#cold and careless without trying to hide it

[poguehearted77]

Portugal Nights

Pairing: Actress! Reader x Drew Starkey

Portugal Nights-> The day was tense. Rehearsals were much more heated than the lines intended and the thin rubber band of restraint holding you both apart was bound to snap, and it finally does.

This belongs to my OBX Season 5: Payback For Maybank Series

These can be read in any order!

smut: lots of making out (they've both needed this forever lol), oral sex (f! and m! receiving) , heavy petting, hickeys, shower sex, hand holding, protected sex and unprotected :( , drew is so pussy whipped omg, just passionate sex tbh, sex everywhere?? lmao.

"Action!"

Rafe paces back and forth in the abandoned dungeon-like room with his hands on his head, plotting desperately. You're surrounded by nothing but eroding walls, stained with foreign substances. There's dried blood on the floor that adds slight resistance with every lift of his heel.

You fume silently every time you look at the tall blonde who can't seem to stand still. You reflect on how he got you both in this mess in the first place and your eyes roll reflexively.

Earlier today, a little before dawn you and the pogues had just docked in Portugal, wasting no time to try to find Finch's fortress so you could find Groff, but you were being followed.

You noticed it first around sunset but kept it to yourself not wanting to distract the pogues from the objective of the mission in case you were wrong.

You'd all set up camp a little outside the city, not wanting to catch the attention of any civilians. However, you didn't rest. Not when you knew trackers tend to get a little careless as the sun slips below the horizon. Relying on the shadows of darkness to conceal their footprints and hide their silhouettes.

"I'm gonna scope the area a bit," You said, flipping your signature steel weapon up in the air and catching it coolly as you entered the darkness of the shrubs and out of sight. "I'm goin' after her." Rafe declares, already trailing behind you as Sarah calls for him but it falls on deaf, determined ears.

He's trekking closely behind you, so you stop walking and convey your message without even turning to face him. "Another step closer Rafe and I swear to god they'll have to dislodge steel from places you can't even name." He doesn't back down, nor does he step closer.

"I don't trust you." He says, and you scoff. "I don't care, Rafe," You finally turn, "Why don't you do us both a favour and go back to the others, yeah? I got this." For a moment he goes silent, almost like he didn't know what to say.

"No comeback? No insult?-" You start, always looking for a fair fight with him.

"Shut up." Rafe snaps back, stepping closer to you and your arms crossed while you plant your feet firmly where they are, refusing to let anything about the rich boy intimidate you.

"Looks like I finally got under your skin-" It's all a blur when he suddenly cups a hand over your mouth to silence you, "Will you shut the fuck up?" His words are delivered in a harsh whisper as his eyes scan your surroundings suspiciously.

At that moment, there was no Piper and Rafe. It's you and Drew. He met yours with a wild gaze, something unhinged about the way he was looking at you. Not as sincere and admirable as the longing stares from across the room that you're used to--no, this was something much more perilous.

"You hear that?" He whispers, softer this time. There's another rustle in the bushes around you. Shit.

With your backs turned and the area being so dark, the opposers use the darkness to their advantage and strike you both in the back of the head, knocking you out cold.

Which brings you to where you are now.

"For the love of god, will you stop the back and forth? You're driving me insane." You exclaim from where you rest against the contaminated walls.

"Listen," He now stalks to you slowly, like a predator approaching its prey. "I'm a proactive type of person. I'm not just gonna sit on my ass all day and let Finch come back and kill us!"

"Us? This didn't have to involve you! Maybe if you'd just taken that stick out of your ass for once and stayed with the group you could've saved yourself the trouble." Kicking yourself off the wall, you shout as loud as you can but he doesn't flinch.

Rafe's chest heaves rapidly, trying to calm himself down. "Well we're here now, and If I'm ever gonna make it back home, I have to get out of here alive."

You stand still, silent. Analyzing his features and expression, but your silence makes him uncomfortable and it etched across his face,

"Who is she?" The question is simple, and straightforward, yet far too complicated for Rafe to understand.

"What?" He questions.

Over the last few days you'd spent near the pogues, you'd gotten to know most of them quite well. All except Rafe that is.

"Your dad is dead, your little sister and your money are under your stepmother's possession. What do you have to go back to? Who is drawing you back?" He gulps, his defences crumbling evidently as his shoulders slumped.

For once, he didn't fight you on it.

Sofia. That's the name he shares with you and a little about their recent argument.

"Jus' don't tell anyone, alright? I don't need the others knowing more than they should." You shrug, "I have no reason to tell them about your cute wittle wove story." You couldn't stop yourself from teasing him.

Rafe charges towards you in anger with a glint of jest. You try to run backwards, away from him but your shoe is bound to the floor credit to the various adhesives meant to replicate stains and puddles.

By the time Drew realizes you aren't moving, it's too late and his body is already colliding with yours. Tangling together and sending you both tumbling to the ground with Drew between your legs and his head buried in the side of your neck.

You can hear the blood pumping in your ears. Drew's body completely covering yours on set in front of the crew should have you rolling out from underneath him and returning to reality, but no. There you lay, daring to glance into the piercing blue eyes that were already staring at you.

You take into account the notes of his cologne as they intermingle with the detergent of his clothes. The combination clouds your judgement and sends you reeling into a headspace you've been avoiding for the last three months.

You're in deep. Too deep.

"Cut!" Drew gets up like a kid caught red-handed before offering you a helping hand that you take graciously meanwhile the other guides you at the waist so lightly you'd barely notice it was there had your body not been burning at a thousand degrees.

Something is off. Usually, the two of you would be in knots of laughter after something like this, instead only the crew had giggles to go around but you both stood still. Unmoving, eyes locked on each other, looking within.

Could he see you? You wonder, does he know what you're thinking?

You swallow hard, your lips parting to say something, but no words come out. Instead, your gaze flickers to his mouth, and you catch him doing the same thing, just for a split second before he looks away. His jaw tightens as he shoves his hands into his pockets, stepping back, but the tension doesn’t break.

--

The day progresses into a warm summer night as the cast and crew gather at a charming Portuguese restaurant perched high in the city's hills. Lanterns nestled among lush potted plants cast a warm glow, while fairy lights drape elegantly from flowers cascading down from the ceiling, creating a dreamlike ambiance.

The long table overlooks the rolling hills below, their silhouettes dotted with the golden lights of the nearby city. Beyond, the navy-toned ocean stretches out, its gentle waves shimmering under the moonlight, completing the serene view.

The laughter is bubbly as the champagne flows between the tables. The cast looked amazing tonight, everyone had put on their best outfits for a fun night out with their castmates.

While Madelyn and Carlacia posed for a selfie together, Chase helped himself to the last bread roll left in the baskets the waiters had left earlier.

"Did you--" Drew titls the basket towards him so he can analyze the full damage of Chase's consumption. They both laugh, realizing the basket is completely void. "Maybe if we weren't waiting on JD and Y/n, we could get some real food going around."

The sole mention of your name has Drew on edge. He's recently lost the ability to control his own reactions around you as his body surrenders to the very mention of your name.

"Speak of the devil," Chase says as you and JD enter the restaurant side by side, a little embarrassed. "Fashionably late, as always." Madelyn remarks and you giggle.

"I'm sorry guys! I couldn't find my shoes and I extorted Jonathan for his kindness, so don't get mad at him." Your voice is sweet as you make your way around the table. Drew felt as though there were noise-cancelling headphones blocking out any surround sound.

His eyes fulfill their god-given purpose and stay glued to your frame--a very well-dressed frame might he add. You look stunning. He notices that you styled your hair differently. He's unsure if it's personal preference or a maintenance concern, but you rarely wore your natural curls out.

You're always opting to straighten them or put them up, but he thinks it amplifies your allure tenfold. Maybe he's just biased. That must be the case when he realizes he hasn't taken a breath since you walked in.

You situate yourself in the last empty seat between Madelyn and Chase, directly in front of Drew. Oh, this should be fun.

He clears his throat behind a closed fist, glancing up at you by chance and catching your gaze by luck. He does a double take and straightens up. "You look, just--" The words fade on him and he prays the ground would burst open at the seams and swallow him.

"Thank you, so do you." You return the half-finished compliment. However, it's for the best you don't say much about how Drew looks tonight. You're not sure you'd be able to conclude the sentence without the words 'edible', or 'sex on legs'.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the table, JD leans forward to whisper to Madison. "Remember that bet we made for Drew and Y/n, you predicted they'd get together within three months, and guess what? It'll be three months at midnight."

Madison giggles with a playful roll of her eyes. "What? Do you have this on your calendar or something?" JD does in fact proceed to show her his calendar with a marked date that says "Pay Day." Her eyes squint at him, "You are so ridiculous do you know that? I'm not backing down. The night is still young." She grins, and JD just shakes his head at the girl in clear denial.

The night flows on, filled with warmth and familiar laughter circulating the tables as everyone enjoys their conversations. You glanced down into your lap while Chase recounted a funny moment from earlier today on set.

You're anxiously considering if you should succumb to your sinful nature of greed and steal another glance at the breathtaking man sitting across the table.

You shouldn’t glance up—you know you shouldn’t—but you do anyway, and there he is, already watching you. The corner of his mouth curls into the faintest, most maddening smirk like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

You hate to admit it but it intimidates you. The weight of his gaze sends an electric chill down your spine, prompting you to shift in your seat. Drew reaches for a sip of water from the crystal glass on the table while you shift in place.

You cross your legs and your left heel accidentally brushes the inside of Drew's leg and he chokes. He quickly shields it behind a cough and you look like a deer caught in headlights as his ice-blue orbs are piercing through you.

Your foot hasn't moved, but you decided not to provoke him any further and retract it back within your bounds. Your heart is racing and suddenly you're the one reaching for a glass of water to satiate your thirst, but you both know it's an impossible task since there's only one remedy and he's sitting right in front of you.

-

By midnight the cast made it back to their rooms, ready to unwind from a long day and eventful night meanwhile you're stuck. Your mind is bouncing between the walls that seem to get closer the more you pace back and forth.

You've been at it for the last 5 minutes since you made it back to your room. Any normal person would be putting the night behind them and getting ready for bed--but no.

You're not normal. You're obsessed.

Pathetically hooked on the idea of a man who's just 3 doors down the hall--completely oblivious to the trainwreck Drew was making of himself because of you.

You're chewing at your fingernails, contemplating just knocking on his door. Is that crazy? What if it's all in your head?

The latter possibility didn't weigh enough to hold you back from any impulsive decisions as you're stepping over to his door with your heels still on and all it takes is one deep breath before you're raising your hand to knock but it swings open before it makes contact.

Drew looks like he hadn't taken a seat since he got back either. He looks restless, frazzled, and maybe even frustrated. His chest halts on the incline as he holds his breath, startled to see exactly who he'd been looking for standing right in front of him.

His eyes rake over your figure frantically as if trying to decipher if you're truly standing in front of him.

"Hi," You breathe out, your head angled up to admire his perfect features while he stares down at you.

"Hey," His voice is soft, struggling to mask the undertone of sheer need.

Your mouth gapes, hesitating to say something but you decide to let your body speak for itself. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck and tug him down so your lips crash against his.

The dam finally bursts and Drew's hands fly to wrap around your waist and pull you inside, swiftly closing the door behind you before he has you pinned up against it. His lips worked desperately along the expanse of your neck, trying to be mindful about his marks but he couldn't help himself. He's wanted this for so long-- Needed you for so long.

"Drew-" You gasp as he sucked particularly hard just below your ear, it sends you reeling and your eyes roll back with the little bit of your sanity that remains. "Hm?" He hums into the sweet scent of your skin, the same scent that's taunted him for months.

"Never mind." You dismiss yourself and resume the heated kisses that were paired with your desperate hands. You hastily unbuttoned his shirt while he unzipped the back of your dress, all while never breaking the kiss.

It's intense. Your hands ghost over the definition of his abs and he tenses a little as he curses under his breath. Every ounce of contact you made with his body, lit his skin on fire.

Your dress puddles around your ankles once it meets the floor and Drew wastes no time before he's slowly sinking to his knees, your head shakes repeatedly but no words escape.

You're not even sure why you're denying it, your body wasn't functioning correctly--but could you blame it? You had thee Drew Starkey on his knees for you, and he was about to put his mouth to good great use.

Your point is proved once he had your panties on the floor and one leg hooked over his shoulder. His tongue lapped over your folds, languidly at first, as if to test the passion-infested waters.

"Drew--please." That's all it takes. One airy breath from you and he's consuming you from the core. His nose brushes against your clit every so often as his warm, wet tongue slides over your cunt with an unnatural hunger.

Your hands reach out to hold on to something, anything, but you're left to scratch at the door desperately as he works you to till you're tight-roping across the edge. Drew's just as turned on as you are, the rock-solid boner he's sporting beneath his dress pants a true testament to it.

His focus finally shifts to the pearl of your pussy, and you almost wish he'd never moved to it. X would never recover if they knew Drew Starkey ate pussy with his life.

Your legs are beginning to shake and it's a telltale sign that within seconds his name will be the only word falling from your lips. Once it finally hits you, the world crumbles and you feel like an angel falling from heaven. His mouth had pulled you down into the depths of hell, right into his arms and you couldn't be happier.

You make this clear when you pull him up to meet your gaze, he towers over you but you distract yourself from the effect it has on you by taking his thumb and wiping your slick off his swollen pink lips and sucking it off, wrapping your tongue around his thumb until he snaps.

Within the same second, he moves his hands to grab at the sides of your face, kissing you deeply. It's nothing but tongue and there's spit rolling over your bottom lip by the time you're both pulling back, chests heaving, lungs filled with each other's air, but it still wasn't enough.

He's holding onto you like he can never let you go. "You've got no idea how long I've needed this, needed you." He says and it makes your heart stutter in its rhythm. "Oh please," You dismiss him but his left hand stays on your waist while the other gently cups your cheek.

His eyes scan to search for yours in the dimly lit room, the only source of light stemming from the lone lamp beside the bed. "I like you, Y/n. It wasn't a secret. How could it be? I can't help myself around you." His words put a cheesy grin on your face.

"I like you, Drew. Always have. Big fan of your work, by the way." You giggle, referring to the almost degrading acts he'd just committed between your legs, but it evokes a breathy chuckle from him.

"Yeah?" He teases, stepping towards you and you take one step back, but he surprises you and scoops you up into his arms. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he leads you to the bed, tossing you onto your back and he crawls between your legs.

There's one last soft glance between the two of you. No more yearning, no more stealing glances from across the room. Finally, you're in his arms and you fit more perfectly than he could've imagined.

"What?" You say blankly, wondering what had him warped inside his own mind for so long. A smile stretches across his lips, "Nothin', just happy to be here." It's corny, but you laugh anyway. Moaning into the sweet kiss he dropped down to your lips, holding himself up with those big strong arms of his.

The rest is a blur of strong hands and intoxicating kisses that are used to distract you from the sweet burn that engulfed your body into flames as he rolled his hips into yours, letting his cock push into you for the first time.

The gasps you both let out are innocent, shocked and full of bliss from the moment he bottoms out. "Just l-let me know if you want me to slow down at any time, okay?" The sentiment comes out through clenched teeth as he refrains from any sudden movements.

The heat of your velvet walls convulsing around him is driving him to a point beyond insanity. "Oh god, start moving--please," you whine and Drew's body shudders.

"Fuck, don't beg. I'll give you anything you want, baby." He seals his promise with an accelerated pace, his cock driving in and out of you at a steady rhythm that had you arching into him, eyes screwed shut and unable to meet his gaze."

"Hey, hey, look at me." He deepens his thrusts and it makes the requirements of his words that much harder to meet. Struggling, your eyes flutter open but you shy away under his piercing gaze.

He looked too good for a man fucking your brains out. The way his jaw worked, locked in place from concentrations. His body was coated in a thin sheet of sweat that made him glisten under the rays of the lamp.

"God, you look perfect. So gorgeous." He flatters you and it heightens your high tenfold. Your hands reach out to grab onto the sheets of his bed but he offers you his hand instead. Giving it an assuring squeeze as you tumble into a vortex of euphoria. "I'm-" Interrupted by your own orgasm you short-circuit and the sight of you unravelling underneath him is enough to make him cum.

"Y/n-- shit!" He groans, hips stuttering rapidly until he blows his load and holds his place over you. The room goes quiet, filled with nothing but the consistent attempts for you to catch your breath. When you're ready, he pulls out slowly, tying off the condom and tossing it out.

"I'm gonna head to the shower," It falls from your lips suggestively but Drew waits for you to make your intentions clear. He licks his lips as he watches you strut your way to the bathroom, stopping once you're in the frame.

There's a charming grin you flash him from over your shoulder, "You coming or what?"

He was in fact coming. Twice, in the shower, you made sure the first time you repaid the favour with your mouth that was too talented for him to handle. His palm held your hair tight in a makeshift ponytail, holding onto the glass for his life before he fucked you up against it.

Sensically, there were no condoms available in the shower and you both recognized the risk you'd be taking but anything was worth the risk if it involved you. Besides, you both swore this would be the first and last time you fuck raw.

What a lie.

The minute you felt the unfiltered length of his cock slip into you, you knew it was a done deal. This was going to be a very big problem for both of you in the near future. He's your new addiction and you'll never quit.

The following morning the cast was expected to meet each other downstairs at 11 am for brunch, but here you are, tangled up under Drew's sheets at 1 in the afternoon after waking up only 20 minutes earlier. Your excessive sexcapades from the night before had worn you both out.

The blankets are covering your bodies as Drew slides between your folds with leisure, taking his time and fucking you open intimately. "You think they noticed we're missing?" Drew breathes out and your arms go to wrap around his neck as you answer. "Definitely. I'm not sure, but I think Madison was betting on this."

"Give her whatever she's owed. She wins, and god I'm so glad."

Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza, @wearemadeofstardust0, @cadhlabear, @thepopcultureaddict, @citr0us, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account, @madi44444,@willowpains, @riaras-everthroner, @iteuosav, @rafeycameronsgf, @moonlitunicorn, @thepopcultureaddict, @livinobx, @rafeycameronsgf.

[dijayeah]

How the LaDS Men React When You Hide Feeling Unwell?

Rating: SFW ♡

Sylus: You’re running a high fever but try to power through a meeting with him. Sylus isn’t fooled. - Sylus notices the way you’re shivering and the slight flush on your cheeks. He interrupts the meeting, his tone cutting. “You’re unwell. Why are you here?” - When you refuse, he steps closer, his red eyes narrowing. “Don’t play games with me. Tell me what’s wrong.” - Slightly annoyed by your carelessness, Sylus cancels all your plans for the day (and his) and orders you to rest. “You’re no use to me like this, Kitten. I'll have Luke and Kieran escort you home.” - Despite his 'cold' demeanor, he shows up at your place later with medicine and soup. “Eat. And don’t argue.” - Before leaving, he brushes a strand of hair from your face, his voice gentle. “Next time, don’t push yourself, sweetie. I’ll handle everything.”

Xavier: You’re exhausted after pulling an all-nighter but try to act normal during a date. Xavier sees right through you. - Xavier notices the bags under your eyes and the way you’re struggling to stay awake. He stops mid-conversation, his voice soft. “You’re tired, aren’t you?” - Without waiting for a response, he pulls you into his arms and leads you to the couch. “Rest. I’ll clean up a little.” - Xavier then wraps you in a blanket and brings you a cup of warm tea. “You work too hard. Let me spoil you for once.” - He sits beside you, running his fingers through your hair until you fall asleep. “You shouldn't take on so many missions, y/n.” He murmurs. - When you wake up, he’s made 'breakfast' (toast with some jam) and left a note: “Next time, tell me when you’re tired, we can stay in.”

Caleb: you sprained your ankle during a mission but try to brush it off as nothing. Caleb notices immediately. - Caleb’s military training makes him hyper-aware of your movements. The second you limp, he’s by your side, his voice sharp but laced with concern. “Don’t lie to me. What’s wrong?” - Without waiting for an explanation, he scoops you up bridal-style, ignoring your protests. “You’re not walking on that, Pip-squeak. End of discussion.” - He insists on taking you to the med bay himself, glaring at anyone who dares to question his urgency. “Move. Now.” - Once you’re treated, Caleb sits by your side, his voice low and serious. “You should’ve told me. I can’t protect you if you hide things from me.” - He stays with you the entire night, making sure you’re comfortable and bringing you tea.

Zayne: You’re dealing with a bad headache but try to hide it during a visit to his clinic. Zayne, being a doctor, notices immediately. - Zayne takes one look at you and knows something’s off. “You’re pale. What’s wrong?” - When you try to brush it off, he crosses his arms and gives you a stern look. “Don’t lie to your doctor. Tell me the truth, y/n.” - He guides you to a quiet room, dims the lights, and hands you a glass of water. “Sit. I’ll get you something for the pain.” - As he checks your vitals, he murmurs, “You should’ve told me sooner. You don’t have to suffer alone. How many times will we go through this?” - Zayne insists on driving you home despite having to work and stays for a bit to make sure you’re comfortable. “Rest. I’ll check on you later.”

Rafayel: You’re feeling nauseous but try to hide it during a beach date. Rafayel, being as clingy as he is, notices right away. - Rafayel clings to your arm and immediately senses something’s wrong. “You’re not yourself today, cutie. What’s going on?” - When you try to downplay it, he pouts and pulls you closer. “Don’t hide things from me! I can tell you’re not okay.” - He drags you to a shaded area and makes you sit down. “Stay here. I’ll get you water and something light to eat.” - Rafayel stays by your side, holding your hand and fussing over you. “You’re not allowed to get sick. Who will I cling to if you’re not here?” - Before you leave, he gives you a seashell charm. “This will protect you. And next time, tell me when you’re not feeling well.”

[arixella]

Hello~ I was wondering if you could do a continuation of 'you don't tell them you're hurt' with the members of Cross Guild 🙏🙏🙏

Of courseee I can doo! This one was fun to make!

You get hurt and don't tell them pt.4 ' ft. crocodile, mihawk, buggy

wc: 440 a/n: not proof read luffy, zoro, sanji law, ace, sabo shanks, kid, killer

Crocodile

-Crocodile isn’t the type to fuss, but he’s sharp, and you’re not getting away with hiding an injury from him.

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” His voice is calm but carries a dangerous edge, as if daring you to lie to him.

-Once you admit it, he clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Reckless. Don’t waste my time trying to hide things like this.”

-He handles the situation with cold efficiency, ensuring you’re patched up without much fuss. However, his hands are surprisingly gentle, and he makes sure you’re as comfortable as possible.

-Afterward, he lectures you in his usual gruff tone. “There’s no pride in pretending you’re invincible. You can rely on me.”

-While Crocodile may seem cold, his actions betray his concern. You catch him casually checking on you later, making sure you’re healing properly without drawing attention to it.

-If someone else caused the injury, they’re as good as dead. Crocodile doesn’t make a scene—he just ensures they disappear without a trace. “No one touches what’s mine and walks away.”

-He might not say it out loud, but his subtle protectiveness speaks volumes about how much he cares.

Dracule Mihawk

-Mihawk is impossibly observan, so the second you try to hide an injury, he catches on with an arched brow.

“Hiding something from me? That’s unwise.” His tone is calm but piercing, like he’s already read your mind.

-He examines your injury with precision, his touch light but firm. “You’re fortunate it’s not worse. Carelessness doesn’t suit you.”

-Mihawk insists on personally treating you, pulling out an extensive first-aid kit you didn’t even know he had. “A blade is only as effective as the one wielding it. You should take better care of yourself.”

-Afterward, he pours you a glass of wine and insists you rest, staying close by with his usual composed demeanor. “I won’t tolerate unnecessary risks, especially from you.”

-Though he doesn’t openly fuss, Mihawk keeps a sharp eye on you for days afterward, ensuring you don’t push yourself. His silent care speaks louder than words.

-If the injury was caused by someone else, Mihawk’s cold fury is unmatched. “I’ll handle it,” he says, and you know he means it.

Buggy the Clown

-Buggy doesn’t notice at first, but when he finally realizes you’re hurt, he absolutely freaks out.

“What?! You’re hurt?! Why didn’t you tell me?!” His voice is loud enough to make everyone turn their heads, drawing unnecessary attention.

-He rushes to your side, flailing dramatically and overreacting as usual. “Do I need to call a doctor? Am I supposed to do something?! What if it’s fatal?!”

-Once he calms down (sort of), Buggy genuinely tries his best to help, though his methods are questionable. “Here, let me tie this… uh… is that supposed to be bleeding?”

-Despite his antics, Buggy stays by your side the entire time, even shooing his crew away to make sure you rest. “Don’t you dare move until you’re better, you hear me?!”

-He constantly checks on you, asking a million questions like, “Are you okay? Does it hurt? Do you need anything?” His concern is over-the-top but heartfelt.

-If someone else caused the injury, Buggy flips from dramatic to angry clown mode. He may not be the strongest, but his crew will make sure payback is served. “Nobody messes with my crew—or you!”

-Later, he’s back to his usual self, teasing you about being “so clumsy” while secretly keeping a close watch to make sure you’re really okay.

♡♡♡

© 2024 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.

[meguwumibear]

Purged Without Exception

A quick trip to the store gets you into some trouble. Suo is there to bail you out.

thank you @/acidbeats for commissioning this piece for the @ficsforgaza collaboration.

cw: attempted sexual assault and minor injury

You’re not supposed to be out this late. You know this. You know better. The streets of Makochi are unsafe for a lone woman like you, for a woman without any sort of fighting prowess. They used to be, anyway, before the Bofurin boys took it upon themselves to bloody their knuckles to keep the place clean.

The initiative has been going on for quite a few years now, and crime has been on a steady decline ever since. The students have made it their mission to protect your humble little town from all sorts of illicit activity, violent or otherwise. Whether they’re responding to petty theft or physical assault, the Bofurin boys handle each and every job with a violent sort of grace. It’s been some time since a random street thug could stand a chance against the gang of delinquents.

Perhaps that’s why you felt so comfortable running to the store at this hour. The odds of any sort of crime of late are slim to none. Violent crimes in particular are less popular than ever. Who’d risk provoking the ire of any of the current Bofurin students, let alone the alumn? An idiot maybe, or someone suicidal.

You didn’t think to grab anything other than your phone and wallet for the outing. All you needed was to restock on toilet paper, and the market is only a few blocks from your shithole apartment. Four years ago, you would never have ventured out without some sort of self defense aid on you. The protection of the Bofurin boys has made everyone so careless.

That’s why you aren’t prepared to fight off the first pair of hands that wrap themselves around your wrist and yank you into a dank, dark alleyway. There are three men in total hiding out in the shadows, and soon there are hands wrapped around your forearm, your neck, your waist. The attack is uncoordinated; the men trip over themselves trying to grope at you. You do what little you can to fend them off.

Untrained. Defenseless. Your head throbs and it connects with warm brick. Skin splits at the contact, cleaved open by the abrasive clay. There’s a strong grip on the nape of your neck preventing you from moving. Cold, calloused hands hold your face flat against the wall.  

Despite your earlier lapse in judgment, you are not in fact stupid. You know what kind of attack this is. You understand its purpose and goals of the hands that bind you.

It’s hard to hear much over the roaring in your ears, but you’re just lucid enough to pick out an eerily calm voice.

“Excuse me,” the man asks almost cheerfully. “Have I interrupted something?”

The hands attempting to undress you stall.

“Fuck off, eyepatch. Four’s a crowd.”

The grip on you loosens a smidge, and you turn your head to survey the scene.

The guy with the eyepatch is standing with his hands held in mock surrender, a coy smile on his face. There’s something familiar about him. You’ve seen him around town before. He pals around with a few of the Bofurin graduates. Which means…

“Easy,” he says, “I just want to escort the lady home.”

“You deaf?” one of your attackers asks. “We said fuck off.”

The man moves so fast your brain hardly registers it. One moment he’s standing at the edge of the alley, the next he’s flipped the man pinning you to the wall over his shoulder. The dude lands with a harsh thud on his back. From the way he’s flopping around, you venture the impact punched the air from his lungs.

The fingers of the remaining two clench into fists, but they seem hesitant to assist their friend. They sway unsteadily back and forth on the balls of their feet, looking at you, their friend, and finally at your rescuer.

“Run along, now,” your savior smiles. The corners of his mouth are pulled tight, sharp like a knife. “I just had this shirt pressed and I’d hate to sully it.”

The two still on their feet exchange a final glance at one another and decide to cut their losses. They back out of the alley quickly, clearly afraid your rescuer may change his mind about dirtying his freshly pressed shirt. The third staggers after them, limping along, wheezing for breath.

Once he’s certain you’re alone, the man bends over to pick something off the ground: the toilet paper that started the whole ordeal. He approaches you slowly, like he’s nervous one wrong move will scare you off. When he’s close enough, he offers the roll to you.

“I hate guys like that,” the man offers conversationally. The smile he flashes you now is warm and inviting. “Some people just never grow up. A bunch of petulant kids. It’s hard for them to imagine themselves in your position. I enjoy helping them broaden their minds.”

The hand that reaches for the toilet paper is shaky. The palm is red with blood. His eyes don’t miss the tiny droplets that spill onto the plastic packaging.

“That looks like it hurts,” he says, features schooled into a calm grin. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He leads you back to the convenience store. The lady at the front recognizes him immediately—even calls him by his name—which isn’t unusual; the Bofurin boys are a bit like celebrities around these parts.

Suo exchanges pleasantries with the worker and attempts to purchase some first aid supplies, but the woman insists he takes what he needs, on the house. There are perks, it would seem, to purging the town of those who would cause it harm.

The bathroom of the shop is small and poorly lit. A lone, fluorescent light flickers above you as Suo gently dabs an antiseptic wipe along your palms. The disinfectant bites. The wounds sting despite Suo’s tenderness. You fight your instinct to flinch and fail.

“The cut isn’t deep,” Suo notes once he’s certain the lesions have been properly sterilized. He drops your palm to brush a tendril of loose hair out of your face. “I’m more worried about this.”

You wince as he touches a fresh antibacterial wipe to your forehead. Fresh tears pool in the corners of your eyes. You try to blink them away, but they insist on falling. They slide down the slope of your cheek bones and pool underneath your chin.

“I can walk you to the nearest clinic,” he offers. “Just as an extra precaution.”

You shake your head and immediately regret it. The motion aggravates the injury, and your vision blurs from the pain.

“Can’t afford it,” you tell him.

He frowns as he continues to see to the wound. His movements are slow, precise, like he’s used to treating these types of injuries. You watch his face as he tends to you. His features are knit in quiet contemplation.

“It looks like you hit your head pretty hard. I’m no doctor, but I’m worried they may have given you a concussion.”

You shrug as he pulls his hand away. “I’m tougher than I look. My friends always say I have a thick skull.”

He hands you an ice pack from the pile of first aid supplies he’s brought. “For the swelling,” he says. Then, once you’ve pressed the cold pack against the growing bump, “You should take better care of yourself. If not for you then for your friends. I’m sure they’d hate if something were to happen to you.”

You let out a long, slow breath. Suo isn’t wrong. Your friends would be devastated if you got yourself into some sort of trouble.

“Bofurin boys are good for more than just fighting,” you say, pondering his advice and admiring his first aid.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he smirks, lips full of promise. “You have no idea.”

[monsterfuker3000]

You Call the Shots, Babe ༺♡༻

Hi kittens, mommy’s had a rough one and that’s why it’s been since October since I published anything lol. My now-ex boyfriend broke up with me and it thrust me head first into my man-hating era and I couldn’t write to save my life. I’m not happy with this fic but I had to publish SOMETHING bc it’s been rotting in my WIP folder forever. Enjoy, my stinkies 🩷

WARNINGS: p in v sex, perv!Leon, unprotected sex, mentions of male masturbation, a lil bit of footjob action/very light CBT, Leon is a two pump chump I’m sorry, creampie as always, uhhh you degrade him and stuff but he’s Leon so he gets off to that, idk RE2R Leon strikes me as a panty thief who would get off on being told he’s a pervert so that’s what I wrote lol

Word count: 3k words of Leon being a perv

“Leon?” you called.

“Yes?”

“Why do you have my fucking panties?”

Movie night with Leon was always unnecessarily complicated. It very nearly felt like it took him hours to get settled; he needed the right snacks for the two of you, the right drinks, the right comfy clothes, the right movie. If he put much more effort into every movie night, it would start to feel like a date. Not that he’d mind that.

You, however, seemed like you would mind. He had tried like hell to hint to you that he wanted something more than friendship; brushing his hand against yours whenever he could, resting his hand at the small of your back in a manner that was much more than friendly, letting his gazes linger a bit longer than they needed to. But you? Dear, distant, unmovable you? Never once reciprocated his affections. Leon was desperate for you.

That’s why the movie nights came about; they were the closest Leon could get to a date night, and by God did he push the envelope. He’d spend every movie night with an arm around your shoulder, both of you under the same blanket. He’d behave himself, keep his hand a where they belonged, but all the while he’d have to try like hell to conceal the hard-on he’d be sporting every time. He felt pathetic, jerking off to the thought of you every night after you’d leave. That’s when he started stealing your panties.

It started out with just one pair he’d seen discarded on top of your hamper in your room, too careless to hide it before he came over. He’d snuck them into his pocket, vowing to himself they he would return them the next time he was at your place. Only he didn’t return them, and he did do it again.

He jumped at every chance to spend time at your place instead of his, sneaking another pair from you nearly every time. You had to be wondering where they kept going, but as long as his operation was still going off without a hitch, he was going to keep stealing them.

Then came the hitch.

You had come over for the aforementioned movie night, barging in after work without knocking like you owned the place, not that Leon minded.

“Lee!” You whined, “It’s cold out! How come you have to live so far from where I work?” You continued your lament as you kicked off your shoes by the door and walked further into the apartment toward the kitchen. Leon poked his head out from the doorway, pointing to his bedroom door.

“Go grab one of my hoodies or something if you’re cold, I’m making popcorn, so help yourself!” He busied himself with the popcorn once again as he heard you turn and walk toward his room, thanking him as you walked away.

“Leon?” you called.

“Yes?”

“Why do you have my fucking panties?”

His heart immediately dropped into his stomach, remembering just how many pairs of your used panties were tucked away in his drawer. The volume and variety would have been impressive if he didn’t feel downright creepy.

He slunk towards his room like a child expecting to be scolded, and his face reddened when he stepped into the doorway. You had your arms crossed, one of his favorite pairs of your panties dangling from one finger

It was a little baby-pink number; cotton, his favorite, with delicate lace around waistband that he couldn’t get enough of. Memories flashed through his head of just what perverted things he’d done with the scraps of cloth spilling out of the drawer you’d apparently yanked open.

He loved to jerk off with them wrapped around his cock, eyes closed and head falling back, sometimes with another pair pressed to his nose to inhale your scent. The worst thing he did, however, embarrassed even him; he loved to jerk off directly into the crotch of your panties, imagining that the reason they were covered in his cum was because it had spilled out of you. This was his favorite of all of his dirty fantasies about you, and imagining that the panties in his hand were soiled because you’d finally let him fuck you would often make him have to touch himself a second time.

“I saw these sticking out of your drawer, and I thought they looked familiar,” you said flatly.

He forced himself to return to the present at your words, fidgeting a bit to try to hide the half-chub that refused to go down even in the face of such profound shame. You cocked an eyebrow, looking all too relaxed given the situation the two of you were in.

“I asked you a question, Leon,” you reminded him. “Why do you have so many pairs of my panties? And I know theyre mine, don’t try to tell me they aren’t,’ you added, effectively crushing to death the only chance at redemption he thought he might have.

“Um, well. . .” He trailed off immediately, completely unable to tear his eyes away from the panties swinging from your hand, not sure how he was going to get out of this one. “I don’t- I. . . It’s beacuse-“

“I know why you have them,” you cut him off, his eyes finally snapping up to meet yours before the embarrassment made him duck away again. “It’s because youre a fucking pervert.”

His heart dropped; this was it. You were disgusted with him, you were going to leave his apartment and never come back, you were going to tell everyone you knew that he was a disgusting panty thief, never to be trusted. However, there was no hiding the full-blown hard-on he was now sporting, thanks to the insult. His face reddened more, if that was even possible. Your eyes flicked down to his crotch, and the scowl you’d been wearing slowly turned into a smirk.

“I’m so sorry, I-“ he began, but you cut him off yet again.

“You’re not sorry you did it,” you salked toward him. “You’re sorry you got caught.’ You were right on the money, as usual, but before Leon could even try to get a word in edgewise, you spoke again. “I think you need to be punished.”

What?

His confusion must have been clear on his face, because you continued.

“What, cat got your tongue?” You teased. “Take your pants off, Leon,” you said. It very obviously wasnt a request.

This felt like a trap to Leon, but he figured things couldn’t get any worse, and so help him he was going to do whatever you asked of him in the hopes it might smooth things over. He cleared his throat, reaching for the drawstring of his sweatpants as you began to slowly circle around him. He felt very much like a cornered animal.

“O-okay,” he finally spoke, albeit haltingly as he slowly pulled at the tie on his pants.

“Tell me, Lee, what have you been doing with all the panties you’ve been stealing, hm? Be specific. And hurry up with your pants, I don’t like waiting when im already impatient.”

God, what were you going to do to him? He tried like hell not to very his hopes up, but he hoped to God this was going to end well for him.

“W-well,” he began, sliding his pants off as he spoke, nervous but still eager to find out what was going to happen next. “I mean, I jack off with them. . .” He trailed off, clearly not wanting to be any more forthcoming than that. He chanced a look at your face again, hoping what little he told you was sufficient, but of course not.

“Tell me more, Lee. And look at me when you do it,” you added. He swallowed hard, fighting to keep his eyes on you while he spoke.

“I wrap them around. . . Around my cock and I, well, I jack off with them, ‘nd then I. . .” He trailed off yet again, cheeks burning bright red, afraid to try your patience but far too embarrassed to get it all out at once. He took a deep breath. “And I like to. . . To finish in the crotch,’ he finally finished.

“Why?” You asked simply. He wasnt prepared to answer that one. He cleared his throat again, and mumbled something, turning away. “Come again?” You asked. He huffed out a breath and looked back up at you, tears very nearly welling up in his eyes from the humiliation but still hard as a rock.

“I said I like to imagine theyre filled with my cum because you put them back on after I fucked you!” He nearly yelled, frustrated with the interrogation. A few embarrassed tears he hadn’t even noticed finally spilled from his eyes and he wiped them away roughly with his sleeve, knowing he had no right to cry.

“I figured,” you replied flatly. How were you staying so calm about this? You’d just found out your best friend had been stealing your panties for the past few months! Leon opened his mouth to ask you just this, but you moved lighting-quick, stuffing the panties into his open mouth and covering it with your hand, swatting away hips hands when he instinctively reached up to push you away.

Holy shit. You just stuffed your panties in his mouth.

“Kneel,” you told him, and his knees were on the floor without a second’s hesitation, placing his hands down on the tops of his thighs. You walked around him, adding the instruction to be careful not to spit them out, and he could hear you once again digging around in the drawer behind him. you gasped behind him, reaching out from behind him to range another pair inches from his nose before snatching it back.

“Leon, these are my favorite!” You cried indignantly. “I’ve been looking for them forever, you pervert,’ you added. God, there was that word again. It absolutely shouldn’t have made his cock twitch in his boxers, but it did anyway. “Hands behind your back,” you instructed him, and he obeyed, wondering what you had in mind. His eyes widened when he felt you twist that second pair of panties around his wrists, essentially improvising a pair of handcuffs. You walked around him again to stand in front of him, and he looked up at you expectantly, tears long-dried. “Try not to rip those, I like them,” you said simply, before sitting on his bed and pressing your socked foot to his crotch without another warning.

He cried out as best he could with a mouthful of your panties, nearly doubling over from the sensation. You were pressing harder than should have been pleasurable, but between how wound up you had him and how long he’d wanted you to touch his cock, he was still in heaven. As you slid your foot up his cock, he wished with everything in him that he didn’t still have his boxers on; that he could feel the friction and not just the pressure, delicious as it was. You leaned back, surveying your work, all the while still working your foot up and down his cock.

“You like that, Leon?” You teased, propped up on your hands. Of course he liked that. Of course you knew he liked that, but how could you not tease him like this?

Your curled your toes gently over the head of his cock, squeezing a bit with your toes. He was sensitive, so fucking sensitive, and he bucked up into your touch with another muffled cry.

“Ah-ah,” you admonished him. “I didn’t say you could move.”

Leon whined again at this, worried you were going to stop touching him, but far too afraid of that prospect to do anything about it.

Instead of withdrawing your foot Ike he expected, you pressed the ball of your foot against his cock, hard. You meant this as a punishment, of course, but poor Leon was so very on edge that he came in his boxers, shaking as he dampened the crotch of them along with your foot.

“Leon. . .” You sighed with a deep frown, one that would have made his heart clench had all his blood not been allocated elsewhere. “You really are a pervert,” you scolded. God, there was that word again. Leon knew at this point that this was all a game, but he couldn’t help the way that word made him feel. Pathetic. Dirty. Unbelievably horny.

You stood, looming over him as he looked up at you with wide eyes.

“I was worried about the rest of my plans for you, but it looks like youre still hard,” you remarked, nudging his overly sensitive cock with your foot and pulling a surprised yelp from him. To his shock, you unbuttoned your pants and slid them off along with your panties all in one go. The way his eyes flicked over to the panties you discarded to the side wasnt lost on you.

“Don’t be greedy, Leon. You have more than enough,” you teased. You knelt on the ground in front of him, pushing against his chest and knocking him off balance to sit flat on the floor with his back to his dresser, hands still bound behind him with your panties. You straddled him, hovering over his cock so close that he could feel the heat and wetness of your pussy. He didn’t dare move after what happened last time.

You decided to grant him just a little relief, using your hand to slide his cock shallowly through your folds, Upand down, up and down. His head hit the dresser behind him with a thunk, a deep groan tearing itself from his throat. Then finally, fucking finally, you slid down onto his cock, taking him to the hilt.

He tore his eyes away from the ceiling, and they nearly popped out of his head as he took in the sight in front of him. His cock had completely disappeared inside of you, your clit resting against his pelvis. He was mesmerized for just a moment before you lifted your hips and slammed them back down, earning another muffled shout from him as his head hit the dresser again.

You began a brutal pace right off the bat, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with your moans; yours were completely unbridled, his were still dampened by the panties he absolutely wasnt spitting out.

You reached up to place a hand against his cheek, patting it softly before pulling your hand back and delivering an earnest slap. It took him by surprise and he bucked into you again, but you seemed to let that transgression slide. You squeezed his cheeks with one hand, forcing him to look at you.

“Fucking disgusting, Leon. I should spit in your face for stealing and doing such nasty shit with my things,” you said through gritted teeth, hips still rolling against him. God, he was going to cum way too soon again. Sweat rolled down the side of his face with the effort he was exerting trying to hold off his orgasm.

“‘M gonna cum,” you moaned, and it was like he saw the light at the end of the tunnel. “You wanna cum in me Leon? You wanna fill me up with your cum? Of course you do, you fucking sicko,” and Leon knew he had just seconds.

Finally, with a last, particularly strong roll of your hips, you came. As your pussy pulsed around him, Leon came as well, filling you with his cum and thrusting up into you in earnest now, though he was too fucked-out to notice and correct himself.

As soon as your breathing evened a bit, you stood abruptly, the friction against Leon’s softening cock startling him along with the overstimulation. You hooked the panties in his mouth with your finger to yank them out and he choked a bit, his mouth dry. He was speechless as you shook out the slightly damp panties and slid them on with a snap of the waistband.

You bent over in front of him, showing him that the thin gusset of the panties was wet enough with his spit that it had gone slightly translucent. He could see your pussy lips through the wet fabric, and nearly passed out when he watched the wet patch spread as his cum began to spill out of you and onto the panties, just like he’d jacked off to so many times. If he wasn’t so mindful of not wanting to rip the panties that were still wrapped around his wrists, he probably would have pulled you toward him to fill you up with even more of his cum.

You walked around behind him to untangle him and free his arms. As soon as you did though, his hair stood on end remembering what he’d been caught with earlier. He whirled around, still on his knees to look up at you with big, pleading blue eyes.

“I’m so, so sorry, I know it’s gross that I was taking your panties-“

“Leon,” you interrupted him. “Why do you think my used panties were always on the top of my hamper? No girl would leave her panties visible like that if she knows someone is coming over. I wanted you to find them.” You turned and walked out toward the kitchen before turning back to him and seeing his jaw practically on the ground again. “You might wanna check on your popcorn, Lee.”

I’m on twelve Vicodins smoking on Scooby-Doo dick

[amethystarachnid]

Hey! If your taking requests, I love your work so much and I had an idea I would really love to see how you execute it.

So it would be with Tony Stark, and if its okay Male!Reader, but not romantic, the reader is a teen who is a product of some old fling Tony had and after being poorly taken care of by his mom (whatever that inclines you to write, abuse, bad boyfriend, alcoholism etc.) She dumps him off at stark tower with a note and what little belongings the reader has and his birth certificate to Tony for him to take care of. And the rest of what happens from there is up to you! Basically heavy on the found family troupe, and a little angst with some good fluff. The reader can be from 16-18 still in high school. He has Tony's sarcastic humor and smarts, but he nodes his intelligence because his mom never really helped him appreciate it, basically one of those kids that gets straight A's without seemingly trying and looking kind of stupid, the reader is quiet and a bit cold but that's because of how he was raised, and isn't one to share how he's feeling. If you can do this I'd be so thankful, if not its completely understandable, I hope I gave you enough creative liberty to make it fun, I know it'll be great if you do write it! Again I love your fics so much and I can't wait to read more of what you have!!💜☺

LEGACY

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x male!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: platonic!, a lot of angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: normal request

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: literally what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of abusive household and rader feeling like people keep abandoning him

ᯓ★ Thank you so much for your request and for liking my work! <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Your whole life, you’ve never known stability. The cramped apartments, the ever-shifting walls painted in hues of desperation, are as familiar to you as your own skin. You’re seventeen now, but you still feel like you’re stuck in this never-ending carousel of uncertainty and survival. Your mom—who’s always been more into herself than anyone else—has a way of shoving her problems under the rug, sweeping you along with the mess until you’re barely holding it together.

Her boyfriend—if you could even call him that—is the latest problem. Travis is the kind of guy who doesn’t need to say much to make his point clear. It’s in the way he takes up space, fills every room with his presence, making himself the center of your lives as if it’s his right. He started coming around when you were fourteen, and it’s only gotten worse. You know he hates you, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. To him, you’re a nuisance, some extra baggage he never asked for, and he’s got no problem reminding you of that. Your sarcasm and quick wit, the things that make you, you, are just more reasons for him to snap, roll his eyes, or call you ungrateful.

Your mom’s always been…complicated. You’ve known that since you were little, watching her go from one relationship to another, always searching for some kind of validation she never seems to find. She calls herself a free spirit, but it’s like she’s just drifting, lost in a fog of her own making. She can be fun, sure, when things are good. There were even moments when you thought she really loved you. But as time went on, you learned to read the signs: the distant glances, the subtle irritations, the way she avoids looking at you for too long, as if you’re some kind of mirror she doesn’t want to face.

It’s your intelligence that bugs her the most, you think. You see through her, every lie, every excuse, every careless decision. And she knows it. It’s like looking into a warped mirror—she can see pieces of herself in you, but you’re everything she’s never been: sharp, observant, with a mind that doesn’t let things slide. And it grates on her.

The fights get worse as you grow older, each one escalating faster than the last. Your sarcasm is your armor, your way of dealing with the endless cycle of disappointment. But every quip, every clever retort, only makes her angrier. You can tell she hates that she can’t control you, can’t manipulate you the way she does with everyone else in her life. She calls you difficult, a burden, a mistake she should’ve never had. You don’t let it show, but each word leaves a scar, another reminder that you’re on your own.

Then one day, it’s too much. Travis and your mom are fighting—again. It’s loud, voices echoing in the small apartment, and you’re in your room, trying to block it out like usual. But this time, you hear your name. You’ve been in this situation enough to know that’s never a good sign. So, you stay quiet, waiting, listening.

“You know he’s not even mine, right?” Travis snaps, his voice dripping with frustration. “Why do I have to put up with this kid? He’s not my responsibility!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Your mom’s voice is strained, like she’s barely holding on herself. “I’ve tried—God, I’ve tried—but he’s just…he’s too much. I can’t handle it anymore.”

There’s a pause, and for a second, you think maybe she’ll say something else, something that makes it sound like she cares. But the words never come.

“Then get rid of him,” Travis says, so bluntly that it leaves a chill in the air. “You’ve got the kid’s birth certificate. Drop him off at his real dad’s. He’s rich, isn’t he? Let him deal with the brat.”

You don’t move. You barely breathe. But deep down, you already know this is it. There’s no fighting it this time, no clever comment to deflect what’s happening. She’s made her choice, and it’s not you.

The next morning, she’s silent as she hands you an envelope. There’s no apology, no excuse, just a look that tells you she’s already gone, checked out of whatever shred of motherhood she once claimed to have. You don’t even ask where you’re going; you know the answer as soon as you see the address on the piece of paper.

Stark Tower.

It feels like a final act of cruelty, really. The man she’s always refused to talk about, the one figure in your life who’s only ever been a name, and now he’s your last option. Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, Avenger. And, apparently, your father.

You stand outside Stark Tower with a single bag of your things and that stupid piece of paper—the birth certificate that’s somehow supposed to mean you’re his problem now. You feel like you’re stuck in some cosmic joke, a punchline to a story you didn’t even know you were a part of. There’s no going back, though. That’s clear enough.

So, you take a deep breath, adjust your bag on your shoulder, and walk through the doors.

Tony doesn’t even get a chance to process it at first. One moment he’s sipping coffee in his lab, deep in the flow of something unnecessarily complex that’s keeping his mind busy, and the next, Pepper is calling him down to the lobby. She sounds irritated, stressed—like maybe it’s his fault, which Tony wouldn’t be surprised by, honestly. He heads down, muttering about "another hero here to tell me how to do my job."

Then he sees you.

You’re leaning against the glass wall, wearing an expression that’s somehow familiar yet entirely alien to him. It’s not hard to recognize the mix of defiance and exhaustion in your eyes; he’s spent years perfecting that look himself. But the shock doesn’t really hit until you hand him the birth certificate. Your name and his, right there in black and white, unavoidably real.

For once in his life, Tony Stark is speechless.

“Seventeen years,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “And now you’re here because…?”

You shrug, clearly unimpressed. “Mom didn’t want me anymore, and apparently, you’re my dad. So… here I am. Congratulations.”

You’re blunt, almost cruel in the way you say it, like you don’t expect anything from him and don’t care if you get it. But he can’t look away from you. For the first time in a long time, he’s out of his depth. He’s had seventeen years to know this was possible, maybe even inevitable, but standing in front of you, he realizes he’s never prepared himself for this. He’s never thought about what it would mean to actually be a father.

Yet here you are, standing in front of him with your mother’s words still hanging over you, and he can see the weight you carry in the way your shoulders are always tense, the way your eyes don’t quite meet his.

“Well, kid,” he says after a beat, plastering on his most confident smile, “looks like you’ve officially joined the Stark family. There’s no going back now.”

Over the next few days, Tony throws himself into fatherhood with all the enthusiasm of someone tackling a new, challenging invention. He’s reading parenting books, taking advice from anyone who’ll give it, and trying desperately to crack the code of how to be a “cool dad.” He lets you explore Stark Tower freely, offers you access to his entire workshop, and even builds you a custom tablet, “Stark-style,” he brags, with enough advanced tech to impress even the most skeptical teenager.

He talks to you about science, testing your knowledge and realizing with a mix of pride and horror that you’re nearly as sharp as he was at seventeen. He tries to make jokes, throwing out sarcastic one-liners he assumes will win you over. Sometimes, he even manages to get a smirk out of you. But that’s as far as it ever goes.

Every attempt he makes is met with your icy wall, a defense mechanism built after years of disappointment and neglect. You listen, nod occasionally, but never laugh or even show interest. The most he ever gets out of you is a dry, deadpan “cool,” which is enough to keep him going but never enough to satisfy him.

Tony tries not to take it personally, but it’s hard. You’re right there, his kid, yet you’re worlds away, keeping him at arm’s length as if he’s just another adult you can’t trust. He catches glimpses of the sarcasm, the intelligence, but it’s wrapped up in layers of resentment and guarded detachment. You’re always cool, always distant, and he knows why, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

One evening, he sits you down with a grin, tossing a shiny, compact device into your hands. It’s sleek, metallic—one of his newer designs.

“Mini reactor prototype. You’d be the first to use it.” He says it with pride, like he’s giving you something no one else in the world could get.

You look at it for a moment, then at him. “Cool,” you say again, but your voice is flat, unimpressed. You set it on the table between you without another glance.

Tony’s grin falters, and he lets out a frustrated laugh. “You’re a tough crowd, you know that?”

You just shrug, giving him that practiced blank stare he’s come to know well. He’s finally reaching his breaking point. “Y’know, I’m trying here,” he says, exasperated. “I’m trying to… I don’t know, connect. Be… whatever it is you need me to be. But you’re acting like I’m just another stranger.”

You pause, considering him for a moment, and something shifts in your expression—like maybe, for just a second, you see his effort. But then your face goes neutral again, back to that familiar shield.

“Maybe that’s because you are,” you reply, voice quiet, almost too soft for him to hear.

Tony feels the blow, but he hides it with a forced chuckle. “Fair enough,” he says, though there’s a sting in his voice. “I can’t change the past, but… I’m here now. I’m not gonna just… walk away.”

The words linger between you, both of you knowing the weight they carry. You’ve heard promises like this before. You’ve heard them from your mother, from people who were supposed to care, and each one of those promises had turned hollow, leaving you more alone than before. So, when Tony looks at you with genuine sincerity, with a hope that you’ll give him a chance, all you can do is nod, burying any flicker of vulnerability.

As the weeks go on, Tony keeps trying. He brings you into the lab with him, walks you through his latest projects, even lets you experiment with some of the tech yourself. He drags you to burger joints at midnight, tries to coax out stories about school, hobbies, anything. Sometimes you let your guard slip, offering a sarcastic remark, a comment that makes him laugh—but the moment always passes too quickly, and you’re back behind that wall before he can push any further.

He’s persistent, though, and there’s a part of you that almost wants to give in, that wants to believe him. But your trust is a muscle you haven’t used in so long, it feels impossible to start now. So, you keep him at bay, deflecting his kindness, giving him just enough to satisfy his efforts without letting him in.

Tony doesn’t quit, though. He keeps showing up, every day, every night, and for the first time in your life, you don’t feel like someone’s just waiting for the moment they can leave.

Every morning, Tony insists on driving you to school, and it’s nothing short of a spectacle. He shows up outside Stark Tower in one of his many luxury cars, honking loudly, practically begging for attention. It’s become a routine, one you can’t escape no matter how many times you roll your eyes or tell him he doesn’t have to do it. He’s always got some snarky excuse, saying things like, “It’s my job as a dad,” or “I just want to see the kid off,” as if anyone believes he actually cares about high school protocol.

And everyone notices. Whispers trail behind you as you walk the halls, classmates you’ve known for years suddenly gawking at you like you’re a different person. They don’t know you as you anymore; they know you as Tony Stark’s kid. It’s suffocating. You’ve spent your entire life trying to stay unnoticed, to blend into the background. Now, no matter where you go, everyone’s waiting for you to crack a joke like him, to show off some kind of Stark-level genius.

Only one person seems to still see you, really see you—your best friend, Sam. You’ve known him since middle school, back when everything was simpler, when no one knew or cared who your dad was. He’s the only one who doesn’t treat you any differently now, the only person you actually trust enough to talk to about any of this.

One afternoon, you’re sitting outside on the bleachers with Sam, trying to ignore the fact that Tony’s car is already parked by the curb, waiting for you. The other students eye it like some exotic animal they don’t quite understand, but you keep your head down, just hoping the day will end without any more awkward questions or judgmental stares.

Sam nudges you. “So, uh… you still giving the old man the cold shoulder, huh?”

You sigh, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not giving him the cold shoulder. I’m just… keeping my distance.”

He rolls his eyes. “Dude, I see you with him every morning. The man looks like he’s about to recite the Gettysburg Address just to get a smile out of you. And you’re over here acting like he doesn’t exist.”

You shift uncomfortably, crossing your arms. “He’s only doing it because he feels obligated, Sam. It’s Tony Stark. He doesn’t actually care about me.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You really believe that? You think he’s the kind of guy who’d waste his time on someone he doesn’t care about?”

You don’t answer, but you can feel Sam’s eyes on you, cutting through all your defenses. He’s always been able to read you better than anyone, and right now, that’s the last thing you want.

“He’s trying, Y/N,” Sam continues, his voice softer. “Like, really trying. And I get it. I get that you’ve been burned, but… maybe give him a chance? Just talk to him. It’s not like he’s gonna run off if you tell him what’s going on.”

You look away, jaw clenched as you try to shake off the knot of emotion tightening in your chest. You don’t want to admit that Sam might be right. Letting someone in, giving someone a chance—that’s always been a dangerous game, one you’re not sure you can afford to play again.

That night, you’re lying awake in your room, staring at the ceiling, Sam’s words playing on a loop in your mind. The silence around you feels heavy, pressing down on you, and you can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you owe Tony more than you’ve been giving him. You’ve seen his effort, the way he tries to connect with you, even when you push him away. He’s there, every day, waiting for you, and no one has ever done that before.

Something shifts in you, a kind of tired resignation, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you get up and head downstairs to his workshop.

Tony’s hunched over a table, tinkering with some gadget, and he barely notices you at first. It’s only when you clear your throat that he looks up, surprise flickering across his face before he masks it with a smile.

“Hey, kid,” he says, setting down his tools. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling the weight of what you’re about to say. “Yeah, I just… I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He raises an eyebrow, a mixture of curiosity and concern on his face. He gestures to a nearby chair. “Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

You sit, staring at your hands as you try to find the right words. For a long time, there’s only silence between you, the air thick with tension. Finally, you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to speak.

“I know I’ve been… difficult,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I know you’re trying. It’s just… it’s not easy for me.”

Tony watches you intently, not interrupting, his expression softer than you’ve ever seen it. You look down, focusing on your hands, the words spilling out before you can stop them.

“When I was a kid, my mom was all I had. I thought… I thought she cared about me, even if she didn’t always show it. But she changed, especially after she started seeing this guy. Travis. He wasn’t… he wasn’t a good person, Tony. He… he made sure I knew I wasn’t wanted.” Your voice breaks slightly, but you push through it, feeling the old wounds tear open. “He told me I was a burden, that I was just in the way. And my mom, she… she just let it happen. She barely even looked at me by the end.”

Tony’s face darkens, his jaw clenched as he listens, but he stays silent, letting you continue.

“I learned not to trust people,” you say, voice wavering. “Every time I thought someone would stick around, they didn’t. So I stopped… I stopped letting people in. I told myself it was easier that way.”

You look up at him, and for the first time, there’s no mask, no shield—just raw vulnerability, something you haven’t allowed yourself to feel in years.

“And then I showed up here,” you say, your voice barely a whisper now. “And you… you keep trying. You keep showing up, every day, like you actually care. And it’s… it’s confusing, okay? Because part of me wants to believe it, but the other part…” You trail off, wiping away a tear that slips down your cheek.

Tony doesn’t hesitate. He reaches over, placing a hand on your shoulder, grounding you, letting you know he’s there. “Y/N,” he says softly, his voice rough with emotion. “I can’t change what you went through. I can’t go back and fix it, as much as I wish I could. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You meet his gaze, and there’s something in his eyes that you’ve never seen before—a fierce, unwavering resolve that feels almost foreign. You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words sink in, feeling the tiniest flicker of hope spark to life.

“It’s not easy for me,” you murmur. “It’s… it’s hard for me to trust people. And I know I’m not the easiest person to be around. But… I want to try. I want to believe you. I just… I need you to be patient with me. I need you to not give up on me.”

Tony nods, his hand still resting on your shoulder, steady and reassuring. “Hey,” he says, his voice breaking a little. “I’m not giving up on you, kid. Not now, not ever. You’re my son, and I’m here for the long haul. However long it takes, okay?”

The words settle around you, a warmth you haven’t felt in years. You don’t have to say anything; he seems to understand, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he lets go. And in that moment, something in you softens, just a little, like maybe you can let him in.

For the first time, you allow yourself to believe him, to believe that maybe he really won’t walk away. And even though the walls around your heart don’t come down all at once, you feel them start to crack, piece by piece, letting a little light seep in.

After that night, things start to change. It’s slow, gradual, like thawing ice, but there’s a noticeable shift between you and Tony. You’re still guarded, still wary of letting him all the way in, but he doesn’t push. He just keeps showing up, every day, every night, just like he promised. And slowly, piece by piece, you let him in.

The first time you ask to work on something together, Tony practically beams. You’re sitting at the kitchen counter with your physics homework in front of you—normally a breeze, something you’d get done in a few minutes. But today, you’ve left a few problems untouched, hoping he’ll notice.

Sure enough, Tony glances over your shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “Need a hand with that?” he asks, and there’s a careful lightness to his voice, like he’s trying to keep things casual, so he doesn’t scare you off.

You shrug, trying to act indifferent. “Sure, if you’ve got time,” you say, even though both of you know you could solve this on your own without breaking a sweat. But Tony doesn’t call you out on it. He just grabs a chair, pulls it over, and sits down next to you, leaning in to look at your work.

For the next hour, the two of you go over formulas and theories, his explanations coming with a few sarcastic quips and exaggerated hand gestures. Every so often, he goes off on a tangent, telling you stories about his own time in high school or sharing a strange fact he thinks will help you remember a concept. You listen, half-smiling at his antics, and eventually even throw in a few of your own sarcastic comments. You can tell he’s trying not to make a big deal out of it, but there’s a spark in his eyes that tells you he’s thrilled to be here, helping you, no matter how small the reason.

As the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in Tony’s workshop. It becomes your safe space, the place where you don’t feel like you have to hide or put up walls. Tony lets you explore, handing you tools and explaining how they work, guiding you through his more complicated inventions. It’s like learning a new language, one he’s eager to teach you, and he’s a surprisingly patient teacher.

One afternoon, he’s working on a new suit upgrade, and you’re watching, silently impressed by how smoothly he moves, how every action is precise and practiced. You’re deep in thought when he glances over at you, smirking.

“Thinking of joining the family business?” he jokes, tossing you a wrench. “If you’re interested, I could always use an extra pair of hands.”

You catch the wrench, feeling a rare, genuine smile tug at the corners of your mouth. “Maybe I will,” you say, feeling a rush of warmth that’s unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

He shows you how to tighten a piece of armor plating, explaining each step with a casual ease that you find yourself getting lost in. There’s something oddly comforting about the way he talks, like he’s sharing a secret only the two of you understand. And as you work, side by side, you realize that you actually look forward to these moments, the quiet companionship that comes from working together on something you both enjoy.

One evening, you catch yourself staring at your chemistry textbook, pages open to a particularly dull section on thermodynamics. Normally, you’d power through it on your own, but tonight, you feel the familiar tug of loneliness creeping in, and before you know it, you’re on your feet, heading down to Tony’s lab.

When you reach the doorway, he looks up, surprised, then quickly wipes the expression off his face and pretends to be engrossed in his latest project. “What’s up?” he asks, as casually as he can manage.

You hold up the textbook, pretending to be annoyed. “This stuff is terrible. Thought maybe you could explain it better than my teacher does.”

Tony raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, I’m honored to know you think so highly of my teaching skills.” He gestures for you to sit down, and as you do, he starts flipping through the pages of your book. “Thermodynamics, huh? You sure you’re not just here for the riveting conversation?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But you both know the truth, and there’s an unspoken understanding between you as he dives into the material. He doesn’t just lecture; he makes it a story, breaking down each concept with analogies, acting out scenarios, and throwing in enough jokes to keep you both entertained. You throw in questions just to keep him talking, just so you don’t have to go back to your empty room just yet.

And somewhere along the way, you realize you’re not just learning about science. You’re learning about him—about his quirks, his sense of humor, the way he lights up when he’s talking about things he’s passionate about. He’s not just Tony Stark, billionaire genius, Iron Man. He’s… Tony, your dad, someone who, against all odds, actually seems to care about you.

Over time, you both fall into a rhythm. Tony starts waiting for you in the mornings, holding out a cup of coffee or hot chocolate, claiming he needs company on his drive to work. You never say it, but you look forward to those mornings, the way he fills the car with stories about his latest projects or about old college pranks he pulled that make you laugh in spite of yourself.

One day, you’re both hunched over a set of schematics in his lab, tossing ideas back and forth as you brainstorm a new design for a stabilizer that could potentially improve flight control in his suits. You’re getting so into it that you forget to be guarded, throwing out suggestions, bouncing thoughts off each other in rapid-fire succession.

At one point, Tony stops, leaning back in his chair to look at you with a smirk. “You know,” he says, a touch of pride in his voice, “you’re pretty damn good at this. Got that Stark brain for sure.”

You feel a warmth spread through you, and for the first time, you don’t brush it off. “Maybe,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “But I guess it helps when you have a good teacher.”

Tony chuckles, but there’s a glimmer of emotion in his eyes, something raw and unguarded. “Yeah, well… you’re not a bad student either.”

There’s a moment of silence as the two of you look at each other, an understanding passing between you that doesn’t need words. You know he’s trying, and somehow, that knowledge makes the walls around your heart crumble just a little bit more.

A few days later, you’re working on homework in the living room when Tony walks in, holding a set of blueprints he’s obviously excited about. But when he sees you bent over your books, he pauses, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Hey, need some help?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You look up, raising an eyebrow back at him. “With calculus? Pretty sure I’ve got this covered.”

He shrugs, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I was quite the calculus prodigy back in the day.”

“Oh, yeah?” You smirk, half-teasing. “Care to prove it?”

Tony grins, and before you know it, he’s pulled up a chair, leaning over your work with the same intensity he brings to his inventions. You pretend to need help with a few problems, and he’s more than happy to guide you through them, throwing in jokes and sarcastic comments the whole way. Every so often, he nudges your shoulder, grinning like he’s just scored a victory when he catches you smiling.

Eventually, he lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I think we’ve both learned a lot today,” he says, stretching dramatically.

“Yeah,” you reply, smirking. “Like the fact that you’re worse at calculus than I am.”

Tony gapes, clutching his chest in mock hurt. “Unbelievable. Betrayed by my own son. This is a new low.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, and for the first time, it feels easy. Comfortable. Like maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to keep fighting him off.

“Hey,” Tony says, his tone shifting to something softer. “Thanks for letting me in. I know it wasn’t easy.”

You meet his gaze, feeling that familiar vulnerability creeping in, but this time, you don’t shy away. “Thanks for not giving up,” you reply quietly. “I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with.”

Tony chuckles, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “Nah, you’re a piece of cake. Besides, I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

You smile, a real one this time, feeling a warmth settle in your chest. For the first time, you allow yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay.

It’s supposed to be a routine mission. Just another intel-gathering run, in and out, with minimal risk. Tony had waved it off as no big deal before he left, throwing you a smirk and saying, “Just another day in the office.” But that was hours ago. And now, as you sit in the dim glow of the living room, watching the news report blaring on the screen, dread twists deep in your gut.

You watch the shaky footage of Iron Man fighting, and this time, it’s different. He’s outnumbered, missiles tearing through the air, beams of energy slicing through the smoke and chaos. The news anchor’s voice breaks as they report the intensity of the fight, how Iron Man was last seen plunging out of the sky after a heavy hit. For a terrifying moment, you catch a glimpse of him falling, his suit battered, smoking, before the feed cuts out entirely.

Your heart stops, and a painful tightness fills your chest. The hours that follow are a blur of pacing, every second dragging longer than the last. You’re used to him going out on missions, used to the danger that comes with being Tony Stark’s son. But this… this is different. This isn’t the usual playful bravado, the usual cocky promises that he’ll be home for dinner. This is life or death, and for the first time, you’re faced with the horrifying thought that he might not make it back.

After what feels like an eternity, the front door finally opens. You spin around, heart pounding, and there he is, looking worse for wear but alive. He’s moving a bit stiffly, his armor scratched and dented, his face smudged with dirt and a few new cuts. But he’s here.

Before he can say a word, you rush toward him, the flood of relief hitting you so hard that you barely register the fact that you’re moving, throwing yourself into his arms. Your grip is tight, like if you let go, he’ll disappear. You don’t even realize you’re trembling until you feel his arms close around you, holding you just as tightly.

“Hey, hey,” Tony says, his voice soft, touched with surprise but warm. “I’m okay, kid. I’m here.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears, and he’s looking at you with an expression so full of gentle understanding that it makes you feel like a kid again, vulnerable and desperate. Without thinking, the word slips out, raw and unguarded.

“Dad…” you whisper, voice breaking slightly, “don’t ever… don’t ever do that again. I thought… I thought I was going to lose you.”

Tony’s face softens, his own eyes welling up. He’s silent for a moment, as if he’s savoring the word, the weight of it finally hitting home. His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, his grip firm but gentle, grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. But I’m here, okay? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod, the tears slipping down your cheeks now, and Tony pulls you in again, holding you tightly, his hand running gently over your back. It’s the first time you’ve let yourself fully embrace him, the first time you’ve allowed yourself to lean into his strength, to accept the warmth he’s been trying so hard to offer. And as you stand there, held in his arms, a sense of peace settles over you, soft and comforting, melting the last of your walls away.

After a long moment, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, a tear slipping down his own cheek as he smiles, eyes bright. “You called me ‘Dad,’” he says softly, his voice full of wonder, as if he’s just received the greatest gift in the world.

You give a small, watery smile, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah, well… don’t get used to it,” you mumble, but there’s no heat behind the words, only affection, only gratitude.

He chuckles, pulling you back into a hug, and you feel his hand rest on the back of your head, his grip firm and reassuring. “I’m already used to it,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m not letting you go, kid. Not ever.”

In that moment, you realize that this is what home feels like—right here, safe in his arms, with nothing left to fear.

I'll never get tired of familyman!Tony I swear.

[shigarakisdumbwhore]

Here Without You - Chapter Two

Summary: You had been developing a deep crush on Dabi for quite some time. But he was difficult to get through to and know. His distant demeanor made it hard to get close to him. However, when Hawks shows up, things take a turn in a different direction than you could have imagined. Dabi doesn't know your true feelings, you don't know Hawks is a spy, and they don't know you're in love with both of them. This love triangle is about to cause lots of drama and confusion.

Words: 3, 823

Warnings: none

Chapter One

Days went by and you hadn't seen Dabi. Hawks was around sometimes but he seemed busy before he left to fulfill the image being a hero. He hadn't been around. When you asked the others, they didn't know where Dabi was either. It was weird not seeing him in so long. You felt withdrawal symptoms. It was strange, and kind of ridiculous.

You would go outside to look for him, making sure to stay in disguise or try not to bring too much attention to yourself. He shouldn't be hard to miss. You knew him, you'd recognize him anywhere. Or you should have. However, Dabi could be the master of disguise and hiding. He didn't get to this point for just fun. He had to be skilled. The news station broadcasted the faces of the league often, there was no doubt you'd be recognized. Especially Dabi with his distinct scars. You worried about him getting caught.

Dabi was skilled enough to win or escape the fight, but the thought of him getting hurt pained you.

After a few hours, you came back. Mr. Compress, Spinner, and Toga were sitting at a table all eating together. They seemed to be enjoying their meal in their own world as they talked to each other. They hadn't noticed you until you got closer to the table, greeting you with loud and warm welcomes.

"Y/N, please put a jacket on. It's cold outside," Compress said as he threw a compressed marble at you. The marble disappeared the moment it got close to you, allowing a large black coat to emerge. You caught it in your hands and looked at the fabric. It was soft, very thick, and presumably warm. It was too late now, but you appreciated the offer from Compress by putting it on. The league really did feel like a family. It wasn't just Dabi you were worried about, it was all of them.

"Thanks." You sat down next to all of them, looking down at the table. You could feel your heart ripping open on the inside. You missed Dabi so much. It was a no-brainer that not being able to find him made you feel like a complete failure. How could you not know?

"Any luck?" Spinner asked. He looked sad and concerned for you. Typical of Spinner. Many wouldn't know it because they didn't care to get to know him, due to his appearance, but he was a sweet guy. At first, he was opposed to you going out for Dabi and worried about your safety. However, you reassured him you wouldn't stay out too long and would do your best to remain hidden. So far you did good by your promise and Spinner appreciated that.

"No, I'm not sure where he is or what he's doing. I just don't understand how someone can just up and disappear like that!" You raised your hands in frustration as you slammed back into your chair.

"I wouldn't worry about it. Dabi has always been the more isolated one from the league," Spinner added for solace.

Toga giggled, "It's cause she has a crush on Dabi!"

Mr. Compress jumped out of his chair from excitement and yelled, "Huh?! Dabi?!" You sank back in your chair from embarrassment. Did Toga really have to confess that? Sure, it was true, but was it really that obvious? And if so, for how long could people tell? If others could tell then... you hoped Dabi didn't notice or at least wasn't creeped out by it.

Dabi was a very direct, outspoken, and honest person. Surely if he noticed or found it odd, he would have said something. He never held anything back, except his past. Which made it that much more unusual.

Speaking of the devil, Dabi arrived. He looked careless as he walked forward, hands in his pockets and looking off into the distance as if he couldn't be bothered to see what was right in front of him. You were the first one to jump up, almost angry-like.

"Dabi? Where were you?"

"Out," he paused as his eyes scanned the table, "Doing stuff. What's it to you all?" He looked amongst everyone with a confused expression. He couldn't be that oblivious. The rest of the league stared at him, unsure of what to say, and a shade of tomato red blush across their cheeks. They may have been just as embarrassed as you. One doesn't just casually talk about the romantic life of Dabi.

"It doesn't really matter... I guess," you grumbled. He didn't look injured or any different than before. That put your mind at ease, just a little bit.

"Before the leader left, he tasked me with a 'side quest' to continue gathering more to our cause. The more numbers, the merrier, or something stupid he said. Anyways, I figured I'd ask you to come."

"Are you talking to me?"

"I'm not looking at anyone else."

You turned back to look at the league. Toga was covering her face, obviously covering a wide grin. Spinner and Compress exchanged glances.

But... why you? Should you even be asking that? You'd love to go out on a mission with Dabi. Just the two of you together. Maybe alone... No, no! You couldn't start thinking that way, giving yourself some false hope. You weren't even sure how he felt about you. But, you definitely couldn't say no.

"Yeah, I can help out."

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

The room was small and worn down. Holes in the walls, peeling wallpaper, dust everywhere. The only thing in the room was a bed, a chair, and a lamp. The windows were boarded up with wood and curtains draped over them. Only the tiniest bit of light peaked from it, barely enough to illuminate the room on its own. The lamp didn't provide much light either. It was still very dim.

Dabi sat down in an old recliner chair. His feet went up in the air as he reached over to pull the lever. The footrest sprang up with a loud crank and thud. Then he leaned back to rest with his hands behind his head.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" He gave you an unamused look. It was written all over his face. What do you mean? The answer is obvious.

"Don't be ungrateful, it was all I could find for you." For you? You looked over at the bed. There was only one.

"So... is this where you've been?"

"What's it matter? You're not my mother." He raised his hand in the air, fiddling something in the air as he watched it with intensity.

"Never mind then," you said as you sat on the edge of the bed. It was lumpy and creaked loudly when you put your weight on it. It sunk really low. Surely this wouldn't be a comfortable night. But you couldn't complain. As a villain, you were used to this poor stuff. And as a gift of kindness from Dabi, you had to appreciate it. Any other time would include sleeping on the floor.

"How did you get it?"

"The frame was already here, I just had to find the mattress.

You tried to imagine Dabi dragging a large mattress all this way. How did he manage to stay undercover and not bring attention to himself?

"So, where will you sleep?"

"In this recliner."

You felt kind of guilty. How fair was it for you to sleep in a nice bed while he got a dusty chair. So what if it reclined, it wasn't a real bed. You looked at the size of the mattress. Probably a full or queen size.

"Dabi, you know," you couldn't believe you were about to say this, "you could sleep in the bed next to me." He looked up at you, his expression unreadable. Not being able to tell what he was thinking made you jump. Your hands got clammy and it was hard to swallow. "I'm not trying to be weird, I just don't want you to have to sleep in that. There's room here."

His face softened. He didn't say anything, but you could see he appreciated it. However, the mere idea of it made your heart flutter. You and Dabi, sleeping together in the same bed.

For the first night, you didn't do much except hang around in the room. Dabi spent most of his time sitting in the recliner on his phone. Now and then, you and him would strike up a conversation. Though, you didn't mind the silence. It was nice to just be in Dabi's presence, especially since it had been so long.

Nighttime came faster than expected and Dabi was the first to go to bed. You were too nervous to sleep just yet. You went out for a bit of fresh air to calm your mind. When you returned the room was dark and Dabi was already fast asleep. You tip-toed with soft footsteps to the bed, careful not to trip on anything or walk too loud to wake him.

You laid down. It was cold. Little mountains of goosebumps formed from the back of your neck down your arms. You wrapped them around yourself and tucked your knees into your chest, hoping that you could contain some of the heat in your body. A strange instinct to cuddle up to Dabi for warmth came to mind and your body almost reacted.

Then, a fuzzy feeling crept up your body and you could see a dark figure reaching over you. At first, you tensed up in fear, wondering who was here. You were too tired to fight but... no, that wasn't it.

Dabi was pulling a blanket up to your shoulders. He stopped once he reached below your neck and placed it down. It was a large, fuzzy, and thick blanket. You sat there for a moment, processing what just happened. Your mind was blank, not a single thought.

You could feel the bed shift and sink down as he turned back over to sleep.

Your face felt so hot. Your chest was warm and fuzzy. He seemed so careless. So heartless. This was a different side of Dabi you never saw, that probably nobody ever saw. No one would even believe you.

Maybe this was a dream. Some kind of fever dream, but it felt so real. How could it be fake?

In a way, you felt a bit guilty. The blanket was only large enough for one and he had nothing. It seemed a bit selfish of you to take the whole blanket.

Eventually, you drifted off into a light sleep. All night you had brief flashes of Dabi and the blanket. Different unexplainable scenarios. You were stuck in a trance of half asleep and half awake with unusual dreams, never able to truly get any real rest. You were woken up by Dabi announcing his entrance into the room. You had no concept of time.

"I got you something to eat."

"With what money?" You smiled as you sat up from the bed. You hadn't even noticed him leaving. Your eyes still felt heavy and sleepy, but it was time to get up.

"You don't have to worry about that," he smiled. He set the food down on the torn-up cushioned chair, the only reliable surface. It was wrapped up in a brown paper bag with wet marks all over it. You practically dove for the food. It was still hot. It had been so long since you had hot food. You just hoped it tasted as good as you imagined. However, you couldn't help but wonder how he got it or where he got the money.

"It's a little chilly in here," you said as you curled up on the chair with the food. The warm bag gave you a little bit of heat to keep you comfortable.

"I'd light a fire, but I don't want the place to burn down." He sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed the back of his neck. The seams of his rotten skin were steaming and sizzling. Your chest tightened.

"Yeah, maybe it's best," you muttered softly before looking down into the bag. You took your time eating, savoring the flavors and the full feeling in your stomach. It may be a bit until the next time you'd feel this.

Dabi laid down on the bed with his feet dangling off the edge and took a bouncy ball out of his pocket. He began throwing it at the ceiling. Each time it bounced back he would catch it in the palm of his hand and repeat.

"So, is this really what you did when you were out? I didn't see anyone new around."

"Honest?" He paused. The ball bounced back and landed in the middle of his palm. He brought it up to his face and examined it. "I just had to get out of there. Those poor bastards make me sick."

"Yeah, I get needing some time alone... but-," you paused. But why did you take me? No, you couldn't ask that out loud.

He stopped throwing the ball once again. A heavy pit twisted and formed in your stomach, feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds, dragging your body to the floor. Your legs felt heavy and weak at the knees. You feared he was going to ask you to finish the sentence.

He bounced the ball again, completely ignoring what you said. He was so unpredictable.

Days passed as you two stayed in that room. It was the same routine, almost. You and Dabi were in and out trying to gather people for Shigaraki's cause. There was a surprising amount of people who believed in him and supported his cause despite the popular public opinion. Some of these people were real tough and stereotypical villains. Some looked like average people who were too afraid to voice their true opinion, but would if provoked and given a sense of security. However, they weren't the fighting type you needed.

Dabi was charismatic enough to gather people before getting too angry or annoyed with them. Toga was right. She loved to tease him for being so picky. He just burned whatever he didn't like, it didn't matter what or who.

One night in particular was different. Dabi didn't come back at his usual time. The two of you set boundaries to come back at the same time every day. Therefore if anything happened, you would know. At first, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. Dabi did stuff like this often, disappearing into the night like he never existed.

A sick feeling washed over you and wouldn't go away. You knew you had to find him.

He wasn't too far away from the abandoned building you hid in. He was just standing there, staring out from the back alley at the busy street.

Dabi looked out, smiling. It always seemed like he was staring at something out of reach, something only he could see. A glob of blood emerged from his waterline and streamed down his cheeks, thick and dark red.

"Dabi... are you crying?"

"Nah, I burned those off a long time ago."

Dabi looked down slightly. His facial expression changed like he was staring off into nothing now. It was a mixture of all different emotions. Deep inside there was joy, anger, resentment... happiness... sadness. So many things spilled out of him. He didn't need to talk to show it. What had this poor boy gone through?

"Dabi please if you could just let me in I could understand you!" You reached out to him.

"No!" he turned around and grabbed you by both of your wrists. Your faces were mere inches from each other. You could feel his calloused skin rub against your wrist like sandpaper. His eyes piercing your soul. He looked trapped. You could tell he wanted to open up, but something inside him couldn't. He physically couldn't, no matter how badly he wanted to. However, that didn't stop the rejection from stinging so badly.

"Dabi, I...," you thought for a moment as tears swelled up, "I've got to go." You turned and ran off.

Once you were away from him, you found yourself back in the busy streets of the city. So many people walking by and not a single one looked at you. No one noticed you. Everyone was in their own little world. Chatting with each other, sharing stories, talking on the phone, listening to music with earbuds in. Is this what it felt like to be normal? To be unrecognized and live civilly amongst everyone? Was the villain life with Dabi the life you wanted to continue living?

You jumped at the sensation of something wrapping around you and lifting you up in the air. Before you knew it, you were so high you could see the top of everyone's heads. You began to struggle from the grip of this stranger, unsure of what was going on and going too fast to process everything.

"Woah, woah, slow down there. You're gonna make me drop you," a familiar voice said. You turned your head to see a smiling Hawks looking down on you. How?

"Oh, god. I'm gonna be sick," you groaned as you covered your mouth with your hand and closed your eyes. Even the sensation of flying in the air made you nauseated.

"Ew," he teased, "Don't go throwing up on me now. Just try to relax, we're almost there." Was he going to turn you in? Was Dabi correct about him being a mole all along?

Hawks was right, you were almost there. Before you knew it, your feet were planted down on a hard, sturdy surface. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself on top of a flat rooftop with a small porch. Metal bars wrapped around the edges of the building.

"I'm sorry to have startled you like that. I just wanted you to see this from up here." You looked around, taking in your surroundings. The world seemed so wide and big. You felt as light as a feather, your mind totally distracted from what transpired. You thought back on what Hawks mentioned before about feeling trapped by the hero society.

"You really are free... it must be nice," you said. You hid in the shadows and here he could fly all around without a worry or care in the world.

"You can be free too." His voice was low and soft, a tone that sounded almost like he was offering you something. You wished he could take it all away. All the mistakes, the crimes, the difficult life you had to face all the time. Erase all the nightmares you suffered through.

"I don't know. You don't have to hide. You can just always be yourself." For a moment, it was silence. He didn't say anything. No witty comeback, no teasing, just quiet.

"You don't have to hide yourself around me." You turned to him and smiled, but his expression confused you. He looked happy yet unsure, like his mind was stuck in the middle of something.

You leaned over the railing, wrapping your hands around the cool metal to appreciate the view. You could see the city for miles. Tall, clustered buildings, and tiny people walking around them on the sidewalks. They all looked so careless and unaware. Nothing to hide from. Nothing to worry about. No need to conceal their face from the police.

"Hey, careful now, don't lean too far over the edge." He walked beside you and joined you on the railing.

"Aren't you the hero too fast for his own good? You can save me," you teased.

"Oh please, don't give me too much credit. I'm only number two." His witty sense of humor was refreshing in such a suspenseful time. You needed this. Being stuck in that tiny room, only allowed to sneak out around at nighttime when it was hard to see. It became depressing despite Dabi's best efforts.

What would he think if he knew you were up here with Hawks instead of doing what you were told. He would be furious. It was not something you wanted to admit to him after finally being in his good graces.

Were you still in his good graces? Did you push him too far this time? It didn't take much for him to snap. You wondered what he had been bottling up after all this time. There was always something in Dabi's eyes but you couldn't explain it. Something fearful. You once even heard the doctor mention it, but he didn't elaborate. He wouldn't tell anyone what he saw. You wondered what he knew that others didn't.

The skyline turned into beautiful, vibrant shades of oranges and pinks as the sun set behind the horizon. A gentle breeze blew between the two of you. His soft locks of blonde hair waved in small circles, the longer pieces framing his face like an angel. His golden eyes illuminated and glowed with the reflection of the sun. You could see why he always had a fangirl club following him at every corner.

"Is something on your mind?" His voice sounded so warm and caring, a stark contrast to Dabi's.

"No, not really," you lied, but when you looked out once more it was like all of those things disappeared.

Your body melted and eased into the environment. Even though your feet were planted firmly below you, you felt like you were floating in air. Nothing was touching you. Nothing irritating your skin or rubbing you the wrong way. The only thing you could feel was the compassionate presence of Hawks.

"But, now you mention it... I think I have to go back. If it's getting dark and I'm gone too long, Dabi will think something is wrong."

Hawks's smile faded as he stared at you, then turned to look back at the sunset. In that short period, it disappeared from the skyline. The sky was darker than before, more of a purple-gray now. It seemed fitting for the sad mood of goodbyes.

"I had a nice time seeing you again. Even if it was short." His smile returned. "Do you mind if I...?" he trailed off as he walked behind you. His arms slipped under yours and wrapped around your stomach in an almost romantic gesture. You couldn't help the blush from creeping up on your face.

"N...no, I don't mind."

His wings flapped and with a swift jump, you two returned to the air. The wind got stronger and colder, but you could see everything again from a whole other angle. Hawks dropped you off in a location of your choice, near the building you stayed in. He didn't say much before leaving, just a wave, and away he went. Just like that, he was gone. 

[novelties-and-notions]

Ode to Snowy Mountains on a Winter's Day

Oh my! Look at the snow! See how the mountains and hilltops glow When the winter sun, So cold and low, Lights them up, With shadow below.

See how those barren rocks shimmer and shine, Adorned with a mantle, so white and so fine; With crystals that twinkle And sparkle with light: By sun or by moon, It’s a wonderful sight!

Look at that sky: a hibernal blue! On a winter’s day, that azure hue – A beautiful colour – Belies the chill That freezes the ground When the wind stands still.

For the wind drops down on a frosty night, With cloudless skies, and a moon so bright That shadows fall As though it were day: Then sensible creatures Hide away

In nests and hollows as best they can, For Jack Frost cares not for beast or man: The freezing touch Of his icy hand Sends careless folk To a better land…

So heed my warning, proceed with care: For angels wait for fools who dare To tread icy ridges Without concern: Some who try Do not return.

Admire the scene, and look at the show, When the snowy mountains and hilltops glow, And the winter sun, So cold and low, Lights them up. But stay safely below!

[By A (for Alphonse) Poeticus Abysmus, the lousiest poet on the midway. It baffles science!]

[alicerosejensen]

Requiem

Warning: reader death; mentions of suicide; dark; angst; mentions of alcohol.

Synopsis: Leon is tired of losing those he loves. Another scar on his heart that you gave him when you decided to leave forever.

A/N: I think this is what I can write best. I just actually feel better after posting this.

It would be better to tear your heart out of your chest than to burn and rot from love.

Leon didn’t want to deal with the funeral, but it seems that no one else would have cared about it anymore. And here you are lying in front of him, surrounded by flowers whose velvet petals touch your pale skin. As tender and short-lived as you yourself. You lie in your coffin in complete silence with your arms folded on your chest and it seems that nothing can interrupt your eternal sleep.

Actually, that’s how it is.

So beautiful and calm. Death can't take that from you, but death took you from him. More precisely, you did it yourself without leaving even a short farewell note with “I’m sorry” written in careless handwriting. You left him nothing but bitter memories of the last months.

Leon looks at you without saying a single word. Without you, there is too much Emptiness here, but as you know, the most painful daggers are stabbed in the back by loved ones. Why couldn't you just talk to him when his heart was always open to you? Now he has nowhere to hide from the pain, and Leon would gladly dig himself a second grave next to you or lie down in the same coffin with you - a cruel traitor who so callously trampled on his love, sneakily escaping to another world, and anger really splashes inside him, bursting out with tears.

Claire carefully puts her hand on his shoulder and it seems that he is hunched over from the weight lying on him. Your death... your voluntary departure from life hit him harder than a tombstone. After all, you ran away from him, from this world, into your dreams and into some other world of your own that is so strikingly different from this one. Leon even wonders if you did it? Tears flow down his cheeks against his will, Leon has no strength to restrain them, just like the day he found you there on the bed.

A day that he will curse for the rest of his life...

He knew that it was hard for you, that there were days when you just couldn't get out of bed and put yourself in order. Sometimes he sat you down in front of him and untangled your hair that you hadn't combed for too long, and even took up scissors when combing couldn't cope with tangled strands. He knew that it was difficult for you and made sure that you took your medications, but it seems that everything turned out to be complete shit, because if the treatment would have been useful, then you would be lying on the bed or the couch right now.

Not in a wooden box that costs a lot of money.

Endless suffering that was worse than death for you and you gave up by stopping the fight. Leon hates that day.

In particular, when he realized that you were not breathing.

When opening the door of your small apartment, the prickly evening air hit him in the face with a strong stream blowing from the open window. Then he looked at the lowered window, thinking that you were just sleeping, and did not immediately notice the empty pill bottle on the floor. You were already as pale as you are now, with blue lips, but Leon thought it was just from the cold... not from death. He lay down next to you, gently hugging you, kissing you on the cheek, trying to warm you with the warmth of his body, rubbing your icy palms and whispering various tender words in your ear, trying to gently wake you up. What a fool! Leon has seen so many deaths, but when you lay in front of him, it took him a few minutes for his heart to break forever.

"Princess?" The agitated voice was filled with notes of panic and fear. In the end, he turned pale himself when he turned your silent body.

Humble silence and a damn rude voice. Leon shook you by the shoulders, slapped your cheeks with his palms, trying to force you to open your eyes, but you left without saying the last goodbye. The whole world was like one big sand castle collapsed right in his hands and your body was just a reminder of what connected you to each other. The sound of crying did not subside for a long time in the four walls. Leon continued to hold you in his arms, pressing you to his chest, rocking you as if cradling a small child and warm drops of salty tears fell on your face and lips. Until at some point a hole formed inside him that allowed him to focus his vision on the ill-fated empty pill bottle that caused your death.

His head was lying on top of your head, but Leon just watched and waited without knowing what, because who better than him to know that miracles do not happen.

Like every living soul, you have been fighting for life for a long time, forever stumbling and once falling into such a deep hole that there is no strength left to get out of there. Despair has clung to you from all sides, turning you into a kind of ghost that even pills could not help you find new colors of happiness for later life. In the end, you ended your life path prematurely considering that death is also a medicine.

That's just not necessary to self-medicate.

Perhaps after you die, you decide to wait for Leon on the border of life and death, afraid to cross the final line alone forever. But if this line exists, will he forgive you?

After all, you didn't watch how he drowned his pain in bottles of alcohol, and then organized a funeral, denying Hannigan and Claire help, because they just knew that he was tearing apart and that a loaded gun had long been in his apartment with the safety off. It was worth pulling the trigger once, but then who will take care of you? Leon has not believed in God for a long time and now it's even good because despite your act, the thought that you will suffer after death scares him even more. However, if so, then he was ready to go down to Hell to you.

Leon still has a lot of pain left. He was so tired of losing loved ones. Probably one day he will go through all five stages of grief and accept your departure, leaving himself a slight melancholy and happy memories of which he will be reminded of your things. But it won't be soon. This bleeding wound on his soul will torment him for a long time and only time will turn it into another scar on his heart.

Meanwhile, he listens to the serene memorial service and, just like you, drowns in these gloomy thoughts, because now, despite the hellish training and zombie outbreaks, Leon does not know how to live on without you, so he begs you to just wait for him on the other side.

[salty-autistic-writer]

Whumptober 2024 Day 20: Permission to die

Title: Like A Prayer (AO3)

Tw: Major Character Death!

1

They are in bed together when they talk about it for the first time. 

Entangled naked limbs shine in the moon light as sweat is drying on their bodies. It’s a summer night and the darkness brings a desperately needed chill.

Evan chews on his lip when Tommy brings the topic up. He shakes his head. “I don’t like to talk about this.” And that means something. Because normally, Evan likes to talk about everything. It’s easy for him to get interested and excited. It’s like there’s a well of words inside him just waiting to burst out and once he starts there seems to be no end. But now, his lips press together into a grim line. His brows furrow. And he falls silent.

“Death is a part of our life, Evan,” Tommy points out gently.

“Still … It’s too painful to even think about it. I don’t want to live without you.”

“I know. And I feel the same. But we will die eventually.”

Evan sighs. “I almost died way too many times. Now, I want to live.”

“And we will. We will live,” Tommy assures, reaching for Evan’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I can’t wait to spend my life with you. But we still should talk about death from time to time.”

Evan buries his face in the crook of Tommy’s neck, almost as if he’s trying to hide. “Alright,” he mutters. “But not right now, okay? Not right now.”

2

Tommy is tired. He is tired of walking through the ever-same hallway. Tired of entering the room. Tired of the silence. Tired of the brightness and the smell.

He looks at his husband. And it’s not really his husband. It’s a shell that looks like him. A ghost. Barely breathing. Machines keep him alive. A mess of tubes and wires.

Tommy sits and sighs, reaching out to take Evan’s cold hand. It doesn't feel real either.

Oh, what Tommy would give for this to be a nightmare. A nightmare from which he will wake up any second. He wants their life back.

But it's not a dream. This is happening.

Evan, his beautiful caring strong Evan, saved someone and when it was time to save himself, it was too late. He fell so deep. He fell deep and when he finally landed, he was broken. The 118 managed to get him out breathing. But he didn't wake up. Not this time. No matter how much they all beg and hope and cry. He doesn't wake up.

Tommy always thought he would go first. A helicopter crash. Most likely. He didn't expect Evan to be the first to fall. But now here they are, with Evan fading in a hospital bed.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Tommy grips Evan's hand. I wish I could pull you back into life.

“Evan,” he says. Like always, it sounds like a prayer on his lips. But it remains unanswered.

3

“Evan …”

“You could have died, Tommy!”

“Yes. I could have. We could die all the time. Every day.”

“Still … You can’t be so careless! I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Don’t do this again!”

“Help save the day?”

“Tommy …”

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry. I will be more careful. Come here.”

“I was scared …”

“I know. I’m okay. I’m here.”

4 Beep. Beep. Beep. A tear falls on Evan's hand.

“Evan," Tommy whispers. "It’s okay. I know you always said that if one of us must die, it would be better if it were me. Because I would be a mess without you. And ... and I know you're right. I'm already falling apart. But ... but it's okay. If you have to go, you can. You can let go. I will be alright."

Evan wanted to die doing what he loved. Or of old age. "Together," he said once. "Together would be best, right? That way no one would have to figure out to go on alone ..."

But life seldom gives you what you want.

"It's okay," Tommy repeats, pressing Evan's hand to the side of his face. The ghost of a touch. "I will figure it out. Don't worry about me."

5

“I think I would want to be cremated.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I read too many facts about decomposition.”

“Oh, Evan … I will have to listen to them now, won’t I?”

“Of course.”

6

“Tommy?”

“Yes. I … I just need a moment.”

“Tommy, it’s been almost a whole night. Come on. You have to get some rest.”

“I can’t leave him, Howie.”

“He’s gone, Tommy. I’m sorry. But you can’t stay here forever. You know that. They will take care of him now, okay?”

And Tommy gets it. He really gets it. The hospital sees a room they can use for someone else now. Some other shell. He’s still holding Evan’s hand. He can’t let go. He can’t leave him alone. But then, his eyes wander up to Evan’s face. It’s so still. He’s never been that still. 

And that’s when he truly gets it.

His husband is gone.

A sob echoes in the room. He only realises it came from him when the tears are coming. When Howie hugs him and gently makes him let go of Evan's hand.

7

“A tree.”

“Hm?”

“I want to be buried close to a tree.”

“Why?”

“It feels right. Trees see so much life and death. And I imagine it would be nice to have leaves fall down on my grave. Squirrels sleeping above me. Birds building a nest …”

“Yes. It’s a nice image, Evan.”

“What about you?”

“I just want to be close to you.”

8

Autumn painted the world in yellow and red. The leaves are falling. Tumbling to the ground where they cover older leaves and their colour slowly fades. They make crunching noises under Tommy’s boots as he walks over the graveyard, approaching the tree under which they buried Evan.

It’s a beautiful tree. Big and strong. Old. There are always animals climbing up the trunk or sitting on the branches. Squirrels and martens. Crows and blackbirds. The tree is full of life. Evan would have loved that.

Tommy sits on the blanket he brought. He hugs his knees to his chest and stares at the gravestone. It still hurts so much. A constant ache in his chest. Evan’s voice is haunting his mind. Sometimes, he still wakes up and expects to see Evan’s face - only to remember. 

Grief comes in waves, Bobby told him. They are talking a lot. About Evan. About grief. About the future. It helps.

Tommy is grateful. He’s never really alone. Their family is going through this together.

But sometimes, he has to be alone. Alone with Evan.

He sighs and rubs at his eyes. It’s astonishing how many tears the body can produce. So often Tommy thinks he doesn’t have any more left. And then he cries again. He smiles at the gravestone and takes a deep breath.

“Hey, Evan.”

[teddymoon06]

Close to the edge

Chapter One: A Stray in the Dark

The cold wind tore through the crumbling remains of Green Home, causing windows to rattle like the strained breaths of the survivors hiding within. Y/N crouched low behind an overturned table, her heart pounding as the sounds of nearby monsters echoed through the building’s hollow corridors. Her grip on the jagged piece of metal—her makeshift weapon—tightened, her fingers trembling from a mixture of fear and exhaustion.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Two days ago, everything had seemed under control. They had secured the lower levels, the food supply was holding out, and the group had felt a small spark of hope. But hope was a dangerous thing in a world like this. A single mistake, one careless moment, had sent everything spiraling into chaos.

Now, Y/N was alone. The others had been scattered when a monstrous figure with unnaturally long limbs breached their defenses, leaving her no choice but to run. She had narrowly escaped the onslaught, but not without a cost—her leg throbbed, a deep gash running along her calf where a shard of glass had sliced her open during her frantic retreat. The blood hadn’t stopped yet, and if she didn’t find help soon, the wound would become another danger to her survival.

The bitter scent of decay filled her nostrils as she took in her surroundings. The hallway stretched endlessly before her, filled with overturned furniture, shattered glass, and the remnants of people’s lives now abandoned. She used to wonder what the tenants had been doing when the world went dark, how they had faced the apocalypse that turned their home into a nightmare. Now, she didn’t have the luxury of wondering. Survival was all that mattered.

Silence fell in the dark hallway, the quiet more unsettling than the growls of the monsters. Y/N’s breath hitched as she pressed her back against the wall, straining her ears for any signs of life. For the moment, the creatures seemed to have moved on, but that only meant they’d be back soon.

Her mind raced as she considered her options. She could try to make it back to the others—if they were still alive—but that meant risking an open run across the building. Or she could hole up in one of the empty rooms and hope they found her before the monsters did.

Neither option seemed promising.

A memory flared in her mind—Ji-su’s scream. It had been cut short, swallowed by the crash of debris, but it still echoed through Y/N’s thoughts, clawing at her resolve. She hadn’t seen what happened to Ji-su, but the terror in her voice was unmistakable.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memory away. She couldn’t afford to think about it. Not now.

The unmistakable sound of footsteps broke through her thoughts. They were light but deliberate, nothing like the thudding of a monster’s approach. Her pulse quickened as she gripped her metal shard tighter, peeking over the edge of the table.

A shadow emerged from the hallway, tall and cloaked in the darkness, moving with a sense of purpose. Y/N’s muscles tensed. Was it one of the group? Or a survivor she hadn’t seen before? She was prepared for a fight, but she wasn’t ready for who she saw next.

Kim Yeonghu.

The first thing she noticed was the heavy steel bat in his hand, glinting faintly in the dim light. He moved silently, scanning the hall with sharp eyes, his posture tense as if ready to strike at a moment's notice. His hair fell over his brow, soaked with sweat and streaked with dirt, but his face held a calm determination that sent a jolt of relief through Y/N. She’d heard about him from the others—a quiet, strong type who kept mostly to himself—but seeing him now, he seemed more like a ghost, appearing out of nowhere in her time of need.

Still, caution held her tongue. Trust was a luxury she couldn’t afford anymore.

As if sensing her presence, Yeonghu’s head snapped toward her hiding place. For a tense moment, they stared at each other—his dark eyes calculating, while Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she raised her hands, the jagged metal still clutched in her palm, though she lowered it to show she wasn’t a threat.

He hesitated, eyes flickering to the bloodied gash on her leg before stepping closer. Y/N flinched, instinctively retreating further behind the table. A small, bitter laugh escaped her lips. "You’re either here to kill me or save me," she muttered, half to herself.

Yeonghu crouched a few feet away from her, still keeping a safe distance. He looked her over, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he unzipped a small pouch hanging from his belt, pulling out a roll of bandages and some antiseptic wipes.

Relief and confusion mingled in her mind as she watched him gesture toward her leg. “Let me help.”

His voice was gruff, barely more than a whisper, but it held no malice. Just urgency.

Y/N hesitated, searching his face for any hint of deception, but all she saw was a weary kind of honesty. Nodding slightly, she shifted to let him near her leg, though she kept her weapon within reach. Yeonghu worked quickly, dabbing at the wound with careful precision. Despite the sting of the antiseptic, Y/N let out a quiet sigh. The throbbing pain in her leg lessened, replaced by a dull ache as he wrapped the bandages tightly around the injury.

"You were alone?" Yeonghu asked, not looking up from his work.

Y/N nodded, though her voice wavered when she responded. "I got separated from the others… something attacked us. It was… massive. I didn’t even get a good look before—" Her words faltered, and she swallowed hard, shaking off the rising panic. "I had to run."

Yeonghu’s face remained impassive, though his jaw tightened slightly as he finished wrapping her leg. When he stood, he offered his hand, the rough callouses brushing against her palm as he pulled her to her feet. She winced as weight pressed against her injury, but his grip was firm, steadying her.

“You can’t stay here,” he said, his voice low but certain. “There’s more of them coming.”

A shiver crawled up Y/N’s spine at his words. They were always coming. Always hunting.

“Do you know where they are?” she asked, glancing down the dark hallway. “The others?”

“I’m not sure,” Yeonghu said, slinging the bat over his shoulder and adjusting his jacket. “But this place isn’t safe. We need to move.”

Y/N knew he was right, even if every muscle in her body screamed for rest. Staying here meant death, and moving meant maybe, just maybe, a chance to survive.

“Let’s go, then,” she muttered, nodding to herself more than him.

Yeonghu didn’t need to be told twice. He began leading the way through the dark halls, his steps light yet purposeful. Y/N followed, limping slightly as she tried to keep pace. Her senses were on high alert—every creak, every shuffle, every faint rustle of the wind made her heart race. In a world as broken as this one, the smallest sound could be a death sentence.

They moved in silence, weaving through the maze of ruined hallways and shattered doors. The building seemed even more decrepit in the absence of light, the once-sturdy structure now little more than a skeleton of what it used to be. Stains covered the walls—blood, dirt, and other substances she didn’t want to identify—and the smell of rot hung heavy in the air.

Occasionally, they passed the remnants of old lives—a child’s toy discarded in a corner, a photo frame cracked and covered in dust. These reminders of the world before weighed heavily on Y/N’s chest, like ghosts clinging to the past.

Her thoughts drifted to the others: Ji-su, Eun-hyuk, Hyun-su. Were they still alive? Had they found shelter, or had the monsters torn through them the same way they had torn through everything else?

Y/N clenched her fists. No, she couldn’t think like that. Not now. They had survived too much already to be gone just like that. They had to be out there, somewhere.

As they reached a stairwell, Yeonghu paused, holding up a hand for silence. Y/N froze, her grip tightening on her metal shard, heart thudding loudly in her chest. She strained her ears, listening.

And then she heard it.

A low, guttural growl, followed by the heavy scrape of something moving nearby. The sound was sickeningly familiar. She’d heard it too many times since the world had collapsed around them.

Yeonghu’s jaw tensed as he motioned for her to follow him up the stairs. They moved quickly but quietly, trying to put as much distance as they could between themselves and whatever was lurking below. But the growling grew louder, more persistent. Y/N risked a glance over her shoulder and froze.

A grotesque figure emerged from the shadows below. Its body was bloated and misshapen, its skin stretched too tight over its bulging muscles. Red, glowing eyes fixated on them with a hunger that made Y/N’s blood turn to ice.

“Go!” Yeonghu snapped, shoving her forward as the creature let out a deafening screech.

Y/N bolted up the stairs, her injured leg screaming in protest with every step. Yeonghu was right behind her, swinging his bat as the monster charged after them, its claws scraping against the walls as it tried to close the distance.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Yeonghu spun around, his bat raised. The creature lunged at him, but he was ready. With a swift, powerful strike, he slammed the bat into its head, the impact sending the beast crashing into the wall.

“Run!” Yeonghu barked, not waiting to see if the creature was dead. Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. She stumbled down the hallway, her breath ragged as she pushed herself to keep moving.

Behind her, Yeonghu caught up, panting but unharmed. He grabbed her arm, pulling her into a side room, and quickly shut the door behind them. The sound of the monster’s snarling faded slightly as they locked themselves inside.

For a moment, the only sound was their labored breathing. Y/N leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath, her whole body trembling from the adrenaline.

Yeonghu wiped a streak of blood off his cheek, his expression hard but calm. “We need to keep moving. That thing’s not dead.”

Y/N nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I know.”

The world outside the door was filled with danger, but in that moment, as they stood side by side, Y/N realized something. She wasn’t alone anymore—not really. Whatever happened next, she had someone watching her back.

And she’d fight like hell to make sure they both survived.

End of Chapter One

Next

[aristocratic-otter]

Ok, I'm determined to post today, even though I'm way behind on responding to y'all's posts. I'll get to them, I promise! I'm about to return to work, and I'm far more productive on work days than I am on vacation (weird as that sounds). So I'll catch up soon.

This week may not have been the most productive, but it was amazing nonetheless. I got to meet Rainbow! and seven lovely fandom friends! It's been a wild weekend, just in time to have to go back to work :(

Here are six-ish sentences from some of my WIPs!

First, thank you to : @hushed-chorus, @wellbelesbian, @martsonmars, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @ic3-que3n, \

@thewholelemon, @artsyunderstudy, @bookish-bogwitch, @monbons, @rimeswithpurple,

@skeedelvee, @larkral, @noblecorgi, @roomwithanopenfire, @prettygoododds,

@whatevertheweather, @youarenevertooold, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @messofthejess, @blackberrysummerblog,

@nausikaaa, and @emeryhall for tagging me over the last few weeks!

Here’s one snippet from 5 of my WIPs. Cupid’s Shield and Stars, Flowers, and Children are both currently on extremely smutty parts, so there was nothing safe to share. (That probably sounds a little weird, given the most recent posted chapter in Stars has the boys at 12 years old, but don’t worry, the boys are 18+ in the chapter I’m working on, chapter 13) (chapter 10 of Stars should go up this week).

From Saving Simon Snow (also has a chapter that just needs editing and will probably go up this week) (why do I seem to finish chapters in all my WIPs at around the same time???): 

“This is not what I—I don’t—Fuck!” He stops, and closes his eyes tightly, lifting his chin towards the ceiling. 

“Simon, I—” I reach out to him. It’s a mistake. His eyes snap open, and their blue is electric. He puts up both hands as a block to mine and I snatch my hand back. 

“No,” he says, then repeats it. “Nononononono—I can’t—” He’s tearing at his hair worse than before and I want to untangle his fingers from his curls and kiss his each digit to soothe him. But he doesn’t want me. 

From Snow Fox: 

I’d say the man across from me is a snake, but that wouldn’t be fair to serpents. 

I dig my fingertips into the brocade of the armchair. Tarleton can’t see my hands beneath the folds of my dress, so I’ll allow myself that much of a reaction. My face, which he can see, is perfectly smooth and placid, like my mother’s. She’s sitting to the right of me in the other armchair from my parent’s sitting room. Tarleton has turned around one of the plain wood kitchen chairs and is sitting on it backwards with his arms folded over the wooden back of the chair. He’s smiling at us with all his teeth. And none of his eyes. 

From TikTok Dancer: 

This is not good.

I watch as Snow dips and spins, and I worry. 

He told us that he wanted to dance alone today. I didn’t question it at the time…Snow has days like that, where the dance is everything and he needs the solitude to focus on nothing but dance. I think those are the days that he mourns what he’s lost. At least, his dance always seems a little sad, on those days. We still film him, of course. The work he does on those solo days is some of his most brilliant and gets the most hits and likes on YouTube and TikTok. 

But this dance…it scares me. 

From The Rat and the River (Chapter 2 just posted! Here’s a teaser from chapter 4)

I hope that the need for haste doesn’t make them careless. I suppose it hasn’t yet. 

I try to stay as unobtrusive as I can while I watch the team prepare. I can feel the bite of worry in my gut. Snow’s done this dozens of times without the slightest problem, and I try to comfort myself with that, but my peripheral nervous system is not listening to me. My fingers feel cold and faint shivers pass over my skin in waves. 

It’s minor enough that I can hide it, fortunately. I don’t need to put the burden of my fear on him. 

And from my new project, untitled as yet, the following (forgive me…): 

Penny

Simon looks like he’s seen a ghost. Well, I guess he has, actually, seen a ghost.

I know I speculated that Basilton might be dead, but I don’t think I actually believed it. There’s no denying it now, though. Basilton is quite clearly a visitor. I wonder who he’s here to visit? His cousin maybe? Or his best friend?

But no. The whole room watches in shocked silence as he paces unerringly towards my best friend. 

Tags and zen hugs to: @chen-chen-chen-again-chen, @bazzybelle, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @palimpsessed,

 @frjsti, @fatalfangirl, @melodysmash, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist,

 @mostlymaudlin, @onepintobean, @raenestee, @tea-brigade, @upuntil6am, 

@whogaveyoupermission, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @krisrix, @shemakesmeforget, @confused-bi-queer, 

@nightimedreamersghost,  @thewholelemon, @angelsfalling16, @mooncello, @shrekgogurt, @cosmicalart,  

@cutestkilla, @theearlgreymage, @alexalexinii, @Iamamythologicalcreature, @ileadacharmedlife, 

@thehoneyedhufflepuff, @best--dress, @j-nipper-95, @letraspal, and @facewithoutheart

[thatgirlwithasquid]

Sometimes Werewolves Need Baths Too

4,374 words || also on ao3

Super excited to share this fic and art as my contribution to the @harringrove-relay-race :D

---

The fur on Billy’s back is matted and tangled, clumped up with dirt and forest debris that itches against his skin infuriatingly. Every time he shifts he can feel it tugging at the roots of his fur, pinching his skin with every panting breath that clouds in the cold winter air that has draped over the woods like a smothering icy embrace.

It’s calm, though. 

That’s something that life in the lab had never been, not even for a moment. Only pain, and suffering, and sorrow. Howling calls of every other child locked away and experimented on echoing through every empty room.

Living like this, feral and animalistic in these endless frosted woods, will always be preferable to the sorrow of that man-made hell. The air here, though burning cold in his lungs, is fresh and clear. The water runs free in its rivers and the ground beneath the pads of his feet is soft dirt rather than sickly impersonal tiles.

Freedom, out here, is something he would endure any dirt and coldness to keep. No matter that he’ll only ever be safe as a wolf out here, not a boy. He has made too many careless choices around his freedom before now, something he’ll be sure never to do again.

Hunting is difficult. Living in that damn lab for so long had stolen any wild instincts from him, save for that primal need to claw and bite his way to freedom. They could manage though, him and Eleven. They will.

Next to him, she finally catches up from their run and flops down into the crystalised grass, disturbing the frost there. With any luck, it can clean her coat some; or, at least better than Billy has been managing.

Billy doesn’t think he was made to be a big brother. It’d only been him and his mom against the world when he was younger, at least until his mom ran and his dad handed him over like some oddity to be poked and prodded in the name of science. 

It’s not going to stop him from trying, because Eleven deserves better than this. Hell, she deserves better than him but he’s the best he can offer here.

Leaning down, Billy licks away a spot of dirt from between her ears. It ruffles the fur there and she huffs at him, kicking out a paw to bat at his leg.

Grumbling at her ungratefulness, Billy trots away. 

There was a reason they were running out this way, after all. Hunting is hard, but begging is infeasible… save for one person.

It’s incredibly lucky for them that the Harrington residence backs directly onto the forest where Billy and Eleven have set up their little den and claimed it as their own. Otherwise they’d have never found him, and, especially in those early days, that was all that kept them alive. Without the young Harrington’s generosity, he and Eleven wouldn’t have made it three weeks.

Even after all this time, with nearly a year passing since they broke out, Billy can’t be sure if the Harrington boy knows what they are or just thinks they’re normal wolves. Nearly a year of running, and hiding, and chasing down rabbits to keep them alive and Billy still can’t even tell if the closest thing to a friend they have out here knows that they’re werewolves.

He smelled what Harrington was the first time he came across him, of course. Spending half his childhood shut away with other kids like him and a bunch of humans gave him a good basis for understanding what their kind smells like. It doesn’t matter that Harrington and his dad don’t smell nearly as strong as the werewolves Billy is used to, he can still smell what lingers in their blood.

And, even if he hadn’t, he’d have recognised it the first time the younger Harrington saw him, eyes flashing that familiar amber as he startled. The werewolf in his blood may be weak and distant, but it’s still very much there, and that’s enough for Billy to be certain and Eleven to take a liking to him. 

The crunching of tires on gravel gives them pause, but, after pricking his ears, Billy is sure it’s just the Harringtons’ car pulling out of the driveway. Date night, he thinks. Which means it’s just them and the son.

That’s always preferable; Mrs Harrington had screamed the first time her son told his parents about the wolves he saw prowling out the back of their garden. She wouldn’t be happy to know her son feeds them when hunting comes up sparse, and even if Mr Harrington is indifferent Billy doesn’t think he’s unlikely to take his wife’s side.

The teen likes them, though. 

His face splits into a hesitant smile when he spots them through the glass doors at the back of his home. Billy and Eleven’s eyes glow out like flickering embers from the darkness of the treeline, hiding in the growing shadows of a darkening hour.

Knowing the house will be empty other than their ally, Billy nudges Eleven forward, keeping a careful eye on her as she walks around the edge of the Harringtons’ covered pool. 

The back door slides open and, as they have made their routine, Billy and Eleven hover at the edge of the patio. Harrington, as usual, stays one step from the door. It’s a good truce; enough space for either of them to turn and run.

“Hi,” Harrington greets them, crouching down and tucking his legs under himself to sit and face them. “You haven’t been back for a month.”

Billy chuffs, feeling unfairly chastised, but the effect is minimal with Eleven wagging her tail delightedly. Since they got out, she’s really begun to come out of her shell, especially around Harrington. Billy really wishes she could have friends her age, but in their situation that’s just not safe.

Rolling his eyes at her enthusiasm, Billy settles down on his belly, watching the pair of them from the corner of his eye with a feigned disinterest.

“Are you hungry?”

Billy can almost feel the air shift as Eleven perks up in excitement. Her nose twitches, smelling for any treats he might have hidden away on his person for her.

“Yeah? Great! I’ll get you something. I don’t think there’s much in, but I can… put some chicken tenders in the oven?”

With that, he gets up and lets himself back into his house. It shows a great deal of, frankly, stupid trust in what he perceives to be just some wild wolves that he leaves the door open behind him. Eleven is happy to use that to her benefit, though. 

She scurries around to the other side of Billy, trying to peer into the house through the open door to watch Steve make them some food. It’s endearing, of the both of them; Harrington feeding wild animals food from his freezer and Eleven’s delight in his company and the human food it brings.

Truth be told, Billy is excited too. Until Harrington, Billy hadn’t had any human food since his mother was around. It’s nice, a little reminder of the other side of their nature that they’re unable to indulge in anymore.

He’s not sure Eleven had even had chicken tenders until Harrington. 

The girl beside him, growing impatient, goes to take a step closer to the house. With a nip to her flank, Billy warns her off that idea as quick as she can even act on it. It’s not something Eleven is too pleased with, given the grumbling growl she lets out, but she does listen to him. He’s glad she still listens to that prerequisite of their escape; she always has to do as Billy says, to keep them safe.

Harrington’s face, when Billy looks back over, has appeared in the doorway. It seems he has seen Billy’s warning, because his face is considering and his feet carry him a step further than their usual place. The closer proximity makes Billy growl, a low warning in his throat.

This isn’t how they do this. For both of their safety, they have the unspoken agreement that they never get closer.

For a moment, it seems as if Harrington remembers himself. He glances away anxiously, stilling there. It’s almost enough for Billy to ease his tension, but then the boy’s shoulders set and he takes another deliberate step forward.

This time, Billy’s on his feet like a shot, snarling openly at him. He doesn’t want to have to attack, or run. He likes what they have with Harrington, it’s saved their skins too many times for comfort, but if he has to give it up to keep Eleven safe, he will. He’s all Eleven’s got and he won’t let anything happen to her just because they trusted the wrong person; even those who have been kind to Billy in the past have betrayed him before.

He thinks of his mother’s face, and the absence of her smell from their house. It was so long ago that he almost can’t remember it.

Eleven seems uncertain too, hesitating in moving away but holding her body tense.

“It’s okay,” Harrington soothes. “It’s okay.”

His tone makes some of the tension bleed out of Eleven’s posture, but that alone has Billy’s hackles rising further. She can’t drop her guard, they can’t afford to! For them it’s the difference between life and death. Friends are just something they can’t risk, no matter what she and Harrington want. No matter what Billy might want.

When Harrington takes another step, Billy’s growl grows even louder. One more step and he’ll be signalling Eleven to run. One more step and he’ll fend Harrington off, no matter what he has to do. One more step and—

“Enough,” Harrington huffs, eyes glowing their steady amber now. 

Despite everything, it calms something in him. Amber eyes have meant safety to him, always, no matter what situation they’re in. He wants to pounce when Harrington shuffles another inch closer, but all the fight seems to flow out of him, something in his panicked chest settling.

Harrington stops in arms reach of them, dropping into a crouch in front. Billy remains still as a statue, but Eleven’s tail starts to sway back and forth happily. Harrington’s eyes are still glowing that warm, safe amber and Billy can’t look away. It’s like he’s been hypnotised. Transfixed.

A frown tugs at Harrington’s face as he takes in the state of them, but that doesn’t stop him from offering out a hand for Eleven to sniff. Seemingly content with the offering, Eleven nudges her head against his palm, encouraging him to rake his fingers through her fur.

Even when the texture of it makes Harrington cringe, he obliges. Turning to Billy doesn’t get him met with the same acceptance, though. He’s not prepared to throw away all his caution, not just for some pretty eyes.

“You’re filthy,” he observes, dusting the dried mud off his hands. 

As if remembering the discomfort of the filth caking her fur, Eleven shakes and scratches at her skin.

“Yeah, that doesn’t feel good, does it?”

Harrington glances around, looking for a solution to the problem.

“I could hose you off…?”

Billy growls again. There is no way he’s letting some guy hose him down with icy water, no matter how mucky he gets. He'd rather remain filthy than suffer that humiliation.

“Fine, okay. Whatever.”

Harrington huffs, sitting down on the floor in front of them. Eleven happily trots over to his side, dropping her head onto his lap in a bid to receive more affection. Months in these woods have turned her pretty touch starved, no matter how often Billy curls up with her.

Hesitantly, Billy settles down again, keeping a watchful eye on Harrington with Eleven. Just in case.

When a timer goes off in the kitchen, Harrington jumps to his feet and hurries off to take the food out of the oven. It’s a little while before he gives it over to them, letting it properly cool so as to not upset their stomachs, but every bite is heavenly.

“That’s better,” Harrington coos as they eat, reaching out to pet Billy’s fur, not that Billy allows him to actually do that.

Eleven flops down contentedly, but Harrington still looks thoughtful. If he’s about to suggest the hose again Billy will be happy to rethink his thankfulness.

“I’m going to get in so much trouble for this,” he murmurs under his breath before Harrington addresses them again with a clap of his hands. “Okay! Let’s go get you guys in the tub. You need a bath.”

Eleven doesn’t even hesitate before she’s jumping up to follow Harrington into the house. It’s something that Billy doesn’t even have time to contest before the both of them are slipping through the doorway and into the building. That leaves Billy with no choice but to follow them inside, listening out for anything alarming. Even if Eleven has let down her guard, he won’t.

The Harringtons’ house is huge and immaculate, not a piece of furniture out of place. Of course, that changes when Eleven comes bounding through, leaving a trail of muddy pawprints that has Harrington cringing again. Billy is prepared to jump in and defend Eleven from his frustration… but nothing comes. Harrington simply pats her on the head and continues down the hall with her. 

The bathroom is upstairs and two doors on the left. 

The walls are all pristine teal tiles, the colour matched in all the bathroom furniture. Out of a cupboard, Harrington pulls out a pair of fluffy white towels that has even Billy feeling incredulous. He wants to wash two filthy werewolves… here? With those? In this nice clean bathroom?

Maybe they are safe with Harrington; the guy is clearly an idiot. 

If wolves could make incredulous facial expressions, that’s what Billy would be doing right now. Instead he simply watches on as Harrington runs the taps, testing the water temperature between grabbing different colourful bottles of soap from the shelves. 

Eleven looks ecstatic, hopping from foot to foot at the prospect of finally having a wash after far too long. It’s understandable, even Billy finds himself somewhat excited for her as the water froths with a sweet-smelling bubbly solution. 

The younger lets out a happy yip when Harrington beckens her over and clambers into the tub. She seats herself in the centre, sniffing at the bubbles and sneezing when they inevitably tickle her nose. It makes Harrington laugh as he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, kneeling on the floor beside the tub.

His hands quickly become covered in the frothy brown evidence of the dirt being washed from Eleven’s fur as he scrubs. It’s not something he minds too much, given the minimal complaining—though he does curse when Eleven shakes and splatters droplets of dissolved mud and murky water his way.

Eleven seems to be enjoying the bath a great deal, even when Harrington removes the plug to drain away the ruined water and reaches for the showerhead to blast away the final stubborn patches of muck. She even leans into a particularly satisfying scratch with a great aura of contentment.

Before long, she’s clean enough for Harrington to deem suitable, and even Billy has to nod his approval at the immaculate state of her coat. It’ll save her a great deal of discomfort in the coming months.

Towelling off has Eleven excited again, darting around the bathroom space to avoid the towel. It’s only a game, though, and she does eventually get dried. If she had wanted to escape the rub down, she could have easily squeezed her way between Billy and the edge of the doorway and dashed away to safety—and Billy would have been right behind her!

In the end, she tires herself out with all the fun and the warmth from the bath water that soothed her cold bones from days in the winter chill. Harrington notices it only a minute or so after Billy, shooting her a fond smile.

The next room he leads them to is, apparently, his bedroom. 

He places a layer of dry towels over the surface and allows Eleven to hop up and get comfortable. With her settled in for a nap, Billy allows himself to be ushered from the room. He won’t divulge her of a comfortable rest, God knows she needs it.

“Okay,” Steve huffs, evidently feeling the energy drain after dealing with an overactive pup. “Now you.”

That makes the fur on Billy’s back stand on end, entire body tensing. Sorry, him? Does Harrington really think Billy is going to let him anywhere near him?

Until now, Billy hasn’t even let Harrington come within six metres of them! And even with this strange truce they have going on, he doesn’t intend to suffer the vulnerability and the indignation of letting this teenager bathe him. Has Harrington forgotten that Billy is the one who has been sending him warning looks and cautionary growls all day?

Another growl rumbles with his distaste at the very thought but, before Billy can dart away, or bite, or anything else, Harrington’s hand clamps around the scruff at the back of his neck. Billy finds himself startled at the sheer audacity! This part-human thinks he can just pick him up and carry him around like an unruly dog? 

He finally snaps back to his senses when Harrington tries to encourage him into the slippery tub. Not that this is something Billy has any intention of allowing to happen on his watch. With a great deal of kicking and growling, head butting back to collide with Harrington’s shoulder with as much force as he can manage, he tries to buck his way free.

It doesn’t work. Barely. Harrington manages to wrestle him into the tub, panting with exhaustion, and jolts into action when Billy tries to jump back out. 

Effectively, he’s been trapped by this idiot. This idiot who invited two wolves into his lovely clean house like lovable stray dogs.

It’s not a good look for Billy. He’s just glad Eleven is asleep and not watching him be outsmarted by this nitwit.

The water around him is indulgently warm as it pours from the tap, filling the tub with it and frothing white bubbles. Given the state of him and what happened during Eleven’s bath he’s sure it’s not going to stay that way for long.

Harrington has lathered up some soap between his hands and is reaching for Billy before he even knows it’s happening. Billy had been so distracted by the indulgence of the water that he hadn’t even noticed Harrington moving. The sudden proximity startles him and, within an instant, he has Harrington’s forearm caught between his teeth.

“Gah!”

They both freeze, caught in the moment. Billy waits for Harrington to hit back as the other just stares at him, but Harrington doesn’t do anything. 

Slowly, Billy releases his hold. There’s no taste of iron or flash of broken skin, but he can see the indents of his teeth on Harrington’s flesh. That’s enough to make him feel guilty.

When Harrington, cautiously, tries again to wash him, Billy just lets it happen. Sure, he grumbles through it, but there’s no more fighting it. Of course, he’d never admit it—because this is still humiliating!—but, to an extent, it’s… nice.

The water is warm and Harrington is gentle, not lingering anywhere that has Billy stiffening nervously. After a few minutes, Harrington seems to settle, losing himself in his task and rambling happily at Billy.

“There we go. No one would have known you had lighter patches before this.”

Billy huffs.

“Yeah, I get it. You’re nearly clean, stop whining.”

Insulted, Billy thumps his sudsy head against Harrington’s side, making the other grumble in annoyance.

“See if I do anything nice for you again.”

The plug is pulled and Billy shakes off the water, reasoning that the bathroom was already trashed by Eleven anyway, and Harrington clearly wouldn’t do anything about it.

“Dude.”

If a wolf could grin, Billy would be.

Harrington dries him off with another towel and, wow. Billy hasn’t felt this human in years; clean and free and in a normal, if posh, house… It almost makes him homesick, but otherwise it just feels nice.

“There we go…” Harrington soothes, and Billy actually settles.

It makes him nervous, somewhere in the back of his mind. Billy has had his guard raised non stop since… Fuck, probably since his mom left. And now, after the better part of a year being spent cold and alone, on high alert as if the people from Hawkins lab would just jump out of the shadows and drag them away to that place again, he’s just tired.

He’s so fucking tired, and Harrington’s house is warm, and he’s clean, and the guy feeds them, and for once Billy just wants to stop. He doesn’t want to look over his shoulder, worrying about when their next meal will be and getting piss poor sleep. 

Fingers brush hesitantly through the fur on his back, and Billy lets it. Only for a moment but, god, is it nice. He knew Eleven was lonely but… he hadn’t realised how alone he’d felt. He thought he’d gotten used to it, but maybe he never had. Maybe that was just a comfortable lie.

He refuses to leave Harrington alone to do god only knows what behind their backs, though. He may be relaxed and lethargic, but he’s still a safe amount of paranoid. Eleven can rest up, but Billy only pointedly glares at Harrington when he tries to coax Billy to have a nap with her.

In the end, they settle in the Harringtons’ living room after Billy watches Harrington painstakingly scrub down the bathroom and the muddy trails he and Eleven made on their way in. Honestly, watching paint dry would have been just as interesting, but Billy, strangely, liked the company, muttered cursing included. 

The Harringtons’ sofa is comfortable, almost too much so. As the young Harrington settled down with a book, Billy sat beside him. He felt a little weird about it—Neil had never let him or his mother on any of the furniture if they were shifted, and that is really the only example of home life Billy had ever had—but Harrington had been the one to invite him up onto the cushions so he just went with it.

It’s proving more and more difficult to stay awake, now. Warm and clean and full, resting on a comfortable sofa, Billy finds himself reluctantly laying down and fighting his eyes as they drift closed again and again. Each blink seems to last a century, becoming harder and harder to fight back open.

At least, until he finds himself waking with a start at the sound of the doorbell. 

With a groan, Harrington pushes himself to his feet, moving to answer it. All of Billy’s fears come rushing back. 

It could be anyone out there! He should never have let his guard down. What if Hawkins Lab had finally caught up to them? What if someone had seen Billy and Eleven sneaking around? What if Mr and Mrs Harrington have come back? 

No matter what, any situation seems to spell doom for them, but Harrington is just up and walking over to the door like it’s nothing. What if it’s him? What if he took advantage of the time Billy fell asleep for? Maybe this has all been some sick ploy to sell them out.

Billy jumps up, darting over to stand in his way, a wary growl rumbling from his throat.

“It’s fine,” Harrington dismisses, walking past without a care.

Billy should fight him, do whatever it takes to stop him from opening the door. He should buy him and Eleven a little bit of time to run. But he just doesn’t have it in him. After everything, the idea of causing Harrington any more grief has his stomach churning in despair. 

But he has to do something.

His hand clamps around Harrington’s wrist, holding him in place as he startles at the sudden contact. He turns around in a panic to face Billy, eyes darting downwards before resolutely focusing on his face, cheeks burning.

Billy, though, pays no mind to his state of undress. It doesn’t matter that this is the most vulnerable he’s been in years. He needs to get Harrington to listen, he wants to be able to trust him. It’s been so long since Billy has had a good thing.

Harrington is a good thing. He just wants to keep it, this one indulgence.

“Don’t. Please.”

The word hurts coming out. Pleading has never gotten Billy anything good, any sympathy.

“Holy shit!” Harrington shouts, stumbling a step backwards. “No way. No fucking way.”

“Please,” Billy repeats.

“I didn’t think— I mean some part of me— …shit, dude.”

“Please. Don’t.”

Harrington regains his breath, not even seeming to notice as the doorbell rings once, twice more. It’s followed by pounding and some kid yelling. Neither of them move, eyes locked seriously on each others’. Harrington flexes his hand, making the flesh in Billy’s grasp shift. 

Billy’s eyes flash, it’s instinctive. Harrington feels like home, has done since the first time they came across each other, even if Billy didn’t let himself acknowledge it. Harrington’s shine their own unique shade of amber in return. They’re beautiful.

“It’s fine,” Harrington whispers to him. “It’s just the kids I babysit. My ex’s brother and his friends.”

His eyes dart towards the staircase.

“Is… is the other one like you?”

“Her name is Eleven, and yes. Don’t… I can’t let you do anything to put her in danger.”

“I won’t, I swear. Seriously.”

Billy nods, satisfied.

“But I have to let these guys in or they’ll break down the door.”

At that moment, someone presses down on the doorbell and doesn’t let up. It constantly chimes through the house, echoing through the empty halls.

“Fine.”

Billy lets go and Harrington takes a step away before hesitating.

“What’s your name?”

“Billy. What’s yours?”

“Steve.”

---

Next up in the race is the lovely @intothedysphoria so hang around to see what he's put together for us <3

[solarecliipse]

partners in crime

suna x fem!reader. really just me writing about this song fluff to angst. english is not my first language.

cw; consumption of weed, suggestive¿

aichi prefecture was really cold during winter, but for two kids born there, the snow meant pure fun —and a great hiding place.

— rin! —you called his name trying to not be loud—. they’re gone, where are you?

as you looked for him, someone hugged you tightly from your back—, that was great! —as he said the words you both fell into the snow together, laughing.

you and him, rintaro and [name]. since your first met you were involved in all kinds of mischief together, and soon everyone learned you were inseparable and there for one another. like partners in crime.

later on, as you grew up, this innocent antics became others, a little more dangerous ones, stealing your fathers car —and then accidentally crashing it—, selling some of your clothes and jewelry to buy a motorcycle —never letting him drive it, bcs cmon, he crashed his fathers car—, and when you both made it to inarizaki skipping classes together, just teenage trouble, until…

— come onn! [name], try it out with me —his pleading yellowish eyes looking directly at you—. i swear it’ll be alright!

— i don’t know… one thing is getting wasted and throwing up in the garden but another really different is trying weed —you repeated yourself, avoiding his gaze—. where would we even be able to try it?

— my father’s got an apartment in aichi, we can go there, and even stay the night if necessary —it’s like he had it all perfectly planned in case he had to convince you—, and they won’t find out, i swear!

— you can’t be sure, and if they find out they would be really mad at us—your tone full of worry—, it’s already been too much fights.

— please —he begged, making you look at him by holding bothering your cheeks softly, and you agreed.

it was bad luck, or really just the difference in you metabolisms, but it hit you way harder, anyways he was there and taking care of you so you didn’t feel bad.

— damn! i swear if i stand up the lights change —you said, giggling as you sat once again, he just smiled at you.

— you look pretty —it came out his mouth like a secret, something he truly believed. everyone knew it, how down bad you were for each other, ever since you were kids, but neither of you could believe it was reciprocated.

— it’s not funny, rintaro —cheeks now a brighter red, and the little smiles just grew bigger both sides.

it wasn’t a joke.

you were both high —one again—, but that didn’t mean you were careless, you knew what you where doing, it had been like a silent promise between you both.

both bodies hot, and touches being exchanged, almost like lovers.

— i’m yours —he whispered into your ear, and kissed your face as you both slowly fell asleep .

later that night, he still couldn’t sleep, so he observed your relaxed face, and caressed your back softly. it felt great to be there.

— one day, i will tell you i love you without being high, we’ll be together and i will do anything so we are happy —he whispered into your ear— it will be worth the wait and you will be happy, i promise.

the next day, you remembered his words, but maybe it was just you being really high and dreaming stupid things after the moment.

— one last time? —you irked a brow, looking directly into his eyes.

— to the end of our high school years.

it wasn’t like you did it that much, really it was just for fun, somehow just to let both your inhibitions out and act on your feelings, even if the morning after you would both act like it didn’t happen. this time it was different.

his head rested in your lap as you passed your fingers through his dark locks, the whole place smelled so much, and the music sounding had you both with closed eyes, until the door was opened. your and his parents were there, they had discovered all this little shenanigans and were here for you.

your father had always cared too much about appearances, about doing the right or wrong things, about you being the perfect daughter.

— what were you thinking about? —your father was losing his patience now—. do you not see what you did?

— i don’t know! —you raised your voice—. ok? maybe i am reckless and stupid, but isn’t that how all teenagers are?

— you are not like any other teenager, —the tension in the room could be felt—. you’re my daughter! and you’ll behave like you’re supposed to, even if that means you’ll have to go.

and he did. he sent you away, into a boarding school. didn’t even had time to say goodbye, no communication, and later on never came back home.

he still thought of you, a lot actually, even after all this time he hadn’t have something with another person. it had been years, but know you were finally back home, so he looked for you, and he found you, maybe wished he didn’t.

you walked alongside a guy, he was taking your hand, and he could even see the bright rings on your fingers, lastly, you had your other hand on your belly, it wasn’t big, but as soon as he saw you he knew. he went to his parents house, stayed a couple of days, and left aichi without seeing you.

you were happy, and that was what he always wanted, so it was alright. the truth is he was always yours, but you were never something of his.

© written by @solareclipse. do not copy, translate, repost to other sites nor claim as yours.

[gothic-thoughts]

So Damn Into You

(yeah, i'm offically into him, idek how. He's cool so he gets the pretty title now 💙💙)

König x Black Fem Reader Fluff

Friends2Lovers, Forbidden LoveAU, Medic!Reader

CW: Mutual pining, secret relationship

Word Count: 1924 (give or take)

Like any other soldier, when König would get injured in the fields or on the training grounds, he would rush to the infirmary. Unlike any other soldier, he would be there looking for you specifically so you could fix him up. While his visits were usually more spaced out, this was the third time this month that he was making his way to the med bay to see his friend and favorite medic; not just because he likes the way you treat him, but because his eyes can stare at someone all day without getting tired.

He walks in, towering over everybody enough to see you bandaging another wounded soldier so the head nurse assigns another nurse to him to try and replace you, but he declines her help, disgusted that she would ever try to replace you. The head nurse tried to convince him to cooperate, but he ignored her, clenching his hand into a fist as he calls you. You look up with a smile when hearing his voice. The head nurse in charge of tending to his wounds steps out of the way, now revealing you to König. 

“Colonel König,” You chuckle, quickly finishing up with the soldier’s bandages, “You're back...again?”

“Uh, yes.” His Austrian accent speaks over the noise of the area, “I believe my skills have made me a bit careless.”

You walk over. “I'm seeing you here too often, sir. I'm starting to think you're getting shot as an excuse to see me.”

He smiles under his mask, knowing you were correct. “I assure you that it’s an accident every time. Besides it’s nothing but a little slit across my arm this time. See?”

He raises his arm slightly to show you the cut through his shirt and arm, his words downplaying how open it actually was. You hold his arm and examine it, missing when his eyes narrow at your chief nurse, shooting a glare at her.

"See? Nothing more than a scratch."

"It's more like a slash, Colonel."

"In any case, I know you can handle it; if your superior will allow it."

You hide a smirk and look at the head nurse, waiting for her to give permission, knowing her word couldn't outweigh the Colonel's. She stares at the two of you, unsure of what to say before she gives a deep sigh a nodding. You throw a quick ‘thank you” over your shoulder as you carefully guide the giant man to an infirmary bed and sit next to it, keeping his forearm raised as you examine the slash across it.

König watches you intently, sniper hood hiding his cold expression, his eyes darting between his bleeding arm and your latex-gloved hands, then over to the other soldiers being treated, seeing their eyebrows either raised or furrowed at the scene. You bend down to get your medical instruments under the bedside table, missing König’s glare in the soldiers’ direction, drawing away their stares as you sit back up with gauze, wound-cleaning saline, and a suture kit. 

“I can’t believe an enemy got this close to you, Colonel.”

“Ja, me neither.” König’s knowing smirk grows behind his mask, “I admit, not my proudest moment. Though, this is nothing compared to what I did to his head."

“You mean his face?”

"What's left of it, yes."

You couldn’t help but snicker at his nonchalant tone mixed with the morbidity of his comment. He makes an effort to suppress the smile playing at the edges of his mouth wondering why you did so.

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

It had been 3 weeks since the last time she patched me up and I found myself searching for another reason to return to the infirmary but my stitches were not yet healed and I haven’t had any missions to go on to warrant any other injuries. So I was stuck for weeks without seeing (Y/n)’s face brighten when I walked into the office. I had no other choice but to talk to her about something, anything. It was driving me mad not being in her presence for this long.

Hell, at the very least, I would walk by the infirmary hoping that she’d see me through the window and wave but, I've had no reason to be in the medical wing without looking suspicious. But today, I had a mission that I'd be gone for a little over 2 weeks, so whether I liked it or not I needed to have a clear head. I had about 30 minutes before the chopper left, giving me enough time to speak with her.

"Nurse (Y/n)," I smile as she opens the infirmary door.

“Holy—!” She rests her hand over her racing heart, looking up at me with wide eyes, “Jesus, Colonel! You scared the shit outta me.”

"Oh, I'm sorry." My gaze wandered down, taking in her clothes without her uniform over it. “I didn’t mean for that, I had just walked up to the door.”

She lets out a huff and a chuckle, “Goddamn, it’s even worse cuz you’re bigger than the door.”

I chuckle, “Again, I am sorry about that."

Her squinted eyes roam my body, “You don't look like you're bleeding, Colonel. Or even hurt for that matter...”

"Nein," I replied, with a chuckle keeping his hands behind his back. "Not this time."

(Y/n) raises her eyebrow in disbelief, “No bullets? No gashes?”

“No bullets, no gashes. Can we... well if you're not busy, can you...?" I close my eyes and groan, "I want to speak to you."

“Oh, uh... yes sir...?” 

I only wish she could see the speed my smile instantly drops behind my mask from seeing her smile fade and her voice turning more professional and cold. Did I sound too assertive? I didn't mean to, I just wanted to get it out. Now she probably thinks she's done something wrong.

(Y/n) hurriedly steps aside so I can step inside the mostly empty infirmary, giving me more butterflies since I'm not used to us being practically alone. Bad enough I don’t know how she’ll react if she’s expecting something serious and it's just something about my feelings.

"Is now a bad time?"

“No, sir, I was just going on break.” 

"You do not have to call me 'sir', (Y/n); you know 'König' is just fine." I give a fake chuckle to lighten the mood once again, "You aren't in any trouble."

"I'm... not?"

I knew I sounded too commanding. "No, no; of course not. I just need to speak with you before this mission starts. I'll be gone for about 2 weeks."

"Oh, whew. Okay, what's up?" 

"Do you have anywhere more... private where it's just the two of us?"

“I mean the other nurses will be in and out so no. The best I can do is—” (Y/n) pulls me over to a gurney, instructing me to stand as close as possible to it as she draws the medical curtain closed— “That?”

“It’s..." I smirk behind my mask, heart fluttering at the way she takes initiative, “Perfect, (Y/n).”

"Okay, good. At the very least, we'll whisper."

I take a deep breath, ready to speak, but the inhale takes in the scent of her perfume subtly mixed in with the sterile scent of disinfecting solution to which my already racing heart skipped a beat. I let my eyes linger on her glossed lips as I step closer despite the weakness in my knees— just close enough that she can feel the weight of my towering presence without me even touching her. I freeze in place, ashamed at how strong my desires can be.

“Colonel.” She snaps me out of my trance with her whisper, “This tension is driving me crazy; what did you want to talk about?”

“Right, sorry. I just... I wanted to know something before I left, (Y/n).”

“Okay, so what is it, Kö?”

"Did you, no, have you ever thought about me as more than just a superior officer?"

Her eyes widen and she chuckles uncomfortably as she refuses to make eye contact as she starts to ramble about the dating rules in the army—the main obstacle keeping me from this very moment in the first place.

I tuned out her lies and watched her full lips talk and talk as she tried to explain herself. She couldn't even look at me, her dark eyes darted all around the area meanwhile I just became more and more infatuated with my medic. 

I force myself out of another trance with a soft "ahem" before wordlessly stepping forward and stopping her mid-sentence. She gulps thickly, giving me all the answers I need. I keep moving towards her until her back presses against the sliver of wall left between the curtain and the gurney. We continue to hold eye contact as I step closer until I'm mere inches away, chest right in front of her face. 

"I know it's against regulations. But that's not what I asked you." I finally speak, "And you have thought about it. Is... is the regulation the only reason you feel that way?"

(Y/n) bites the inside of her cheek, nervously. "Colonel, please tell me this is some kind of elaborate test or... or--"

"Unfortunately, it's not." My stomach flutters and turns. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable but I need to know if the signals are mutual and not just... just..."

Her eyes widen, dark skin flushed red with embarrassment as she leans a little closer with curiosity but she stops, still afraid of the consequences. Of course, who wouldn't be? Both our careers were on the line for even talking about this but I just can't help myself; only being able to see and talk to her when I'm injured isn't enough anymore. I rest my hand on her shoulder and lean down, trying to ease some of her tension without breaking a boundary.

"König, we'll get in trouble for talking like this. I'll get in trouble..."

"I'm not talking about what could happen if we get caught, (Y/n); I'm just asking if—"

"König." 

"You.... yes?"

She takes a deep breath and admits in a whisper, "I feel the same. I like you too, König."

My heart swells and races in my chest as I try to process her words, making sure she isn't testing me. I give her a skeptical squint and this time she steps closer and cups slowly reach up to my cheeks, almost making me lose my mind.

"I'm serious, just don't tell no one."

"I won't."

"I mean it, Konig. I like my job here."

I take her right hand from my cheek and gently kiss her knuckles through my mask, "We don't have to tell a soul, (Y/n). No one has to know; we can keep this secret for life, just you and me..."

She smiles at me, a wave of relief washing over her before she hugs me tightly and makes me gasp in surprise. I looked down at her with a smile behind my mask, not believing what was happening before I finally wrapped my arms around her and hugged her like I would never see her again. She finally pulls back after a while. 

"Verdammt (dammit)." I say under my breath in frustration as I check my watch, "I gotta gear up soon."

"We can continue this conversation in a week."

"Ja, of course. My office, maybe?"

(Y/n) nods happily. "Be careful. Don't come back injured."

"Of course," I chuckle, winking at her, "I'd never let them get that close to me."

[eluxcastar]

Hello! I have read a lot of your genshin impact works and I firmly believe that you have such a nice writing style! I was wondering if I could request headcannons for Dottore and Pantalone with a s/o that has asthma? I hope you have a nice day! :))

A s/o with asthma

── ୨୧：pantalone, il dottore x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: congrats your lungs suck

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader

୨୧﹑words :: 206

my wheezing lungs do like this idea however my jacked up finger does not (ball mishap) it's alright y'all but you took your eyes off me for five seconds and I got injured 💀

Ok, so this is like a really short one mostly because I only have a little to say for this, but like, Pantalone at first might treat you a little like glass, especially if it's bad. It's cold in Snezhnaya, and the cold makes asthma worse, so he can't let you go anywhere without your inhaler. He doesn't want you to make yourself an accident waiting to happen. If you forget it, Pantalone has got it, and he hides it so that you don't tell him about the unnecessary fuss he's causing over it. Thankfully he doesn't need to reveal he's got it most of the time, but he's too cautious to get careless and leave it at home.

Dottore, on the other hand, is vaguely familiar with the condition. He doesn't fuss over it, you're grown and can care for yourself, but he does take note of the times you use your inhaler, unsubtly suggesting you take a break and settle for a moment before you try to push yourself. It's an awkward way of showing he cares, asking if you want water and finding you a place to sit down. He would never explicitly admit that's what he's doing, but he's been doing it.