOUMISSED//YOUPLAYING?? that. Uh. Is very…a lot? Very intense??

Very…welcoming?

The lady who minds him but isn’t a doctor sighs, picks the teenager up by the waist (??) and sets him a whole foot back. The teen doesn’t even stop chattering, his aura flaring alongside a story Danny is definitely missing, but not unappreciative of. 

He throws something onto Danny’s bed. Danny drops the grippy tool in order to grab it, to the doctor’s verbal dismay. 

But. 

Like Danny’s model shuttle, which never leaves his side, the thing on his bed is Danny’s. This is Danny’s weird, flimsy, squishy toy.

The teen practically vibrates with pride.

…Okay, then. He’s kind of confused, but like. You know. He’s not against this.

Danny picks the squishy, blue thing in his trembling fingers and shakes it around without any sense of fine motor control, and the thing leaps out of his fingers and lands on the floor pretty much instantaneously.

It makes a weird suction noise. Danny peeks over the bed to find it sitting upright, stuck to the floor.

The teen responds by throwing even more colorful, oddly-shaped toys on the bed.

Danny knows enough about doctors to know that there were probably structured plans on how Danny was supposed to spend his time on specific exercises to target specific muscles and stretch specific parts of his hands, but the teen sits at his bedside and plays with toys Danny doesn’t remember with him, and no one stops them at all.

It’s nice.

For about an hour, until Danny truly tires, it's almost…normal.

[choerypetal]

Yooooo!!! That Snow fic you recently released involving the reader and Treech being in love? Absolute masterpiece! So hear me out: what if you wrote about their connection and how it progressed? Like, before Coryo got his clutches on the reader. There was a moment you described where Treech and the reader snuck out, I’m pretty sure. I’d love to see a story on that. Maybe end it with those dying words you mentioned? Just utter fluff with that heartbreak of an ending.

Capitol's love birds. / Treech

summary : being Snow's twin meant being exactly like him, even though your appearances were slightly different. As a mentor yourself, you were assigned to District 7's male tribute, Treech. it was only in the wagon on its way to the Capitol that the chemistry first sparked, ultimately solidifying your status as the Capitol's favorite lovebirds.

ps ; english is not my native language, and I appreciate seeing your requests for ideas that I may not have thought of. Hopefully, you find the suggestions helpful. please refrain from plagiarizing my work without my permission or proper credit, as doing so may result in being flagged or banned. thank you.

Mentoring proved to be a challenging responsibility, but the greatest struggle arose when love entered the picture. However, this was no ordinary affection; it was a type of love that some might view as disgraceful, while others perceived it as a form of admiration amid the Games. Although Treech wasn't particularly interested in getting to know his mentor, let alone encountering them in another restricted enclosure, it was within those confines that the two of you crossed paths. Despite being Snow's twin traditionally constantly at his side, it was unquestionable that you, too, were destined to trail behind him to discover who your tribute was. 

While taking pride in mentoring someone from a district not situated at the lowest rungs of Panem's hierarchy, you were fortunate enough to maintain a semblance of dignity, given the reputation of the district you represented for its familiarity with victory. However, Lucy Gray Baird's captivating performance, the talk of the town since the reaping, cast shadows of doubt over your confidence. All of this, while your brother engaged with fellow tributes, attempting his best to establish his temptation not to gith back. 

You couldn't help but notice the stark class distinctions. Dust still clung to their attire, indicating a lack of access to basic amenities like showers before arriving. A twinge of sympathy crept in. "What's a pretty face doing here?" Reaper Ash remarked, catching you off guard. Initially assuming the comment was directed at Coriolanus, you soon realized it was aimed squarely at you. The revelation that you, too, were to become a mentor became apparent. And that the unspoken pressure to make a positive first impression on the fortunate second tribute who had the early opportunity to meet you loomed large. But Ash simply laughed at your brother’s reaction by ordering you stay behind him. Although poorly as his arm performed itself as a fence initiating to any tributes not to go further. "Relax, pretty boy. I won't touch her. Just asking for a friend, that's all." 

That friend happened to be Treech, whose imposing silhouette positioned itself in front of you a little closer this time. His gaze had been fixed on you from the moment he laid eyes on you. While you initially attributed it to natural human interaction, the persistent feeling of being scrutinized lingered throughout. It seemed as if Treech was almost surprised or even deceived to have you as his mentor, likely influenced by how your brother had fared so far. "Looking for District 7." You mentioned exchanging quick glances with the tributes to assess who would be best with an axe.

 As expected, your eyes landed on the red-headed girl who endeavored to present herself as the ideal candidate for you. "A boy." Your brother corrected, noticing as Lamina stood up, but Treech, adopting a protective stance, advised her to remain behind, much like your twin had done. After all it was a one-on-one game for the time being. "That must be my lucky one." Treech expressed sarcastically, stating it as a matter of fact, causing a subtle pink shade to color your cheeks – a reaction you tried hard to control. After all, it was your very first time you had seen someone outside the District ever. "You get to have the other pretty one." Ash teased playfully, suggesting that, despite Treech's charming demeanor, he was seemingly destined for a grim fate in the arena upon arrival. “I’m a little jealous.” Ash generously said.

Upon reaching the Capitol, you and your brother were taken aback as you discovered an unforeseen aspect of the tributes' journey. The initial understanding was that Flickerman, the Capitol's esteemed journalist, would be present to introduce each tribute upon their arrival. However, what they were unaware of was the presence of two mentors among the tributes, perhaps trespassing without official permission. This, however, was a matter for another time. Despite the somewhat unconventional transportation, Treech remained fixated on you throughout the journey to the Capitol. He seemed entranced by the striking resemblance between you and your brother, sparking a sense of compassion. Observing your interactions and the way you closely accompanied your brother, it was rumored that you were akin to his pet, only permitted to speak when approved by Coriolanus. Despite his disdain for the District, your brother demonstrated a surprising degree of protectiveness towards you, although in the midst of the situation, allowed  some space during the encounter with your tribute in an unexpected location. 

Fortunately, your keen observation allowed you to realize that you were reaching your destination, a detail that eluded many, including Coryo himself. Swiftly grasping your twin’s arm, a gesture he had ensured, the sudden tilt of the wagon hinted at the possibility of your feet slipping and sliding. Treech's eyes widened at your momentary clumsiness, seizing the opportunity to support you. As your back met the uncomfortable mud of the Zoo, he was determined not to lose his mentee on the spot. 

Cameras focused intently on both you and your brother, eliciting a crowd reaction filled with exclamations such as, "It's Snow's boy!" Swiftly, the onlookers noticed your presence next to your brother, who rose and asserted himself. There you stood, a captivating spectacle, with Treech's arm securing your waist and his unwavering gaze fixed on yours. A sly smirk played on his lips as the rest of the crowd declared your presence as well. "And look! The other Snow!" The citizens of the Capitol, already entranced by the presence of the twin siblings on their tributes' first day, began expressing confidence in your victory. This added an additional layer of challenge for the other mentors who were absent from this captivating spectacle. "It's your cue, princess." 

"Princess" was the first word he used to address you. Ironically, it took you a moment to realize that all the cameras were focused on you. Your brother had already made his mark, keeping a careful eye to ensure your tribute didn't make any missteps, especially when it came to touching you. However, you were completely under Treech's influence. With a confident smile, he waved at the cameras, making it a bit easier for you to face the potential embarrassment later at home. "She's alright!" He assured, shifting his gaze quickly to your relieved brother. He could have sworn he saw a few Capitol ladies, with similar makeup to yours, watching in awe at how Treech gallantly assisted you. As he watched the scene unfold with Lucy and Snow not far away, he too decided to play the role of the Capitol's love bird. 

As preparations for the 10th Hunger Games were underway, Flickerman's team mandated interviews with every tribute each year. From the very beginning, you managed to establish trust with Treech, a bond that proved beneficial. Not only did you ensure he was well-fed, but you also took the initiative to fetch Lamina additional food, given her mentor's apparent neglect. Treech appreciated the maternal role you assumed for Lamina. On one occasion, he confessed that he would go to great lengths for her, even if it meant risking his own life to secure her victory as the final tribute. It was all in the pursuit of making District 7 proud once again, for a Lumberjack always harbors a wealth of secrets up their sleeves. 

During his time at the Zoo, Treech found increased joy in your company, particularly when you accompanied him for a quick visit to the arena. Following suit with other tributes, he decided to take the initiative in making the first move. It happened on that initial day when he casually attempted to hold your hand, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. You discreetly glanced at him, careful not to make it too obvious given the presence of the assigned tributes and their mentors. With Coriolanus behind you taking notice. Yet, observing Treech's attempts to connect with you, he sensed a deeper connection between the two of you. Realizing this, your elder sibling understood the need to strengthen his bond with Lucy. To Treech's delight, he could only imagine your brother envying a love that he would never receive in return. 

With insider knowledge of the arena and sneaky routes into the Academy, Treech and you managed to slip away after the arena visit. Observing his interaction back with District 4's tribute and noticing his vigilance, a few teases were all it took to provoke Treech into throwing a punch, especially when faced with comments like. "Your girlfriend wouldn't mind if I speak with you?" While it was clear that others were aware of your connection, Treech dismissed it as a mere game, refusing to believe that it held any deeper significance. However, his sentiments towards you had sparked an unexpected depth of emotion within him. "Just a reminder." He sternly directed at the other tribute, his gaze darkening with offense. Spotting you behind him with Lamina by your side, Treech asserted. "You don't speak such filth about Y/N." The onlookers chuckled at his protectiveness and the evident depth of his emotions. "Or else?" They added, challenging anyone who dared to disrespect you. 

"Or else, I won't hesitate to cut your head off with my axe. Watch yourself, because I can do it in the blink of an eye." With those words, Treech revealed what you truly meant to him. He could vividly recall Snow's concerned gaze as he tried to pull you away from the escalating situation. However, you had refused that day, meeting Treech's eyes the entire time after discussing the tributes he would be teamed with. "For Lamina's sake," You had pleaded, urging him to be cautious. "Those individuals only seek your vulnerability. They may be from District 4, but they don't understand the power of an axe." Was what Treech said reassuring you with a smile. A smile you’ll never forget. 

In that very moment, you decided to take Treech with you for a clandestine escape from the arena. It was a day when even the tributes were granted the freedom to either stay at the arena for practice or wander under the watchful eyes of the Peacekeepers. However, Treech and you had a different agenda. You used the excuse of wanting to make his training more convenient as a cover. For some inexplicable reason, you had the approval of Dr. Gaul, who only instructed that Treech needed to return to the Zoo before midnight. It seemed that being Snow's twin had its perks after all. 

Upon your arrival at the Academy's Greenhouse, both of you maintained a quiet atmosphere. This place held a special significance for you, offering tranquility during moments of anxiety or family pressure. Though it was suspected that you were in charge of the Greenhouse, under your grandmother's watchful eye and constant reminders to enjoy tending to flowers like she did, you chose to share this haven with Treech. It was the same place where you had once spoken briefly to him, and he was thrilled not only to spend time alone with you but also to witness the real person behind the facade of prestige and elegance showcased in public. Trying to ease the slight tension, Treech remarked. "You know, I'd be damned to see your brother's face if he were here." It was a fact that you were gradually opening up to someone. The type that was once a stranger and now someone to feel loved by. "Brother could care less; he has Lucy wrapped around his finger right now.” You added, acknowledging the complexities of your relationships within the family. 

A smirk played across Treech's face, revealing his amusement at the thought of your brother feeling jealous. Although they were in similar positions, this time the connection between you and Treech was authentic, not just for show. Playful teasing began to permeate every event at the Academy, serving as a tactic to expose vulnerabilities in both of you. However, with Treech's mentor skills and the insights gained from your brother's tips, he honed his skills and strength, making it increasingly difficult for others to exploit weaknesses or gain his trust. "And would it be fair to say that I, too, have my little finger entirely wrapped around you, Princess?" He added, playfully reciprocating the banter. 

His words caused a warm blush to spread across your cheeks, especially when he directed his attention toward you during wound care in practice. The worry in your eyes whenever he made a slight mistake was met with a reassuring thumbs-up and the smile you cherished. There were moments when it became challenging for him to stay focused, particularly when he saw you engaged in conversations with your other classmates. Despite the casual nature of those interactions, he couldn't resist the urge to draw your attention back to him. In response, you chuckled softly, suggesting a meeting on the rooftop of the Greenhouse to admire the stars. "Anything that involves being with you, I'll gladly say yes." He replied with a smile. “You know, I love when you blush more. Especially for me.” 

Without uttering a word, you playfully dismissed his comment, rolling your eyes in a teasing manner. You extended your hand, a gesture he effortlessly accepted. "Show me the way, Princess." He said, and together, you ascended the stairs. Luck was on your side as you reached the rooftop just as the sun of the Capitol dipped below the horizon, signaling the arrival of dawn. The sky was clear, and the stars of Panem glittered above, creating a breathtaking scene just for the two of you. "Looks like I'm the lucky one." He marveled at the view. "Having a beautiful face to look at and a beautiful scenery to enjoy all to myself. I'd be damned not to win these Games and return home to a beautiful angel." He confessed, and this time, he genuinely meant every word. 

On the other hand, you remained completely silent. Initially, you wanted to express your gratitude, but as the Games drew nearer, uncertainty crept in, even with Treech's skills. The looming uncertainty, especially regarding Lucy's well-being and Snow's single-minded pursuit of victory, left you unsure. Despite your love for your brother, his focus was solely on winning, regardless of the familial bond. Treech noticed the tension as the two of you sat next to the bench, and he tried to bring you closer. In an unexpected reaction, you flinched—a rare occurrence. "Hey—" Treech began, but he immediately noticed your slightly swollen face and your eyes fighting back tears. The man you loved had become, overnight, a complete stranger at best. "Look at me, Y/N." He pleaded, adopting a worried tone as you broke down in front of him. The situation must have been incredibly embarrassing for you. 

"What's wrong?" His voice softened as he looked at you, tender care evident in his gaze. He took immense pride in having you as his partner during the Games and falling in love with the most exceptional mentors he could have ever asked for. He harbored concerns about the possibility of you crying over his lifeless body, should the worst come to pass. The thought of hearing you scream his name filled him with worry, although he made a concerted effort not to show it. His overarching plan was to make you proud and, above all, to be loved by you until his very last breath. 

"Have you ever genuinely fallen in love?" Your question resonated with Treech. Of course, he loved you. You were an unexpected and, ironically, his first love. And so for you. The circumstances of your meeting might not have been ideal, but as long as he was with you, that's all that mattered. And if things worked in his favor, it was not just for him but for Lamina as well, given that she often regarded you as someone she could trust. "Like genuinely." You added, trying your best not to burst into laughter. Your tears didn't make it any easier, giving you a slightly maniacal tone. 

“Of course, and that person is sitting right in front of me.” His eyes not taking his gaze from you. How he watched you loosing yourself entirely in the moment of a mere seconds. Your old habits resurging as you would try to numb the pain of your fingers by scratching the very last skin until it bled. To which Treech could not help to notice the moment he had met you. He grabbed your fingers, making you to stop it quickly as he began to peck every single fingers. “And I have made a promise to myself, that if I’d ever win. That we will be reunited together. Build a family, run away together. Be the lovebirds the Capitol wants us to be.” 

A mixture of remorse and relief surged through you as you heard every word from Treech, assuring you that he would stay alive and well. If only you could muster the same confidence he exuded. Despite your attempts, he gently wiped away your tears, his fingers delicately holding your chin to meet his gaze. "You know, even if it's not the conventional way to confess one's love to another, I might be able to let myself do it." He said, leaning in to press his lips against yours. They were soft, just as you expected, carrying the comforting scent of wood he had kept upon his arrival—a reminder of home, a home with both you and Treech. 

"I love you to the bottom of my heart. I know our first meetings weren't the best, but the way you cared for Lamina, and even showed care to me, proved something deeper. If we can continue doing that every night until the Games, I'll make sure you genuinely know that I love you." He confessed once the kiss broke. His words carried a weight that nearly brought tears to your eyes, holding you in place. The both of you chuckled at the irony of the situation, yet a newfound sense of confidence enveloped you—something you had never experienced before, especially as someone from a District. 

"Man, I wish we could continue this, but I don't want you to get punished for bringing me here—" This time, you swiftly cut him off, recognizing that it wasn't the right time for such activities, especially just a few days before the Games. Instead, you proposed a deal—a deal he seemed to enjoy a little too much. Every time you had the chance to train with him, just before returning him to the Zoo, you would indulge in cuddling and sometimes reminisce about home. Occasionally, these encounters escalated into intense make-out sessions, leaving him with a desire to mark you visibly. The marks led to teasing from some classmates, making you blush, and occasional interventions from your brother. Despite casual warnings, Treech took pleasure in denying everything with a smirk that your brother despised. To add to his delight, that same night, Treech deepened the marks, leaving a lasting impression. Just to see Snow’s furious face once again. 

Although this little pleasure was only going to last very soon, when the Games were officially commencing and you knew that. With you being at least able to say your final goodbyes to Treech, he could to feel your worrying about his situation. Cupping your face so delicately as a mention that everything was going to be alright. It was the last time that you also felt his lips brushing against yours. A kiss you would not forget so easily. 

During the Games, you and the remaining mentors, alongside your brother, watched with stress and concern for the well-being of your tributes. While your eyes remained fixed on Treech, you also tried your best to ensure Lamina's safety. However, the situation took a dire turn when the poison finally affected Treech. Feeling helpless, you did everything in your power to find a remedy, attempting to prevent the symptoms from worsening and to make them last until only one tribute remained. "The poison!" You angrily tried to draw attention, tears welling up as you called out to your brother, who paid no heed. Seeing you suffer for the one you loved was what he had envisioned from the start. His pleasure lay in witnessing Treech's suffering on screen. "Please! Give him the medication!" You appealed to your District 7's female mentor, but it was too late. Treech's coughing worsened, and your eyes remained fixed on the screen. "Treech..." was all you could say. 

Treech sensed that you were watching him, but whether it was with shame or grief, he couldn't discern. What he was certain of was seeing the expression on your face—a face that conveyed concern and a desperate desire to help. He knew that if the poison were to affect him, you would swiftly send the medication. However, it didn't happen, and he realized it was too late. Lucy had managed to escape, unlike him, who became the prisoner of an inevitable and senseless death. As he noticed the cameras focused on him, he understood that by now, you would be looking at him. "Y/N..." he began to cough in the middle of his sentence, capturing the attention of everyone in the room, including your brother. "I loved you since we met. Please, once I am gone, I want you to know that I genuinely loved and will always love you." 

"No!!" Your voice wavered between tears, desperately trying to advocate for the medication option repeatedly. Cursing under your breath, you fought against Pliny Harrington, who did his best to restrain you. "Y/N..." he tried to console you, sensing the profound grief from everyone's tributes, including yours. What he failed to comprehend was the deep connection between you and Treech, destined to become the Capitol's favorite lovebirds. "It's too late..." His voice turned into a plea for you to stop. It was at that moment that your entire body went numb. In Pliny’s arms, you managed to sit down, and as Snow's victory loomed over you, you realized that your confidence was about to be completely overshadowed once again. You would become Snow's source of pride and victory.

A man you had once loved would forever reside in your heart. In the heart of District 7, you were revered for your role as a caretaker for both its female and male tribute. What you were not aware of was that, unlike Snow, you became the face of purity and trust—a bond between the District and the people of the Capitol. It was a paid respect for the Capitol's most famous lovebirds.

[makeyoumine69]

Babe I LOVE your writing, and if your comfortable, Can you please write a little blurb about the reader digging her nails in Patrick's back,

im trying to think if he would like that he could make you feel good like this or hate it because your marking his beautiful skin.

Do you think he would push your hand off his back and tell you to take it or what???

Toxic

◥ PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

◥ SUMMARY: Everyone knows that Patrick Bateman is such a toxic guy, his blood is like a deadly poison. Once you taste it, you are lost.

◥ CONTAINS: oral (f), p in v, creampie, Patrick is in predator mode, pretty aggressive foreplay and some more :)

◥ WORDCOUNT: 1.6k

◥ SONG REC: Britney Spears - Toxic

◥ A/N: Britney's song suddenly inspired me so much that I couldn't stop myself from writing it, thank you sm for your request, I hope you like it! 🖤

◥ LINKS: [MASTERLIST] 🪓

You and Patrick were in the middle of a really serious fight, and the fact that you were stuck in his vacation house in Hampton was more than worrisome.

"I don't know why you're still trying to argue with me," Bateman blurted out, strolling around the large modern kitchen wearing nothing but tight gray pants. "You looked great yesterday."

"'Great'?" You almost choked on the air, crossing your arms over your chest. "So, in your opinion, looking great means looking like everyone else? Skimpy dresses, extremely high heels, red lipstick, stockings. Oh my God, Patrick! Why can't you just accept me for who I am?"

Patrick hummed and poured himself a glass of fresh orange juice, then took a quick sip; a small drop of liquid ran down his massive chest. "What do you mean?"

He seemed to be joking or mocking you on purpose, because your slightly irritated face only amused him.

"Stop trying to change me and -"

"Wait a second, honey," he cut you off pretty harshly, and in addiction, Bateman raised a finger in a warning gesture. "I can do whatever I want, you know why? Because I'm so fucking rich!"

"You don't own me, idiot!" You bellowed, instinctively closing the distance between the two of you. He did the same. "And I don't care about your money … you're so selfish and narcissistic that it's completely messed up your mind and you can't see anything good in people!"

You stood almost face to face, your lungs burning from your rapid breathing, while Bateman looked so calm and cold-blooded.

"You don't care about my money, but you always accepted all the gifts I gave you. How hilarious!" he almost spat the words right in your face, staring at you arrogantly until the vein under his eye became too noticeable. "If there's something you don't like - nobody's keeping you here. But since I'm very kind today, I'll give you a chance to apologize for this little accident."

Who knew what was in his head when he leaned down to kiss you, but he would surely regret it as you bit his lower lip hard, tasting his poisoned blood on the tip of your tongue.

"You fucking bitch!" He yelled, trying to catch you, but he was too slow from the aftershock of your action, so you managed to run away.

Scared, you rushed upstairs to the bedroom because you couldn't leave the house wearing just your underwear and his white shirt. God, your skin was literally burning from the expensive fabric of his shirt, so as soon as you got there, you took it off, forgetting to close the door. But to be fair, it was a pretty useless waste of time - he would open it or just break it, depending on how angry he was.

Panting nervously, you dashed to the bed and started to pick up your clothes when you heard his loud footsteps behind you. Time stopped for you as Patrick grabbed you roughly and pushed you onto the bed.

"No! N-no!" You struggled to slip away and climb further onto the bed, but he caught your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed with ease.

As soon as he rolled you onto your back, he grasped your neck and squeezed it painfully, pushing almost all the oxygen out of your chest. In response, you tried to claw at his hands, fighting back as hard as you could.

God, you thought you were going to die.

"What's wrong, honey? Not so brave anymore?" He nagged from above, settling down on the bed to press you even harder.

With a devilish grin, Bateman shook you several times, just to hear your miserable whimpering as he enjoyed the way you kept trying to push him off.

"E-enough, please." You trembled as you felt your strength running out.

"Jesus Christ, you're so pathetic and silly," he suddenly let you go, and you fell onto your back, breathing heavily. "What were you even thinking?"

It was definitely a rhetorical question, because the next moment Bateman was already pulling down your lace panties while you took a second to recover and continue struggling.

"Patrick, let me go! I don't want-mmm ..." You stammered as he dragged you even closer to the edge of the bed.

"You better shut up … unless you want me to test you on how long you can hold your breath."

Patrick quickly brushed off the drop of blood that formed at the corner of his lips before reaching down to spread your thighs and giving your blushing clit several flat licks. You squirmed almost immediately, feeling yourself so sinful and yet so damn good.

"P-Patrick," even if it wasn't a moan, it was enough for him to keep attacking your delicious little pussy as he sucked on your lower lips, one by one, until they both swelled. "God, e-enough!"

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" he looked at you, his chin glistening with your sweet flavor. "You're so fucking soaked, why am I not even surprised?"

Frowning, you stared back at him and asked cheekily: "Shouldn't your lip hurt?"

"Oh, don't worry," Patrick smiled smugly and fixed his messy hair. "I'm ready to ignore any pain for this lascivious tight pussy."

Holy shit.

The wild lust you just saw in his eyes was terrifying and exciting at the same time. Seizing the moment of your reverie, Bateman forced you to lift your legs so he could sink his strong tongue further into your hot cunt. And this time you couldn't keep a loud moan from escaping your tense chest as the pleasure coursed through your body like electricity.

And then, Bateman stopped unexpectedly, causing you to sigh in slight disappointment, but then you were very vocal all over again, especially when his red, leaking tip was poking at your dripping opening.

Patrick thrust into you so roughly, climbing on top of your tiny body, almost tearing you apart from the inside, and of course he did it on purpose as he reveled in all the pitiful reactions you were making.

"No way, girl," he pushed on your wide open hips, pinning you almost flat against the bed, pounding into you with shameless flesh-meeting-flesh sounds."Stop whining, I was kind hearted enough."

Oh God, his hips — they seemed to be made of steel, they were so rock hard, so strong; every push you felt with your whole body, with your every little pitch.

"Argh, fuck, you feel so good, baby… so tight and hot." He groaned, picking up the pace; his thick dick hitting your belly mercilessly.

Bateman seemed to be really crazy as he lowered down to your face once again, without any fear of getting a bite, and for a second you had the illusion that he was waiting for it, and that drove you really wild.

To his surprise, you moved towards him to take his bruised lip in your warm mouth to suck on his wound. It definitely itched, but Patrick just hissed through your passionate kiss as you both tried to take the lead, greedily devouring each other as if it was some kind of competition. Meanwhile, your trembling arms ran down his broad back, squeezing his strong muscles from time to time. The more you tugged on his lower lip, the more relentlessly he fucked you into the bed, pressing you down and holding you there with his huge, muscled body.

"Mmm, P-Patrick, aaaahh!" You moaned lustfully, feeling the salty taste of his blood on your lips.

Huffing, you cupped his tight ass with one hand while another was busy clawing at his soft skin. Inch by inch, your sharp nails dug deeper and deeper, leaving red lines across his back.

In reply, Bateman only began to fuck you harder, almost shifting into a mating press position, but that was still not enough for you. Slowly, you slid your hand from his butt up to his loin, sinking your nails into his skin again and again, leaving more and more scratches. His low, sexy groans almost made you fall apart right here right now, but you continued to paint red lines all over his body, using his skin as your canvas.

"Ahh, (Y/N) … you're mine to tame," he snarled and began to squat down, creasing you beneath him and burying his beefy girth as deep as he could. "Mmmh, did you already take your birth control pills?"

Both of you were breathing so heavily that the air around you seemed to be hotter than lava.

"Awww, y-yes … YES! I did," you looked into his dark eyes, full of savage passion. "Patrick…Patrick!"

Damn, his cock was so huge, you could feel every vein on it throbbing in ecstasy as he was so close to reaching his high. Instinctively, you lifted your legs higher, opening them even wider. The level of penetration was overwhelming, with each thrust he made, the mixture of your juices poured down on your heated bodies with a slick, obscene sound.

Growling gutturally, Patrick rammed into you several more times before you felt his grip on you tighten as he unloaded his warm seed inside your sore womb and that feeling, along with the way you played with your oversensitive little bud, left you no choice but to fall over the edge as you climaxed with a loud, long-drawn moan, shaking so vigorously in his arms that you almost hit your forehead against his as he bent down to kiss your temple, admiring the way you were sinking into the ocean of pure pleasure.

[pinkroseblooms]

Could you do a Mataka x reader x slight creepy Shindo. The reader is Arajins sister that just got discharged from the hospital and is cleared to go to school. (They are part of the reason their family moved back) They’ve had a childhood crush on Mataka, but they met Shindo in a book store. He thinks winning Arajin is through his sister, or threaten them.

This got my brain buzzing with ideas! Here's the first part, I'll probably break it down to 3 parts total!

A Chance Meeting and a Declaration of Protection?!

Summary: You've come back to your old hometown for a fresh start and a shot at a normal life; too bad being reunited with your childhood crush and attracting the attention of an unhinged gang leader is proving a detriment to your health in more ways than one! wc: 2.3 A/N: This takes place in an AU without honki people/magic, and tw for future chapters for Shindo being a creep/yandere coded because...I mean come on. Makatara/f!Reader/Shindo (mostly one sided though)

“Come on, just a little more…”

Standing on your tiptoes, you stretch your arm as high as you can, but the novel atop the highest shelf is still out of reach.

“Ugh, I should have asked Macchan to come and help me.”

“My, my, what do we have here?”

You feel a presence behind you before you hear their voice; at first you had assumed Arajin had returned to the bookstore to walk you home. Your mother had made him your personal escort of sorts and your brother had obeyed, walking you to and from the few places you felt well enough to explore. 

After spending so much time in a hospital bed, being outside was almost overwhelming, but you also felt restless. When you found out your favorite bookstore was still open after all these years, you could have cried. Now as you stand on somewhat wobbly legs, vision a touch fuzzy, the last thing you need is stress. Where was Arajin? And who was this strange man smirking at you like you were some amusing joke?

“You must realize the owner has a ladder for this exact reason.” 

“Huh?” 

He taps the spine of the book, easily reaching over your head. “This book, you want it, yes?”

“Oh, yes.” You nod, somewhat hesitantly; your eyes scan the aisle, but it would seem there’s no one else around.  Briefly, your eyes linger on his braided hair and light eyes; he wasn’t wearing a school uniform, just a plain, gray sweatshirt and matching pants. You were certain he was around your age though. 

“What are you staring at?”

“Oh sorry, I was thinking, um, did you want the book?” You smile apologetically, hoping your embarrassment wasn’t obvious. “I didn’t mean to be in the way.”

“No, no, I was amused by you hopping like a bunny.”

Your smile falls. “Uh, I guess I’ll just go on and ask for assistance then-”

But the stranger takes the book, holds it up over your head with a sickly sweet smile.

“I wouldn’t leave a lady struggling. Here, take it.”

“Oh, thank you.”

But before you can take the book, he holds it up even higher. You frown, confused; is he just messing with you?

“I thought you were giving me the book?”

“Isn’t it a bit rude to ask for favors from a stranger?” He asks innocently. “My name is Shindo  Akutaro; might I ask for your name?”

“Tomoshibi.” You say curtly. “May I please have that book, Shindo-san?”

“I suppose.” 

The book is unceremoniously dropped and you fail to catch it; the novel lands on the hard tiled floor and you slowly kneel to pick it up. Bending and stooping too quickly makes you light headed and your limbs feel like noodles at the least bit of sudden motion. 

“You don’t need to kneel before me for such a small favor.” 

Shindo’s smile widens until you see his canines; he looks down at you over the rim of his glasses, eyes shining with an odd sort of glee, as though you’re doing something very silly and he has to hold back laughter. You straighten up, standing up too quickly; for a second, you teeter on unsteady feet and your hand grabs the shelf for support. 

“You look very pale; are you sick? In that case, maybe you ought to be home, not hopping around.”

“I spent enough time cooped up.” You rub your forehead gently with your fingers, holding the book to your chest. “I should be able to manage shopping for a book.”

It’s more than your desire to purchase a new novel though; this book store is a place of comfort. You used to spend hours either browsing the selection or sitting in the cafe area to read the newest addition to your collection. It wasn’t like you could run around with Arajin and Matakara, as badly as you wanted to. Even now, you��ve only just begun to feel what you assume for others is something like “normal”. 

“It’s not funny.”

Shindo blinks, looking vaguely perturbed as you stare up at him defiantly; suddenly, you feel very irritated. Whether it’s due to his prior teasing or your own frustration, you’re not sure. 

“Thanks, I suppose, for getting the book.” You say quietly. “But I don’t appreciate a perfect stranger laughing at me. I never asked to be sick and I didn’t ask for your help. Excuse me, but my brother will be here soon to take me home and I need to go buy this.”

With a slight nod, you scurry away to the register on the other side of the store; as he hands you the receipt and your new book, a soft chime signals someone has entered the store. You turn around, met with the sight of a disgruntled Arajin and-

“Macchan?” You almost drop your bag and wallet. “What are you doing here?”

“I bumped into Ara-chan, so I thought I’d tag along.” Matakara waves with a sunny smile. “You’re doing okay? You haven’t had to go back to the hospital or anything?”

“I told you she was fine.” Arajin walks over to you and takes your hand. “Come on, let’s get going,”

“You’re in a hurry for someone who was late to get me.”

“Mom asked me to pick up a few things for dinner.” Arajin explains with a sigh, leading you to the sliding doors, Matakara following behind dutifully. “I figured you’d want more time anyway; you could have called.”

“You could have called if you were going to be gone later.” You grumble, slipping your hand from his grasp. “Arajin, slow down, I can’t walk that fast.”

“Do you want me to take that?” Matakara comes to your side. “Here, let me carry your bag. You look kinda pale.”

“So I’ve heard.” You sigh; of course he had to come and see you winded from the most menial task. “Thanks Macchan, but I got it.”

“Come on, we need to get home.” Arajin gives Matakara a look. “Don’t you have to get going too?”

“I can stay.” Matakara turns to you. “You don’t mind, do you? I feel like we haven’t had a chance to catch up since you moved back. It’s been too long.”

“No kidding; honestly I almost didn’t recognize you when you came to visit.” You chuckle and pat the top of Matakara’s head. “I used to be taller than you.”

“Um, yeah.”

Matakara’s face flushes a bit; it’s nice to see he hasn’t changed too much from the bashful sweetheart you remember. Now, if only you had changed as much; you both envy and admire your old friend’s strong build. 

“Don’t strain yourself too much tomorrow.” Arajin looks over his shoulder at you; he’s still looking a bit grumpy, but his eyes soften as they meet yours. “My class is basically across the hall from you and the teacher’s already know what to expect.”

“I know, I’ll be okay!”

You sound more confident than you feel; from what Arajin has said about his time attending the academy, the place sounds less like an institution of education and more a playground for delinquents. Still, you have limited options and if you have to attend a school in the area, you feel better knowing at least two people already. 

“I’m in the same class as Ara-chan; you can come to me if there’s a problem. If you want to.” Matakara says with an oddly serious expression. “I’ll be there, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”

“I’m not worried.” You lie, your smile feeling like a mask stretched over your face. “Thank you, Macchan. I don’t want to bother you though, you and Arajin have your own lives. I’m sure I’ll be totally fine. I’m so pitiful, even bullies don’t want to bug me.”

“No you’re not.” Matakara frowns. “You’re not pitiful, you're strong. I always thought so. You should too.”

You’re not sure how to respond; Arajin makes a choking sound deep from his throat and puts his hands over his ears.

“Ugh, I can not listen to this! You two walk back together, I’m going on ahead.”

“Huh?!”

“Arajin!” You gap as your brother stalks off down the sidewalk without a glance back at you. “That little shit! He’s lucky I can’t chase him down. Ugh, sorry Macchan, he’s being such a brat.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“It is not.” You huff, crossing your arms, glaring at the dot that’s now Arajin’s head. “He’s been on edge ever since we came back. I get him being angry with me, but you haven’t done anything.”

“Why would Ara-chan be angry with you?”

“Not me exactly, just,” You unfold your arms and they hang at your sides. “A big reason we came back was for my treatment. Mom’s settled in fine but Arajin…it’s not my place to speak for him, but I know being here is frustrating.”

“But it’s not your fault you’re sick.”

“Still, I think…he’d never say so, but I think he resents me. Arajin always has to deal with mom putting me first because of my poor health.”

Arajin never says it, but you can tell he gets frustrated; he never asked for a sister who constantly needed to be minded and tended to. Even now as you’ve gotten older, he’s still being pushed into the role of caretaker. You don’t want him to feel like he’s responsible for how you do when you go back to attending in person classes. 

“He brings a lot of it on himself, but I know he worries about me. Anyway, I don’t want to burden him or you.” You muster up a genuine smile. “I’m going to take it one day at a time, but I can do this. I have to at least try; I can’t let it all be for nothing.”

“You,” Matakara pauses, gazing at you with wide eyes and parted lips. “You haven’t changed at all.”

You can’t help snort. “Seriously? I know I said I wanted to toughen up and all, but-”

“You’ve gotten even cooler.”

Maybe it’s a good thing Arajin decided to leave the two of you in the dust; if he saw the way Matakara was staring at you, you might have had Arajin ready to drag you away. Before you can say anything, Matakara gently takes the bag from your loosened grip.

“For the record, I never thought looking after you was a burden. I want you to ask me for help. Matakara confesses shyly. “I’m stronger now.”

“I noticed.” Your eyes flicker to his arms; his muscles are basically straining against the thin cotton of his worn t-shirt. “Are you sure? I really don’t have trouble carrying something that small.”

“I want to!” Matakara insists; he almost whines and your heart skips a beat as he pouts down at you. “I could even carry you if you needed me to.”

“Okay, okay, I got it.” At this point the thought of your crush carrying you around in his absurdly strong arms is making you so lightheaded, you might end up needing to be hauled home anyway. On the bright side, you doubt you’re looking pallid; heat radiates from your face as Matakara walks with you. He walks in time with your steps; if you asked, he would probably take your hand to lead you home.

“I bet you’re really popular.” You nudge his shoulder. “Arajin told me you’re like, a class leader or something?”

“He did?”

“Uh huh. But don’t tell him I told you.” You put a finger to your lips. “If you do, I’ll tell him about how you cried after stealing one of my horror novels.”

“I didn’t know it was a scary book! I thought it was about a magic doll.”

“To be fair, it was brought to life with occult magic. I still can’t believe you threw out my baby doll.”

“...I thought it would come to life and haunt you.”

“That’s right, I was so mad!” You recall with a giggle. “Do dolls still freak you out?”

“No...”

“Aw,” You feel a bit guilty at the kicked puppy dog look on Matakara’s face. “I’m sorry for teasing you.”

Matakara remains silent for a few seconds and you feel anxious: was that too far? It had been a long time since the two of you were able to talk like this. Perhaps you were getting ahead of yourself, acting so familiar with him. 

“Matakara? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hassle you. I won’t actually tell Arajin about the doll thing.”

“It’s not that.” 

Matakara fidgets with the handle of the shopping bag; the sun is setting now. The soft golden light makes his eyes almost sparkle; as if getting enough oxygen wasn’t already a concern. Now you had to have your breath stolen by the warm gaze holding your attention captive. 

“It’s just…I don’t want you to think of me that way. I’m not that weak cry baby anymore.”

“I never thought you were.” You tell him earnestly. “I shouldn’t have teased you.”

“You really don’t get it.” Matakara’s voice lowers. “Even though you were so sick, you looked out for me. Now I want to do that for you. I want you to see me as someone strong you can depend on.”

“Macchan, you don’t have to look out for me: that’s not your responsibility.”

“Do I…look different to you?”

“What?”

Matakara inches a bit closer, as if he's afraid to startle you, before taking yours hands in his own. You can feel callouses on his warm palms are warm; his cheeks are pink and his stare is hard with determination. Abruptly, you're reminded of that tenderhearted boy who would rush to your side every time you so much as hinted at being fatigued.

"Do you trust me?"

"O-of course." You study his urgent gaze warily. "I always have."

“I could-no. I will protect you. If anyone tries to bother you tomorrow, you come straight to me. I’ll deal with them. I'll be there; as long as you can trust in that, I can only get stronger." Matakara squeezes your hands gently. "Believe in me and I'll protect you with that strength."

You’re taken aback; you’ve never heard Matakara speak this way to you or at all. Not that you don’t appreciate it; on the contrary, your tummy is doing somersaults. With that said, you can’t help wondering: just how much did your friend change these past few years? And what exactly is he expecting he’ll need to protect you from? 

[hbyrde36]

Caught in the Undertow

Chapter Four

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch3 <-

WC: 5778 | R: Explicit | TW: Suicidal ideation, depression | Ch 4/10 | AO3

~Eddie~

Eddie laid on the bed, motionless, staring at the wall, listening to the sound of Steve’s footsteps retreating back down the stairs, and felt hollow. 

Wrung out. 

Like a spectator in his own body, everything was just a little…unreal.

It had all seemed at the time like it was happening to someone else, as if he were watching the night unfold from a distance. Like witnessing a trainwreck. No control of the outcome, and yet he could not look away.

The whiskey had been a mistake, that much was obvious.

But he’d been struggling to keep his happy face on, and Dustin had been watching him a little too closely, and that kid was too goddamn smart for his own good. He was going to catch on eventually unless Eddie did something about it. And then there was Steve—

Steve, who he’d managed to avoid in the chaos of his arrival, who’d posted himself up in the corner and kept his eyes on Eddie like a hawk. Like he knew. Like he could see right through the careful facade Eddie had painstakingly built just for the occasion.

And then again, in the kitchen. Steve couldn’t just let him be, no. Couldn't let Eddie indulge in the one thing that made his continued existence on this planet bearable. He had to poke and prod and worry and fuss—and act like he cared.

Steve… who threatened to break his own bathroom door down to get to him. All because Eddie had been clumsy with a switchblade. 

Because he’d been shaking with the force of his own sobs, drunk enough to see double, and when he finally worked up the courage to press that blade into his skin—missed and fumbled, and dropped it to the tile floor.

And Steve— 

Steve had known. Whether the sound had been that obvious or he’d put the pieces together because of what Eddie had shouted in the kitchen, it didn’t matter. 

And Eddie had let him in. 

He still wasn’t sure why he’d done it, or frankly how, his vision so blurred with tears he’d had to find the lock by feel with his fingertips to flip it. 

He’d never let anyone see him like that—like this. Hiding the worst of himself even from Wayne, but he wouldn't be able to hide anymore. Too many people had seen his mask slip, had heard what he said, the poisonous truth that lived in his bones, concealed beneath the clothes and the hair, the wide grins, loud mouth, and lunchtime diatribes.

There was a tentative knock on the doorframe behind him.

“Ed?”

Wayne. 

Eddie's stomach dropped.

He heard the old man breathe deep, and take a few shuffling steps over the carpeted floor before the bed dipped under his weight. Eddie turned over, eyes sliding up to look at his uncle sitting above him, taking in the familiar sight of his face, the wisps of gray and white hair along his jaw—growing whiter by the year—and the less familiar sight of that strong jaw trembling as he looked down at Eddie in turn. 

“I…” Wayne hesitated, as if thinking over his words. “Steve called me.”

Eddie didn’t know Steve even had their phone number, but somehow he wasn’t surprised. Would the other boy ever stop trying to save him?

“Son, I gotta be honest, ‘m scared out of my mind right now. I knew you were struggling with what happened t’ you, but I had no idea…” 

Eddie wanted so badly to be able to say something, anything. To fake it, to make an excuse, a joke, to take it all back and tell Wayne he was okay—that he was sorry. But he was stuck so far inside his own head that all he could do was let the waves of guilt wash over him, and the tears start flowing again.

Wayne reached out to smooth the hair back from his face, his cool hand soothing against Eddie’s warm and sweaty forehead. He melted into the touch, letting his eyes slip shut. 

It was a while before Wayne spoke again. 

“I’m starting back at work tomorrow night, and there’s no way around it. Steve’s offered to have you stay here with him for a while so you won’t have to be alone so much.”

At that, Eddie’s eyes snapped back open and he finally found his voice, though it was weak. “I don’t need a babysitter, I'm not a child.”

Wayne sighed. “No, legally you’re an adult and you can do whatever you want. Even if you weren't, I know you well enough to be sure I can’t force you to do anything, but I am asking—Ed, I’m begging you to stay here and let Steve look after you. I told you back in the hospital, you need people around you that get it. People who know what you’ve been through, and—” 

Wayne paused to glance back over his shoulder at the empty hall for a second, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I think that boy might need you every bit as much as you need him.”

Eddie scoffed. 

Right. As if Mr. Golden Boy, Savior Of The Universe needed anyone’s help, let alone Eddie’s.

“Just give him a chance. Talk to him, or pick someone else if you want, but you have to start talking to someone.” Wayne rose from the bed, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Eddie’s head, something Eddie couldn’t remember the man doing since he was little, before moving away. He stopped in the doorway to look back, an overstuffed duffle bag sitting against the bedroom wall near his feet.

“I just got you back. Please don’t… don’t make me bury you, son. It ain't right for a parent to bury their child.”

Eddie was still staring out the open door, long after Wayne had left, when Steve stepped past his line of sight and into the room, set a glass of water down on the nightstand and quickly backed away wringing his hands. He looked exhausted, hair messy and a little flat as though he’d been running his hands through it a lot, and dressed in a pair of old basketball shorts and a faded t-shirt.

“I’m gonna go to bed, but I'm right across from you if you need anything,” Steve said, swiveling to point behind him. “And there’s a… a bathroom up here at the end of the hall.”

Eddie kicked his shoes off and sat up, pushing himself up against the headboard, letting his head rest against it. He stared up at the ceiling, tracking the slow movement of the fan blades as they spun lazily, anything to avoid looking into the other boy’s earnest face. “I’ll stay here for now if that’s what my uncle wants, but that doesn't mean I have to like it, and it doesn’t mean we’re friends now either—got it?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, and cleared his throat roughly. “Yeah, Eddie, I got it.”

“What do you get out of all this, anyway?” Eddie asked, his attention still carefully aimed anywhere else. “Need another merit badge to fill out your sash?”

Steve didn’t reply, only reached over to switch the room’s light off, murmuring a quiet, “good night,” as he left, and pulled the door closed behind him. 

-

For three days Eddie holed up in that room.

Steve left him alone for the most part. Never knocked, never tried to bother or talk to him, simply left food and water outside his door at regular intervals like he was an inmate—though Eddie was well aware he was the one who locked himself up, and not the other way around.  

They only crossed paths once, when he snuck to the bathroom just as Steve was coming out of it. Steve looked like he’d seen a ghost. 

Eddie had actually felt a little bad about that.

He spent the first day in a daze, not doing much of anything but stare at the four beige walls that surrounded him, unable to think of much of anything except the pain in his chest that had nothing to do with his rib.

The following days were better and worse at the same time. 

It’d been over a month since the bats, since he’d been dragged back from the brink of death. Over a month of darkness, feeling as low as he’d ever felt, and little by little the fog was starting to lift. He could feel a change happening within himself, and he didn’t know if he was ready to welcome it or not.

He ate and drank whatever Steve left for him.

He took a shower. 

Sorely needed after sweating out all the booze, and marinating in it for twenty four hours in his jeans. He’d never seen so many fluffy white towels in his life, and the water pressure truly was something else.

He listened to music again.

Something he hadn’t wanted to do, hadn’t been able to do since he woke up in the hospital. In the bag Wayne brought had been, not only his comfiest clothes, but his walkman, several of his favorite tapes, and the pièce de résistance: his well worn copy of The Hobbit. 

He curled up in bed with the familiar comfort of it all and felt… better.

Not good, not great, but better—clearer—more solidly in his own mind and body. 

-

For three nights Eddie listened from across the hall while Steve cried out in his sleep.

Two am, each night, without fail.

Nightmares.

The first night it was easy enough to ignore. Eddie was still stuck in his own head, still stewing. He was startled, yes, but the shouts were short lived, stopping when Steve must have woken himself up. He assumed this was normal for the other boy, no big deal, par for the course after so many years of fighting monsters. 

At least that’s what he told himself.

But as the nights wore on it was harder to ignore. The screams would start and Eddie would leap out of bed, stomach in knots, pulse racing as he paced the floor of his room, chewing his fingernails down to stubs until it stopped.

Something changed on the fourth night.

Eddie still wasn’t sleeping much, so he was wide awake when Steve’s nightmare began, but this time, mixed in with the wordless shouts he was used to hearing, was the sound of Steve calling out his name.

Eddie was out of bed and in the hall before realizing he’d even moved, standing right outside Steve's door with his fist raised to knock. He froze mid-motion as the screaming suddenly stopped, and pressed his ear to the wood. 

There was a muffled gasp, quiet weeping, more soft utterances of his name.

All at once, any residual anger Eddie had been holding on to, all the blame he’d been placing on Steve’s shoulders, vanished. His heart ached for the guy. Steve clearly had enough of his own problems, slept like shit, and yet still tried to help him, no matter how horrible Eddie treated him in return.  

The loud creak of bed springs made Eddie backpedal suddenly, scrambling back into his own room as silently as he could before he got caught lurking in the hall like a creep.

He held his breath, resting his head against the moulding as he listened closely. 

Light footsteps crossed the hall, and approached his own door, pausing for a long moment just outside of it. He heard Steve sigh, could almost feel the other boy’s warm breath ghosting over his face even though they were separated by several inches of hollow wood. After another beat Steve walked away without knocking, just as Eddie had done.

Eddie’s shoulder’s sagged as he finally let his breath out, stumbling over to the bed where he sat, resting his head in his hands. The further he managed to crawl out of the black hole he’d been stuck in, the more he could see that he was the only asshole here. Steve was a good guy, who’d done nothing wrong. 

And now he had to fix it. 

Fuck.

*Steve*

“He hasn’t left that room, Robin. It’s been days, how long am I supposed to wait for him to come around before I start freaking out?” Steve sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, whisper-shouting into the receiver.

“You’re telling me you're not freaking out now?” 

Steve groaned. “Not helping.”

“Sorry,” she said, actually sounding it for once. “He still taking the food and stuff you leave out?”

“Yeah… and we sort-of passed each other in the hall as I was coming out of the upstairs bathroom. He looked… better, I think.”

“Did he say anything?”

Steve pulled the cord as long as it would go, and laid down on the floor, starfishing. “No.”

“He’s probably just embarrassed about getting so drunk the other night. That was a pretty ugly scene.”

“Yeah.”

Robin didn’t know the half of how ugly it had gotten. 

He’d called her that night after Wayne left, fully intent on spilling his guts about the state he’d found Eddie in, but when she picked up he couldn’t do it. It felt wrong to share something so… sensitive without Eddie’s permission, to broadcast his worst moment—god Steve hoped that was the worst it got—when he already felt bad enough about intruding himself, though he was glad he did.

He only told her that Eddie would be staying with him for a while. That Wayne was going back to work and worried about leaving Eddie alone all the time. Plus, so many people knew they lived in the trailer park, people who still thought Eddie was guilty, and he worried what folks might do without anyone else around as a witness. 

“You know, we never really talked about it,” Robin said, hesitantly.

“About what?” 

“Why you couldn’t let him go. Why you fought so hard to save him that night even when it seemed hopeless.”

“He’s one of us, I would have done the same for anyone.” Steve kicked his leg out, tapping his toe nervously along the baseboard. “He got thrown into this thing in the worst way, with no warning, and he was so brave. Dustin is alive because of him.”

“I know, babe. I get that, and believe me, I’m glad you were able to save him. But what about after? You spent as much time in that hospital as Wayne did, even after he refused to see any of us. And now this?”

“I just want to help him. That’s all.”

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“I know, but… not right now, okay?”

Steve knew what she wanted him to say, but it wasn’t something he’d even allowed himself to look too closely at yet, let alone speak aloud. 

He wasn’t sure he was ready to think about why during the week from hell, no matter what else was going on around them, his eyes always searched Eddie out. Why whenever Eddie spoke Steve found his gaze drawn to his mouth, the perfect pout of his lips. 

Now wasn’t the time to examine the fact that every day Eddie was in that hospital, Steve had felt like he couldn't breathe until he spoke to Wayne and got confirmation that he was still alive. Or what it meant that no matter how hard he tried not to, his every thought was consumed with the boy upstairs.

-

It was rare for Steve to get a full night’s sleep. 

Since ‘83 he’d been plagued by nightmares of flower petal mouths with far too many teeth, Russian soldiers in lab coats, and giant flesh monsters. 

He was mostly inured to it by now, but coupled with worrying over Eddie and his fear that he’d fail in his promise to Wayne to keep his nephew safe, he was even more exhausted than usual.

Steve was running. 

Legs pumping, arms swinging, running-for-your-life, running. 

But it wasn't his own life he was in a race against the clock for.

He didn’t know why he was so sure something had gone wrong, but his gut was telling him he had to get back to the trailer, his pounding heart screaming at him that he had to make it in time. 

He had to. 

In the distance, he finally saw it. A giant swarm of those fucking bats, swirling above a lone figure on the ground like a dark, gruesome tornado. 

The figure screamed—Eddie screamed, a blood curdling sound that shot through Steve's heart like a lance, splitting it in two. 

Steve doubled his efforts, forcing his body beyond its limit, but no matter how hard he pushed it was like he was moving in slow motion.

By the time he was close enough to do anything to help, the bats had long since taken Eddie to the ground—his arms and legs wrapped up in a few of their tails, pinned down to the dirt as the rest of them ravaged his body.

Steve screamed the other boy’s name, still a few steps away but hoping to draw the attention of the bats away from Eddie and onto himself, but it was no use.

Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind he knew this was wrong. 

He hadn’t witnessed the attack. The bats had been dead, their limp bodies littering the area when he’d arrived at Dustin’s side where he was crying over Eddie.

This was a dream. A nightmare. His least favorite one, and realizing that it was in fact a dream did nothing to lessen the horror of what he was witnessing. The very real pain he was feeling as he watched someone he cared about die. 

Because in this version of events, the only one worse than the reality they’d lived through, there was no amount of CPR that could bring Eddie back to him. 

“Eddie, oh god. Eddie, no. Eddie!”

Steve fell to his knees, took in the body below that was covered in more blood than could possibly be contained in a single human being, looked down into Eddie Munson’s lifeless eyes pointed skyward, and knew that he was gone. 

Steve woke with a gasp, tears still wet on his cheeks as he rolled over, pressing his face into his pillow to stifle the cries of Eddie’s name that still fell from his lips. 

His head ached, and his body shivered. He was freezing, coated in a layer of cold sweat.

He threw the covers off and practically jumped out of bed, knowing full well he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight, never did after he dreamed of Eddie. 

He changed his clothes, quickly peeling the wet ones off and replacing them with warm flannel pajama pants and his favorite sweatshirt. It had a comforting weight, and was overly soft from too many washings.

Venturing out into the hall he kept his steps light, stopping for a minute just outside the guest room door. He wondered if Eddie was awake in there. If Eddie heard him carrying on. If he cared. 

What he wouldn’t give right now to see Eddie’s face. Just for a second. To watch the rise and fall of his chest and know he was breathing. He raised his hand to knock but quickly thought better of it. Eddie already hated him. If he was asleep, surely a middle of the night wake up call wouldn’t improve things on that front.

-

The sun was up.

Birds chirped cheerfully as they flew past the windows.

And Steve had been sitting on the couch staring at the TV screen with the sound turned all the way down for fucking hours, and he was starting to get a little pissed off. 

It didn’t help that there was a throbbing behind his eyes that all but promised a migraine. 

As usual, and worse because of the nightmare, he couldn't stop thinking about Eddie. Dissecting, over and over, every moment he’d spent in the other boy’s presence since the boathouse, and honestly it was all so confusing and frustrating.

Steve shut the tv off and threw the remote down on the coffee table, hard.

And was Eddie really going to hide out in that room forever? 

Or did he just need more time?

Fuck it. 

Steve pushed himself to his feet and stormed up the stairs.

Eddie’d had plenty of time, and all he’d done with it was push everyone further and further away. Maybe it was time to try something else.

Breathing heavily, as though he’d run a mile, and with the throbbing in his head still pounding along to the beat of his heart, Steve rapped his knuckles against the guest room door, tapping his foot impatiently on the carpet as he waited to see if the other boy would respond. 

Surprisingly, the door swung open only a few seconds later, revealing a sleep rumpled Eddie, wild hair a tangled mess, piled on top of his head, rubbing his eyes as he attempted to stifle a yawn.

“Steve?”

It threw Steve off balance. He’d sort-of expected it to be a fight to even get Eddie to open the door, but maybe in his half-asleep state he’d had a lapse in judgment? 

Whatever the case, he took advantage of it and barged right in, pushing past Eddie to pace the floor near the bed. The room wasn’t a mess, but it certainly looked more lived in than Steve had ever seen it, and the sight of Eddie’s things strewn around made his stomach flip and something warm want to settle in his chest. 

Focus.

Eddie stood nervously off to the side, watching Steve’s progress back and forth with wide eyes.

“I know you’re going through something awful right now,” Steve began, finally coming to a stop in front of the other boy and squaring his shoulders. “But it’s not okay for you to close yourself off from everyone who cares about you.”

Eddie held a hand up. “Steve, wait. I need to—”

“No. I'm not done,” Steve cut him off. “Do you think you’re the only person in the world who gets depressed? The only one who’s thought about ending it? Sometimes the only reason I can find to get myself out of bed in the morning is that the shit might hit the fan again. But that’s not—” 

The dim light of the room suddenly felt blindingly bright. Steve sucked in a breath, wincing in pain as a high pitched ringing sound began in his ears. He raised a hand to his head like he could hold it off, and tried to speak again. “You can’t—”

A new spike of pain brought on a wave of nausea. Steve’s vision swam, and he lurched forward, losing his balance. He braced for a fall but found strong arms wrapping themselves around his waist, a warm chest pressed against his own for a moment as Eddie held him upright, before guiding him down onto the bed.

“Woah there, big boy. Let's sit you down before you hurt yourself.”

No matter that they had more important things going on right now, or how much pain he was in, it was still an effort to ignore the flutter he felt at hearing Eddie call him that again. 

Steve took a deep breath, digging his feet into the carpet to try and ground himself. All he wanted was to curl up into a ball until this stupid headache went away, but he needed Eddie to hear him. 

He opened his mouth, but lost whatever he was about to say as Eddie took a seat next to him, eyes full of concern, and began rubbing circles into his back. 

“Just relax for a minute,” Eddie murmured.

“But—” he started to argue but Eddie gently shushed him. 

“I get it, okay? I’ve been a real dick, and you wanted to come in here and tell me off. As you should. But… listen, man. I owe you an apology. More than an apology, and I know it doesn’t exactly make sense but I've been so fucking mad at you this whole time. I know it wasn’t right. You didn’t deserve that, and I'm—I'm sorry.”

“Why?.”

“Why am I sorry?” Eddie asked.

“Why were you mad?”

“You know why,” Eddie sighed. “You heard… and saw.”

Steve bit his lip. “I just want to understand.”

Eddie looked away, taking his arm back from Steve to hug himself. “Please don’t make me say it again,” he whispered.

Another flash of pain like lightning inside his skull had Steve doubling over, hissing, and Eddie's hands were back on him in an instant. 

“S–s–sorry,” Steve forced out. “I get these really bad…”

“Migraines?” Eddie guessed. 

“Yeah,” Steve breathed.

“Shouldn’t you be lying down then?”

“But, no,” Steve groaned. “You’re finally talking to me.”

“Steve—” Eddie sighed.

He sounded so sad. Steve wished it didn’t feel like his head was splitting apart so he could tell him how much he hated it. How he would do anything to help Eddie feel better if he’d only let him. 

“—If you let me help you to your room right now, I promise I’ll still be talking to you later when you feel better. Deal?”

Steve tried to nod, and immediately regretted it, wincing. “Deal.”

In no time Eddie had him tucked into bed with all the lights off, and went downstairs to hunt for painkillers and a glass of water. 

Steve was lying on his side, eyes scrunched up tight, just trying to breathe through it all when he heard Eddie tiptoe back into the room. There was a soft pop, and the rattle of pills being shaken out of a bottle. 

“Can you sit up?”

Steve let out a whine before he could stop it, and he was so embarrassed, but it hurt. His body felt like it weighed a million pounds and he was beyond tired.

Eddie didn’t say a word, just climbed up onto the bed, gently maneuvering Steve around until he was sort-of half sitting up in the other boy’s lap. A position Steve never thought he’d be in, and he was a little pissed that he couldn't even enjoy it. 

Was that something he wanted? To be in Eddie’s lap and enjoy it?

Somehow Eddie managed to both hold him up and reach for the pills he’d apparently laid out on the nightstand, handing them to Steve who was, mercifully, capable of popping them into his own mouth. Followed up with a glass of water which Eddie helped him hold onto, both of their hands wrapped together around the cup as Steve took small, grateful sips. 

He expected Eddie to go now that there was nothing more to do but wait for the pills to ease his pain enough to let him sleep it off, but he seemed content to sit there with Steve’s head resting on his hip.  

Fingers, tentative at first, found their way into Steve’s hair and began kneading lightly at the base of his neck. He moaned softly, the gentle touch bringing a hint of relief, and again he was fucking mortified at the display he was making, but Eddie let out a breathy chuckle, and his touch became a little more confident, and Steve thought maybe it was okay.

-

Sometime later Steve woke to an empty bed. 

He didn’t even remember falling asleep but judging by the late afternoon sun trying its best to shine in through his window shade, he’d been out for hours, and the searing pain from before had dulled into an annoying but manageable headache. 

He rolled out of bed, eager to find Eddie and continue their conversation from earlier, assuming everything he remembered had actually happened and wasn’t some kind of fucked up fever dream, but stopped short of the door, spotting a few more of the pills he’d taken earlier sitting out next to a refilled glass of water. A note scrawled sideways on a loose piece of notebook paper was laid beside it.

For when you wake up. 

I’ll be downstairs. 

– E

There was something painfully adorable about the fact that Eddie signed the little note when they were the only two people in the house. Steve downed the pills and the entire glass of water, and made his way down the steps.

It wasn’t hard to find Eddie. He just had to follow the music.

There he was, hair like a bird’s nest, dressed in ratty old sweats and a t-shirt with more holes than not, singing along under his breath and headbanging in the middle of the kitchen to whatever song was blaring so loudly from his headphones that Steve could actually make out the individual notes of the guitar riff.

He continued to watch from the doorway with barely contained laughter as Eddie bounced around the room like a madman, moving from one cabinet to another until he seemed to find what he was looking for, pulling a plate out and turning to set it down next to the toaster.

Their eyes met over the appliance. 

“Jesus H. Christ!” Eddie shrieked, jumping back with a hand held to his chest. He ripped the headphones from his head, putting them and the walkman down on the counter too. “Stomp your feet or something, would ya? Could give a guy a heart attack sneaking up on him like that!”

Steve grinned, stepping into the room. He had this horrible urge to walk right up to the other boy and wrap his arms around his waist. 

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “How long you been standing there, Harrington?”

“I saw nothing, I swear.” Steve threw his hands up.

Eddie huffed, his attention back on his task as he loaded bread into both sides of the toaster. 

“So, how’s the head?”

Steve’s face instantly grew hot, and he saw the moment Eddie’s own words hit him, a hint of pink spreading across his cheeks.

“It’s, uh.” Steve swallowed hard, and had to pause to clear his throat. “Much better, thanks.”

Eddie held his gaze, absently running his tongue over his bottom lip.“Good, that’s… that’s good.”

The toaster popped, startling them both, and Eddie rushed to pull the slices out and slid the plate in Steve’s direction. “I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of making you my signature dry toast. For the record, I can actually cook, but I wasn’t sure what you’d be able to stomach.”

Steve stared down at the plate and thought he might cry, which was ridiculous but this was... exactly what he needed. “It's perfect. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, man.” Eddie ducked his head. “You’ve been taking care of me for days. I’m just trying to return the favor.”

They went into the living room together, at Eddie’s insistence, so Steve could sit down while he nibbled his toast. 

“Alright,” Eddie blew out a long breath, keeping his eyes forward, looking out the room’s wide windows and picking at the edge of a throw pillow as he spoke. “I said I'd talk, and I feel like you deserve some kinda explanation so—”

“Wait, Eddie. First… you don’t owe anyone anything, okay? But if you want to talk, I’d really like to listen.”

Eddie nodded, still not looking at him. “I’ve always been a little… messed up, I guess? All this—this isn’t new for me. One time, when I was little, before I came to live with Wayne, my Dad got picked up on a drug charge. My mom was nowhere to be found, so CPS put me in a group home for a while. I can vividly remember laying on that bed at night, staring up at the ceiling, hoping I'd fall asleep and not wake up again. It was scary. It wasn’t even that bad of a place or anything. I just… I don’t know. I get stuck in this place where everything feels wrong, like I'm bad, and I'm so alone but I deserve it, and my chest hurts—my skin feels like it’s crawling. I just want it all to stop." 

Eddie’s breath caught, and a single tear rolled down his face. He wiped at it aggressively, sniffling. "I’m sorry, I’m sure I sound crazy right now.”

“Not crazy.” Steve slid over on the couch. He wanted so badly to reach out and take the other boy’s hand, but wasn’t sure if it would be too much. He settled for letting their knees brush.

“I’m not always like that, though. Obviously.” Eddie went on. “I enjoy my life a lot of the time, it’s just hard to remember that when I’m in the middle of the shit. I love my friends, and Hellfire, and the band. But then I'll… sink. And sometimes there’s a reason, right? Something shitty happens and I’ll be bummed about it for a while, but other times it just comes out of nowhere.”

“Have you ever thought about talking to someone about it?” Steve asked.

“Like a shrink?” Eddie scoffed, finally swinging his gaze around to meet Steve’s. “I live in a trailer park, Harrington. Besides, I’m not sure I’d feel safe sharing my secrets with a stranger like that anyway.”

Steve chucked. “Ok, I get that. Not a doctor then, but like, Wayne?”

“I couldn’t dump this on him, he does enough for me already. I never wanted him to have to worry, though I guess that ship has sailed.”

“What about me? You could talk about Upside Down stuff if you wanted to, and I don’t know what other deep dark secrets you might have, but after everything I’ve seen, and done, I don’t think there’s anything you could say that would bother me or freak me out.”

Eddie hummed, shifting his body, moving to look Steve full in the face for a long while as he studied it, the length of his leg now pressed up against Steve’s thigh. “And if I said that I was gay?”

Steve felt like he should be more surprised, but mostly he just felt strangely… relieved. And he wasn’t exactly sure what to do with that.

Still, in the months since he’d gotten to know Robin he’d been practicing for this moment. Ready in case anyone he cared about ever came out to him again. 

“Then, I would say,” Steve began slowly, and finally let himself grab Eddie’s hand. “Thank you for telling me, and trusting me.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathed, more air than the actual vowel sound.

Steve squeezed his hand. “And it doesn’t change anything.”

Which was true, but also a lie, because it might just change everything.

Eddie squeezed back. “Thanks, Steve.”

Chapter 5

Thanks and love to @penny00dreadful and @pearynice for all your help and encouragement with this.

Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog 

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[winniemaywebber]

The Apple Tree • Part 5

warnings: none!!! just sad

read previous chapter here

Y/N struggles with not knowing where Rosie is.

Every day had been the same since Rosie had gone MIA. You'd wake up, head feeling like it was in a vice and get to the school on autopilot. The sky had been appropriately gray, and thick with fog most mornings, the twin of your current state of mind. You'd stay at the school late, grading papers and try your best to construct meaningful lesson plans so the children could still thrive and learn despite your sadness. They'd sometimes ask, their sweet, little faces full of sympathy as they'd question your upset. “Miss?” A little voice would say, “Are you alright?” You'd force a smile on your face and look back at them reassuringly. 

“Yes, my dear,” your voice catching in your throat. “I'll be fine.”

---

A week. And then two. Three, then four, all rolling into a ball of nothingness, blurring together. Most days, you're greeted by Sally who is always available to walk you home despite the treacherous weather and everyday she looks at you with her big sad eyes, shaking her head mournfully, wordlessly reminding you that there's no new information. Most days, you walk home in silence, her arm in yours, keeping you upright physically as well as metaphorically.

It's on the fourth week, on a Friday, that you hear a sharp rap on your door. Being in bed already - the only way you can seem to feel close to Rosie - you simply yell “come in!” to whoever is visiting at this late hour. You hear the door open quietly, and hear the familiar tip-tap of Sally in her kitten heels. You hear her kicking them off and placing them by the door, hurrying up the stairs in her now stockinged feet, padding all the way up the plush carpet. 

“Hi, darling,” she greets quietly, her face full of sympathy. “I thought I'd try coax you out to the pub.”

“No thanks,” you mumble, staring up at the ceiling. “I'm fine here.”

“Oh, doll,” she begins, walking towards the bed. “How are you doing?” Still not tearing your eyes from the ceiling, you nod quickly, trying to reassure your friend. But she knows you better than that, and after all these years, she can read you like a book. Before you can properly respond, she sees two tears leak from each eye and splash into your ears and on the pillow. 

Trying to comfort you the way she used to when you were kids, she goes to lay down next to you on the bed.

“No!” you start. “N-no, Sal. Don't lay there,” you softly weep. “That's where Rosie slept the night before–” You wipe your face with the back of your hand, trying to stop the tears flowing. “It still smells like him. Don't lay on it, Sal.” You pause, looking at your friend, her own eyes full of tears. She sniffs, trying to blink them back. 

“Then squidge up,” she says after a moment. “I'll lay on your pillow with you.” You wriggle slightly to the right to make room for her in the center of the bed, you just hanging off the edge slightly. She takes your hand and strokes it, just like she did right after Granny passed away. You whimper at her action, the sob that was thick in your throat finally being released. 

“Where is he, Sally? Where's my boy?”

“Y/N…darling…I don't know. I ask James everyday for an update. He's promised that he'll be round here like a shot if he ever finds anything out.” You nod, swallowing as you sniff back more tears.

“He's a good egg, Sal. I like him. I like how happy he makes you.”

“Me, too,” she sighs wistfully. “When all this is all over, I'm thinking of moving there to be with him.” 

“Sally, that's wonderful. I'll miss you terribly–”

“But let's not talk of that now. We need to take care of you.” She crawls off the bed and pulls you with her. “Come on,” she commands, rushing to your wardrobe. “You need to stop rotting. Let's go to the pub. Apparently, Rita is engaged to two of the Americans and neither knows about the other. Isn't that something?” You hear yourself gasp and then giggle, the first laugh you've made in weeks. 

“Well, now you've tempted me. Now I have to come.” 

—

The excited yapping you hear as you walk into the pub ceases at the sight of you, your friends looking back at you in surprise, before they stand up and rush to hug you, one by one. Murmurs of “oh, Y/N, we're so happy to see you,” and “how are you doing?” follow their embraces, and you find your eyes leaking at their affection and sympathy. Hugging them back, you sigh, not quite used to this level of affection.

 “Alright, ladies,” you struggle to gasp out, but smiling nonetheless. “I need to know everything about Rita. Spill.” 

They sit down, excited to finally be able to tell you the tales they've heard over the past few weeks. For a moment, your head is clear, listening to your friends chatter on, their voices octaves higher as they giggle their way through the spiel. You don't even notice that Sally has rushed over to the bar to greet James, until he places a pint in front of you with a sympathetic smile. He winks at you as you smile back, knowing you're thanking him with no words needed. You take a long sip, letting the alcohol run through your body and somehow, giving it warmth as you finally are able to enjoy something.

“So, she ended up saying yes to both men because she didn't want to upset either of them, and somehow, Y/N, neither knows about the other. But, get this! They're co-pilots!”

“What?!” you screech, ale almost flying through your nose in shock. “They must know! There's absolutely no way–”

“We thought that, too!” Sally replies, wide eyed and a little frazzled. “But Rita maintains that they have no clue.”

“Nope, not buying it,” you giggle, hand covering your mouth. “They must talk about her to one another! They're either ignoring it or somehow, it's not clicking that they're both with the same girl!” 

For just a small moment, your overwhelming sadness is forgotten, the pit in your stomach somehow smaller than it had been in the past weeks. But, then, all of a sudden, your mind goes back to the night you spent with him; how he'd touched you, the way he'd wrapped himself around you to fall asleep for those few hours. The way he looked at you like you were the only girl in the world. It's those thoughts that send you into a tailspin, lips pressed together to keep the tears at bay. Draining your glass, you gesture over to the barman for another and try to keep breathing steadily. 

—

“Hey! Wait, seriously? You're not lyin’ to me?” You hear a familiar Tennessee drawl behind you, and an excited one at that. “Croz, she's right there!” They both pause for a moment. “Can I tell her, sir?”

“Sure thing,” Croz replies. You turn around at the two familiar voices. James smiling brightly at you, Harry nervously shuffling from one foot to the other, clutching his hat in his slightly shaking hands. 

“Y/N, c'mere, doll!” James beckons you over with his booming voice. You stand and walk towards the two men, forcing a polite smile on your face. 

“Hi, James. Oh, Harry, wonderful to see you. Can I get you a drink?” 

“No, ma'am,” he replies, now not able to hold back his apparent joy. “Pearson here has something to tell you. I've been rushing all over base looking for this fella to tell him what he's about to tell you.” You look at James with an expectant expression, feeling your eyes widen. He can't seem to get the words out, nor keep a straight face. 

“Out with it, Jimmy, before I lose my mind!” You scold, playfully pushing him. 

“Rosie got word to base!” 

“What?!” you shout, your arms going across your chest in shock. “W-where is he?” Tears fill your eyes and they escape before you're aware of what's happening. 

“He got shot down in Berlin,” Croz begins, his downturned eyes having an underlying sadness to them as he looks at you. “But, he managed to keep the plane flying until everyone had bailed out. He's in Russia.” 

“Russia? He's safe, right?”

“Yes, ma'am. He says they're taking really good care of him.” Harry laughs a little, wondering whether to divulge further information. You see that, and nod at him to carry on. “He says the vodka is impeccable.” Laughing, you feel familiar arms around your waist, Sally's head on your shoulder, half laughing, half crying as she hears the news. 

Word spreads to the rest of the pub, the airmen cheering and hugging at the news. James hands you a whiskey, then thrusting one in Croz's hand. You clink glasses with him, and with James before turning back to Harry.

“Thank you,” you begin, voice shaking slightly. “Thank you for coming to tell me, for even thinking of me.”

“No problem,” he replies nervously. “To Rosie?”

“To Rosie.”

---

thank you once again to my besties @sagesolsticewrites and @ginabaker1666 for reading this multiple times before posting (as usual!!!) <3

chapter 6

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